Rats in the Attic Chp 2/?
Fandom: Dollhouse
Summary: During Harding's reign at the LA Dollhouse, Adelle Dewitt gets sent to the Attic.
--
She was staring right at him but Dominic got the distinct impression he wasn't being seen. He was almost grateful, it likely meant she hadn't heard him speak her name. His eyes flickered down to catch sight of what had caused the crunching. Glass. A bottle had been smashed.
“Dewitt?” He snapped at her when all she continued to do was stare at him. Dominic suddenly found himself with a dilemma, a new one at any rate, as a thousand different ideas had coursed through his mind the moment he recognized her. One of which had been leave her, which was seconded by stab the bitch. Several other softer suggestions whispered in the back of his mind but he pushed them aside. There was one very important question to answer before he acted on any thought.
Was she real, or just another nightmare?
The change in her appearance to when he had last seen her was unsettling, but that was what the Attic did. Threw you off balance and then smothered you before you could fall.
He inched forward.
She pressed herself closer to the desk.
Dominic froze- was she afraid of him?
They stared at one another for several terse moments before Adelle whispered, “you aren't real.”
“No, you aren't,” he retorted.
The slightly foggy expression lifted from her face and a familiar wry smile settled itself on her lips. In a blink of an eye it seemed life had suddenly returned to her. “Well, now that that's settled,” she quipped, quickly rising to her feet.
Dominic took a step back as she moved, still undecided as to what to think of her.
Adelle crossed her arms and leaned back against the desk. The gesture was so familiar he had to resist the urge to snap to attention and ask if she needed anything else for the day.
“Just going to stand there?” she asked.
Dominic couldn't believe the most terrifying thing to her was a dark room and a few broken bottles. “This doesn't feel like a nightmare.” Did that make her his?
“Well, when it's all in your head...”
The chain on the door rattled as something thumped on it from outside.
--
Topher wrapped his hand around the stress ball and squeezed. It was from the 'Drawer Of Colorful Things That Make People In Suits Raise Their Eyebrows', the name was a work-in-progress. Just about everything around him was, but progress and work had halted.
He was pretty good at running around and making himself look busy (he'd done that through grad-school, yawn) so that was what he had put himself in the last few days. Not that too many people were paying close attention to him since... the thing.
Harding was running through clean-up, and it was a little unnerving how most of the staff just accepted his new body-suit.
Topher was alright with it, in a way- he'd been a different body before.. well, a copy had. What bothered him about it was the speedy delivery, that and other the... thing... had slowed down his interest in playing with his new expensive toys.
How long after Harding's original skin had been mur- decommissioned had his new one been delivered? Did the man always have multiple copies running around (wasn't that a scary thought) or had someone imprinted him the moment he heard of his death? And who the hell had imprinting tech so close to LA, which wasn't in the very lab he occupied, that a new body could be on the floor of the House before the first one's blood was dry?
Of course, that was just one new problem.
Topher squeezed the ball. (perhaps he would call it the 'Drawer Of Colorful Squishy Thinky Things')
Things that Dewitt (his knuckles turned white at how tightly he clutched the ball) had been a part of were getting quite a bit of scrutiny, and people in question were being pulled aside. Topher felt mildly insulted at how much he was being overlooked.
Then again, considering what he'd done it was unlikely Harding doubted his loyalty. His eyes drifted over his cluttered lab. Had he been bought over with trinkets?
His breath sounded ragged in his own ears and he ignored the warmth trailing down his cheeks. Topher Brink did not cry over his job.
(a bathtub full of blood- I just wanted to help- reassuring green eyes, It's alright sweetheart)
Ducking his head he dropped the stress ball and pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes.
He'd already been called on his sudden growth of conscience. It seemed reminders hurt like a bitch too.
--
With Dewitt looking irritatingly unfazed, Dominic turned his eyes on the door as it shook again.“I admit a certain curiosity as to what could possibly be in your nightmares, but I think finding out while in them isn't the best option. We need to get out of here.”
“We?” Adelle moved away from her desk, uncrossing her arms. “I am not convinced you aren't a part of all this- just another ghost come back to haunt me.”
“That goes for both of us,” he grumbled.
Laurence wondered if he should feel flattered that she associated him with her nightmares. Then he felt considerably angry at himself for the word flattered to have been the first one that came to mind. It should have been a vindictive glee that his fate had caused her such distress that she considered his appearance a haunting.
The joy wasn't forthcoming.
The silence that fell between them was punctuated by the rattling of door chains.
Eventually, she tilted her head to the side. “Casual wear to work, Mr. Dominic?”
He floundered at the remark. Was that what really what was going through her mind right now? (did that mean that was what was going through his mind right then?) “At least I'm not in my PJs.”
Adelle looked down at what she wore, as if noticing it for the first time. “Quite.”
An ominous groaning floated across the room from the barred entrance.
Dominic's eyes flickered to the door and then back to her at the sound. “Are we really going to stand here and talk about this now?”
“Whether or not we're real? I find it to be an interesting enough topic to spend a moment in contemplation.”
He gritted his teeth (she damn well knew he was referring to their ridiculous clothing tangent) and marched towards her, pulling his knife out and bringing it up to her. “I kill you, you die, this world collapses. What do you know, you're real.” Dominic wasn't sure if she hadn't backed up because she refused to show fear or because the desk was right behind her. Either way, she didn't resist when he grabbed her and put his knife to her throat.
--
Boyd rubbed at his eyes and forced himself to lean back on his couch rather than stoop forward, elbows on his knees. Things had been tense at work for months. Since Harding. Since he started work there it seemed. Yet the moment he could almost let himself get accustomed to it something happened.
Alpha.
Echo vanishing.
Harding.
And now.. Adelle in the Attic.
There was only so much that he could do in this situation, and he was unsure of how much of his hand he wanted to reveal. Also, Ballard had been hinting that something was growing wrong with Echo, and that just added more to his pile of worries.
A pair of hands settled on his shoulders and began to massage the tense muscles. “I know that look.”
Boyd closed his eyes and tried to let himself relax into the touch. “Oh yea?”
“It's the 'something's gone wrong' look, and it also means you're planning something to try and set it right. You think you've got a mission.” Keeping one hand on his shoulder, Claire moved around the edge of the couch until she was in front of him. “Don't you know not everything is your responsibility?”
This is. “I know.. but I can't help but feel-”
“Try,” she insisted, settling herself on his lap. Smiling, she began to trace the lines of his face. “You need to learn you can relax, not everything that's broken needs to be fixed by you. Well.. maybe I do.” Claire leaned forward and kissed him.
“You aren't broken,” he insisted around her lips, hands settling on her waist.
“Mm.” she rested her forehead against his. “Not anymore.”
Boyd allowed the silence to carry on for a moment before drawing a shaky breath and declaring, “we need to get Dewitt out of the Attic.”
--
Ignoring the threat at her throat, Adelle stared back up at him steadily, as without her high heels she was noticeably shorter than him. “I'm not liable to find out if you're real this way.”
Laurence tried not to take note of the sudden unevenness that accompanied the oddly familiar tones of an argument, they were normally eye-to-eye, or near enough. “Hey, if this whole scenario starts over again you'll know you're talking to your ghost.” And if it doesn't, I should be rid of mine..
Her hand didn't shake when she brought it up to his cheek. “I'd like to think my subconscious would properly dress and shave you.”
Laurence pulled back as if shocked, leaving the blade unsheathed but putting a respectable distance between them. Was that just some standard she placed his image in, or was this some buried hope his mind had about not being repeatedly abused in her fantasies? Could Adelle (were she real) be admitting that some part of her cared enough to be putting him together properly? He wasn't sure if her comment pushed her closer towards 'real' or 'hallucination' in his mind.
His focus was drawn away from her at the sound of the door beginning to give way.
“Will you tell me what it is?” he asked, watching splinters fly into the room as whatever lurked outside began to claw it's way in.
“Why don't you wait and find out?”
Laurence turned back towards her, the hand she had touched him with was still hovering uncertainly in the air.
“Don't think so, ma'am.” Shoving the knife back in it's sheath he went back to her and grasped her hand. “We're getting out of here.”
Then he pulled her into a new nightmare.
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Summary: During Harding's reign at the LA Dollhouse, Adelle Dewitt gets sent to the Attic.
--
She was staring right at him but Dominic got the distinct impression he wasn't being seen. He was almost grateful, it likely meant she hadn't heard him speak her name. His eyes flickered down to catch sight of what had caused the crunching. Glass. A bottle had been smashed.
“Dewitt?” He snapped at her when all she continued to do was stare at him. Dominic suddenly found himself with a dilemma, a new one at any rate, as a thousand different ideas had coursed through his mind the moment he recognized her. One of which had been leave her, which was seconded by stab the bitch. Several other softer suggestions whispered in the back of his mind but he pushed them aside. There was one very important question to answer before he acted on any thought.
Was she real, or just another nightmare?
The change in her appearance to when he had last seen her was unsettling, but that was what the Attic did. Threw you off balance and then smothered you before you could fall.
He inched forward.
She pressed herself closer to the desk.
Dominic froze- was she afraid of him?
They stared at one another for several terse moments before Adelle whispered, “you aren't real.”
“No, you aren't,” he retorted.
The slightly foggy expression lifted from her face and a familiar wry smile settled itself on her lips. In a blink of an eye it seemed life had suddenly returned to her. “Well, now that that's settled,” she quipped, quickly rising to her feet.
Dominic took a step back as she moved, still undecided as to what to think of her.
Adelle crossed her arms and leaned back against the desk. The gesture was so familiar he had to resist the urge to snap to attention and ask if she needed anything else for the day.
“Just going to stand there?” she asked.
Dominic couldn't believe the most terrifying thing to her was a dark room and a few broken bottles. “This doesn't feel like a nightmare.” Did that make her his?
“Well, when it's all in your head...”
The chain on the door rattled as something thumped on it from outside.
--
Topher wrapped his hand around the stress ball and squeezed. It was from the 'Drawer Of Colorful Things That Make People In Suits Raise Their Eyebrows', the name was a work-in-progress. Just about everything around him was, but progress and work had halted.
He was pretty good at running around and making himself look busy (he'd done that through grad-school, yawn) so that was what he had put himself in the last few days. Not that too many people were paying close attention to him since... the thing.
Harding was running through clean-up, and it was a little unnerving how most of the staff just accepted his new body-suit.
Topher was alright with it, in a way- he'd been a different body before.. well, a copy had. What bothered him about it was the speedy delivery, that and other the... thing... had slowed down his interest in playing with his new expensive toys.
How long after Harding's original skin had been mur- decommissioned had his new one been delivered? Did the man always have multiple copies running around (wasn't that a scary thought) or had someone imprinted him the moment he heard of his death? And who the hell had imprinting tech so close to LA, which wasn't in the very lab he occupied, that a new body could be on the floor of the House before the first one's blood was dry?
Of course, that was just one new problem.
Topher squeezed the ball. (perhaps he would call it the 'Drawer Of Colorful Squishy Thinky Things')
Things that Dewitt (his knuckles turned white at how tightly he clutched the ball) had been a part of were getting quite a bit of scrutiny, and people in question were being pulled aside. Topher felt mildly insulted at how much he was being overlooked.
Then again, considering what he'd done it was unlikely Harding doubted his loyalty. His eyes drifted over his cluttered lab. Had he been bought over with trinkets?
His breath sounded ragged in his own ears and he ignored the warmth trailing down his cheeks. Topher Brink did not cry over his job.
(a bathtub full of blood- I just wanted to help- reassuring green eyes, It's alright sweetheart)
Ducking his head he dropped the stress ball and pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes.
He'd already been called on his sudden growth of conscience. It seemed reminders hurt like a bitch too.
--
With Dewitt looking irritatingly unfazed, Dominic turned his eyes on the door as it shook again.“I admit a certain curiosity as to what could possibly be in your nightmares, but I think finding out while in them isn't the best option. We need to get out of here.”
“We?” Adelle moved away from her desk, uncrossing her arms. “I am not convinced you aren't a part of all this- just another ghost come back to haunt me.”
“That goes for both of us,” he grumbled.
Laurence wondered if he should feel flattered that she associated him with her nightmares. Then he felt considerably angry at himself for the word flattered to have been the first one that came to mind. It should have been a vindictive glee that his fate had caused her such distress that she considered his appearance a haunting.
The joy wasn't forthcoming.
The silence that fell between them was punctuated by the rattling of door chains.
Eventually, she tilted her head to the side. “Casual wear to work, Mr. Dominic?”
He floundered at the remark. Was that what really what was going through her mind right now? (did that mean that was what was going through his mind right then?) “At least I'm not in my PJs.”
Adelle looked down at what she wore, as if noticing it for the first time. “Quite.”
An ominous groaning floated across the room from the barred entrance.
Dominic's eyes flickered to the door and then back to her at the sound. “Are we really going to stand here and talk about this now?”
“Whether or not we're real? I find it to be an interesting enough topic to spend a moment in contemplation.”
He gritted his teeth (she damn well knew he was referring to their ridiculous clothing tangent) and marched towards her, pulling his knife out and bringing it up to her. “I kill you, you die, this world collapses. What do you know, you're real.” Dominic wasn't sure if she hadn't backed up because she refused to show fear or because the desk was right behind her. Either way, she didn't resist when he grabbed her and put his knife to her throat.
--
Boyd rubbed at his eyes and forced himself to lean back on his couch rather than stoop forward, elbows on his knees. Things had been tense at work for months. Since Harding. Since he started work there it seemed. Yet the moment he could almost let himself get accustomed to it something happened.
Alpha.
Echo vanishing.
Harding.
And now.. Adelle in the Attic.
There was only so much that he could do in this situation, and he was unsure of how much of his hand he wanted to reveal. Also, Ballard had been hinting that something was growing wrong with Echo, and that just added more to his pile of worries.
A pair of hands settled on his shoulders and began to massage the tense muscles. “I know that look.”
Boyd closed his eyes and tried to let himself relax into the touch. “Oh yea?”
“It's the 'something's gone wrong' look, and it also means you're planning something to try and set it right. You think you've got a mission.” Keeping one hand on his shoulder, Claire moved around the edge of the couch until she was in front of him. “Don't you know not everything is your responsibility?”
This is. “I know.. but I can't help but feel-”
“Try,” she insisted, settling herself on his lap. Smiling, she began to trace the lines of his face. “You need to learn you can relax, not everything that's broken needs to be fixed by you. Well.. maybe I do.” Claire leaned forward and kissed him.
“You aren't broken,” he insisted around her lips, hands settling on her waist.
“Mm.” she rested her forehead against his. “Not anymore.”
Boyd allowed the silence to carry on for a moment before drawing a shaky breath and declaring, “we need to get Dewitt out of the Attic.”
--
Ignoring the threat at her throat, Adelle stared back up at him steadily, as without her high heels she was noticeably shorter than him. “I'm not liable to find out if you're real this way.”
Laurence tried not to take note of the sudden unevenness that accompanied the oddly familiar tones of an argument, they were normally eye-to-eye, or near enough. “Hey, if this whole scenario starts over again you'll know you're talking to your ghost.” And if it doesn't, I should be rid of mine..
Her hand didn't shake when she brought it up to his cheek. “I'd like to think my subconscious would properly dress and shave you.”
Laurence pulled back as if shocked, leaving the blade unsheathed but putting a respectable distance between them. Was that just some standard she placed his image in, or was this some buried hope his mind had about not being repeatedly abused in her fantasies? Could Adelle (were she real) be admitting that some part of her cared enough to be putting him together properly? He wasn't sure if her comment pushed her closer towards 'real' or 'hallucination' in his mind.
His focus was drawn away from her at the sound of the door beginning to give way.
“Will you tell me what it is?” he asked, watching splinters fly into the room as whatever lurked outside began to claw it's way in.
“Why don't you wait and find out?”
Laurence turned back towards her, the hand she had touched him with was still hovering uncertainly in the air.
“Don't think so, ma'am.” Shoving the knife back in it's sheath he went back to her and grasped her hand. “We're getting out of here.”
Then he pulled her into a new nightmare.
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