Dollhouse fic - And no one knew where, or how my pain throbbed; PG-13
Title: And no one knew where, or how my pain throbbed
Rating PG-13 for language
Characters: Adelle DeWitt, imaginary!Dominic, with appearances by Boyd, Topher and Echo
Disclaimer: Nope, I do not own Dollhouse. And I never will.
Words: 5,070
Spoilers: Up to 2x11
Summary: She has always considered her imaginary Laurence Dominic as just that-imaginary. He (or rather, it) was a figment of her stressed and overworked mind, and though she found solace in its exquisitely-dressed presence, she always knew that one day, its appearances would cease.
Notes: Yes, I love my Neruda, so all my titles henceforth are going to be cheesy and weird (or not, lol). Aside from the episodic elements, there’s also some bits strewn in from Evaluation Day. Then it goes kinda AU, in the last part. This one might probably contain a lot of self-loathing, but your mileage might vary. And then I tried writing Topher. I don’t think I succeeded in that part. But despite all that, I hope you enjoy.
All mistakes are mine.
She has always considered her imaginary Laurence Dominic as just that-imaginary. He (or rather, it) was a figment of her stressed and overworked mind, and though she found solace in its exquisitely-dressed presence, she always knew that one day, its appearances would cease.
She never expected that it would abandon her in the moment she needed him (it) the most.
~*~
Mr. Langton is gracious enough to let her stay his office since her new position meant that there is no need for her to have an office. As she stands by the door and looks around, she refuses to acknowledge the humiliation that has painfully flared within her.
She walks towards the inner part of the room. There’s a desk in one corner, with a table lamp and a computer occupying half of it. She puts a hand on the chair in front of the table- a chair that she has to share with everybody else in this room, no doubt.
A humorless smile plays on her lips. How far she had fallen, she thinks. She doesn’t even have a chair to call her own.
“This is the most boring place in this entire facility, if you want my opinion.”
She turns her head and finds him lounged on Mr. Langton’s chair. He has his feet up on top of the table and he has a smirk on his face.
“I suppose I should take your word for it.” She says, almost with amusement. When she managed to become so blasé about this entire situation flees her, “You did stay in this office for three years.”
“They have a certain time where that part of this room…” He says, pointing to where she is, “... is empty. I call it the coffee lull. It’s every two hours.”
“I see.” She replies.
“Yeah. And if you want, I can bother you around those times.” He says, shrugging.
She flashes him a quizzical look.
“I know you don’t like being bothered when you’re working. Before, I could pop in unannounced anytime because you’re in the privacy of your office.” He leans back on his chair, “Now, it’s different. I just can’t start talking to you. Because you’re the only one who can see me.”
The corner of her lips tug upwards, “You’re worried everyone around me will think they’re going mad because they can’t see you?”
He grins at her, “Exactly.”
An amused sound escapes her throat. Laurence Dominic’s presence, imaginary or not, makes all the shame and disgrace she’s feeling somewhat endurable.
“Your terms are agreeable.” She says and nods her head, “And how long do these coffee lulls last?”
His brows furrow, “Five, ten minutes tops.”
The door to the room suddenly opens, which startles her (people always knocked before entering her office) She stands in attention and waits to see who had just arrived.
“Ms. DeWitt.” Mr. Langton greets.
“Good morning, Mr. Langton.” She says and flashes him one of her very polished smiles.
“Good morning.” He says, almost hesitantly, as he glances around, “I thought I heard you talking to someone.”
She easily puts on a mask of puzzlement and takes a quick look at Mr. Langton’s chair.
Mr. Dominic’s gone.
“You must have been mistaken, Mr. Langton. I’m the only person here.”
~*~
She stands in the middle of the room. The dread that encapsulates her, the guilt and the fury that she’s been pushing back ever since she spoke to Topher and to Echo, they’re all threatening to spill out.
She’s the villain in the story now, even to herself. Before this whole debacle, she always managed to convince herself that she’s doing something good. But now, after what she did to get her House back, she knows that if the world ends on Friday, it will be her fault.
She crosses the room and heads towards the liquor cabinet. She needs something to drink. She needs to wash this all away, to keep all these emotions from overwhelming her.
She takes one of the bottles, which she assumes contain whiskey, pours it in a glass until it almost overflows to the brim and brings the glass to her lips.
“I trusted you.”
She drinks, but almost chokes on the liquid when she realizes too late that what she’s drinking isn’t whiskey.
A series of back-wracking coughs ensue and tears burn her eyes as she tries to expel the unwanted liquid from her throat. She takes a seat on the leather couch when her knees start to buckle.
Her predecessor kept apple juice in the liquor cabinet. A bitter laugh escapes her. Her predecessor kept the drinks for the likes of Topher with the whiskey and the scotch. She never did that.
Her bitter amusement quickly turns into stifled sobs, as she suddenly gets reminded of how the apple juice found its way to the liquor cabinet in the first place.
She squeezes her eyes shut - to keep the tears from flowing - and takes a deep breath. The smell of her office is making her head heavy and her stomach churn. She loathes the filthy smell of tobacco and she despises the way it clings to the walls, the way it clings to her, tainting her even more.
She isn’t the same person she was before all of this. And this isn’t her space anymore.
Adelle rises from the sofa and walks back to the mini-bar.
“You are the coldest bitch on this planet.”
She takes the bottle of vodka and mixes it with the apple juice.
~*~
“Hello, Ivy.” She greets as she steps inside the imprinting room. As much as possible, she gives the engagement designs to Ivy so that she can avoid Topher and his extra-long conversations altogether.
Ivy gives her a small smile and takes the designs from her, “Thanks.” She says.
“Is she here?” she hears Topher excitedly ask from the other room. A few seconds later, Topher appears in the middle of the doorway, his hair sticking out in all directions. A big, enthusiastic grin appears on his face and he spreads out his arms in welcome, “There you are!”
Topher crosses the room in two strides and takes her hand, “I’ve just created the most awesome and groundbreaking piece of tech for today!” he says, pulling her towards his office the same way as a child would pull on a parent’s hand to show him or her a discovery of sorts.
He stands in front of his computers, “I have found a way for this,” he starts, making circular motions towards his monitors, “all of this, to be portable.” He puts up his cell phone, “Here, actually.”
Her brows furrow slightly, “You’ve managed to put all the information you have in your computer in your phone?” she asks, a bit unimpressed.
“No.” Topher replies, and then wrinkles his nose, “Well, yeah. Kinda.” He adds waving his hands outwards, “What I meant was that all of what you’re seeing in these big monitors right now? The Actives’ heart rates, their blood pressure, GPS, etcetera? I can download all them, here, in this tiny, itty-bitty phone.”
Adelle nods her head, “I see.”
Topher continues to talk, animatedly, explaining how he managed to figure out what to do from his conversation with Harding. She politely smiles and nods her head every few seconds, not really having the patience to try to understand more than half whatever he’s saying, and not really caring about what Harding thinks about lobsters from Maine.
“He’s preening.” Mr. Dominic says, appearing by the doorway to the imprinting room, “Waiting for you to pat him on the head and tell him that he did such a great job.”
“-and if you think about it, there wouldn’t be any need for the big black scary vans… although sometimes, it would help if it’s there, especially when you need to act all thug-ish and man-imposing, but for some engagements, you won’t need it…”
“He got promoted because of that thing.” Mr. Dominic says and walks towards Topher. He stops just a few inches behind the younger man, “Which means he’s telling you this story so that you’ll congratulate him.”
She focuses her eyes on Topher.
“-and in that way, this neat invention gets to save the environment too.” Topher chuckles, “I’m saving the environment using brain tech.”
“That’s lovely, Topher.” She says and smiles at him, “Congratulations on your promotion.”
Topher stares at her, “I haven’t gotten to that part yet.” He says. He tilts his head slightly to the side and his eyebrows knit together as he looks at her curiously, “The only person I’ve told is Ivy since Boyd-man’s late and all. How did you…?” he trails off.
Mr. Dominic smirks at Topher’s reaction, “Tell him you’re psychic.”
She rolls her eyes in exasperation; “Whatever happened to coffee lull?” she murmurs under her breath and shakes her head.
“Wait, what?”
She tightly smiles at the younger man, “Fantastic work, Topher. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.” She says and turns to leave.
“No, wait.” Topher clumsily overtakes her and blocks her way, “Coffee lull?” he repeats, “You said coffee lull. I heard you say coffee lull.” He says.
She doesn’t say anything and flashes him an inquiring look.
He puts his hands in between them, “Only Do- uh, a certain former head of security that-shall-not-be-named used that term. He used that time to walk around and scare everybody.” Topher says, “No one calls that, that. Only he called it that. Which means it’s a very archaic phrase. Here... for me.”
She puts a hand on her hip, “And your point is?”
Topher chuckles, uncomfortably, “Hmmm, I’ll get back to you on that one.” He awkwardly ushers her out of the office, “Uh, have fun with uh, whatever it is you do.” He says and gives her a huge (and partly fake) smile.
She’s barely a few feet away from the room when she hears Topher’s footsteps coming after her.
“You aren’t, by any chance, having visions of a very hot blonde chick in a red dress are you?” he asks, “No, wait, scratch that. Are you having visions of a blond man in a red suit?”
Adelle gapes at Topher. She darts a glance at Mr. Dominic, who shakes his head.
“Topher, isn’t it a bit too early for recreational drugs?”
“That’s a no, then?” She flicks a brow and he sighs in relief, “Good. Because people-visions of which are only seen by one or two people mean angels. And that’s bad-like, nuclear-apocalypse-end-of-the-world bad.” She then assumes that Topher realized what he had just said, because he starts to chuckle uncomfortably again.
Adelle doesn’t reply to him and turns around to go back to Mr. Langton’s office.
Mr. Dominic falls in step beside her, “So I’m end-of-the-world bad?”
“Don’t start, Mr. Dominic.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
~*~
“No wonder you despise that girl, Echo. She gets to be the virgin and the whore. And for both, she’s celebrated.”
It’s unfair, she thinks, that despite everything Echo is and what she’s done (to illustrate: a serial killer, a cat burglar, an assassin, Kiki-just to name a few), they consider her innocent. She is a virgin, a whore and everything in between and yet everybody perceives her in the same way.
She tries the same thing (well, not exactly), and everybody sees her in a different light. Her belief that the Dollhouse is doing something good is seen as naivety while her decision (and her means) to take back her House is seen as the vilest thing a human being can do.
The worst part about that is that she let it get to her. Now she hates herself as much as they hate her (even more).
Adelle nurses her drink, letting the bitter taste of the alcohol simmer in her tongue.
“If they do replace you and you get subjected to endless humiliation, will you leave?”
It had been so tempting to leave. Those three months… it had been so tempting to vanish without a trace and to never look back. But she stubbornly believed that everything was going to be all right, that she’d get through everything without a scratch, that she could live with the humiliation, the shame, the helplessness and the guilt (oh god, the guilt). She got through it, all right, but it left her the way she is right now.
And she absolutely abhors the woman she is right now.
No wonder he left. He’s probably the only person who can stand her (imaginary or not), and now he’s gone.
She polishes off the rest of the brandy. She probably should stop drinking, but she doesn’t know what can replace the mind-numbing capabilities of alcohol.
She reaches for the bottle and pours herself another round.
Maybe she should stop dwelling about this. She lived, didn’t she?
~*~
This is the third coffee lull for the day, the first one that she allows herself to have. She likes these quiet times the break gives her- the security office isn’t as quiet as she expected it to be and sometimes, Topher joins her for lunch, an entity whose presence is both dismaying and comforting. But his company is better than the others, she supposes. She doesn’t like the way the other employees look at her. She doesn’t need their pity nor does she like their looks of mockery.
She also has fairly ambivalent feelings about her new job. The House is getting more and more high-risk engagements-engagements that she would never allow because it would endanger the Actives’ lives.
She leans forward, resting her forearms on the metal railings of the balcony. There are five, six Actives below, doing yoga with Master Kip. There are three Actives by the sofa, reading a book, while a couple more mill about.
“There were times when I’d look at them and feel disgusted that there are people who’d want this.” His shoulders brush against hers as he stands beside her, “That there are people willing to sign away their lives so that they can be mindless zombies during most part of their days.”
She sighs, “They also want the easy money, Mr. Dominic.”
He scoffs, “Life isn’t supposed to be easy.” He says, “And we both know there is no such thing as consequence-less actions, no matter what you tell them.”
A small smile plays on her lips and takes a deep breath. He’s near enough that she can smell his cologne. She feels like part of the weight resting on her shoulders has been lifted.
“So.” He turns to look at her, “How you holding up? Your ego still intact?”
She looks at him, tilting her head to the side, “It’s been trampled a few times, but it’s still in one piece.”
“That’s good to hear.” He replies then jerks his head towards Topher’s office, “Topher’s staring.” He says, “Probably trying to catch you in the act of talking to yourself.”
She looks at the direction of the young man’s office and sees the programmer looking at her. When he sees her looking at him, he suddenly flutters around, making a poor attempt of hiding the fact that he’s watching her from the small space under his main working area.
She smiles and shakes her head, “I’m actually quite tempted to watch this television show Topher keeps on telling me about, the one with the robots that look human. Cylons, I think they’re called? Just so that I can understand most of what he tells me during lunchtime.”
Mr. Dominic scoffs once again, “Don’t bother. When he babbles about his new imprint-altering computer programs, you’ll never think of studying them to understand what the hell he’s talking about.”
“True.” She murmurs and looks to the open space below her.
She notices Harding walking across the yoga area. He’s walking with the new Itinerant Security Officer for the House, a very irate-looking Hoffman. Harding’s looking very haughty. Even if he’s so far away from her, she suddenly feels like she wants to smack the man’s face until it’s beyond recognizable.
“I want to violently wipe away that smug look from his face.” Mr. Dominic says, verbalizing what she’s secretly thinking.
She doesn’t say anything and quietly observes as Hoffman furiously shakes her head in disgust (and in resignation) before angrily marching away. Mr. Langton, who was trailing a few steps behind them, quietly takes the position Hoffman left and takes a walk around the House with Harding.
She keeps her eyes on younger woman (who seems to be too busy seething in rage) and watches as Hoffman almost collides with Victor on her way to the stairs. She watches as Hoffman freezes while the expression on her face swiftly changes from anger to utter shock.
“She looks like she’s seen a ghost.” Mr. Dominic comments.
Hoffman glances up to the walkway balcony. And their eyes lock.
At that moment, she knew exactly what the other woman’s thinking.
~*~
“I’ve fallen in love with another woman.”
The rejection would have been easier, she thinks bitterly, if the relationship this charade was based on ended the same way. It wouldn’t have been less painful, but at the very least, she would have known what that kind of pain feels like.
She didn’t want sex-well, okay, maybe she did want sex. But underneath all that, she also wanted to talk to someone, openly, without any fear of being judged. Letting out all the emotions and words, however, is much more difficult than, say, fucking.
She takes a drink and stares at the empty chair in front of her. She tried so hard to make him come back. She never realized how much of her sanity hinged on a chimerical representation of the man who betrayed her until he was gone. And she wants him back, desperately.
It’s humiliating how miserable she’s become, seeking comfort in a person that only she can see. And how depressing her life must be when the most real people she’s ever been with are either a program or a vision.
And what does it say about her then, that these… unreal people have also left her?
Her brows furrow. He was programmed to love her. He’s not supposed to leave her-not unless she tells him to (but then, that’s also the arrangement she had with chimerical Dominic… and where is he now? Gone)
But Roger is different.
A resolute expression appears on her face. She leaves her drink on the counter and takes her car keys from the table.
~*~
It’s exactly been twenty-four hours since that humiliating encounter with Harding in Topher’s office when she is faced with another blow.
A new client has beaten an Active to death.
India, Carla Jenkins, is a twenty-six-year old redhead with six months left in her contract. As she stoically looks at the young woman’s body in Dr. Saunders’ office, she gets reminded of what could have been if she was still in charge. Poor Carla Jenkins would still be alive today because she wouldn’t have accepted that client in the first place.
India’s handler approaches her as she walks out of the office, shaken and pale. He profusely apologizes to her, almost tearfully.
“It’s done, Mr. Barnes. It’s not as if apologizing to me will re-animate India and bring her back to the living.” She says, keeping her tone neutral.
She walks away and goes towards the elevators, pulling back her anger. When the elevator doors open, she steps inside and pushes the button for the upper floors.
As the elevator doors close, she feels Mr. Dominic stand by her side and she lets out a deep, ragged breath. She blinks back her tears.
“Crying won’t bring her back.”
“I promised we’ll take care of her. That she’ll be safe, here, with us. Aside from that incident with Alpha, no Active under my care has died from any engagements.”
“Well, you’re not in charge anymore.”
This elevator ride is excruciatingly slow.
“Ma’am, if I may, you can’t stay here anymore. You’ve managed to keep yourself intact for most of the time before, but this… this is different. You don’t have control and it’s going to kill you.” He says, gruffly and emphatically at the same time, “You have to leave. Disappear. It’s the best option for you now.”
“They need me here.” She says, taking all her self-control to not look at him.
“They’re going to destroy you, you know that?” he says, evoking an almost similar conversation she’s had with a different person.
She doesn’t say anything. He lets out a frustrated sigh.
“Fine, if you want to be stubborn, then go be stubborn. But I’m sorry, Adelle. If you’re going to destroy yourself, do it on your own. I’m not going to let myself be a witness to it.”
Her head snaps to her side and she looks at him incredulously.
“How dare you.” She says. He gives her an almost apologetic look, “You aren’t even real!” she hisses. She doesn’t know why she suddenly feels very angry… and scared.
“If I was real, I would have dragged you away from here after you’ve been demoted.” He replies, evenly, “I would have brought you to a place where no one, not even Rossum and the NSA, can find us. You’d be free to do whatever it is you really want to do.”
She clenches her fist to the side, “You’re with the NSA. A spy. And if you were indeed telling the truth about protecting the House and the technology, you’d never give up your position.”
He looks straight ahead and clasps his hands behind his back, “My loyalties were never with the House, Adelle.” He says, “It was always been with you.”
The elevator comes to a halt. The doors open.
She finds herself alone when she walks out of the elevator.
~*~
“We stay because we have nowhere else to go.”
She’s going to need an army if she wants to fight Rossum. A one-woman team isn’t exactly the type of force that wins wars.
“Have you lost your mind?” Mr. Langton asks, looking at her as if she’s grown two extra heads. “Rebelling against Rossum? Has the alcohol gotten to you? You're setting yourself up to lose, if you already didn’t know that.”
She steely gazes at him, trying to decide whether to try pushing his buttons or to try reason with him. Boyd Langton will be a very difficult man to convince, so she decides to use the first option.
“Echo needs our help, Mr. Langton.” She starts, calmly, using the same tone she reserves for potential clients. It’s quite obvious from the shift on his face that he knows she’s manipulating him. So she prods that button more, “Echo and I have a common enemy. If you don’t want to do it for me, then do it for her.”
Mr. Langton’s shoulders sag and she knows immediately that she’s reeled him in.
“What’s your plan, Ms. DeWitt?”
~*~
She’s almost finished with her salad when Topher joins her in the table, sitting across her.
“Your presentation was lovely, Topher.” She starts, earnestly, noticing that the younger man is a bit more jittery than usual. The portable wiping gun he made had its debut a few hours ago. Everybody, most especially Harding, was extremely pleased with the results.
Topher runs a hand through his messy hair and grins at her, throwing in a little hand gestures as well, “Well, some of that lovely I attribute to the almost non-existent mirror in the bathroom inside the former office of Dr. Saunders.”
She notices that the only thing Topher brought with him is a juice box, “You aren’t going to eat?” she asks.
“Nah.” He says, and waves his hand around, “The two bowlfuls of jujubes I ate to ease the Papilionoidea fluttering in my stomach are still here.” He pats his stomach to prove his point and grins again.
“I see.” She replies and listlessly finishes the rest of the leafy greens on her plate. Mr. Dominic hasn’t appeared to her at all these past few weeks. The work environment’s starting to get insufferable-everyone’s getting intolerable.
And then there’s silence… which stretches on for a few long minutes.
She looks up from the plate, “You’re awfully quiet.” She observes, “Is everything all right?”
“Yes.” he says but quickly amends it with a “No.” Topher then puts his hand in front of his mouth, “Not really.”
“What is it?” she asks concerned. He looks flummoxed- troubled, even.
“I have this device - a new one - and it’s brilltastic. It’s awesomely brilliant - no surprise in that, hello - but it kinda scares me that it came from my brain. In fact, I might be having some very serious ethical dilemmas with it. It’s not like a massive Helo moral quandary.” He says, prattling, “It goes more in the line of a Baltar-gate-ish kind of moral quandary.”
She narrows her eyes. Mr. Dominic isn’t here to coach her on these things. “Baltar’s the character with the imaginary woman companion?” she asks.
“Cylon girlfriend. She’s his imaginary cylon girlfriend. You shouldn’t forget the cylon part or the girlfriend part.” Topher corrects her, almost absent-mindedly. “Hey.” He says, suddenly, straightening up as his face brightens up like several thousand suns, “Go you! You know who Gaius Frakkin’ Baltar is!” he’s beaming at her like a very proud father of an Olympic winner, “You're earning your geek creds everyday. With me!”
Amusement unexpectedly courses through her at the sight of Topher’s child-like glee.
“I kept meaning to ask, did they ever break up? This Baltar character and his imaginary… cylon girlfriend?”
“Uh, not really. But there’s this one time she left him.” Topher shrugs, “You have any plans of watching it?”
“I don’t know.” She replies, “Did he get her back?”
“Well, I don’t want to be a major spoiler-er but yeah, he did.” he puts his hands up for emphasis, “He prayed.” He nods his head, “Then she went back to him.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” Topher looks at her, and taps his chin, “You know, you’re kinda like a mix of Admiral Cain, Six and Roslin with a dash of Colonel Tigh… minus the eyepatch… yeah.”
She can’t resist the urge to roll her eyes.
“I swear! Go watch. You’ll totally dig it.”
She takes a look at her watch and decides to go back to work. She starts to stand up, “Thank you for the company, Topher.”
“No problemo.”
~*~
“That woman’s going to drag us straight to hell.”
She quietly walks across Mr. Langton’s office, towards where Echo is standing. She’s watching a video of Caroline before she graduated from university.
“She looks so innocent in a way, doesn’t she? Unspoiled.”
Echo nods, “Yes,” she says, somewhat transfixed with the sight of her (who isn’t her) on the screen.
“She wasn’t, you know. Caroline Farrell left a quite a trail of unhappiness in her wake. And not a few bodies.”
“Are you saying she’s evil?”
She turns her head to look at the younger woman, “Worse. An idealist.” She’s always wondered how it is possible to have one woman with more than fifty different people in her brain be far more stable than a woman with just one (and her core personality to boot), “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it turned out her wedge got up and walked out of here on its own.”
“I was glad. When I heard it was missing.” Echo says. She sounds so much like a child right now.
“It’s only natural.”
“But I didn’t take it.” The younger woman says, almost stubbornly.
“I only considered it briefly.”
They stand in silence, watching the video, and continue to stand side by side when the video stops and the last frame stay frozen on the screen. She hasn’t asked about how she managed to get the information they needed or who she encountered in the Attic. And she doesn’t have any plans of asking.
“What now?” Echo asks, “What’s the plan?”
“Well, Mr. Langton’s taken care of the staff in the Attic, to make sure that your escape will appear as mere glitches in the system.” She says, “Topher’s thinking of re-assembling Caroline’s back-up wedge, but there’s no guarantee it will work.”
Echo looks at her, “I think we should wait.” She says, suddenly. “Marshal our forces-here in the real world and in the Attic. Gather strength.”
She waits for a beat, “I agree.” She knows that Echo isn’t ready to meet Caroline, no matter what she says, “We have to keep a veil of normalcy, as much as possible, as long as we can.”
“I can train Priya and Tony.” Echo suggests, “And I can train others.”
She thinks of a place where the former Actives can stay. They can stay in the Dollhouse, but there’s the fear of having a spy in their midst. “There’s an underground facility in the outskirts of LA, by the mountains. It’s a facility that this branch oversees. We can store everything we need there.”
Echo smiles, wryly, her head turning to look back to the screen, “Unless Harding pays a surprise visit.”
“He won’t.” she says, almost dismissive. Harding feels that he’s above such job. Even she doesn’t like going there.
“Is that all?” Echo asks.
“For now.” She answers.
Echo gives a slight nod of the head and makes a move to leave, “Oh, by the way.” Adelle looks towards the door, where the younger woman is, “He’s holding up- Dominic. Barely. But he’s still alive, still fighting. He could have left with us, but he chose to stay. He’s going to destroy the mainframe from the inside.”
She stares at her with an impassive expression on her face. She’s curious to know if he had asked about her. There’s this very faint desire to know that he did. But knowing Mr. Dominic, he wouldn’t have (but then, she never really did know Mr. Dominic).
She quashes the feeling with pride. “It’s good to hear he’s fighting for the cause.”
Echo’s gaze is piercing, “Yeah.” And without saying another word, she leaves the room.
When the door closes, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
After a few seconds, straightens up and strides out of the room.
Rating PG-13 for language
Characters: Adelle DeWitt, imaginary!Dominic, with appearances by Boyd, Topher and Echo
Disclaimer: Nope, I do not own Dollhouse. And I never will.
Words: 5,070
Spoilers: Up to 2x11
Summary: She has always considered her imaginary Laurence Dominic as just that-imaginary. He (or rather, it) was a figment of her stressed and overworked mind, and though she found solace in its exquisitely-dressed presence, she always knew that one day, its appearances would cease.
Notes: Yes, I love my Neruda, so all my titles henceforth are going to be cheesy and weird (or not, lol). Aside from the episodic elements, there’s also some bits strewn in from Evaluation Day. Then it goes kinda AU, in the last part. This one might probably contain a lot of self-loathing, but your mileage might vary. And then I tried writing Topher. I don’t think I succeeded in that part. But despite all that, I hope you enjoy.
All mistakes are mine.
She has always considered her imaginary Laurence Dominic as just that-imaginary. He (or rather, it) was a figment of her stressed and overworked mind, and though she found solace in its exquisitely-dressed presence, she always knew that one day, its appearances would cease.
She never expected that it would abandon her in the moment she needed him (it) the most.
~*~
Mr. Langton is gracious enough to let her stay his office since her new position meant that there is no need for her to have an office. As she stands by the door and looks around, she refuses to acknowledge the humiliation that has painfully flared within her.
She walks towards the inner part of the room. There’s a desk in one corner, with a table lamp and a computer occupying half of it. She puts a hand on the chair in front of the table- a chair that she has to share with everybody else in this room, no doubt.
A humorless smile plays on her lips. How far she had fallen, she thinks. She doesn’t even have a chair to call her own.
“This is the most boring place in this entire facility, if you want my opinion.”
She turns her head and finds him lounged on Mr. Langton’s chair. He has his feet up on top of the table and he has a smirk on his face.
“I suppose I should take your word for it.” She says, almost with amusement. When she managed to become so blasé about this entire situation flees her, “You did stay in this office for three years.”
“They have a certain time where that part of this room…” He says, pointing to where she is, “... is empty. I call it the coffee lull. It’s every two hours.”
“I see.” She replies.
“Yeah. And if you want, I can bother you around those times.” He says, shrugging.
She flashes him a quizzical look.
“I know you don’t like being bothered when you’re working. Before, I could pop in unannounced anytime because you’re in the privacy of your office.” He leans back on his chair, “Now, it’s different. I just can’t start talking to you. Because you’re the only one who can see me.”
The corner of her lips tug upwards, “You’re worried everyone around me will think they’re going mad because they can’t see you?”
He grins at her, “Exactly.”
An amused sound escapes her throat. Laurence Dominic’s presence, imaginary or not, makes all the shame and disgrace she’s feeling somewhat endurable.
“Your terms are agreeable.” She says and nods her head, “And how long do these coffee lulls last?”
His brows furrow, “Five, ten minutes tops.”
The door to the room suddenly opens, which startles her (people always knocked before entering her office) She stands in attention and waits to see who had just arrived.
“Ms. DeWitt.” Mr. Langton greets.
“Good morning, Mr. Langton.” She says and flashes him one of her very polished smiles.
“Good morning.” He says, almost hesitantly, as he glances around, “I thought I heard you talking to someone.”
She easily puts on a mask of puzzlement and takes a quick look at Mr. Langton’s chair.
Mr. Dominic’s gone.
“You must have been mistaken, Mr. Langton. I’m the only person here.”
~*~
She stands in the middle of the room. The dread that encapsulates her, the guilt and the fury that she’s been pushing back ever since she spoke to Topher and to Echo, they’re all threatening to spill out.
She’s the villain in the story now, even to herself. Before this whole debacle, she always managed to convince herself that she’s doing something good. But now, after what she did to get her House back, she knows that if the world ends on Friday, it will be her fault.
She crosses the room and heads towards the liquor cabinet. She needs something to drink. She needs to wash this all away, to keep all these emotions from overwhelming her.
She takes one of the bottles, which she assumes contain whiskey, pours it in a glass until it almost overflows to the brim and brings the glass to her lips.
“I trusted you.”
She drinks, but almost chokes on the liquid when she realizes too late that what she’s drinking isn’t whiskey.
A series of back-wracking coughs ensue and tears burn her eyes as she tries to expel the unwanted liquid from her throat. She takes a seat on the leather couch when her knees start to buckle.
Her predecessor kept apple juice in the liquor cabinet. A bitter laugh escapes her. Her predecessor kept the drinks for the likes of Topher with the whiskey and the scotch. She never did that.
Her bitter amusement quickly turns into stifled sobs, as she suddenly gets reminded of how the apple juice found its way to the liquor cabinet in the first place.
She squeezes her eyes shut - to keep the tears from flowing - and takes a deep breath. The smell of her office is making her head heavy and her stomach churn. She loathes the filthy smell of tobacco and she despises the way it clings to the walls, the way it clings to her, tainting her even more.
She isn’t the same person she was before all of this. And this isn’t her space anymore.
Adelle rises from the sofa and walks back to the mini-bar.
“You are the coldest bitch on this planet.”
She takes the bottle of vodka and mixes it with the apple juice.
~*~
“Hello, Ivy.” She greets as she steps inside the imprinting room. As much as possible, she gives the engagement designs to Ivy so that she can avoid Topher and his extra-long conversations altogether.
Ivy gives her a small smile and takes the designs from her, “Thanks.” She says.
“Is she here?” she hears Topher excitedly ask from the other room. A few seconds later, Topher appears in the middle of the doorway, his hair sticking out in all directions. A big, enthusiastic grin appears on his face and he spreads out his arms in welcome, “There you are!”
Topher crosses the room in two strides and takes her hand, “I’ve just created the most awesome and groundbreaking piece of tech for today!” he says, pulling her towards his office the same way as a child would pull on a parent’s hand to show him or her a discovery of sorts.
He stands in front of his computers, “I have found a way for this,” he starts, making circular motions towards his monitors, “all of this, to be portable.” He puts up his cell phone, “Here, actually.”
Her brows furrow slightly, “You’ve managed to put all the information you have in your computer in your phone?” she asks, a bit unimpressed.
“No.” Topher replies, and then wrinkles his nose, “Well, yeah. Kinda.” He adds waving his hands outwards, “What I meant was that all of what you’re seeing in these big monitors right now? The Actives’ heart rates, their blood pressure, GPS, etcetera? I can download all them, here, in this tiny, itty-bitty phone.”
Adelle nods her head, “I see.”
Topher continues to talk, animatedly, explaining how he managed to figure out what to do from his conversation with Harding. She politely smiles and nods her head every few seconds, not really having the patience to try to understand more than half whatever he’s saying, and not really caring about what Harding thinks about lobsters from Maine.
“He’s preening.” Mr. Dominic says, appearing by the doorway to the imprinting room, “Waiting for you to pat him on the head and tell him that he did such a great job.”
“-and if you think about it, there wouldn’t be any need for the big black scary vans… although sometimes, it would help if it’s there, especially when you need to act all thug-ish and man-imposing, but for some engagements, you won’t need it…”
“He got promoted because of that thing.” Mr. Dominic says and walks towards Topher. He stops just a few inches behind the younger man, “Which means he’s telling you this story so that you’ll congratulate him.”
She focuses her eyes on Topher.
“-and in that way, this neat invention gets to save the environment too.” Topher chuckles, “I’m saving the environment using brain tech.”
“That’s lovely, Topher.” She says and smiles at him, “Congratulations on your promotion.”
Topher stares at her, “I haven’t gotten to that part yet.” He says. He tilts his head slightly to the side and his eyebrows knit together as he looks at her curiously, “The only person I’ve told is Ivy since Boyd-man’s late and all. How did you…?” he trails off.
Mr. Dominic smirks at Topher’s reaction, “Tell him you’re psychic.”
She rolls her eyes in exasperation; “Whatever happened to coffee lull?” she murmurs under her breath and shakes her head.
“Wait, what?”
She tightly smiles at the younger man, “Fantastic work, Topher. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.” She says and turns to leave.
“No, wait.” Topher clumsily overtakes her and blocks her way, “Coffee lull?” he repeats, “You said coffee lull. I heard you say coffee lull.” He says.
She doesn’t say anything and flashes him an inquiring look.
He puts his hands in between them, “Only Do- uh, a certain former head of security that-shall-not-be-named used that term. He used that time to walk around and scare everybody.” Topher says, “No one calls that, that. Only he called it that. Which means it’s a very archaic phrase. Here... for me.”
She puts a hand on her hip, “And your point is?”
Topher chuckles, uncomfortably, “Hmmm, I’ll get back to you on that one.” He awkwardly ushers her out of the office, “Uh, have fun with uh, whatever it is you do.” He says and gives her a huge (and partly fake) smile.
She’s barely a few feet away from the room when she hears Topher’s footsteps coming after her.
“You aren’t, by any chance, having visions of a very hot blonde chick in a red dress are you?” he asks, “No, wait, scratch that. Are you having visions of a blond man in a red suit?”
Adelle gapes at Topher. She darts a glance at Mr. Dominic, who shakes his head.
“Topher, isn’t it a bit too early for recreational drugs?”
“That’s a no, then?” She flicks a brow and he sighs in relief, “Good. Because people-visions of which are only seen by one or two people mean angels. And that’s bad-like, nuclear-apocalypse-end-of-the-world bad.” She then assumes that Topher realized what he had just said, because he starts to chuckle uncomfortably again.
Adelle doesn’t reply to him and turns around to go back to Mr. Langton’s office.
Mr. Dominic falls in step beside her, “So I’m end-of-the-world bad?”
“Don’t start, Mr. Dominic.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
~*~
“No wonder you despise that girl, Echo. She gets to be the virgin and the whore. And for both, she’s celebrated.”
It’s unfair, she thinks, that despite everything Echo is and what she’s done (to illustrate: a serial killer, a cat burglar, an assassin, Kiki-just to name a few), they consider her innocent. She is a virgin, a whore and everything in between and yet everybody perceives her in the same way.
She tries the same thing (well, not exactly), and everybody sees her in a different light. Her belief that the Dollhouse is doing something good is seen as naivety while her decision (and her means) to take back her House is seen as the vilest thing a human being can do.
The worst part about that is that she let it get to her. Now she hates herself as much as they hate her (even more).
Adelle nurses her drink, letting the bitter taste of the alcohol simmer in her tongue.
“If they do replace you and you get subjected to endless humiliation, will you leave?”
It had been so tempting to leave. Those three months… it had been so tempting to vanish without a trace and to never look back. But she stubbornly believed that everything was going to be all right, that she’d get through everything without a scratch, that she could live with the humiliation, the shame, the helplessness and the guilt (oh god, the guilt). She got through it, all right, but it left her the way she is right now.
And she absolutely abhors the woman she is right now.
No wonder he left. He’s probably the only person who can stand her (imaginary or not), and now he’s gone.
She polishes off the rest of the brandy. She probably should stop drinking, but she doesn’t know what can replace the mind-numbing capabilities of alcohol.
She reaches for the bottle and pours herself another round.
Maybe she should stop dwelling about this. She lived, didn’t she?
~*~
This is the third coffee lull for the day, the first one that she allows herself to have. She likes these quiet times the break gives her- the security office isn’t as quiet as she expected it to be and sometimes, Topher joins her for lunch, an entity whose presence is both dismaying and comforting. But his company is better than the others, she supposes. She doesn’t like the way the other employees look at her. She doesn’t need their pity nor does she like their looks of mockery.
She also has fairly ambivalent feelings about her new job. The House is getting more and more high-risk engagements-engagements that she would never allow because it would endanger the Actives’ lives.
She leans forward, resting her forearms on the metal railings of the balcony. There are five, six Actives below, doing yoga with Master Kip. There are three Actives by the sofa, reading a book, while a couple more mill about.
“There were times when I’d look at them and feel disgusted that there are people who’d want this.” His shoulders brush against hers as he stands beside her, “That there are people willing to sign away their lives so that they can be mindless zombies during most part of their days.”
She sighs, “They also want the easy money, Mr. Dominic.”
He scoffs, “Life isn’t supposed to be easy.” He says, “And we both know there is no such thing as consequence-less actions, no matter what you tell them.”
A small smile plays on her lips and takes a deep breath. He’s near enough that she can smell his cologne. She feels like part of the weight resting on her shoulders has been lifted.
“So.” He turns to look at her, “How you holding up? Your ego still intact?”
She looks at him, tilting her head to the side, “It’s been trampled a few times, but it’s still in one piece.”
“That’s good to hear.” He replies then jerks his head towards Topher’s office, “Topher’s staring.” He says, “Probably trying to catch you in the act of talking to yourself.”
She looks at the direction of the young man’s office and sees the programmer looking at her. When he sees her looking at him, he suddenly flutters around, making a poor attempt of hiding the fact that he’s watching her from the small space under his main working area.
She smiles and shakes her head, “I’m actually quite tempted to watch this television show Topher keeps on telling me about, the one with the robots that look human. Cylons, I think they’re called? Just so that I can understand most of what he tells me during lunchtime.”
Mr. Dominic scoffs once again, “Don’t bother. When he babbles about his new imprint-altering computer programs, you’ll never think of studying them to understand what the hell he’s talking about.”
“True.” She murmurs and looks to the open space below her.
She notices Harding walking across the yoga area. He’s walking with the new Itinerant Security Officer for the House, a very irate-looking Hoffman. Harding’s looking very haughty. Even if he’s so far away from her, she suddenly feels like she wants to smack the man’s face until it’s beyond recognizable.
“I want to violently wipe away that smug look from his face.” Mr. Dominic says, verbalizing what she’s secretly thinking.
She doesn’t say anything and quietly observes as Hoffman furiously shakes her head in disgust (and in resignation) before angrily marching away. Mr. Langton, who was trailing a few steps behind them, quietly takes the position Hoffman left and takes a walk around the House with Harding.
She keeps her eyes on younger woman (who seems to be too busy seething in rage) and watches as Hoffman almost collides with Victor on her way to the stairs. She watches as Hoffman freezes while the expression on her face swiftly changes from anger to utter shock.
“She looks like she’s seen a ghost.” Mr. Dominic comments.
Hoffman glances up to the walkway balcony. And their eyes lock.
At that moment, she knew exactly what the other woman’s thinking.
~*~
“I’ve fallen in love with another woman.”
The rejection would have been easier, she thinks bitterly, if the relationship this charade was based on ended the same way. It wouldn’t have been less painful, but at the very least, she would have known what that kind of pain feels like.
She didn’t want sex-well, okay, maybe she did want sex. But underneath all that, she also wanted to talk to someone, openly, without any fear of being judged. Letting out all the emotions and words, however, is much more difficult than, say, fucking.
She takes a drink and stares at the empty chair in front of her. She tried so hard to make him come back. She never realized how much of her sanity hinged on a chimerical representation of the man who betrayed her until he was gone. And she wants him back, desperately.
It’s humiliating how miserable she’s become, seeking comfort in a person that only she can see. And how depressing her life must be when the most real people she’s ever been with are either a program or a vision.
And what does it say about her then, that these… unreal people have also left her?
Her brows furrow. He was programmed to love her. He’s not supposed to leave her-not unless she tells him to (but then, that’s also the arrangement she had with chimerical Dominic… and where is he now? Gone)
But Roger is different.
A resolute expression appears on her face. She leaves her drink on the counter and takes her car keys from the table.
~*~
It’s exactly been twenty-four hours since that humiliating encounter with Harding in Topher’s office when she is faced with another blow.
A new client has beaten an Active to death.
India, Carla Jenkins, is a twenty-six-year old redhead with six months left in her contract. As she stoically looks at the young woman’s body in Dr. Saunders’ office, she gets reminded of what could have been if she was still in charge. Poor Carla Jenkins would still be alive today because she wouldn’t have accepted that client in the first place.
India’s handler approaches her as she walks out of the office, shaken and pale. He profusely apologizes to her, almost tearfully.
“It’s done, Mr. Barnes. It’s not as if apologizing to me will re-animate India and bring her back to the living.” She says, keeping her tone neutral.
She walks away and goes towards the elevators, pulling back her anger. When the elevator doors open, she steps inside and pushes the button for the upper floors.
As the elevator doors close, she feels Mr. Dominic stand by her side and she lets out a deep, ragged breath. She blinks back her tears.
“Crying won’t bring her back.”
“I promised we’ll take care of her. That she’ll be safe, here, with us. Aside from that incident with Alpha, no Active under my care has died from any engagements.”
“Well, you’re not in charge anymore.”
This elevator ride is excruciatingly slow.
“Ma’am, if I may, you can’t stay here anymore. You’ve managed to keep yourself intact for most of the time before, but this… this is different. You don’t have control and it’s going to kill you.” He says, gruffly and emphatically at the same time, “You have to leave. Disappear. It’s the best option for you now.”
“They need me here.” She says, taking all her self-control to not look at him.
“They’re going to destroy you, you know that?” he says, evoking an almost similar conversation she’s had with a different person.
She doesn’t say anything. He lets out a frustrated sigh.
“Fine, if you want to be stubborn, then go be stubborn. But I’m sorry, Adelle. If you’re going to destroy yourself, do it on your own. I’m not going to let myself be a witness to it.”
Her head snaps to her side and she looks at him incredulously.
“How dare you.” She says. He gives her an almost apologetic look, “You aren’t even real!” she hisses. She doesn’t know why she suddenly feels very angry… and scared.
“If I was real, I would have dragged you away from here after you’ve been demoted.” He replies, evenly, “I would have brought you to a place where no one, not even Rossum and the NSA, can find us. You’d be free to do whatever it is you really want to do.”
She clenches her fist to the side, “You’re with the NSA. A spy. And if you were indeed telling the truth about protecting the House and the technology, you’d never give up your position.”
He looks straight ahead and clasps his hands behind his back, “My loyalties were never with the House, Adelle.” He says, “It was always been with you.”
The elevator comes to a halt. The doors open.
She finds herself alone when she walks out of the elevator.
~*~
“We stay because we have nowhere else to go.”
She’s going to need an army if she wants to fight Rossum. A one-woman team isn’t exactly the type of force that wins wars.
“Have you lost your mind?” Mr. Langton asks, looking at her as if she’s grown two extra heads. “Rebelling against Rossum? Has the alcohol gotten to you? You're setting yourself up to lose, if you already didn’t know that.”
She steely gazes at him, trying to decide whether to try pushing his buttons or to try reason with him. Boyd Langton will be a very difficult man to convince, so she decides to use the first option.
“Echo needs our help, Mr. Langton.” She starts, calmly, using the same tone she reserves for potential clients. It’s quite obvious from the shift on his face that he knows she’s manipulating him. So she prods that button more, “Echo and I have a common enemy. If you don’t want to do it for me, then do it for her.”
Mr. Langton’s shoulders sag and she knows immediately that she’s reeled him in.
“What’s your plan, Ms. DeWitt?”
~*~
She’s almost finished with her salad when Topher joins her in the table, sitting across her.
“Your presentation was lovely, Topher.” She starts, earnestly, noticing that the younger man is a bit more jittery than usual. The portable wiping gun he made had its debut a few hours ago. Everybody, most especially Harding, was extremely pleased with the results.
Topher runs a hand through his messy hair and grins at her, throwing in a little hand gestures as well, “Well, some of that lovely I attribute to the almost non-existent mirror in the bathroom inside the former office of Dr. Saunders.”
She notices that the only thing Topher brought with him is a juice box, “You aren’t going to eat?” she asks.
“Nah.” He says, and waves his hand around, “The two bowlfuls of jujubes I ate to ease the Papilionoidea fluttering in my stomach are still here.” He pats his stomach to prove his point and grins again.
“I see.” She replies and listlessly finishes the rest of the leafy greens on her plate. Mr. Dominic hasn’t appeared to her at all these past few weeks. The work environment’s starting to get insufferable-everyone’s getting intolerable.
And then there’s silence… which stretches on for a few long minutes.
She looks up from the plate, “You’re awfully quiet.” She observes, “Is everything all right?”
“Yes.” he says but quickly amends it with a “No.” Topher then puts his hand in front of his mouth, “Not really.”
“What is it?” she asks concerned. He looks flummoxed- troubled, even.
“I have this device - a new one - and it’s brilltastic. It’s awesomely brilliant - no surprise in that, hello - but it kinda scares me that it came from my brain. In fact, I might be having some very serious ethical dilemmas with it. It’s not like a massive Helo moral quandary.” He says, prattling, “It goes more in the line of a Baltar-gate-ish kind of moral quandary.”
She narrows her eyes. Mr. Dominic isn’t here to coach her on these things. “Baltar’s the character with the imaginary woman companion?” she asks.
“Cylon girlfriend. She’s his imaginary cylon girlfriend. You shouldn’t forget the cylon part or the girlfriend part.” Topher corrects her, almost absent-mindedly. “Hey.” He says, suddenly, straightening up as his face brightens up like several thousand suns, “Go you! You know who Gaius Frakkin’ Baltar is!” he’s beaming at her like a very proud father of an Olympic winner, “You're earning your geek creds everyday. With me!”
Amusement unexpectedly courses through her at the sight of Topher’s child-like glee.
“I kept meaning to ask, did they ever break up? This Baltar character and his imaginary… cylon girlfriend?”
“Uh, not really. But there’s this one time she left him.” Topher shrugs, “You have any plans of watching it?”
“I don’t know.” She replies, “Did he get her back?”
“Well, I don’t want to be a major spoiler-er but yeah, he did.” he puts his hands up for emphasis, “He prayed.” He nods his head, “Then she went back to him.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” Topher looks at her, and taps his chin, “You know, you’re kinda like a mix of Admiral Cain, Six and Roslin with a dash of Colonel Tigh… minus the eyepatch… yeah.”
She can’t resist the urge to roll her eyes.
“I swear! Go watch. You’ll totally dig it.”
She takes a look at her watch and decides to go back to work. She starts to stand up, “Thank you for the company, Topher.”
“No problemo.”
~*~
“That woman’s going to drag us straight to hell.”
She quietly walks across Mr. Langton’s office, towards where Echo is standing. She’s watching a video of Caroline before she graduated from university.
“She looks so innocent in a way, doesn’t she? Unspoiled.”
Echo nods, “Yes,” she says, somewhat transfixed with the sight of her (who isn’t her) on the screen.
“She wasn’t, you know. Caroline Farrell left a quite a trail of unhappiness in her wake. And not a few bodies.”
“Are you saying she’s evil?”
She turns her head to look at the younger woman, “Worse. An idealist.” She’s always wondered how it is possible to have one woman with more than fifty different people in her brain be far more stable than a woman with just one (and her core personality to boot), “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it turned out her wedge got up and walked out of here on its own.”
“I was glad. When I heard it was missing.” Echo says. She sounds so much like a child right now.
“It’s only natural.”
“But I didn’t take it.” The younger woman says, almost stubbornly.
“I only considered it briefly.”
They stand in silence, watching the video, and continue to stand side by side when the video stops and the last frame stay frozen on the screen. She hasn’t asked about how she managed to get the information they needed or who she encountered in the Attic. And she doesn’t have any plans of asking.
“What now?” Echo asks, “What’s the plan?”
“Well, Mr. Langton’s taken care of the staff in the Attic, to make sure that your escape will appear as mere glitches in the system.” She says, “Topher’s thinking of re-assembling Caroline’s back-up wedge, but there’s no guarantee it will work.”
Echo looks at her, “I think we should wait.” She says, suddenly. “Marshal our forces-here in the real world and in the Attic. Gather strength.”
She waits for a beat, “I agree.” She knows that Echo isn’t ready to meet Caroline, no matter what she says, “We have to keep a veil of normalcy, as much as possible, as long as we can.”
“I can train Priya and Tony.” Echo suggests, “And I can train others.”
She thinks of a place where the former Actives can stay. They can stay in the Dollhouse, but there’s the fear of having a spy in their midst. “There’s an underground facility in the outskirts of LA, by the mountains. It’s a facility that this branch oversees. We can store everything we need there.”
Echo smiles, wryly, her head turning to look back to the screen, “Unless Harding pays a surprise visit.”
“He won’t.” she says, almost dismissive. Harding feels that he’s above such job. Even she doesn’t like going there.
“Is that all?” Echo asks.
“For now.” She answers.
Echo gives a slight nod of the head and makes a move to leave, “Oh, by the way.” Adelle looks towards the door, where the younger woman is, “He’s holding up- Dominic. Barely. But he’s still alive, still fighting. He could have left with us, but he chose to stay. He’s going to destroy the mainframe from the inside.”
She stares at her with an impassive expression on her face. She’s curious to know if he had asked about her. There’s this very faint desire to know that he did. But knowing Mr. Dominic, he wouldn’t have (but then, she never really did know Mr. Dominic).
She quashes the feeling with pride. “It’s good to hear he’s fighting for the cause.”
Echo’s gaze is piercing, “Yeah.” And without saying another word, she leaves the room.
When the door closes, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
After a few seconds, straightens up and strides out of the room.