Dollhouse fic - Evaluation Day; PG-13
Title: Evaluation Day
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Adelle DeWitt, Laurence Dominic, Boyd Langton, Topher Brink
Pairing: DeWitt/Dominic. If you squint.
Disclaimer: Nope, don't own them. Never will.
Words: 6,715
Spoilers: Up to 2x06
Summary: Countless tales have been told about men falling asleep and upon waking, discover that years have passed and the world has changed without them. This might be one of them.
Notes: Set between 2x06 and 2x07. Also, sort of a sequel to If You Forget Me. A character from Though This Be The Last Pain She Makes Me Suffer also makes an appearance (it's okay if you don't read it, though). Thank you to sevendayloan for beta-reading :)
All mistakes are mine. Hope you enjoy. Thank you and have a nice day.
Countless tales have been told about men falling asleep and upon waking, discover that years have passed and the world has changed without them.
This might be one of them.
~*~*~
There’s a surge of intense, blue light and a silent hum resounds in his ears as the most recent bit of memory surfaces in his mind.
He opens his eyes and sees a fifty-something-year old man wearing horn-rimmed glasses, standing by the computers, looking bored. A young woman in a white lab coat, most probably the technician, is looking at him with great interest. He glances to the left and sees a man, also in a white lab coat, standing by a table with a tray of medical tools.
His knits his brows together and scrutinizes their faces. Anxiety grabs him by the throat when he realizes that he doesn’t know any of these people. Topher did say… he suddenly has a strong urge to throw up.
“Mr. Dominic?” the older man asks. He doesn’t respond.
The man grimaces, “Let’s not make this more difficult than it is.” He has a slight accent, from the Midwest, he thinks.
“Who are you?” he asks.
“No one.” The man answers, “But then again, it probably won’t matter. I might not be the one conducting this job the next time they pull you out.”
He can’t describe the fear that goes through him, the chill that’s prickling the skin of whomever he exists in at the moment. How long has it been since the last time he was brought back? Years? Decades? This wasn’t the same person who questioned him the last time.
“I’m William Mathers, the Head of Security.” He says, “Are you Laurence Dominic?”
His heart drums heavily against his chest. He knows exactly what this is all about. He just wants to buy himself a little time.
“What is this about?” he doesn’t have to look at his torso and his arms to know that he’s strapped down on the chair. He looks back at the man, who moved a little bit closer towards the chair.
“Standard procedure. We have to check the integrity of the full personalities in the archives. Protocol.” Mathers explains, “Are you Laurence Dominic?”
Anger surges painfully through him. He fights the restraints. He pulls his hands, his torso, from the chair, hoping that he can break free. But he gives up quickly. There isn’t any point in it.
Laurence closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to calm himself. They’re going to ask their questions, which they’ll expect him to answer, but he’ll not get any answers to the questions that he wants answered. They’ll thank him for his time and put him back into his shelf.
There isn’t any point in anything. There isn’t any point in anything at all.
“Yes, I am.”
Mathers scribbles something in his clipboard, “What was your former position in the Rossum Corporation?”
He stares at Mathers, trying to memorize his face. He looks at the technician, who seems to be in her late twenties. Her hair is up in a bun and is wearing a suit underneath the lab coat. Her attire seems to be a far cry from Topher’s.
“I just want to say goodbye… as normally as this situation can possibly allow for goodbyes.”
“Former Head of Security for the Dollhouse. Los Angeles.”
“And the head of the branch?”
His hands unconsciously curl into a fist. “Adelle DeWitt.”
He sees Mathers’ brows shoot up in surprise, an expression which swiftly disappears from his face.
“I see. And the year is…?”
His heart skips a beat. He swallows the ball of trepidation in his throat and clenches his jaw, “What year is it? For you? Today? Now?” he asks back.
Mathers sighs, “Mr. Dominic, you know that we are not at liberty to discuss such things with you. You only have to answer our questions. What year do you think it is?”
He’s jumping from one point of his life to another, without any memory of sleeping, of eating or of any mundane everyday thing in between. He’s not going to let himself feel resigned over this matter. He’s going to fight this.
Mathers stare bores through him.
There’s no use. He can’t fight this.
“2009.” He finally says.
Mathers proceeds to ask him more dull questions, like the name of the current President, and the most recent news he can remember. There are times when he was so close to lying through his teeth, but then remembers that the integrity of his wedge was being tested; if he says the wrong thing, they might attribute it to the wedge and he might be causing damage to his self.
“That’s it.” Mathers turns around and double checks his list, “Thank you for your time, Mr. Dominic.”
“Wait.” He says, loudly. Mathers looks at him, “How long are the gaps between this… personality check and the next?” he asks, although he doesn’t really want to hear the answer, “Months? Years?”
Mathers looks at the woman beside him then looks back at him, “It will depend on how many full personalities there are in the system, Mr. Dominic. With the current number, I’m going to say that it’ll be years for them to get back to you.” He says.
He presses his lips together and nods his head. Mathers signals to the woman and Dominic feels the chair tilting downwards.
A tear slides down his eye before the blue light flares up and his life flashes before his eyes.
~*~*~
“Miss DeWitt?”
She had barely just sat down on her chair and she hasn’t had the time to touch her morning tea when she hears the sound of her office door opening. Adelle bites back a sigh and turns her chair around to face Boyd Langton, who has entered the room.
“Mr. Langton.” She greets. He’s been the Head of Security for several months now, and she was certain that he had finally worked out on how to go about with her during the mornings. He goes in her office exactly thirty minutes after she arrives for the morning report, to make sure she’s settled behind her desk and had had her tea. His untimely appearance today makes her think he hadn’t really gotten used to that schedule.
Langton stops in the middle of the room, “I’m sorry to bother you ma’am, but Rossum’s Itinerant Security Officer arrived an hour ago and wants to talk to you as soon as you’ve arrived.”
She closes her eyes for a few seconds. Of course, she thinks with a tinge of exasperation. After the incidents with Senator Perrin, with Echo and with Madeleine, Rossum finally sends in a special representative to solve their problem-someone who searches for leaks and breaches, and take care of those people. Someone whose sole purpose is to make sure Houses are secure. Someone who isn’t particularly welcome in her House.
“Send Mr. Chrysler in.” she says in annoyance.
“Mr. Chrysler’s been dead for three weeks.” Both she and Langton look towards the doorway and a tall young woman strides in without any invitation, “I find it really astonishing that no one has informed this House of his death.”
Adelle hides her shock as she observes the woman in front of her. She’s several inches shorter than Langton, and wearing a very smart ladies’ suit which fits her small frame perfectly. Her dark brown hair is neatly pulled back and she has make-up on, which makes her appear older.
“Miss Hoffman.” She starts as she stands up, “What a pleasant surprise.”
A very, very brief smile flits on Hoffman’s face and she starts to look around her office. Langton doesn’t leave the office and watches their new guest like a hawk. He doesn’t seem to like her.
“Please have a seat.” She says as she steps down the platform. “Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Tea?”
Hoffman tears her eyes away from the painting on the far side of the wall, “Do you have apple juice?”
“Apple juice?” she repeats. The tone she uses almost had a scandalized tinge to it and she stops herself from asking if she was sure of her choice. She looks at Langton, who now has traces of bemusement on his face, “Mr. Langton, may you please ask Judith to…?” she trails off as he gives a slight nod and walks out of the room and closes the door behind him.
She glances back at her guest who has taken a seat on the sofa. She then turns around and pours herself a cup of tea.
At the corner of her eye, she sees a tall, blond, man in a dark suit standing in front of the flat screen monitor. His arms are folded across his chest and he seems to be observing her guest.
Adelle gently (and discreetly) massages the side of her head. Wonderful. Just wonderful.
“She’s dangerous, ma’am. I suggest that you be careful with what you say around her.”
With ire, she ignores him. She can’t control when he appears, he just does. And he seems to pop up during periods of stress, very much like this moment. Her imaginary Mr. Dominic must have thought that this is a nice time to keep her company.
He’s wearing that blue paisley tie of his and a lavender shirt. He has a frown on his face, as usual, and she can’t tell whether his concern is for professional reasons or personal (but then, he’s imaginary; thinking about its meaning is pointless).
“I take it your new Head of Security isn’t much for the visual cues.” Hoffman says as she leans on the couch and crosses her legs together. She drapes her right arm on the couch.
Adelle takes a gulpful of tea. She then takes a deep breath, letting the tea soothe her nerves before turning around once again and walking towards the leather chairs, “What can I do for you, Miss Hoffman?” she genially asks and takes the seat adjacent to her.
“I need to speak to Laurence Dominic.”
The mere mention of his name brings her imaginary friend to appear by the mini bar.
Adelle ignores him as she clenches her jaw and makes no attempt to reply. She takes similar position as her guest and studies her. The younger woman is of mixed ancestry, with narrow eyes and freckles on her nose, and in her mid-twenties, a few months younger than Topher.
“You might be thinking that I’m here to evaluate your security. After all, I am one of those special travelling security… people.” She says. Adelle notes how Hoffman carefully pronounces her R’s and her attempt to flatten her otherwise very rounded vowels,
“Let me see, two missing Actives, a client who disappeared under suspicious circumstances, a former Active who willingly went against the corporation under your watch, you violating a direct order from the higher-ups, a missing handler…” she trails off, “Did I miss anything?”
Imaginary Dominic starts to move away from his position, “She forgot about the serial killer nephew of a major shareholder dying in your custody, ma’am.” He politely says.
“Your attempt at an American accent is horrible.” Adelle says instead, ignoring both comments.
Hoffman scoffs, “It’s not supposed to be perfect. It’s just needed to make sure I maintain a semblance of distance from you.” She says, discordantly, and motions her hand around the office, “Your House is in disarray, Adelle. It’s the truth. I still answer to you, since you’re the Head of this House, but the people upstairs expect you to let me do my job.” She says, not dropping the accent she has (recently, Adelle thinks) acquired.
There’s a knock on the door, “Come in.” Adelle says. They hear the door open and Judith comes in, carrying a tray with two empty glasses and a pitcher of an amber-colored liquid on top of it. She nods at Adelle and Hoffman after setting the tray on the table and leaves quietly.
She leans forward and serves the apple juice to her guest.
Hoffman takes the glass and brings it to her lips. Adelle is aware of her guest’s watchful gaze as she takes a sip from her drink.
“Why do you need to speak with Mr. Dominic?”
“I need information from him.”
She narrows her eyes, “What kind of information?”
Hoffman leans back on the couch, “A lot of information.” She says, cryptically.
~*~*~
There’s a slight buzzing in his ears when he wakes up and the first thing he sees is Topher pacing around in front of him. His brows furrow and he looks around him. There isn’t anybody else inside the imprinting room.
“Hey. Dom. Hi.” There’s uncertainty in Topher’s tone, and he stops suddenly and stands in front of him, “Sorry ‘bout you being tied up. How ya feeling?”
Dominic feels his nostrils flare and he scowls at the programmer, “The last time you pulled me out, you told me DeWitt was dead. So what do you think?” he can feel something pound painfully in his chest, but he ignores it. That emotion probably isn’t appropriate now.
Topher avoids his gaze and massages the base of his neck. He notices that the programmer’s hair is slicked back, very much unlike the last time he was brought back and his clothes seem to be much more… formal.
He looks around again, “Why did you pull me out? Where’s Langton?”
There’s something wrong with the expression on Topher’s face. It’s not just different- there’s something entirely wrong about it.
The silence is uncomfortable. His skin bristles from the atmosphere and his muscles tense. Why is he looking at him like that? “Spit it out!”
“Boyd’s not here anymore.” Topher finally says, “Everybody’s… not here anymore.”
He stares at him, trying to figure out what he means, “What year is it?”
Topher shakes his head, “I can’t tell you. If I tell you, you’ll have a major freakout and they’ll just…” he trails off and shakes his head again, more vigorously this time. He lifts his hands and reaches out, but doesn’t touch him, “They changed management. They replaced almost everybody. I don’t know where the Boydman is. Ivy left. They…”
“Who’s ‘they’, Topher?”
“Them! The ones who put abject fear in my heart! The new guys! Those guys.” He covers his mouth with his right hand, “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore. Their protocols… I don’t want checking the integrity of full personalities- of people I know. It’s sick, man. It’s a form of torture and I can’t… I don’t want to do this to you. You’re an asshole , and you’re a spy, but you don’t deserve this.”
Dominic grits his teeth, trying to control the fear that’s starting to swell within him, “What are you trying to say, Topher?”
“I just want to say goodbye… as normally as this situation can possibly allow for goodbyes.” Topher replies, “The next time you get pulled out, I won’t be here anymore. And I know that because I’m leaving in a few days. And I’m saying goodbye to you because no one said goodbye to me, so I know how that feels.” He says, almost earnestly.
“Topher-”
“Its protocol, you know? They want the full personalities - those who were Attic-ized - to be checked every few months, wedge integrity blah blah blah.” He waves his hands around, “But I see it for what it is. It’s torture. And it doesn’t necessarily have an end goal. It’s just to torture you. Because you went against them.”
Dominic closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths to keep his heart from thundering. He tightly clenches his fist and feels his nails painfully digging into his hands, “So you’re going to leave.” He keeps his tone even, tries not to let a hint of anger escape him. He opens his eyes again and looks at the programmer, “What’s the real reason behind you pulling me out?”
A beat, “Your wedge needs to be evaluated.”
Dominic stares at him. Here he was, thinking that Topher might have grown a spine after all this… however long it took him. Topher shoves his hands inside his jacket and starts to rock on his heels as he looks at him forlornly.
He can’t help but think that there’s something awfully… wrong about all this, but he’s afraid. He’s goddamn afraid of what’s happening to him, how time just seems to zoom past him and leaving him behind.
“Dom?”
“What.”
“I’m sorry, man.”
~*~*~
Adelle considers the woman’s answer, “Getting Mr. Dominic isn’t difficult. What will be difficult is getting answers from him. He’s not exactly… loquacious.”
The younger woman breathes deeply and stands up from the couch. Hoffman starts to walk around the room, running her hand lightly on the wall, looking at the paintings.
“I met her last year, in Tucson.” Her imaginary friend says, following Hoffman around. He glances at her, “She’s not that memorable.”
She flashes a warning look at the man whom only she can see, and waits for Hoffman to say something.
“I have a method of making the most stubborn people talk.” Hoffman walks towards the windows, “Actually, Mr. Chrysler devised that method. I’m not exactly proud to say that I polished the technique.”
Hoffman looks out the window and flicks the blinds. She then turns towards Adelle and walks towards the sofas. She then sits down and takes her apple juice before continuing, “As you said, Mr. Dominic’s not going to talk. I know that. I, therefore, have to break him.”
“And how will you intend to do that?” she inquires, a bit curious. She sees her mental version of Laurence Dominic sitting beside the young woman, seemingly focused on everything that’s coming out of her lips.
“You remember that show, Quantum Leap?” She starts to explain, “Jumping in a body, only existing for one sole reason before jumping out again to another body. In a wedge, Mr. Dominic doesn’t have any concept of time. It’s just him jumping from one point to another… with nothing in between.”
“All right.” She draws her brows together, not exactly sure whether she understands what Hoffman is implying.
Hoffman stares at her for a few seconds, waiting for her to figure out what she’s trying to say. When Adelle doesn’t say anything she sighs, “I’m going to make him think that the years are going past him. I will make him witness a change in management. The first time he gets pulled out, he’ll recognize everyone in the room. The next time, you’ll be gone, replaced by another person, and so on, until he doesn’t recognize anybody anymore… do you get my drift?”
“Creepy.” Dominic says, a remark which she promptly ignores.
Adelle clasps her hands and puts them on top of her lap, “It’s very elaborate.” She’s slightly uncertain on what to feel about the younger woman’s method. It’s quite a creative technique of shattering the will of someone as stubborn as Mr. Dominic, but she’s not sure if she wants Mr. Dominic to be broken down. She doesn’t know the real reason why Rossum wants him interrogated.
”It’s very effective.”
“Also unnecessarily cruel.”
Confusion and surprise flickers across Hoffman’s face and she doesn’t make any attempt to mask the emotions. She looks at her in disbelief, “This is… interesting.” Hoffman starts and raises a brow, “This is the man who made a fool out of you. And from what I understand you never broke him. This is your chance. Don’t you want payback?”
“Sending someone to the Attic isn’t revenge enough for you?”
“Not for someone like you.” Adelle keeps her face impassive as Hoffman continues, “I know what you’re capable of, good and bad. And that knowledge more or less aligns with your reputation as head of the Los Angeles Branch of Rossum Corp. They say you rule with an iron fist-the fair, albeit manipulative and ruthless leader. Every person who has encountered the mighty Adelle DeWitt both admires her and fears her. I’ve heard rumors within the organization that they shouldn’t cross you, lest something horrible befalls on them.”
“You are greatly exaggerating.”
“Well, all right, Matthew Harding hates you.” She angles her head to the right, “But I’m thinking Nolan Kinnard begs to differ-wherever he is right now.”
DeWitt brushes the comment away and gives the younger woman a disapproving glance, “You’re in my House, Ms. Hoffman. You’ll do interrogations the way we do them. There is no need for the superfluous cruelty.”
“Unfortunately, I can interrogate Mr. Dominic the way I want to interrogate him. This is one of those very rare occasions where the Itinerant Security Officer overrules the Head of the House.”
Adelle’s frown deepens. Hoffman leans back on the couch and waits for a response from her.
Something soft brushes against her hand. Adelle lowers her head to obscure her sideways glance. Dominic is now sitting on the arm of the chair, with half of his body turned towards her.
“You tell yourself over and over I’m a hallucination; I’m not the same being you sent to the Attic. Don’t go soft-hearted on my account, ma’am. I’m not real, remember?” he says. Her spine tingles when she feels his warm breath by her ear.
She knows what he’s saying. That deep inside, she wants to use this technique against the real Laurence Dominic. She wants him to break. She wants someone to hurt him because she’s too much of a coward to do it herself.
“Well, if he cooperates the first time ‘round, then there’ll be no need for my method. But if he doesn’t, then breaking his resolve will be the most obvious step, wouldn’t it?” Hoffman, of what seems to be a sign of compromise, says when she doesn’t make a sound even after a few minutes.
“Do what you have to do.”
Hoffman gives her a long look before nodding, “I will need to talk to your Head of Security.”
“Mr. Langton is at your disposal.”
~*~*~
Tiny dark spots dance in his eyes and he blinks them away as he feels the back of the chair rising upwards.
He feels his heart starting to race. What is this, some sort of perverse torture of DeWitt’s, hoping that he’ll break down and spill out everything that he hasn’t told them?
If it was, he doesn’t see the point. By the time they break him, the information he possesses will probably be outdated. The business he’s involved in depends on new information. He’s worthless to them.
Langton is leaning against the doorway, watching him. Topher, as always, is by the computers. His hair is sticking out in all directions, reminding him of a bird’s nest. There’s another man, someone he doesn’t recognize, standing beside Langton.
“Mr. Dominic, I’m happy that you can join us.” Langton says. He never expected the man to have a sick sense of humor.
“I was free. And I didn’t have anything better to do.” He sardonically replies, “What do you want, Langton?”
It takes him a few seconds to realize that there’s someone missing in the room. He looks around, “Where’s DeWitt?” he asks.
“Uh, she’s not… she’s not here.” Topher answers.
“She got tired of being present during my torture sessions?”
He notices the three men look at each other. He takes a look around, noticing a lot of changes in the room, “How long have I been… out?” he inquires. He doesn’t even recognize the voice of the Active he’s in.
“A long time.” Langton answers.
“Where’s DeWitt?” he asks again, with more emphasis this time, pushing back the dread that’s starting to creep in. The other man hasn’t spoken a word.
“Deceased.”
He doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. He wrinkles his brows and frowns, “She’s what?”
Topher nervously runs his hand through his awfully messy hair, “Uh… she got shot.” Topher says, “She died when they uh, were getting the bullet out of her.”
He opens his mouth to say something but closes it again because he forgot about what he’s going to say. Fury starts to surge in him, and he doesn’t know why. He squeezes his eyes as the frown on his face deepens. He takes in a deep, ragged breath and exhales slowly.
“Why are you telling me this?” he asks, “And what do you want from me now?”
“I just thought you needed to know.”
Dominic opens his eyes and stares at Langton. He can see a few silver strands of hair on his head, but he isn’t sure if it’s just a trick of the light.
He wants to lift his hands and massage his head. Instead, he holds on to the arm of the chair and tightens his grip.
“You want to update me… my wedge.” He simply says.
No one replies to that. And he can’t help but feel even angrier.
“Are we done here?” he asks.
Topher looks at Langton and the older man nods. The programmer gives him a very uncomfortable smile and turns towards the computer.
The chair tilts downwards. And then a flash of light.
~*~*~
They sit in silence. Hoffman doesn’t make any move to leave, which makes Adelle think that there’s something more. Hoffman is waiting for the giant anvil she dropped to be cleared before dropping another one again.
Adelle stands up and walks back to her desk to drink her tea. Mr. Dominic has made himself scarce and is nowhere to be seen in the room. She suppresses a sigh of relief and sits on her chair. A massive headache seems to be manifesting itself and she leans back on her chair before closing her eyes.
There have been very little bright moments in work these past few months, but she isn’t complaining. The problems have been piling up and most of them are not going to be solved, not anytime soon, but at least she still gets bright moments. What will it feel like to not have any light moment, at all? She furrows her brows. She reckons it’s going to be just like the next few days.
“You have to watch your back. They think you’re a threat.”
The pitiful attempt of an American accent is now gone, replaced by Hoffman’s more natural English inflection with a hint of London. She opens her eyes and swivels her chair around to face her guest, “I beg your pardon?” she asks, leveling her posture.
“They - the Rossum executives - think you're a threat. They see you, this House, getting too… independent.” She replies, “They believe they don’t have your loyalty and your disregard of Harding’s orders to leave Senator Perrin alone is a testament to that. They will put you to your place and you won’t like what they’ll do to you.”
There’s concern in her tone and an earnest expression on her face. Hoffman might have the ability to convincingly lie through her teeth, but she has the ability to see through it. She’s not lying about this.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Harding wants to destroy you. I hate Harding. I don’t want him to get satisfaction out of bringing you down.” It isn’t a lie, but she knows it isn’t the motivation behind the warning. Adelle nods her head, choosing not to ask any more questions.
“Your concern is… heartwarming.” She finishes, “I’m sure I can manage.”
Hoffman stands up, “They’re going to replace you.” She says and walks towards her, “No matter what good you do in the next couple of weeks, it won’t matter. They will take you out of your position and they will keep you here. They will humiliate you, you know that. When that time comes, I suggest you cut your losses and leave. ”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“You care for these people that much?” She can sense the accusatory tone in her guest’s voice, “Too often, I’ve seen these kinds of things happen. Trust me, you won’t like it.”
Adelle lets her body sag against the leather chair. It’s still early in the morning and she’s already feeling tired, “No one can just leave this place.”
Hoffman crosses her arms in front of her, “I don’t believe that you believe that.” She says, “And I’m quite certain you’re very capable of disappearing without a trace.”
The younger woman stares at her. She lets silence blanket them.
Hoffman sighs and looks at her watch, “May you please call Mr. Langton so that I can speak with him?” she asks, “I’ll also need to talk to your chief programmer.” She puts her (fake) accent on.
Adelle straightens up and reaches for the phone on her desk, “Of course.”
~*~*~
“Mr. Dominic.”
She doesn’t bother using Langton to greet him and proceeds to stand in front of the chair, looking so stern and serious. He blinks, taking in her appearance. Christ, when did she cut her hair?
Dominic tries to move and but finds himself strapped down to the chair. He then looks at the other people around him. Langton seems to have acquired a nicer set of suit and Topher’s messy hair seems longer. There’s no sign of Dr. Saunders.
He feels like it’s only been a few minutes since they first brought him back. His last conversation with Adelle DeWitt still rings in his mind and it disturbs him how he can’t seem to remember feeling anything in between that time and now. How long has he been out?
He hides his unease, “What now?” he asks, letting annoyance spike in his tone. The pitch of his voice is higher and he looks at his hands. They’re small, and his fingers are long and thin, “I’m in a female Doll?” he asks and looks back at DeWitt. He recognizes the voice, “Sierra?”
DeWitt raises a brow and takes a glance at Topher, who took a couple of steps backwards when he started to talk.
“If you don’t want to get drugged, Mr. Dominic. I suggest you stay calm.” She says and puts her hands behind her back, “Daniel Perrin. What do you know about him?”
He scrutinizes her face, but she’s carefully keeping her expression blank, knowing very well that he’ll try to read her. There are dark circles under her eyes which she tried to cover with make-up. She looks awful.
“He’s a senator.”
“Whom you’ve been feeding information about the Dollhouse.”
“What?” he asks. He shakes his head, “Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know. Why would you?”
He lets out a mirthless chuckle, “I told you before. I’m telling you now. I was sent here to protect the technology. If Perrin has information about the Dollhouse from the NSA, it didn’t come from me.” He stresses. Daniel Perrin is a hack. If he wanted to send out information about the Dollhouse to a politician, he wouldn’t send it to him. But he doesn’t say that out loud.
Dominic sees DeWitt take a quick look at the empty space beside her, “How unfortunate, Mr. Dominic, that I don’t believe you.”
He feels the urge to repeat everything he said to her when they had the confrontation in her house. Just the way she’s looking at him makes him want to cut loose from the restraints and shake her shoulders and shout that not everything was a lie.
“My priorities have always been in line with yours.” He says, almost in defeat.
The stoic expression wavers, but only for a quick second. She turns around and addresses Langton, “Make him talk.” She says and proceeds to walk out of the room as Langton nods his head.
~*~*~
She doesn’t bother to turn on the lights when she’s drinking. She realized early on that the darkness is her only source of solace these past few months. And she likes it that way.
Adelle finishes her second glass of vodka, finding satisfaction in feeling the burn of the alcohol on her throat. She tightens her grip on the glass as she leans on her chair.
She doesn’t know what Hoffman wanted from Laurence Dominic. She controlled every aspect of the interrogation; Adelle watched their interaction from the monitor in her office, but Hoffman made sure that she wouldn’t be able to hear anything.
Hoffman managed to break him. She doesn’t have any doubts about that. Within a week, Hoffman made him think that everything is changing around him, that everyone was growing old - even his body - except for him, the mind.
They brought him back seven times in a span of four days. She thought that she’ll get used to seeing another body making his facial expressions, or another voice having the same modulation and attitude, but she didn’t. It was jarring for her. Maybe she got some satisfaction out of seeing him struggle against his restraints with the awareness that he was totally powerless in that situation. But she cannot erase from her mind the devastated and shocked look on his face when Langton told him that she was dead. She was taken aback with his reaction.
Adelle takes the bottle of vodka and pours another round of drink for herself.
“If they do replace you and you get subjected to endless humiliation, will you leave?”
She glances to her side and sees him leaning against the side of her desk. She looks away and takes a sip from the glass, “No.”
He doesn’t say anything in response. He then pushes himself away from her table and starts to walk around. She hears him walk towards the sofas and seat himself noisily.
“May I ask you about Hoffman?”
He’s been around her more often these days that she’s learned when to ignore him and when to humor him. She twists her leather chair to face him, “What about?” she asks.
“You seem very… familiar with her. And she seems to be very familiar with you.”
She takes another sip of the vodka. Light from neighboring buildings seep through the windows and she can somewhat make out his form in the shadows. This isn’t normal. She should be having this conversation with the real person.
As she contemplates whether to answer his question or not, someone knocks on the door. Adelle waits for it to open, but it doesn’t. Instead, there’s another series of knocks, which prompts her to call out to the person at the other side of the door to come inside.
The door opens and light slips inside the room.
“Adelle?”
She doesn’t bother to stand, “Ms. Hoffman.” She greets, “I thought you’ve left.” Hoffman has changed into something casual-a pair of washed-up jeans, sneakers and a hooded sweater.
The younger woman walks in and stops just a few steps away from where she is, “I wanted to say goodbye.” She says, doing away with the contrived American accent.
“Oh.” Adelle motions to her glass, “A drink before you leave, then.”
Hoffman shakes her head, “No, thank you. I’ll be driving to the airport.”
“How responsible of you.” She remarks and finishes off the rest of the liquid in her glass, “And how polite of you to say goodbye.”
“Well, I’ve always been the one to stick to the rules. My parents raised me to follow them and you never did help in dissuading the notion that they should be broken.” She replies, “And besides, I have to ask you a question.”
Adelle flicks a glance towards where her former head of security is sitting and looks back at Hoffman, “And that question is…?”
“Whether or not you want to see me again as a Rossum lackey.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Mr. Chrysler’s death left the North American branches without a special Rossum security officer. The rest of us will be shuffled to cover his area.” Hoffman says, with a tinge of annoyance.
“Sweetheart, it’s not like you have a choice on where they assign you, which means I don’t really have a choice about this matter.” Adelle brushes the strand of hair away from her face, “And I assure you, this House will not need your expertise after these incidents.”
Hoffman smiles, “I hope you're right. I already have enough problems with Shanghai.” She takes a look around the dark office and takes a deep breath, “Okay. Goodbye.” She says.
“Goodbye, Ms. Hoffman.”
She flashes a brief smile and before turning around to leave. Adelle watches as Hoffman lingers by the doorway and looks back, “Do you have someone to drive you home?” she asks, concerned at the thought of Adelle DeWitt driving back home under the influence of alcohol.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Adelle replies.
“All right.” She says, “Goodnight, then.” She says and without waiting for a reply, closes the doors.
“Goodnight.” Adelle murmurs.
~*~*~
The moment he sits upright, two men covers his head with a black bag and drags him out of the chair. The move was so sudden that he automatically fights back. . He can hear them saying something, but they’re all gibberish to him. He starts to kick and punch everywhere, hoping that he’ll get lucky and hit someone.
He feels something prick his arm.
The next thing he knows, he’s in one of the conference rooms in the upper floors, sitting on an aluminum chair behind a wide metal table. His wrists and ankles are bound to the chair, not that he’s surprised.
He looks around. He’s surprised at the minimal changes in the décor of the room.
He leans back on his chair. The metal is a bit cold, but he doesn’t mind. He’s somewhat grateful that he gets to be in a place other than Topher’s office. (It will always be Topher’s office for him).
There’s a woman standing across the room, leaning against the wall, partly obscured by the shadows.
The silence goes on for a few minutes.
“How are you feeling Mr. Dominic?” the woman asks, finally, and walks towards the table. She puts a slim folder in front of him before sitting down.
She’s wearing a plain green blouse and a pair of dark slacks. He feels like he’s seen her before from somewhere, but he can’t help but think that his mind is probably playing tricks on him.
“Tired.” He answers. He’s getting tired of this, being asked the same questions over and over.
“That’s strange.” The woman says, “You, or rather, the body you’re currently occupying is well-rested. How can you be tired?” She has a British accent but it’s not like DeWitt’s, he thinks. Her accent is milder.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t get your name.” he caustically replies, “Don’t worry. You might not be the one conducting this job the next time they pull me out.”
He sees her smile, seemingly amused with what he said. She lets the silence linger, “Hoffman.”
“Is that your first name or your last name?”
Hoffman purses her lips and doesn’t answer him. She then mimics the way he’s seated and stares at him.
Dark hair, narrow, brown eyes… not bad to look at, “What do you want?” he asks.
She leans forward and clasps her hands on top of the table. He can see freckles littered across her nose, “I tell you what.” She says. Dominic finds her intense gaze slightly unsettling, “If you cooperate - that is, if you give me truthful answers to my question - I’ll answer yours.”
If he’s surprised with the offer, he doesn’t show it. He keep his eyes on her, “And if I don’t cooperate?”
A smile, “Do you need an answer to that question?”
He considers what she’s offering. He sees no harm in it. The information he has is probably immaterial to them.
“Okay, I’ll bite.” He says after a few minutes, “What do you want to know?”
Hoffman opens the folder and slides it towards him. He takes a look and finds a picture of Adelle DeWitt looking back at him.
“Tell me everything you know about Adelle DeWitt. Her strengths, her weaknesses. Everything.”
~*~*~
Countless tales have been told about men falling asleep and upon waking, discover that years have passed and the world has changed without them.
This is not one of them.
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Adelle DeWitt, Laurence Dominic, Boyd Langton, Topher Brink
Pairing: DeWitt/Dominic. If you squint.
Disclaimer: Nope, don't own them. Never will.
Words: 6,715
Spoilers: Up to 2x06
Summary: Countless tales have been told about men falling asleep and upon waking, discover that years have passed and the world has changed without them. This might be one of them.
Notes: Set between 2x06 and 2x07. Also, sort of a sequel to If You Forget Me. A character from Though This Be The Last Pain She Makes Me Suffer also makes an appearance (it's okay if you don't read it, though). Thank you to sevendayloan for beta-reading :)
All mistakes are mine. Hope you enjoy. Thank you and have a nice day.
Countless tales have been told about men falling asleep and upon waking, discover that years have passed and the world has changed without them.
This might be one of them.
~*~*~
There’s a surge of intense, blue light and a silent hum resounds in his ears as the most recent bit of memory surfaces in his mind.
He opens his eyes and sees a fifty-something-year old man wearing horn-rimmed glasses, standing by the computers, looking bored. A young woman in a white lab coat, most probably the technician, is looking at him with great interest. He glances to the left and sees a man, also in a white lab coat, standing by a table with a tray of medical tools.
His knits his brows together and scrutinizes their faces. Anxiety grabs him by the throat when he realizes that he doesn’t know any of these people. Topher did say… he suddenly has a strong urge to throw up.
“Mr. Dominic?” the older man asks. He doesn’t respond.
The man grimaces, “Let’s not make this more difficult than it is.” He has a slight accent, from the Midwest, he thinks.
“Who are you?” he asks.
“No one.” The man answers, “But then again, it probably won’t matter. I might not be the one conducting this job the next time they pull you out.”
He can’t describe the fear that goes through him, the chill that’s prickling the skin of whomever he exists in at the moment. How long has it been since the last time he was brought back? Years? Decades? This wasn’t the same person who questioned him the last time.
“I’m William Mathers, the Head of Security.” He says, “Are you Laurence Dominic?”
His heart drums heavily against his chest. He knows exactly what this is all about. He just wants to buy himself a little time.
“What is this about?” he doesn’t have to look at his torso and his arms to know that he’s strapped down on the chair. He looks back at the man, who moved a little bit closer towards the chair.
“Standard procedure. We have to check the integrity of the full personalities in the archives. Protocol.” Mathers explains, “Are you Laurence Dominic?”
Anger surges painfully through him. He fights the restraints. He pulls his hands, his torso, from the chair, hoping that he can break free. But he gives up quickly. There isn’t any point in it.
Laurence closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to calm himself. They’re going to ask their questions, which they’ll expect him to answer, but he’ll not get any answers to the questions that he wants answered. They’ll thank him for his time and put him back into his shelf.
There isn’t any point in anything. There isn’t any point in anything at all.
“Yes, I am.”
Mathers scribbles something in his clipboard, “What was your former position in the Rossum Corporation?”
He stares at Mathers, trying to memorize his face. He looks at the technician, who seems to be in her late twenties. Her hair is up in a bun and is wearing a suit underneath the lab coat. Her attire seems to be a far cry from Topher’s.
“I just want to say goodbye… as normally as this situation can possibly allow for goodbyes.”
“Former Head of Security for the Dollhouse. Los Angeles.”
“And the head of the branch?”
His hands unconsciously curl into a fist. “Adelle DeWitt.”
He sees Mathers’ brows shoot up in surprise, an expression which swiftly disappears from his face.
“I see. And the year is…?”
His heart skips a beat. He swallows the ball of trepidation in his throat and clenches his jaw, “What year is it? For you? Today? Now?” he asks back.
Mathers sighs, “Mr. Dominic, you know that we are not at liberty to discuss such things with you. You only have to answer our questions. What year do you think it is?”
He’s jumping from one point of his life to another, without any memory of sleeping, of eating or of any mundane everyday thing in between. He’s not going to let himself feel resigned over this matter. He’s going to fight this.
Mathers stare bores through him.
There’s no use. He can’t fight this.
“2009.” He finally says.
Mathers proceeds to ask him more dull questions, like the name of the current President, and the most recent news he can remember. There are times when he was so close to lying through his teeth, but then remembers that the integrity of his wedge was being tested; if he says the wrong thing, they might attribute it to the wedge and he might be causing damage to his self.
“That’s it.” Mathers turns around and double checks his list, “Thank you for your time, Mr. Dominic.”
“Wait.” He says, loudly. Mathers looks at him, “How long are the gaps between this… personality check and the next?” he asks, although he doesn’t really want to hear the answer, “Months? Years?”
Mathers looks at the woman beside him then looks back at him, “It will depend on how many full personalities there are in the system, Mr. Dominic. With the current number, I’m going to say that it’ll be years for them to get back to you.” He says.
He presses his lips together and nods his head. Mathers signals to the woman and Dominic feels the chair tilting downwards.
A tear slides down his eye before the blue light flares up and his life flashes before his eyes.
~*~*~
“Miss DeWitt?”
She had barely just sat down on her chair and she hasn’t had the time to touch her morning tea when she hears the sound of her office door opening. Adelle bites back a sigh and turns her chair around to face Boyd Langton, who has entered the room.
“Mr. Langton.” She greets. He’s been the Head of Security for several months now, and she was certain that he had finally worked out on how to go about with her during the mornings. He goes in her office exactly thirty minutes after she arrives for the morning report, to make sure she’s settled behind her desk and had had her tea. His untimely appearance today makes her think he hadn’t really gotten used to that schedule.
Langton stops in the middle of the room, “I’m sorry to bother you ma’am, but Rossum’s Itinerant Security Officer arrived an hour ago and wants to talk to you as soon as you’ve arrived.”
She closes her eyes for a few seconds. Of course, she thinks with a tinge of exasperation. After the incidents with Senator Perrin, with Echo and with Madeleine, Rossum finally sends in a special representative to solve their problem-someone who searches for leaks and breaches, and take care of those people. Someone whose sole purpose is to make sure Houses are secure. Someone who isn’t particularly welcome in her House.
“Send Mr. Chrysler in.” she says in annoyance.
“Mr. Chrysler’s been dead for three weeks.” Both she and Langton look towards the doorway and a tall young woman strides in without any invitation, “I find it really astonishing that no one has informed this House of his death.”
Adelle hides her shock as she observes the woman in front of her. She’s several inches shorter than Langton, and wearing a very smart ladies’ suit which fits her small frame perfectly. Her dark brown hair is neatly pulled back and she has make-up on, which makes her appear older.
“Miss Hoffman.” She starts as she stands up, “What a pleasant surprise.”
A very, very brief smile flits on Hoffman’s face and she starts to look around her office. Langton doesn’t leave the office and watches their new guest like a hawk. He doesn’t seem to like her.
“Please have a seat.” She says as she steps down the platform. “Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Tea?”
Hoffman tears her eyes away from the painting on the far side of the wall, “Do you have apple juice?”
“Apple juice?” she repeats. The tone she uses almost had a scandalized tinge to it and she stops herself from asking if she was sure of her choice. She looks at Langton, who now has traces of bemusement on his face, “Mr. Langton, may you please ask Judith to…?” she trails off as he gives a slight nod and walks out of the room and closes the door behind him.
She glances back at her guest who has taken a seat on the sofa. She then turns around and pours herself a cup of tea.
At the corner of her eye, she sees a tall, blond, man in a dark suit standing in front of the flat screen monitor. His arms are folded across his chest and he seems to be observing her guest.
Adelle gently (and discreetly) massages the side of her head. Wonderful. Just wonderful.
“She’s dangerous, ma’am. I suggest that you be careful with what you say around her.”
With ire, she ignores him. She can’t control when he appears, he just does. And he seems to pop up during periods of stress, very much like this moment. Her imaginary Mr. Dominic must have thought that this is a nice time to keep her company.
He’s wearing that blue paisley tie of his and a lavender shirt. He has a frown on his face, as usual, and she can’t tell whether his concern is for professional reasons or personal (but then, he’s imaginary; thinking about its meaning is pointless).
“I take it your new Head of Security isn’t much for the visual cues.” Hoffman says as she leans on the couch and crosses her legs together. She drapes her right arm on the couch.
Adelle takes a gulpful of tea. She then takes a deep breath, letting the tea soothe her nerves before turning around once again and walking towards the leather chairs, “What can I do for you, Miss Hoffman?” she genially asks and takes the seat adjacent to her.
“I need to speak to Laurence Dominic.”
The mere mention of his name brings her imaginary friend to appear by the mini bar.
Adelle ignores him as she clenches her jaw and makes no attempt to reply. She takes similar position as her guest and studies her. The younger woman is of mixed ancestry, with narrow eyes and freckles on her nose, and in her mid-twenties, a few months younger than Topher.
“You might be thinking that I’m here to evaluate your security. After all, I am one of those special travelling security… people.” She says. Adelle notes how Hoffman carefully pronounces her R’s and her attempt to flatten her otherwise very rounded vowels,
“Let me see, two missing Actives, a client who disappeared under suspicious circumstances, a former Active who willingly went against the corporation under your watch, you violating a direct order from the higher-ups, a missing handler…” she trails off, “Did I miss anything?”
Imaginary Dominic starts to move away from his position, “She forgot about the serial killer nephew of a major shareholder dying in your custody, ma’am.” He politely says.
“Your attempt at an American accent is horrible.” Adelle says instead, ignoring both comments.
Hoffman scoffs, “It’s not supposed to be perfect. It’s just needed to make sure I maintain a semblance of distance from you.” She says, discordantly, and motions her hand around the office, “Your House is in disarray, Adelle. It’s the truth. I still answer to you, since you’re the Head of this House, but the people upstairs expect you to let me do my job.” She says, not dropping the accent she has (recently, Adelle thinks) acquired.
There’s a knock on the door, “Come in.” Adelle says. They hear the door open and Judith comes in, carrying a tray with two empty glasses and a pitcher of an amber-colored liquid on top of it. She nods at Adelle and Hoffman after setting the tray on the table and leaves quietly.
She leans forward and serves the apple juice to her guest.
Hoffman takes the glass and brings it to her lips. Adelle is aware of her guest’s watchful gaze as she takes a sip from her drink.
“Why do you need to speak with Mr. Dominic?”
“I need information from him.”
She narrows her eyes, “What kind of information?”
Hoffman leans back on the couch, “A lot of information.” She says, cryptically.
~*~*~
There’s a slight buzzing in his ears when he wakes up and the first thing he sees is Topher pacing around in front of him. His brows furrow and he looks around him. There isn’t anybody else inside the imprinting room.
“Hey. Dom. Hi.” There’s uncertainty in Topher’s tone, and he stops suddenly and stands in front of him, “Sorry ‘bout you being tied up. How ya feeling?”
Dominic feels his nostrils flare and he scowls at the programmer, “The last time you pulled me out, you told me DeWitt was dead. So what do you think?” he can feel something pound painfully in his chest, but he ignores it. That emotion probably isn’t appropriate now.
Topher avoids his gaze and massages the base of his neck. He notices that the programmer’s hair is slicked back, very much unlike the last time he was brought back and his clothes seem to be much more… formal.
He looks around again, “Why did you pull me out? Where’s Langton?”
There’s something wrong with the expression on Topher’s face. It’s not just different- there’s something entirely wrong about it.
The silence is uncomfortable. His skin bristles from the atmosphere and his muscles tense. Why is he looking at him like that? “Spit it out!”
“Boyd’s not here anymore.” Topher finally says, “Everybody’s… not here anymore.”
He stares at him, trying to figure out what he means, “What year is it?”
Topher shakes his head, “I can’t tell you. If I tell you, you’ll have a major freakout and they’ll just…” he trails off and shakes his head again, more vigorously this time. He lifts his hands and reaches out, but doesn’t touch him, “They changed management. They replaced almost everybody. I don’t know where the Boydman is. Ivy left. They…”
“Who’s ‘they’, Topher?”
“Them! The ones who put abject fear in my heart! The new guys! Those guys.” He covers his mouth with his right hand, “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore. Their protocols… I don’t want checking the integrity of full personalities- of people I know. It’s sick, man. It’s a form of torture and I can’t… I don’t want to do this to you. You’re an asshole , and you’re a spy, but you don’t deserve this.”
Dominic grits his teeth, trying to control the fear that’s starting to swell within him, “What are you trying to say, Topher?”
“I just want to say goodbye… as normally as this situation can possibly allow for goodbyes.” Topher replies, “The next time you get pulled out, I won’t be here anymore. And I know that because I’m leaving in a few days. And I’m saying goodbye to you because no one said goodbye to me, so I know how that feels.” He says, almost earnestly.
“Topher-”
“Its protocol, you know? They want the full personalities - those who were Attic-ized - to be checked every few months, wedge integrity blah blah blah.” He waves his hands around, “But I see it for what it is. It’s torture. And it doesn’t necessarily have an end goal. It’s just to torture you. Because you went against them.”
Dominic closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths to keep his heart from thundering. He tightly clenches his fist and feels his nails painfully digging into his hands, “So you’re going to leave.” He keeps his tone even, tries not to let a hint of anger escape him. He opens his eyes again and looks at the programmer, “What’s the real reason behind you pulling me out?”
A beat, “Your wedge needs to be evaluated.”
Dominic stares at him. Here he was, thinking that Topher might have grown a spine after all this… however long it took him. Topher shoves his hands inside his jacket and starts to rock on his heels as he looks at him forlornly.
He can’t help but think that there’s something awfully… wrong about all this, but he’s afraid. He’s goddamn afraid of what’s happening to him, how time just seems to zoom past him and leaving him behind.
“Dom?”
“What.”
“I’m sorry, man.”
~*~*~
Adelle considers the woman’s answer, “Getting Mr. Dominic isn’t difficult. What will be difficult is getting answers from him. He’s not exactly… loquacious.”
The younger woman breathes deeply and stands up from the couch. Hoffman starts to walk around the room, running her hand lightly on the wall, looking at the paintings.
“I met her last year, in Tucson.” Her imaginary friend says, following Hoffman around. He glances at her, “She’s not that memorable.”
She flashes a warning look at the man whom only she can see, and waits for Hoffman to say something.
“I have a method of making the most stubborn people talk.” Hoffman walks towards the windows, “Actually, Mr. Chrysler devised that method. I’m not exactly proud to say that I polished the technique.”
Hoffman looks out the window and flicks the blinds. She then turns towards Adelle and walks towards the sofas. She then sits down and takes her apple juice before continuing, “As you said, Mr. Dominic’s not going to talk. I know that. I, therefore, have to break him.”
“And how will you intend to do that?” she inquires, a bit curious. She sees her mental version of Laurence Dominic sitting beside the young woman, seemingly focused on everything that’s coming out of her lips.
“You remember that show, Quantum Leap?” She starts to explain, “Jumping in a body, only existing for one sole reason before jumping out again to another body. In a wedge, Mr. Dominic doesn’t have any concept of time. It’s just him jumping from one point to another… with nothing in between.”
“All right.” She draws her brows together, not exactly sure whether she understands what Hoffman is implying.
Hoffman stares at her for a few seconds, waiting for her to figure out what she’s trying to say. When Adelle doesn’t say anything she sighs, “I’m going to make him think that the years are going past him. I will make him witness a change in management. The first time he gets pulled out, he’ll recognize everyone in the room. The next time, you’ll be gone, replaced by another person, and so on, until he doesn’t recognize anybody anymore… do you get my drift?”
“Creepy.” Dominic says, a remark which she promptly ignores.
Adelle clasps her hands and puts them on top of her lap, “It’s very elaborate.” She’s slightly uncertain on what to feel about the younger woman’s method. It’s quite a creative technique of shattering the will of someone as stubborn as Mr. Dominic, but she’s not sure if she wants Mr. Dominic to be broken down. She doesn’t know the real reason why Rossum wants him interrogated.
”It’s very effective.”
“Also unnecessarily cruel.”
Confusion and surprise flickers across Hoffman’s face and she doesn’t make any attempt to mask the emotions. She looks at her in disbelief, “This is… interesting.” Hoffman starts and raises a brow, “This is the man who made a fool out of you. And from what I understand you never broke him. This is your chance. Don’t you want payback?”
“Sending someone to the Attic isn’t revenge enough for you?”
“Not for someone like you.” Adelle keeps her face impassive as Hoffman continues, “I know what you’re capable of, good and bad. And that knowledge more or less aligns with your reputation as head of the Los Angeles Branch of Rossum Corp. They say you rule with an iron fist-the fair, albeit manipulative and ruthless leader. Every person who has encountered the mighty Adelle DeWitt both admires her and fears her. I’ve heard rumors within the organization that they shouldn’t cross you, lest something horrible befalls on them.”
“You are greatly exaggerating.”
“Well, all right, Matthew Harding hates you.” She angles her head to the right, “But I’m thinking Nolan Kinnard begs to differ-wherever he is right now.”
DeWitt brushes the comment away and gives the younger woman a disapproving glance, “You’re in my House, Ms. Hoffman. You’ll do interrogations the way we do them. There is no need for the superfluous cruelty.”
“Unfortunately, I can interrogate Mr. Dominic the way I want to interrogate him. This is one of those very rare occasions where the Itinerant Security Officer overrules the Head of the House.”
Adelle’s frown deepens. Hoffman leans back on the couch and waits for a response from her.
Something soft brushes against her hand. Adelle lowers her head to obscure her sideways glance. Dominic is now sitting on the arm of the chair, with half of his body turned towards her.
“You tell yourself over and over I’m a hallucination; I’m not the same being you sent to the Attic. Don’t go soft-hearted on my account, ma’am. I’m not real, remember?” he says. Her spine tingles when she feels his warm breath by her ear.
She knows what he’s saying. That deep inside, she wants to use this technique against the real Laurence Dominic. She wants him to break. She wants someone to hurt him because she’s too much of a coward to do it herself.
“Well, if he cooperates the first time ‘round, then there’ll be no need for my method. But if he doesn’t, then breaking his resolve will be the most obvious step, wouldn’t it?” Hoffman, of what seems to be a sign of compromise, says when she doesn’t make a sound even after a few minutes.
“Do what you have to do.”
Hoffman gives her a long look before nodding, “I will need to talk to your Head of Security.”
“Mr. Langton is at your disposal.”
~*~*~
Tiny dark spots dance in his eyes and he blinks them away as he feels the back of the chair rising upwards.
He feels his heart starting to race. What is this, some sort of perverse torture of DeWitt’s, hoping that he’ll break down and spill out everything that he hasn’t told them?
If it was, he doesn’t see the point. By the time they break him, the information he possesses will probably be outdated. The business he’s involved in depends on new information. He’s worthless to them.
Langton is leaning against the doorway, watching him. Topher, as always, is by the computers. His hair is sticking out in all directions, reminding him of a bird’s nest. There’s another man, someone he doesn’t recognize, standing beside Langton.
“Mr. Dominic, I’m happy that you can join us.” Langton says. He never expected the man to have a sick sense of humor.
“I was free. And I didn’t have anything better to do.” He sardonically replies, “What do you want, Langton?”
It takes him a few seconds to realize that there’s someone missing in the room. He looks around, “Where’s DeWitt?” he asks.
“Uh, she’s not… she’s not here.” Topher answers.
“She got tired of being present during my torture sessions?”
He notices the three men look at each other. He takes a look around, noticing a lot of changes in the room, “How long have I been… out?” he inquires. He doesn’t even recognize the voice of the Active he’s in.
“A long time.” Langton answers.
“Where’s DeWitt?” he asks again, with more emphasis this time, pushing back the dread that’s starting to creep in. The other man hasn’t spoken a word.
“Deceased.”
He doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. He wrinkles his brows and frowns, “She’s what?”
Topher nervously runs his hand through his awfully messy hair, “Uh… she got shot.” Topher says, “She died when they uh, were getting the bullet out of her.”
He opens his mouth to say something but closes it again because he forgot about what he’s going to say. Fury starts to surge in him, and he doesn’t know why. He squeezes his eyes as the frown on his face deepens. He takes in a deep, ragged breath and exhales slowly.
“Why are you telling me this?” he asks, “And what do you want from me now?”
“I just thought you needed to know.”
Dominic opens his eyes and stares at Langton. He can see a few silver strands of hair on his head, but he isn’t sure if it’s just a trick of the light.
He wants to lift his hands and massage his head. Instead, he holds on to the arm of the chair and tightens his grip.
“You want to update me… my wedge.” He simply says.
No one replies to that. And he can’t help but feel even angrier.
“Are we done here?” he asks.
Topher looks at Langton and the older man nods. The programmer gives him a very uncomfortable smile and turns towards the computer.
The chair tilts downwards. And then a flash of light.
~*~*~
They sit in silence. Hoffman doesn’t make any move to leave, which makes Adelle think that there’s something more. Hoffman is waiting for the giant anvil she dropped to be cleared before dropping another one again.
Adelle stands up and walks back to her desk to drink her tea. Mr. Dominic has made himself scarce and is nowhere to be seen in the room. She suppresses a sigh of relief and sits on her chair. A massive headache seems to be manifesting itself and she leans back on her chair before closing her eyes.
There have been very little bright moments in work these past few months, but she isn’t complaining. The problems have been piling up and most of them are not going to be solved, not anytime soon, but at least she still gets bright moments. What will it feel like to not have any light moment, at all? She furrows her brows. She reckons it’s going to be just like the next few days.
“You have to watch your back. They think you’re a threat.”
The pitiful attempt of an American accent is now gone, replaced by Hoffman’s more natural English inflection with a hint of London. She opens her eyes and swivels her chair around to face her guest, “I beg your pardon?” she asks, leveling her posture.
“They - the Rossum executives - think you're a threat. They see you, this House, getting too… independent.” She replies, “They believe they don’t have your loyalty and your disregard of Harding’s orders to leave Senator Perrin alone is a testament to that. They will put you to your place and you won’t like what they’ll do to you.”
There’s concern in her tone and an earnest expression on her face. Hoffman might have the ability to convincingly lie through her teeth, but she has the ability to see through it. She’s not lying about this.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Harding wants to destroy you. I hate Harding. I don’t want him to get satisfaction out of bringing you down.” It isn’t a lie, but she knows it isn’t the motivation behind the warning. Adelle nods her head, choosing not to ask any more questions.
“Your concern is… heartwarming.” She finishes, “I’m sure I can manage.”
Hoffman stands up, “They’re going to replace you.” She says and walks towards her, “No matter what good you do in the next couple of weeks, it won’t matter. They will take you out of your position and they will keep you here. They will humiliate you, you know that. When that time comes, I suggest you cut your losses and leave. ”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“You care for these people that much?” She can sense the accusatory tone in her guest’s voice, “Too often, I’ve seen these kinds of things happen. Trust me, you won’t like it.”
Adelle lets her body sag against the leather chair. It’s still early in the morning and she’s already feeling tired, “No one can just leave this place.”
Hoffman crosses her arms in front of her, “I don’t believe that you believe that.” She says, “And I’m quite certain you’re very capable of disappearing without a trace.”
The younger woman stares at her. She lets silence blanket them.
Hoffman sighs and looks at her watch, “May you please call Mr. Langton so that I can speak with him?” she asks, “I’ll also need to talk to your chief programmer.” She puts her (fake) accent on.
Adelle straightens up and reaches for the phone on her desk, “Of course.”
~*~*~
“Mr. Dominic.”
She doesn’t bother using Langton to greet him and proceeds to stand in front of the chair, looking so stern and serious. He blinks, taking in her appearance. Christ, when did she cut her hair?
Dominic tries to move and but finds himself strapped down to the chair. He then looks at the other people around him. Langton seems to have acquired a nicer set of suit and Topher’s messy hair seems longer. There’s no sign of Dr. Saunders.
He feels like it’s only been a few minutes since they first brought him back. His last conversation with Adelle DeWitt still rings in his mind and it disturbs him how he can’t seem to remember feeling anything in between that time and now. How long has he been out?
He hides his unease, “What now?” he asks, letting annoyance spike in his tone. The pitch of his voice is higher and he looks at his hands. They’re small, and his fingers are long and thin, “I’m in a female Doll?” he asks and looks back at DeWitt. He recognizes the voice, “Sierra?”
DeWitt raises a brow and takes a glance at Topher, who took a couple of steps backwards when he started to talk.
“If you don’t want to get drugged, Mr. Dominic. I suggest you stay calm.” She says and puts her hands behind her back, “Daniel Perrin. What do you know about him?”
He scrutinizes her face, but she’s carefully keeping her expression blank, knowing very well that he’ll try to read her. There are dark circles under her eyes which she tried to cover with make-up. She looks awful.
“He’s a senator.”
“Whom you’ve been feeding information about the Dollhouse.”
“What?” he asks. He shakes his head, “Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know. Why would you?”
He lets out a mirthless chuckle, “I told you before. I’m telling you now. I was sent here to protect the technology. If Perrin has information about the Dollhouse from the NSA, it didn’t come from me.” He stresses. Daniel Perrin is a hack. If he wanted to send out information about the Dollhouse to a politician, he wouldn’t send it to him. But he doesn’t say that out loud.
Dominic sees DeWitt take a quick look at the empty space beside her, “How unfortunate, Mr. Dominic, that I don’t believe you.”
He feels the urge to repeat everything he said to her when they had the confrontation in her house. Just the way she’s looking at him makes him want to cut loose from the restraints and shake her shoulders and shout that not everything was a lie.
“My priorities have always been in line with yours.” He says, almost in defeat.
The stoic expression wavers, but only for a quick second. She turns around and addresses Langton, “Make him talk.” She says and proceeds to walk out of the room as Langton nods his head.
~*~*~
She doesn’t bother to turn on the lights when she’s drinking. She realized early on that the darkness is her only source of solace these past few months. And she likes it that way.
Adelle finishes her second glass of vodka, finding satisfaction in feeling the burn of the alcohol on her throat. She tightens her grip on the glass as she leans on her chair.
She doesn’t know what Hoffman wanted from Laurence Dominic. She controlled every aspect of the interrogation; Adelle watched their interaction from the monitor in her office, but Hoffman made sure that she wouldn’t be able to hear anything.
Hoffman managed to break him. She doesn’t have any doubts about that. Within a week, Hoffman made him think that everything is changing around him, that everyone was growing old - even his body - except for him, the mind.
They brought him back seven times in a span of four days. She thought that she’ll get used to seeing another body making his facial expressions, or another voice having the same modulation and attitude, but she didn’t. It was jarring for her. Maybe she got some satisfaction out of seeing him struggle against his restraints with the awareness that he was totally powerless in that situation. But she cannot erase from her mind the devastated and shocked look on his face when Langton told him that she was dead. She was taken aback with his reaction.
Adelle takes the bottle of vodka and pours another round of drink for herself.
“If they do replace you and you get subjected to endless humiliation, will you leave?”
She glances to her side and sees him leaning against the side of her desk. She looks away and takes a sip from the glass, “No.”
He doesn’t say anything in response. He then pushes himself away from her table and starts to walk around. She hears him walk towards the sofas and seat himself noisily.
“May I ask you about Hoffman?”
He’s been around her more often these days that she’s learned when to ignore him and when to humor him. She twists her leather chair to face him, “What about?” she asks.
“You seem very… familiar with her. And she seems to be very familiar with you.”
She takes another sip of the vodka. Light from neighboring buildings seep through the windows and she can somewhat make out his form in the shadows. This isn’t normal. She should be having this conversation with the real person.
As she contemplates whether to answer his question or not, someone knocks on the door. Adelle waits for it to open, but it doesn’t. Instead, there’s another series of knocks, which prompts her to call out to the person at the other side of the door to come inside.
The door opens and light slips inside the room.
“Adelle?”
She doesn’t bother to stand, “Ms. Hoffman.” She greets, “I thought you’ve left.” Hoffman has changed into something casual-a pair of washed-up jeans, sneakers and a hooded sweater.
The younger woman walks in and stops just a few steps away from where she is, “I wanted to say goodbye.” She says, doing away with the contrived American accent.
“Oh.” Adelle motions to her glass, “A drink before you leave, then.”
Hoffman shakes her head, “No, thank you. I’ll be driving to the airport.”
“How responsible of you.” She remarks and finishes off the rest of the liquid in her glass, “And how polite of you to say goodbye.”
“Well, I’ve always been the one to stick to the rules. My parents raised me to follow them and you never did help in dissuading the notion that they should be broken.” She replies, “And besides, I have to ask you a question.”
Adelle flicks a glance towards where her former head of security is sitting and looks back at Hoffman, “And that question is…?”
“Whether or not you want to see me again as a Rossum lackey.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Mr. Chrysler’s death left the North American branches without a special Rossum security officer. The rest of us will be shuffled to cover his area.” Hoffman says, with a tinge of annoyance.
“Sweetheart, it’s not like you have a choice on where they assign you, which means I don’t really have a choice about this matter.” Adelle brushes the strand of hair away from her face, “And I assure you, this House will not need your expertise after these incidents.”
Hoffman smiles, “I hope you're right. I already have enough problems with Shanghai.” She takes a look around the dark office and takes a deep breath, “Okay. Goodbye.” She says.
“Goodbye, Ms. Hoffman.”
She flashes a brief smile and before turning around to leave. Adelle watches as Hoffman lingers by the doorway and looks back, “Do you have someone to drive you home?” she asks, concerned at the thought of Adelle DeWitt driving back home under the influence of alcohol.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Adelle replies.
“All right.” She says, “Goodnight, then.” She says and without waiting for a reply, closes the doors.
“Goodnight.” Adelle murmurs.
~*~*~
The moment he sits upright, two men covers his head with a black bag and drags him out of the chair. The move was so sudden that he automatically fights back. . He can hear them saying something, but they’re all gibberish to him. He starts to kick and punch everywhere, hoping that he’ll get lucky and hit someone.
He feels something prick his arm.
The next thing he knows, he’s in one of the conference rooms in the upper floors, sitting on an aluminum chair behind a wide metal table. His wrists and ankles are bound to the chair, not that he’s surprised.
He looks around. He’s surprised at the minimal changes in the décor of the room.
He leans back on his chair. The metal is a bit cold, but he doesn’t mind. He’s somewhat grateful that he gets to be in a place other than Topher’s office. (It will always be Topher’s office for him).
There’s a woman standing across the room, leaning against the wall, partly obscured by the shadows.
The silence goes on for a few minutes.
“How are you feeling Mr. Dominic?” the woman asks, finally, and walks towards the table. She puts a slim folder in front of him before sitting down.
She’s wearing a plain green blouse and a pair of dark slacks. He feels like he’s seen her before from somewhere, but he can’t help but think that his mind is probably playing tricks on him.
“Tired.” He answers. He’s getting tired of this, being asked the same questions over and over.
“That’s strange.” The woman says, “You, or rather, the body you’re currently occupying is well-rested. How can you be tired?” She has a British accent but it’s not like DeWitt’s, he thinks. Her accent is milder.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t get your name.” he caustically replies, “Don’t worry. You might not be the one conducting this job the next time they pull me out.”
He sees her smile, seemingly amused with what he said. She lets the silence linger, “Hoffman.”
“Is that your first name or your last name?”
Hoffman purses her lips and doesn’t answer him. She then mimics the way he’s seated and stares at him.
Dark hair, narrow, brown eyes… not bad to look at, “What do you want?” he asks.
She leans forward and clasps her hands on top of the table. He can see freckles littered across her nose, “I tell you what.” She says. Dominic finds her intense gaze slightly unsettling, “If you cooperate - that is, if you give me truthful answers to my question - I’ll answer yours.”
If he’s surprised with the offer, he doesn’t show it. He keep his eyes on her, “And if I don’t cooperate?”
A smile, “Do you need an answer to that question?”
He considers what she’s offering. He sees no harm in it. The information he has is probably immaterial to them.
“Okay, I’ll bite.” He says after a few minutes, “What do you want to know?”
Hoffman opens the folder and slides it towards him. He takes a look and finds a picture of Adelle DeWitt looking back at him.
“Tell me everything you know about Adelle DeWitt. Her strengths, her weaknesses. Everything.”
~*~*~
Countless tales have been told about men falling asleep and upon waking, discover that years have passed and the world has changed without them.
This is not one of them.