A/N: I think my original idea was to write something along the lines of Book's past, but it turned into the Operative. I always consider them a bit similar.
He bowed his head. Surely he could do this; could humble himself. But it was the hardest thing in the 'verse.
Yet submission was his goal in life. He was the sycophant of all sycophants. He realized now, for the first time that his obsequiousness had been unfounded.
He mustered what strength he had, noting with chagrin that those who play dirty are beaten by those who play dirtier.
He knew what he had to do. It was the only course. He'd been betrayed. His ideal world would never, ever come about. He wasn't even sure if he wanted it anymore. In fact, he was pretty sure it was a futile goal.
This was his one last chance to do something right. Something truly right for a change.
So he did it. He opened his mouth and spoke past his damaged pharynx.
"Stand down." He said, his voice raspy. "Stand down. It's finished." Then, quietly he added "We're finished."
And he diminished.