Dollhouse fic - You Will Not Laugh At Survivorman; PG-13
Title: You Will Not Laugh At Survivorman
Rating PG-13 for sexytimes
Characters/Pairing: Adelle DeWitt, Laurence Dominic; DeWitt/Dominic (of course!)
Disclaimer: Nope, I do not own Dollhouse. And I never will.
Words: 6, 658
Spoilers: None; May be considered as a pre-1x09 fic or an AU fic wherein 1x09 never happened.
Summary: As the plane spirals out of control, the only thought running in Adelle DeWitt’s mind is that they were all going to die a fiery, horrible death.
Notes: Basically, I blame the Discovery channel’s program, “Survivorman” for giving me this idea. I vaguely remember reading a fic like this (I remember it now: it was from the CSI fandom) and aside from it having the usual-stuck-in-an-island-because-the-plane-crashed situation (with the added bonus of the survivors-sleeping-with-each-other-therefore-resolving-their-UST), it also had drug dealers and a murder (this was a CSI fic, after all). They caught the bad guys using spears and Grissom’s swollen ankle, before being rescued by Ecklie and his crew.
Anywho. Basically, there are some stuff that I learned from that certain episode. And then there are some that just... IDK.
Fluff. Maybe extreme fluff, maybe not. It depends on you. I apologize for all the mistakes; all mistakes are mine. Heh.
Enjoy :D
As the plane spirals out of control, the only thought running in Adelle DeWitt’s mind is that they are all going to die a fiery, horrible death.
~*~
They were on their way to Monte Carlo for Rossum’s bi-annual corporate function. She’d been reluctant to go (with Dominic even more so) since these events are nothing more but a place to show off and to kiss ass.
Then she remembered what had happened the last time she skipped a function of this magnitude and forced herself (and Dominic) to go. There was a part of her that kept on wishing for a disaster to befall on the hotel and on the organizer of the whole event.
Exploding planes and waking up bloodied, bruised and aching all over doesn’t seem to be a better alternative.
Their pilot and his co-pilot are dead. The two of them are the only survivors of this horrific accident and there doesn’t seem to be a living soul in this place who noticed a white mechanical bird dropping from the sky.
Judging from the time they left Los Angeles, they’ve probably crash-landed in an island in the middle of the Pacific.
She sits on a log, in daze, feeling helpless. There’s a long cut in her arm, and another by her ear. Her skirt has a large rip and her she can’t seem to find the other half of her high heels (not that it matters). Dominic had popped her left shoulder back to place and now it’s so sore she can’t even move it without feeling an intense amount of pain.
“What do you got?” he asks, a little gruffly, when he got to her side. They’re trying to salvage what they can from the wreck and her Head of Security had bravely gotten back inside the debris of what used to be a Rossum Corp. private jet.
“A tent.” She replies, vaguely remembering hearing the pilot saying he was going camping in Monaco (or was it France?). She brushes her hair away from her face, “someone’s luggage, oranges, the black box and the first-aid kit.”
She takes in her Head of Security’s appearance. He’s no better than her, with a still-open wound on his head and slashes on his suit. There are beads of sweat on his forehead and he looks harried, “How about you?”
“A few more bags.” He points to the two pieces of luggage on the ground, “water that can probably last us for a few days…I found some crackers, peanuts, a radio and a flashlight.” He says.
She takes a deep breath and nods. The gravity of their situation hasn’t fully punched her yet; after the confusion, her mind had jumped immediately to obtaining what they need to survive - food, water, shelter - and she still hasn’t realized the ramifications of a surviving a plane crash in a seemingly-deserted tropical island.
“We need to set up camp.” He says, “We have to be visible from above so that the rescuers can spot us.” he says. She nods her head again, in understanding.
“But we can’t bring all those luggage with us.” she says. She’s not going to be much help with carrying things right now.
“Then we get what we need.”
They rummage through the bags. She gets a few things from hers, and finds a pair of men’s slippers in another.
After a few minutes, he looks up to the sky. There isn’t a cloud in sight.
“We have to move. Weather in this part of the world’s unpredictable.”
They gather their supplies (with him carrying the larger bulk) and walk away from the wreckage.
~*~
He leads the way, and she trails a few steps behind him. She hasn’t gone camping since she was seven, and for good reason-her older cousins left her in the woods after telling her stories of mummified pygmies snatching campers from their tents and eating them.
She likes to think she’s outgrown that silly fear. But in case that there really is such a thing as cannibalistic pygmy mummies, she consoles herself with the thought that Dominic can take them all out.
The air is damp, heavy and the sun’s glare is burning. Sweat trickles down her back and down her forehead. The large, imposing trees provide shade, but it’s impossible to set up camp under them, as the grounds are either too rocky or too soft. There are also very large insects with vicious bites flying around.
Every once in a while, he glances at her, checking if she’s still okay. They don’t talk, preferring to reserve their energy for setting up camp. The screeches of the birds above punctuate their silence. She ignores the twinge in her shoulder, the sting on her arm and by her ear-she’ll stop when he stops and she’ll tend to her wounds when he tends to his wounds.
They find a river underneath a small, magnificent waterfall. They stop for a few minutes to clean their wounds and wash their faces. He also makes a marker for it, so that they can come back when they run low on water.
As they walk through the jungle, most of the trees they come across bear either bananas or coconuts.
Finally, they hear the sound of the ocean in the distance. A few more minutes of walking and they finally step out of the jungle and into a beach.
Where the solid, brown ground leaves off, the white sand starts. And where the white sand leaves off, the amazingly blue water starts. And it stretches out as far and as wide as her eyes can see, seemingly able to touch the sky.
He walks towards the right and stands under a tall tree. He rolls his shoe on the ground, “This is a good spot.” He says.
She doesn’t say anything and nods. She helps him clear the site of the large leaves and the little stones, and assists him with assembling the tent. She doesn’t mind that her shoulder hurts or that her hair is escaping from the pins that hold them away from her face. What matters to her right now is that they have shelter.
Several minutes later, the tent is up, and they’re on top of a log, sitting side by side, with still a fairly large gap between them.
“How long do you think before they find us?” she asks, finally. The weather isn’t at all like Los Angeles. It’s too hot, too sticky. The breeze doesn’t help at all, merely adding to the humidity, and making her feel as if the high temperature is enveloping her.
He looks at her. His hair is matted with sweat and his coat, which he was wearing when they were on the plane, is now tossed carelessly to the side.
“I don’t know.” He answers, “It depends-when they figured out we’re missing, where they think we were before the plane started malfunctioning… it can be days, weeks.” He shrugs and looks away, “And then there’s the worst case scenario.” He doesn’t say it aloud, but she knows what he means.
“Right.” She murmurs.
And then silence. They look straight ahead and watch the waves crash on the shore.
~*~
It rains the whole day the next day.
Thankfully, they kept their food and water with them inside the tent (together with the rest of the things they can’t afford to get wet). For breakfast, they shared an orange, and for lunch, a packet of biscuits.
She’s seated in one corner of the tent for several hours now, while he’s curled by her side, asleep. The rain is torrential, the winds are howling and the air swirling in the tent is heavy. The little opening they left on the entryway so that fresh air can come in is now blowing in cold wind.
She’s tired. She doesn’t know how is it that she’s tired, since she hasn’t done anything since the day started. But her muscles are screaming, her eyelids are getting heavier as the minutes pass but sleep doesn’t seem to come.
Dominic, on the other hand, is sleeping like a baby. It’s befuddling how some people can sleep just about anywhere.
A strong gust of wind rattles the thin walls of the canopy. The strength of the storm is starting to frighten her; she can’t remember being in the middle of this kind of weather.
She glances at her chief of security, who hasn’t as much as moved.
A deep sigh escapes her and she decides to lie down beside him. She takes the thin blanket that they salvaged from the wreck and covers both of them with it.
She closes her eyes and tries to sleep.
~*~
A weeks has passed since they’ve crashed-landed on the island and they somehow managed to work out a routine (because that’s who they are; an accident of this scale won’t diminish that)
On the days that it doesn’t rain - and it rains every other day - they’ll venture out to the jungle to gather food (mostly fruits), replenish their water supply, take a bath in the river (not at the same time, though) and wash their clothes. Then, before the sun sets, they make a little campfire and then sit in front of it to battle the cold-one thing she’s noticed about this island is that when the sun’s out, the heat is like from a thousand hundred suns, but when it sets or just hidden behind rain clouds, it’s really cold.
In some way, their schedule (if she can call it that) combined with her description of their temporary home makes her think of Adam and Eve in the ninth circle of hell.
She quietly observes Dominic as he fashions some wood into makeshift spears using his pen knife. He’s seated on the sand, barefoot, with his shirt is open and seems to be fully concentrated on his task.
It’s a bit disconcerting. She’s always seen him as a company man who wears nice, expensive suits but isn’t afraid in getting his hands (or his suit) dirty. The three years he had worked by her side, she feels like she knows him well enough that she can imagine him in different professions-a fireman, a policeman, an army man, a spy, a bounty hunter - that would go with his personality. But she had never imagined him as a survival expert. The thought never crossed her mind.
“I didn’t know you’re also a survival expert, Mr. Dominic.” She says, stretching her legs in front of her. She’s seated in front of the tent, on top of palm leaf and wearing her skirt and one of his shirts (it would seem that she hadn’t packed any clothes for events like this).
He stops what he’s doing and looks at her. A smile appears on his face, the first she has seen since they left Los Angeles, “I’m a bit flattered that you think I’m an expert at this, ma’am, but I have to confess that most of my knowledge comes from my time in the Eagle Scout and watching the Discovery channel.”
The extremely tousled hair, the week-old beard and the sunburn on his face should make him look awfully unkempt, but the grin on his face makes his disheveled appearance dashing. She can’t help but smile back at him.
They stare at each other for a while, smiling. He can be quite charming, she thinks, and she’s grateful that he’s here with her. She doesn’t really know what she would have done if he wasn’t here (she probably would still have a dislocated shoulder).
Then the realization hits her.
He’s alive.
He’s here, with her, in this apparently isolated island. He survived a plane crash - they survived a plane crash - with only minor cuts and bruises. And of all people to survive the crash with her, of all possible permutations and chances of survival, it’s him that survives with her. Thinking about it, there are so many complications that arise from this fact, and one of these is this- what they’re doing right now.
Her thoughts must have broadcasted itself on her face because he turns his attention back to what he was doing a while ago.
She can’t deny that there’s an attraction between them- a very strong one, if she may say so herself. Back in LA, they can cover it all up with their professionalism, with distance, with formalities. Right now, they’re trying to hang on to them, but she knows it’ll be useless.
There’s nothing to be professional about here. They try keeping distance, but they’ve encroached on one another’s personal space to keep warm at night. And the formalities aren’t even enforced-they’re merely automatic gestures.
They’re in a very vulnerable position, and acting on whatever impulses they have right now would be unwise. If-when they get back to LA, their imprudence might come back and haunt them.
She tears her eyes away from him and looks toward the ocean. The blue water is sparkling, looking very inviting for a swim. But the fact that she has to get through several feet of sand exposed to the very hot sun makes the idea unappealing.
“It will be hot out there.” She says, finally, after a long period of silence.
“I won’t be out there for long.”
She glances back at him, “Do you know how to fish?”
“Nope.” He looks up again, “But there’s nothing wrong with trying, right?”
“Nothing wrong about it at all.” She agrees.
He stands up, holding his makeshift spear. He hands her the knife before wearing his shoes and taking in a lungful of the salty air.
“Ma’am.” He says, straightening up before starting to walk towards the water.
“Good luck, Mr. Dominic.”
~*~
“If you were stuck in a deserted island, who would you want to be with and why?”
The sun has set an hour ago. The air is cool, the fire is crackling and they are eating their dinner, which consists of bananas, coconuts and a bottle of water (Dominic failed his quest to fish today).
She looks to her side, “You do realize the irony of your question?” she asks, the corner of her mouth twitching.
“Absolutely.” He says, looking back at her. He wipes his hands on his trousers, “And to follow up that question, what three things would you bring with you?”
She takes a drink of water, looking at him to determine if he’s serious about the getting an answer to the question. The expression on his face doesn’t say much.
“I’d want to be marooned with a modern day Robinson Crusoe.” She answers, deciding to humor him. They haven’t had a conversation like this. “And I’ll be bringing a large bucket, a knife and a book.”
“Robinson Crusoe?”
She shrugs her shoulder, “The man was a castaway for twenty-seven years. He built a house and farmed goats… if I’m going to be stranded in an isolated island, I’d want someone with me who knows how to survive in an island.”
“Why a large bucket?”
“To keep us from using our drinking water for hand-washing purposes.” She replies and smiles at him, almost pointedly.
He turns away from her slightly. She can see amusement spreading in his features.
“What about you, Mr. Dominic?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, “Who do you want to be stuck with in a deserted island?” He glances back at her and she quirks a brow, “What, did you think I wouldn’t throw your question back at you?”
A beat, “I want to be stuck with Gisele.” He says and looks down.
“The supermodel?”
“Yes.” he lifts his chin up, “I’ll bring with me a knife, a tent and a satellite phone.” And then he adds, deadpan, “So that I won’t be stuck with her for too long.”
A small laugh escapes her, which elicits a grin from him. Her chief of security’s display of humor surprises her.
“I didn’t know you're a funny man, Mr. Dominic.” She says as the cold breeze blew by.
He smirks, “I’m not, actually.”
She doesn’t often see his smile. And he never joked since awkwardness normally ensues when they try something even remotely to telling jokes. They’ve been stranded here for a week and he’s smiled more and talked more than he would in Los Angeles in a month.
Without thinking, she reaches out to him and touches his cheek, as if to capture what she’s seeing.
His posture visibly stiffens upon contact. She cringes, realizing what she’s done. Intrusion of personal space is only done when warmth is needed.
“I’m sorry.” She starts to pull her hand away, the short, rough bristles on his face grazing her fingertips, but he catches her wrist.
“No. It’s fine.” He says. He shifts his grasp on her, and holds her hand. He pulls her toward him, closing the space between them.
They exchange a look of understanding. They aren’t going to make this complicated.
She leans against him.
~*~
The jungle, as it turns out, is filled with a lot of surprises.
She runs as fast as her legs can go, her fingers tightening around the wood that she had picked up to defend herself (it’s not really helpful in that respect). Her heart pounded against her chest, as she keeps on running.
And behind her, an angry, shrieking wild boar is in hot pursuit.
She knew - from watching a few shows on the nature channel - that wild boars are known to run fast. She didn’t know they would be this fast.
She bursts out of the jungle, but she doesn’t stop. Her mind races on what to do. She can go straight into the water. The boar won’t be able to catch her… or maybe it can, but if she goes farther into the water, the boar might stop following her. Maybe.
She jumps into the ocean and wades across the salty water. She’s gasping for air-all that running had knocked the wind out of her. When the water is up to her waist, she stops and turns.
The animal is on the beach. Staring at her.
Oh, Christ. They’re going to have a staring contest under this terrible heat, aren’t they? (If this standoff doesn’t end soon, she’ll have wild boars on top of her list of fears).
She starts to silently curse her long, thick hair, for trapping all the heat of the sun. Maybe she can wade through the water and go towards the position of their camp. If the boar follows her by the shore, she can ask Dominic to shoot it. Or scare it away.
And then, out of nowhere, Dominic appears and shoots the boar. Twice.
The boar starts squealing. She turns away as the animal drops on the ground and begins writhing in pain.
“You okay?”
She doesn’t move. “Is it dead?” she asks.
He looks at the boar, “Almost.” He looks back at her, “Are you okay, ma’am?” he asks again.
“I’m fine.” She takes in a shaky breath and makes her way back to shore. Her knees almost buckle when she feels solid ground under her feet
He takes her arm and pulls her towards him, away from the almost dead animal. Her whole body’s shaking and she’s still hasn’t let go of the stick in her hand. The fazed look on her face prompts him to start kneading her shoulders
“What did you do to make a wild pig chase you?” he asks, prying her fingers off the long, thick branch. There are small cuts in her palm, but nothing too serious.
“I was out looking for an alternative source of food.” She breathes out, looking at the dead animal on the shore, “I stumbled across that ferocious creature and I thought that you could probably hunt it down since you still have your gun. And then it started chasing me.
He squats down on the sand and inspects the animal. Its hair is dark, long and coarse and it’s bleeding profusely from the stomach. She’s suddenly thankful that she wore a pair of lightweight pajama pants rather than her skirt. She might not have outrun the animal.
“It must have read your mind.” He remarks lightly and glances up at her, “We can have this for dinner.” he states.
She takes several deep breaths, “The idea of a new dinner course is a very welcoming thought.” She’s gotten sick and tired of bananas and coconuts.
He looks back at the pig. He doesn’t know how he’s going to accomplish separating the meat from the skin since the only knife he has in possession is a pen knife.
“Wild boar for dinner then.”
~*~
“How’s your shoulder ma’am?”
He’s trailing behind her, as they make their way towards the waterfall. He had marked the path clearly, so that it would be impossible for either of them get lost to and fro the river (except during nighttime). After the incident with the wild boar, they’ve decided that they’ll be accompanying each other every time they need to go deep in the jungle.
She turns her head to him, “Its better.” She says. There are times when it’ll twinge, but the pain’s bearable.
The rush of water gets louder. A few more steps and the grand waterfall comes to view.
The mere sight of it brings her relief. Her arms and neck are red from the sunburn, she has a few insect bites and the river is always cool, soothing her of the annoying prickles. And the location of the waterfall isn’t too hot either. The trees are all tall and their large leaves give a wide shade. If she had her way, she’ll stay in the water until they get rescued.
She goes towards the huge boulder by the side of the river and out of his sight before taking off her slippers, her camisole and her skirt (but keeping her underwear on). She goes in the water and swims towards the deeper end of the river, under the cascade of water.
She lets herself gets soaked, closing her eyes as she enjoys the coolness of the water.
“How’s the water?”
She opens her eyes and finds that he has discarded his shirt (the temperature is colder in here than in the beach) and is sitting on top of the large rock wearing only his trousers. He’s facing the other way.
“Why don’t you jump in and find out for yourself?” she answers, almost teasingly and swims away from the waterfall and into the shallower part of the river so that she can hear him better (and vice-versa)
This time, he turns around. Dominic gives her an inquiring glance, “Was that a dare, Ms. DeWitt?”
“Interpret it the way you want, Mr. Dominic.”
She watches him think about what she had just said. He raises a brow and she tilts her head to the side and throws him a challenging look.
The corner of his mouth quirks and he stands up to take off his trousers.
She’d seen him shirtless every time he goes out into the ocean to attempt fishing (he’s been unlucky so far). She hasn’t gotten tired of admiring his muscled torso from afar, but this is the first time she’s seen him stripped down and wearing only his underpants.
He dives into the river in his blue boxers.
“So, Mr. Dominic, how’s the water?” she asks lightheartedly when he surfaces.
“Cold,” He answers and then kicks his feet from underwater and floats on his back. She hears him sigh.
“This is a scandal, you know. The head of the LA House swimming in the river butt-naked with her chief of security.”
“We’re not butt-naked, Mr. Dominic.”
“Well, nearly butt-naked.”
A chuckle leaves her throat, “I doubt there’d be any talks about this when we get back.”
“Oh, believe me, there will be. The employees of the LA Dollhouse are a gossipy bunch.”
“I don’t doubt they’re gossipy, Mr. Dominic.” She says and swims towards him as he had started floating towards the middle of the river, “Did you hear about Mr. Levin walking in the armory and seeing Master Chen and Mr. Andrews sharing a kiss?”
He gets off his back, the water splashing around him, and he starts treading under the water, “You heard about that?”
“Topher may have told me.”
“It was probably one of the instances that we weren’t at the center of the gossip.” He recounts, “It died down after a week.”
“I haven’t heard any of those gossips.” She says as her curiosity spikes, “Care to share, Mr. Dominic?” They’ve now drifted to the shallower part of the river. She stops treading and rests her feet on top of the pebbles
“Uh…” he trails off. “Well, they think we’re sleeping together.”
“That’s… all?”
“It’s the gist of most rumours.” He replies.
She smiles in amusement, “Well, it’s quite harmless, don’t you think?”
“It is, until it gets annoying.”
“You let such things get to you?”
“No.” he says, “It gets annoying because there’s a part of me that wants the rumour to be real.”
She blinks at his admission.
“Oh.” She says, finally.
The playful expression on his face is gone now and replaced with something intense. His deep gaze is starting to make her spine tingle. Somehow, because of his darker skin tone (thanks to the sun), the color of his eyes seem to pop out.
He reaches for her and pulls her closer. He lowers his warm hands to rest on her waist.
Her breath catches in her throat a little, “This might get a tad too complicated for us,” she whispers, all too aware of their proximity and their nakedness.
“I’m sure we can handle it,” He replies in a low voice.
She puts her hands on his shoulder to balance herself and lifts her chin up to look at him. The way he’s looking at her makes her heart beat a little faster.
He leans in and their noses touch, “I’ve always been curious…” he murmurs before dipping his head and kissing her.
Her lips part, yielding to him, and she allows him to kiss her. She presses her body against his and smiles when she hears him groan. She lets her hands roam his chest and arms, and he tightens his hold on her.. He’s all muscle, she thinks, and this is better than admiring them from afar.
He pulls away when they’re both in need of air.
“This is bound to become a scandal, Mr. Dominic.” She says, after a few minutes. She lightly traces the wound on his forehead, “The head of the LA Dollhouse kissing her chief of security whilst naked in the river.”
A roguish grin spreads in his face, “I heard that’s not all they did.” He says and lifts her up before kissing her again.
~*~
It’s one of those twenty-four-hour rains again and they’re inside the tent, naked under the thin blanket.
Her head is resting on top of his chest and his arms are around her shoulders. He’s asleep (as he’s bound to do when it’s raining) and she’s wide awake. She listens as the heavy rains drop on the canopy, listens as his heart beats, listens as the wind wails outside.
They’ve approached this without thinking of the consequences. Or perhaps she’s overreacting. They’re both mature adults. They can deal with the aftermath in Los Angeles-when they get back to Los Angeles.
She feels him stir.
“You don’t fall asleep easily, do you?” he remarks after a few seconds.
She doesn’t say anything and merely sighs.
He caresses her arm, the rough pads of his fingertips gently trailing up and down her skin.
She starts to wonder if she can transplant this situation-him on her bed (or her on his bed), nestled comfortably under thick blankets and sleeping in while the rain pours outside. It’s not impossible, but given who they are, what they do, it probably won’t come to fruition.
“You know what I want right now?” he asks out of the blue, “I want a bed.”
She shifts her body to look at him, “Two weeks we’ve been here and this is the first time you want one?”
“Yeah.”
He answers, and then doesn’t explain it. He’s always been a man of a few words, only talking when he feels like it. She plants a kiss on his mouth before settling back to her former position.
He continues to stroke her arm in a lulling fashion.
A few minutes later, she falls asleep.
~*~
Dominic is in the ocean, wearing only his trousers and holding one of their makeshift wooden spears. They had a few variety of food-aside from the usual bananas and coconuts, they also had boar and shellfish.
He’s a tenacious man-no surprise there, as he’d proven it countless times as Head of Security. What’s surprising to her is that he’s also proven to be a very patient man. She thought he would have quit a few days back, but he hadn’t. He keeps on trying every day that it doesn’t rain.
Fishing is not for the impatient and she’s yet to see him throw a fit in the middle of the ocean.
She stands up and brushes the sand off her skirt. She goes to the side of the tent and takes the other spear (she fashioned this one herself). She takes a glance at Dominic’s direction. He’s turned away from her and seems to be extremely focused on what he’s doing.
She decides to take a walk. It’s a little bit cloudy, but it doesn’t seem like it’s going to rain.
She stays under the shade, as much as possible. The eternal sunburn on her shoulders and arms are proving to be bothersome, and she doesn’t want to aggravate them any further. She also hasn’t seen what she looks like, but judging from Dominic’s appearance, she can assume that she looks as toasted as he is.
More than two weeks have passed since the crash. A part of her is starting to doubt whether they’ll be found, but another part of her doesn’t want to lose hope. It really is a good thing that Dominic is with her. She might have gone crazy with worry if not for him. True, they might have disagreements every once in a while, but everything is still smooth sailing in their isolation.
When she comes back, she finds him starting a small fire. In the middle of their cooking area is a Flounder on a stick.
Her mouth opens in surprise, “You caught one.” she says.
He glances at her and his face brightens up with a big smile, “Actually, I caught two.” He says, and points towards the rock where the other one lays, “I kind of murdered them a bit, but you should have seen how I caught them. It was insane.” He says.
He looks so proud; she can’t help but respond with a grin as bright as his.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to bear witness to your victory.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.” he replies as the fire comes roaring to life, “The victory dance might have been a little too embarrassing.”
“I would have paid to see that.”
They then sit across each other as they watch the fire cook the Flounders.
“You might very well be a modern-day Robison Crusoe, Laurence.” She says as the fire crackles. They’ve dropped the formalities a long time ago, when they started having sex every night. She likes saying his name (somehow, she feels like she’s one of the few people who calls him by his first name) and she likes the way he says hers.
He chuckles, “I don’t know. I really have no clue on how to build houses. Or farm goats.” He says, almost cheekily.
She smiles as she gazes at him. She’s fond of this side of Laurence Dominic.
After the fishes are finished cooking, Dominic gives her the less mangled fish of the two.
She starts to protest, “You worked hard to catch this.”
“Yeah, and I’m also the one who mangled them,” he answers, “Come on, take it.”
“Laurence.” She says, almost disapprovingly.
He frowns, “Adelle.”
They stare at each other. After a few minutes, she decides to indulge him and takes the food he’s offering.
“Thank you.” She says, after taking a bite.
“You're welcome.”
~*~
“There are times like this, when I don’t want to be found. Everything is just so beautiful, it’ll be crazy to leave it.”
They’re shoulder to shoulder, her right leg on top of his left, leaning on a piece of log by the side of their tent. Their legs are stretched out in front of them, watching the sunset (something they do almost every day that it doesn’t rain).
“And then after a few minutes, I’d get reminded of what we’re missing - comfortable beds, a fridge, lasagna, toilets - and I’ll start to wish that they find us already. It also kinda makes me wish we have those GPS strips they put in the Actives.”
“True,” she murmurs and then looks at him with a raised brow, “Lasagna?”
He looks back at her and, almost embarrassingly, “I love lasagna.”
Her lips curl upwards in laughter and she turns her attention back to the sight before them. It’s an explosion of orange and purple hues that seem to struggle against the darkness that’s creeping up in the sky.
They have a lot of conversations like this, even before they became intimate. It’s something that just happened. At first, their discussions were about office matters-Topher, the Actives, the clients, and the employees. It then progressed to sharing a tidbit or two about themselves, before progressing into information that would give each of them contextual background on the other.
Sometimes, the conversations would turn too silly or too serious. It would depend on the day.
It seems that once a person gets used to the idea that he or she is a castaway, being marooned in a deserted island becomes somewhat boring.
“I need a drink.” She says, several minutes later.
“I need a shave.”
She shakes her head, “Not a full shave.” She throws a glance at him, “Perhaps just a trim?”
“With all due respect, ma’am, I look like a hobo with this beard on.”
“You do not.” She says in disbelief, “And when did this become a formal conversation, Laurence?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.
He juts his lower lip upward, which almost looks like a pout, “I believe personal appearances fall under office matters.” He replies, shrugging.
She brushes her hair away from her eyes, “Really now?” she asks, her eyes twinkling in amusement.
“Judith’s probably going to ask how a hairy mountain man got into your level of the building, Topher’s going to call me a bear-among other things, and the handlers… well, I don’t really know what the handlers will say.” He answers and makes a face, “I don’t think anyone’s going to take me seriously with a beard on. Even I won’t take myself seriously with a beard on.”
“I’ll take you seriously.” She offers and then reaches out to touch his three-week-old beard. She likes the texture of it on her skin.
“But you’re… you.”
“I’m also your immediate superior.”
His brows furrow deeply and he flashes a questioning glance, “Are you ordering me to keep it?”
She gives him a small smile, “Maybe.”
He lets out a small groan
“Now you're being melodramatic.” She purrs, rubbing her thumb against his cheek.
“Do you know how difficult it is to maintain a beard?”
She smiles and leans in closer, “I’m sure you’ll maintain it perfectly.”
He takes a deep breath, “Do you have a thing for guys with beards?” he says, and wraps an arm around her waist.
“Just with you, Laurence.”
~*~
Their search and rescue party arrives after twenty-nine days.
After the obligatory “Thank god, you’re both alive” pleasantries, they’re quickly whisked away to a helicopter.
Langton, who heads the retrieval team together with Echo, tells them that they had a difficult time tracking them down. There were a lot of isolated islands in that part of the Pacific and that they had a long time combing them all because of the weather.
She simply nods her head during the entire conversation. Dominic manages to ask questions about the state of the House, the Actives and of the employees and also a few questions pertaining to the crash, all of which are given answers by Langton.
She’s not in the right mind frame to pretend she cares right now. They’re on their way back to civilization. All she wants is some soup, a hot bath and a warm, soft bed, preferably with Dominic in it.
“It’s really a miracle that you both survived that kind of crash.” Echo remarks.
“Well, yeah.” Dominic says, shrugging.
“You’re both lucky to be alive.” Langton adds, observing the two of them.
He’s astute enough not to make a comment about the way Dominic leans towards her, or of the fact that she hasn’t let go of his hand ever since they got into the helicopter.
“Absolutely lucky.” She agrees and nods her head.
~*~
“The House will be rife with gossip after we get back. It’ll take years before they talk about something else.”
It’s been three days since their rescue and they’re inside one of the many rooms inside a Rossum-owned cruise ship.
No less than three doctors examined them after they arrived. They said that with the number of hazards in a deserted tropical island, it’s a wonder that they survived it with only a few cuts, insect bites and a mild case of sunburn. According to the doctors, they could have had tetanus, Hepatitis E (from eating the wild boar), malaria or dengue fever (from the mosquitoes), diarrhea, dehydration… the list goes on.
They were then they were brought to their living quarters for the rest of the trip (which, they say, would take several days). There was a bag of clothes for her in the room, and a whole array of toiletries in the bathroom. It almost brought tears to her eyes.
And then Dominic knocked on her door. She pulled him inside and dragged him to her bed. They’ve yet to leave the room.
“Hmm, let them talk.” She answers, enjoying the way her body hums, the way she’s being cradled by his arms, “And I do hope you update me with a gossip or two. Preferably the ridiculous ones.”
He buries his face on her hair, “Will that be before the morning reports or after?”
His beard is tickling her neck, “After.” She says, caressing his arm.
Naked, they lay tangled on the bed in silence. For a moment, she thinks that he might have fallen asleep (he does have a knack for being able to sleep anywhere), but changes her mind when he presses his lips against her neck.
“Do you…” he starts and then shifts his position, sitting up, so that he can her face, her reaction, “Do you want to continue this?”
“What is ‘this’, Laurence?” she asks, angling her head.
He scowls slightly, “You know what I mean, Adelle.” And she knows exactly what he means.
She stares at him and he waits, patiently, for her answer.
She considers all the possibilities, all the consequences. She thinks about what other people would say, what upper management would say. She thinks about her responsibilities and his responsibilities. They aren’t on a deserted island anymore; they aren’t the only people affected anymore.
And then she thinks about what she wants.
“Yes.” she finally says, “Yes, I do want to continue this.” she pushes back to the bed and covers her body with his.
Rating PG-13 for sexytimes
Characters/Pairing: Adelle DeWitt, Laurence Dominic; DeWitt/Dominic (of course!)
Disclaimer: Nope, I do not own Dollhouse. And I never will.
Words: 6, 658
Spoilers: None; May be considered as a pre-1x09 fic or an AU fic wherein 1x09 never happened.
Summary: As the plane spirals out of control, the only thought running in Adelle DeWitt’s mind is that they were all going to die a fiery, horrible death.
Notes: Basically, I blame the Discovery channel’s program, “Survivorman” for giving me this idea. I vaguely remember reading a fic like this (I remember it now: it was from the CSI fandom) and aside from it having the usual-stuck-in-an-island-because-the-plane-crashed situation (with the added bonus of the survivors-sleeping-with-each-other-therefore-resolving-their-UST), it also had drug dealers and a murder (this was a CSI fic, after all). They caught the bad guys using spears and Grissom’s swollen ankle, before being rescued by Ecklie and his crew.
Anywho. Basically, there are some stuff that I learned from that certain episode. And then there are some that just... IDK.
Fluff. Maybe extreme fluff, maybe not. It depends on you. I apologize for all the mistakes; all mistakes are mine. Heh.
Enjoy :D
As the plane spirals out of control, the only thought running in Adelle DeWitt’s mind is that they are all going to die a fiery, horrible death.
~*~
They were on their way to Monte Carlo for Rossum’s bi-annual corporate function. She’d been reluctant to go (with Dominic even more so) since these events are nothing more but a place to show off and to kiss ass.
Then she remembered what had happened the last time she skipped a function of this magnitude and forced herself (and Dominic) to go. There was a part of her that kept on wishing for a disaster to befall on the hotel and on the organizer of the whole event.
Exploding planes and waking up bloodied, bruised and aching all over doesn’t seem to be a better alternative.
Their pilot and his co-pilot are dead. The two of them are the only survivors of this horrific accident and there doesn’t seem to be a living soul in this place who noticed a white mechanical bird dropping from the sky.
Judging from the time they left Los Angeles, they’ve probably crash-landed in an island in the middle of the Pacific.
She sits on a log, in daze, feeling helpless. There’s a long cut in her arm, and another by her ear. Her skirt has a large rip and her she can’t seem to find the other half of her high heels (not that it matters). Dominic had popped her left shoulder back to place and now it’s so sore she can’t even move it without feeling an intense amount of pain.
“What do you got?” he asks, a little gruffly, when he got to her side. They’re trying to salvage what they can from the wreck and her Head of Security had bravely gotten back inside the debris of what used to be a Rossum Corp. private jet.
“A tent.” She replies, vaguely remembering hearing the pilot saying he was going camping in Monaco (or was it France?). She brushes her hair away from her face, “someone’s luggage, oranges, the black box and the first-aid kit.”
She takes in her Head of Security’s appearance. He’s no better than her, with a still-open wound on his head and slashes on his suit. There are beads of sweat on his forehead and he looks harried, “How about you?”
“A few more bags.” He points to the two pieces of luggage on the ground, “water that can probably last us for a few days…I found some crackers, peanuts, a radio and a flashlight.” He says.
She takes a deep breath and nods. The gravity of their situation hasn’t fully punched her yet; after the confusion, her mind had jumped immediately to obtaining what they need to survive - food, water, shelter - and she still hasn’t realized the ramifications of a surviving a plane crash in a seemingly-deserted tropical island.
“We need to set up camp.” He says, “We have to be visible from above so that the rescuers can spot us.” he says. She nods her head again, in understanding.
“But we can’t bring all those luggage with us.” she says. She’s not going to be much help with carrying things right now.
“Then we get what we need.”
They rummage through the bags. She gets a few things from hers, and finds a pair of men’s slippers in another.
After a few minutes, he looks up to the sky. There isn’t a cloud in sight.
“We have to move. Weather in this part of the world’s unpredictable.”
They gather their supplies (with him carrying the larger bulk) and walk away from the wreckage.
~*~
He leads the way, and she trails a few steps behind him. She hasn’t gone camping since she was seven, and for good reason-her older cousins left her in the woods after telling her stories of mummified pygmies snatching campers from their tents and eating them.
She likes to think she’s outgrown that silly fear. But in case that there really is such a thing as cannibalistic pygmy mummies, she consoles herself with the thought that Dominic can take them all out.
The air is damp, heavy and the sun’s glare is burning. Sweat trickles down her back and down her forehead. The large, imposing trees provide shade, but it’s impossible to set up camp under them, as the grounds are either too rocky or too soft. There are also very large insects with vicious bites flying around.
Every once in a while, he glances at her, checking if she’s still okay. They don’t talk, preferring to reserve their energy for setting up camp. The screeches of the birds above punctuate their silence. She ignores the twinge in her shoulder, the sting on her arm and by her ear-she’ll stop when he stops and she’ll tend to her wounds when he tends to his wounds.
They find a river underneath a small, magnificent waterfall. They stop for a few minutes to clean their wounds and wash their faces. He also makes a marker for it, so that they can come back when they run low on water.
As they walk through the jungle, most of the trees they come across bear either bananas or coconuts.
Finally, they hear the sound of the ocean in the distance. A few more minutes of walking and they finally step out of the jungle and into a beach.
Where the solid, brown ground leaves off, the white sand starts. And where the white sand leaves off, the amazingly blue water starts. And it stretches out as far and as wide as her eyes can see, seemingly able to touch the sky.
He walks towards the right and stands under a tall tree. He rolls his shoe on the ground, “This is a good spot.” He says.
She doesn’t say anything and nods. She helps him clear the site of the large leaves and the little stones, and assists him with assembling the tent. She doesn’t mind that her shoulder hurts or that her hair is escaping from the pins that hold them away from her face. What matters to her right now is that they have shelter.
Several minutes later, the tent is up, and they’re on top of a log, sitting side by side, with still a fairly large gap between them.
“How long do you think before they find us?” she asks, finally. The weather isn’t at all like Los Angeles. It’s too hot, too sticky. The breeze doesn’t help at all, merely adding to the humidity, and making her feel as if the high temperature is enveloping her.
He looks at her. His hair is matted with sweat and his coat, which he was wearing when they were on the plane, is now tossed carelessly to the side.
“I don’t know.” He answers, “It depends-when they figured out we’re missing, where they think we were before the plane started malfunctioning… it can be days, weeks.” He shrugs and looks away, “And then there’s the worst case scenario.” He doesn’t say it aloud, but she knows what he means.
“Right.” She murmurs.
And then silence. They look straight ahead and watch the waves crash on the shore.
~*~
It rains the whole day the next day.
Thankfully, they kept their food and water with them inside the tent (together with the rest of the things they can’t afford to get wet). For breakfast, they shared an orange, and for lunch, a packet of biscuits.
She’s seated in one corner of the tent for several hours now, while he’s curled by her side, asleep. The rain is torrential, the winds are howling and the air swirling in the tent is heavy. The little opening they left on the entryway so that fresh air can come in is now blowing in cold wind.
She’s tired. She doesn’t know how is it that she’s tired, since she hasn’t done anything since the day started. But her muscles are screaming, her eyelids are getting heavier as the minutes pass but sleep doesn’t seem to come.
Dominic, on the other hand, is sleeping like a baby. It’s befuddling how some people can sleep just about anywhere.
A strong gust of wind rattles the thin walls of the canopy. The strength of the storm is starting to frighten her; she can’t remember being in the middle of this kind of weather.
She glances at her chief of security, who hasn’t as much as moved.
A deep sigh escapes her and she decides to lie down beside him. She takes the thin blanket that they salvaged from the wreck and covers both of them with it.
She closes her eyes and tries to sleep.
~*~
A weeks has passed since they’ve crashed-landed on the island and they somehow managed to work out a routine (because that’s who they are; an accident of this scale won’t diminish that)
On the days that it doesn’t rain - and it rains every other day - they’ll venture out to the jungle to gather food (mostly fruits), replenish their water supply, take a bath in the river (not at the same time, though) and wash their clothes. Then, before the sun sets, they make a little campfire and then sit in front of it to battle the cold-one thing she’s noticed about this island is that when the sun’s out, the heat is like from a thousand hundred suns, but when it sets or just hidden behind rain clouds, it’s really cold.
In some way, their schedule (if she can call it that) combined with her description of their temporary home makes her think of Adam and Eve in the ninth circle of hell.
She quietly observes Dominic as he fashions some wood into makeshift spears using his pen knife. He’s seated on the sand, barefoot, with his shirt is open and seems to be fully concentrated on his task.
It’s a bit disconcerting. She’s always seen him as a company man who wears nice, expensive suits but isn’t afraid in getting his hands (or his suit) dirty. The three years he had worked by her side, she feels like she knows him well enough that she can imagine him in different professions-a fireman, a policeman, an army man, a spy, a bounty hunter - that would go with his personality. But she had never imagined him as a survival expert. The thought never crossed her mind.
“I didn’t know you’re also a survival expert, Mr. Dominic.” She says, stretching her legs in front of her. She’s seated in front of the tent, on top of palm leaf and wearing her skirt and one of his shirts (it would seem that she hadn’t packed any clothes for events like this).
He stops what he’s doing and looks at her. A smile appears on his face, the first she has seen since they left Los Angeles, “I’m a bit flattered that you think I’m an expert at this, ma’am, but I have to confess that most of my knowledge comes from my time in the Eagle Scout and watching the Discovery channel.”
The extremely tousled hair, the week-old beard and the sunburn on his face should make him look awfully unkempt, but the grin on his face makes his disheveled appearance dashing. She can’t help but smile back at him.
They stare at each other for a while, smiling. He can be quite charming, she thinks, and she’s grateful that he’s here with her. She doesn’t really know what she would have done if he wasn’t here (she probably would still have a dislocated shoulder).
Then the realization hits her.
He’s alive.
He’s here, with her, in this apparently isolated island. He survived a plane crash - they survived a plane crash - with only minor cuts and bruises. And of all people to survive the crash with her, of all possible permutations and chances of survival, it’s him that survives with her. Thinking about it, there are so many complications that arise from this fact, and one of these is this- what they’re doing right now.
Her thoughts must have broadcasted itself on her face because he turns his attention back to what he was doing a while ago.
She can’t deny that there’s an attraction between them- a very strong one, if she may say so herself. Back in LA, they can cover it all up with their professionalism, with distance, with formalities. Right now, they’re trying to hang on to them, but she knows it’ll be useless.
There’s nothing to be professional about here. They try keeping distance, but they’ve encroached on one another’s personal space to keep warm at night. And the formalities aren’t even enforced-they’re merely automatic gestures.
They’re in a very vulnerable position, and acting on whatever impulses they have right now would be unwise. If-when they get back to LA, their imprudence might come back and haunt them.
She tears her eyes away from him and looks toward the ocean. The blue water is sparkling, looking very inviting for a swim. But the fact that she has to get through several feet of sand exposed to the very hot sun makes the idea unappealing.
“It will be hot out there.” She says, finally, after a long period of silence.
“I won’t be out there for long.”
She glances back at him, “Do you know how to fish?”
“Nope.” He looks up again, “But there’s nothing wrong with trying, right?”
“Nothing wrong about it at all.” She agrees.
He stands up, holding his makeshift spear. He hands her the knife before wearing his shoes and taking in a lungful of the salty air.
“Ma’am.” He says, straightening up before starting to walk towards the water.
“Good luck, Mr. Dominic.”
~*~
“If you were stuck in a deserted island, who would you want to be with and why?”
The sun has set an hour ago. The air is cool, the fire is crackling and they are eating their dinner, which consists of bananas, coconuts and a bottle of water (Dominic failed his quest to fish today).
She looks to her side, “You do realize the irony of your question?” she asks, the corner of her mouth twitching.
“Absolutely.” He says, looking back at her. He wipes his hands on his trousers, “And to follow up that question, what three things would you bring with you?”
She takes a drink of water, looking at him to determine if he’s serious about the getting an answer to the question. The expression on his face doesn’t say much.
“I’d want to be marooned with a modern day Robinson Crusoe.” She answers, deciding to humor him. They haven’t had a conversation like this. “And I’ll be bringing a large bucket, a knife and a book.”
“Robinson Crusoe?”
She shrugs her shoulder, “The man was a castaway for twenty-seven years. He built a house and farmed goats… if I’m going to be stranded in an isolated island, I’d want someone with me who knows how to survive in an island.”
“Why a large bucket?”
“To keep us from using our drinking water for hand-washing purposes.” She replies and smiles at him, almost pointedly.
He turns away from her slightly. She can see amusement spreading in his features.
“What about you, Mr. Dominic?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, “Who do you want to be stuck with in a deserted island?” He glances back at her and she quirks a brow, “What, did you think I wouldn’t throw your question back at you?”
A beat, “I want to be stuck with Gisele.” He says and looks down.
“The supermodel?”
“Yes.” he lifts his chin up, “I’ll bring with me a knife, a tent and a satellite phone.” And then he adds, deadpan, “So that I won’t be stuck with her for too long.”
A small laugh escapes her, which elicits a grin from him. Her chief of security’s display of humor surprises her.
“I didn’t know you're a funny man, Mr. Dominic.” She says as the cold breeze blew by.
He smirks, “I’m not, actually.”
She doesn’t often see his smile. And he never joked since awkwardness normally ensues when they try something even remotely to telling jokes. They’ve been stranded here for a week and he’s smiled more and talked more than he would in Los Angeles in a month.
Without thinking, she reaches out to him and touches his cheek, as if to capture what she’s seeing.
His posture visibly stiffens upon contact. She cringes, realizing what she’s done. Intrusion of personal space is only done when warmth is needed.
“I’m sorry.” She starts to pull her hand away, the short, rough bristles on his face grazing her fingertips, but he catches her wrist.
“No. It’s fine.” He says. He shifts his grasp on her, and holds her hand. He pulls her toward him, closing the space between them.
They exchange a look of understanding. They aren’t going to make this complicated.
She leans against him.
~*~
The jungle, as it turns out, is filled with a lot of surprises.
She runs as fast as her legs can go, her fingers tightening around the wood that she had picked up to defend herself (it’s not really helpful in that respect). Her heart pounded against her chest, as she keeps on running.
And behind her, an angry, shrieking wild boar is in hot pursuit.
She knew - from watching a few shows on the nature channel - that wild boars are known to run fast. She didn’t know they would be this fast.
She bursts out of the jungle, but she doesn’t stop. Her mind races on what to do. She can go straight into the water. The boar won’t be able to catch her… or maybe it can, but if she goes farther into the water, the boar might stop following her. Maybe.
She jumps into the ocean and wades across the salty water. She’s gasping for air-all that running had knocked the wind out of her. When the water is up to her waist, she stops and turns.
The animal is on the beach. Staring at her.
Oh, Christ. They’re going to have a staring contest under this terrible heat, aren’t they? (If this standoff doesn’t end soon, she’ll have wild boars on top of her list of fears).
She starts to silently curse her long, thick hair, for trapping all the heat of the sun. Maybe she can wade through the water and go towards the position of their camp. If the boar follows her by the shore, she can ask Dominic to shoot it. Or scare it away.
And then, out of nowhere, Dominic appears and shoots the boar. Twice.
The boar starts squealing. She turns away as the animal drops on the ground and begins writhing in pain.
“You okay?”
She doesn’t move. “Is it dead?” she asks.
He looks at the boar, “Almost.” He looks back at her, “Are you okay, ma’am?” he asks again.
“I’m fine.” She takes in a shaky breath and makes her way back to shore. Her knees almost buckle when she feels solid ground under her feet
He takes her arm and pulls her towards him, away from the almost dead animal. Her whole body’s shaking and she’s still hasn’t let go of the stick in her hand. The fazed look on her face prompts him to start kneading her shoulders
“What did you do to make a wild pig chase you?” he asks, prying her fingers off the long, thick branch. There are small cuts in her palm, but nothing too serious.
“I was out looking for an alternative source of food.” She breathes out, looking at the dead animal on the shore, “I stumbled across that ferocious creature and I thought that you could probably hunt it down since you still have your gun. And then it started chasing me.
He squats down on the sand and inspects the animal. Its hair is dark, long and coarse and it’s bleeding profusely from the stomach. She’s suddenly thankful that she wore a pair of lightweight pajama pants rather than her skirt. She might not have outrun the animal.
“It must have read your mind.” He remarks lightly and glances up at her, “We can have this for dinner.” he states.
She takes several deep breaths, “The idea of a new dinner course is a very welcoming thought.” She’s gotten sick and tired of bananas and coconuts.
He looks back at the pig. He doesn’t know how he’s going to accomplish separating the meat from the skin since the only knife he has in possession is a pen knife.
“Wild boar for dinner then.”
~*~
“How’s your shoulder ma’am?”
He’s trailing behind her, as they make their way towards the waterfall. He had marked the path clearly, so that it would be impossible for either of them get lost to and fro the river (except during nighttime). After the incident with the wild boar, they’ve decided that they’ll be accompanying each other every time they need to go deep in the jungle.
She turns her head to him, “Its better.” She says. There are times when it’ll twinge, but the pain’s bearable.
The rush of water gets louder. A few more steps and the grand waterfall comes to view.
The mere sight of it brings her relief. Her arms and neck are red from the sunburn, she has a few insect bites and the river is always cool, soothing her of the annoying prickles. And the location of the waterfall isn’t too hot either. The trees are all tall and their large leaves give a wide shade. If she had her way, she’ll stay in the water until they get rescued.
She goes towards the huge boulder by the side of the river and out of his sight before taking off her slippers, her camisole and her skirt (but keeping her underwear on). She goes in the water and swims towards the deeper end of the river, under the cascade of water.
She lets herself gets soaked, closing her eyes as she enjoys the coolness of the water.
“How’s the water?”
She opens her eyes and finds that he has discarded his shirt (the temperature is colder in here than in the beach) and is sitting on top of the large rock wearing only his trousers. He’s facing the other way.
“Why don’t you jump in and find out for yourself?” she answers, almost teasingly and swims away from the waterfall and into the shallower part of the river so that she can hear him better (and vice-versa)
This time, he turns around. Dominic gives her an inquiring glance, “Was that a dare, Ms. DeWitt?”
“Interpret it the way you want, Mr. Dominic.”
She watches him think about what she had just said. He raises a brow and she tilts her head to the side and throws him a challenging look.
The corner of his mouth quirks and he stands up to take off his trousers.
She’d seen him shirtless every time he goes out into the ocean to attempt fishing (he’s been unlucky so far). She hasn’t gotten tired of admiring his muscled torso from afar, but this is the first time she’s seen him stripped down and wearing only his underpants.
He dives into the river in his blue boxers.
“So, Mr. Dominic, how’s the water?” she asks lightheartedly when he surfaces.
“Cold,” He answers and then kicks his feet from underwater and floats on his back. She hears him sigh.
“This is a scandal, you know. The head of the LA House swimming in the river butt-naked with her chief of security.”
“We’re not butt-naked, Mr. Dominic.”
“Well, nearly butt-naked.”
A chuckle leaves her throat, “I doubt there’d be any talks about this when we get back.”
“Oh, believe me, there will be. The employees of the LA Dollhouse are a gossipy bunch.”
“I don’t doubt they’re gossipy, Mr. Dominic.” She says and swims towards him as he had started floating towards the middle of the river, “Did you hear about Mr. Levin walking in the armory and seeing Master Chen and Mr. Andrews sharing a kiss?”
He gets off his back, the water splashing around him, and he starts treading under the water, “You heard about that?”
“Topher may have told me.”
“It was probably one of the instances that we weren’t at the center of the gossip.” He recounts, “It died down after a week.”
“I haven’t heard any of those gossips.” She says as her curiosity spikes, “Care to share, Mr. Dominic?” They’ve now drifted to the shallower part of the river. She stops treading and rests her feet on top of the pebbles
“Uh…” he trails off. “Well, they think we’re sleeping together.”
“That’s… all?”
“It’s the gist of most rumours.” He replies.
She smiles in amusement, “Well, it’s quite harmless, don’t you think?”
“It is, until it gets annoying.”
“You let such things get to you?”
“No.” he says, “It gets annoying because there’s a part of me that wants the rumour to be real.”
She blinks at his admission.
“Oh.” She says, finally.
The playful expression on his face is gone now and replaced with something intense. His deep gaze is starting to make her spine tingle. Somehow, because of his darker skin tone (thanks to the sun), the color of his eyes seem to pop out.
He reaches for her and pulls her closer. He lowers his warm hands to rest on her waist.
Her breath catches in her throat a little, “This might get a tad too complicated for us,” she whispers, all too aware of their proximity and their nakedness.
“I’m sure we can handle it,” He replies in a low voice.
She puts her hands on his shoulder to balance herself and lifts her chin up to look at him. The way he’s looking at her makes her heart beat a little faster.
He leans in and their noses touch, “I’ve always been curious…” he murmurs before dipping his head and kissing her.
Her lips part, yielding to him, and she allows him to kiss her. She presses her body against his and smiles when she hears him groan. She lets her hands roam his chest and arms, and he tightens his hold on her.. He’s all muscle, she thinks, and this is better than admiring them from afar.
He pulls away when they’re both in need of air.
“This is bound to become a scandal, Mr. Dominic.” She says, after a few minutes. She lightly traces the wound on his forehead, “The head of the LA Dollhouse kissing her chief of security whilst naked in the river.”
A roguish grin spreads in his face, “I heard that’s not all they did.” He says and lifts her up before kissing her again.
~*~
It’s one of those twenty-four-hour rains again and they’re inside the tent, naked under the thin blanket.
Her head is resting on top of his chest and his arms are around her shoulders. He’s asleep (as he’s bound to do when it’s raining) and she’s wide awake. She listens as the heavy rains drop on the canopy, listens as his heart beats, listens as the wind wails outside.
They’ve approached this without thinking of the consequences. Or perhaps she’s overreacting. They’re both mature adults. They can deal with the aftermath in Los Angeles-when they get back to Los Angeles.
She feels him stir.
“You don’t fall asleep easily, do you?” he remarks after a few seconds.
She doesn’t say anything and merely sighs.
He caresses her arm, the rough pads of his fingertips gently trailing up and down her skin.
She starts to wonder if she can transplant this situation-him on her bed (or her on his bed), nestled comfortably under thick blankets and sleeping in while the rain pours outside. It’s not impossible, but given who they are, what they do, it probably won’t come to fruition.
“You know what I want right now?” he asks out of the blue, “I want a bed.”
She shifts her body to look at him, “Two weeks we’ve been here and this is the first time you want one?”
“Yeah.”
He answers, and then doesn’t explain it. He’s always been a man of a few words, only talking when he feels like it. She plants a kiss on his mouth before settling back to her former position.
He continues to stroke her arm in a lulling fashion.
A few minutes later, she falls asleep.
~*~
Dominic is in the ocean, wearing only his trousers and holding one of their makeshift wooden spears. They had a few variety of food-aside from the usual bananas and coconuts, they also had boar and shellfish.
He’s a tenacious man-no surprise there, as he’d proven it countless times as Head of Security. What’s surprising to her is that he’s also proven to be a very patient man. She thought he would have quit a few days back, but he hadn’t. He keeps on trying every day that it doesn’t rain.
Fishing is not for the impatient and she’s yet to see him throw a fit in the middle of the ocean.
She stands up and brushes the sand off her skirt. She goes to the side of the tent and takes the other spear (she fashioned this one herself). She takes a glance at Dominic’s direction. He’s turned away from her and seems to be extremely focused on what he’s doing.
She decides to take a walk. It’s a little bit cloudy, but it doesn’t seem like it’s going to rain.
She stays under the shade, as much as possible. The eternal sunburn on her shoulders and arms are proving to be bothersome, and she doesn’t want to aggravate them any further. She also hasn’t seen what she looks like, but judging from Dominic’s appearance, she can assume that she looks as toasted as he is.
More than two weeks have passed since the crash. A part of her is starting to doubt whether they’ll be found, but another part of her doesn’t want to lose hope. It really is a good thing that Dominic is with her. She might have gone crazy with worry if not for him. True, they might have disagreements every once in a while, but everything is still smooth sailing in their isolation.
When she comes back, she finds him starting a small fire. In the middle of their cooking area is a Flounder on a stick.
Her mouth opens in surprise, “You caught one.” she says.
He glances at her and his face brightens up with a big smile, “Actually, I caught two.” He says, and points towards the rock where the other one lays, “I kind of murdered them a bit, but you should have seen how I caught them. It was insane.” He says.
He looks so proud; she can’t help but respond with a grin as bright as his.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to bear witness to your victory.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.” he replies as the fire comes roaring to life, “The victory dance might have been a little too embarrassing.”
“I would have paid to see that.”
They then sit across each other as they watch the fire cook the Flounders.
“You might very well be a modern-day Robison Crusoe, Laurence.” She says as the fire crackles. They’ve dropped the formalities a long time ago, when they started having sex every night. She likes saying his name (somehow, she feels like she’s one of the few people who calls him by his first name) and she likes the way he says hers.
He chuckles, “I don’t know. I really have no clue on how to build houses. Or farm goats.” He says, almost cheekily.
She smiles as she gazes at him. She’s fond of this side of Laurence Dominic.
After the fishes are finished cooking, Dominic gives her the less mangled fish of the two.
She starts to protest, “You worked hard to catch this.”
“Yeah, and I’m also the one who mangled them,” he answers, “Come on, take it.”
“Laurence.” She says, almost disapprovingly.
He frowns, “Adelle.”
They stare at each other. After a few minutes, she decides to indulge him and takes the food he’s offering.
“Thank you.” She says, after taking a bite.
“You're welcome.”
~*~
“There are times like this, when I don’t want to be found. Everything is just so beautiful, it’ll be crazy to leave it.”
They’re shoulder to shoulder, her right leg on top of his left, leaning on a piece of log by the side of their tent. Their legs are stretched out in front of them, watching the sunset (something they do almost every day that it doesn’t rain).
“And then after a few minutes, I’d get reminded of what we’re missing - comfortable beds, a fridge, lasagna, toilets - and I’ll start to wish that they find us already. It also kinda makes me wish we have those GPS strips they put in the Actives.”
“True,” she murmurs and then looks at him with a raised brow, “Lasagna?”
He looks back at her and, almost embarrassingly, “I love lasagna.”
Her lips curl upwards in laughter and she turns her attention back to the sight before them. It’s an explosion of orange and purple hues that seem to struggle against the darkness that’s creeping up in the sky.
They have a lot of conversations like this, even before they became intimate. It’s something that just happened. At first, their discussions were about office matters-Topher, the Actives, the clients, and the employees. It then progressed to sharing a tidbit or two about themselves, before progressing into information that would give each of them contextual background on the other.
Sometimes, the conversations would turn too silly or too serious. It would depend on the day.
It seems that once a person gets used to the idea that he or she is a castaway, being marooned in a deserted island becomes somewhat boring.
“I need a drink.” She says, several minutes later.
“I need a shave.”
She shakes her head, “Not a full shave.” She throws a glance at him, “Perhaps just a trim?”
“With all due respect, ma’am, I look like a hobo with this beard on.”
“You do not.” She says in disbelief, “And when did this become a formal conversation, Laurence?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.
He juts his lower lip upward, which almost looks like a pout, “I believe personal appearances fall under office matters.” He replies, shrugging.
She brushes her hair away from her eyes, “Really now?” she asks, her eyes twinkling in amusement.
“Judith’s probably going to ask how a hairy mountain man got into your level of the building, Topher’s going to call me a bear-among other things, and the handlers… well, I don’t really know what the handlers will say.” He answers and makes a face, “I don’t think anyone’s going to take me seriously with a beard on. Even I won’t take myself seriously with a beard on.”
“I’ll take you seriously.” She offers and then reaches out to touch his three-week-old beard. She likes the texture of it on her skin.
“But you’re… you.”
“I’m also your immediate superior.”
His brows furrow deeply and he flashes a questioning glance, “Are you ordering me to keep it?”
She gives him a small smile, “Maybe.”
He lets out a small groan
“Now you're being melodramatic.” She purrs, rubbing her thumb against his cheek.
“Do you know how difficult it is to maintain a beard?”
She smiles and leans in closer, “I’m sure you’ll maintain it perfectly.”
He takes a deep breath, “Do you have a thing for guys with beards?” he says, and wraps an arm around her waist.
“Just with you, Laurence.”
~*~
Their search and rescue party arrives after twenty-nine days.
After the obligatory “Thank god, you’re both alive” pleasantries, they’re quickly whisked away to a helicopter.
Langton, who heads the retrieval team together with Echo, tells them that they had a difficult time tracking them down. There were a lot of isolated islands in that part of the Pacific and that they had a long time combing them all because of the weather.
She simply nods her head during the entire conversation. Dominic manages to ask questions about the state of the House, the Actives and of the employees and also a few questions pertaining to the crash, all of which are given answers by Langton.
She’s not in the right mind frame to pretend she cares right now. They’re on their way back to civilization. All she wants is some soup, a hot bath and a warm, soft bed, preferably with Dominic in it.
“It’s really a miracle that you both survived that kind of crash.” Echo remarks.
“Well, yeah.” Dominic says, shrugging.
“You’re both lucky to be alive.” Langton adds, observing the two of them.
He’s astute enough not to make a comment about the way Dominic leans towards her, or of the fact that she hasn’t let go of his hand ever since they got into the helicopter.
“Absolutely lucky.” She agrees and nods her head.
~*~
“The House will be rife with gossip after we get back. It’ll take years before they talk about something else.”
It’s been three days since their rescue and they’re inside one of the many rooms inside a Rossum-owned cruise ship.
No less than three doctors examined them after they arrived. They said that with the number of hazards in a deserted tropical island, it’s a wonder that they survived it with only a few cuts, insect bites and a mild case of sunburn. According to the doctors, they could have had tetanus, Hepatitis E (from eating the wild boar), malaria or dengue fever (from the mosquitoes), diarrhea, dehydration… the list goes on.
They were then they were brought to their living quarters for the rest of the trip (which, they say, would take several days). There was a bag of clothes for her in the room, and a whole array of toiletries in the bathroom. It almost brought tears to her eyes.
And then Dominic knocked on her door. She pulled him inside and dragged him to her bed. They’ve yet to leave the room.
“Hmm, let them talk.” She answers, enjoying the way her body hums, the way she’s being cradled by his arms, “And I do hope you update me with a gossip or two. Preferably the ridiculous ones.”
He buries his face on her hair, “Will that be before the morning reports or after?”
His beard is tickling her neck, “After.” She says, caressing his arm.
Naked, they lay tangled on the bed in silence. For a moment, she thinks that he might have fallen asleep (he does have a knack for being able to sleep anywhere), but changes her mind when he presses his lips against her neck.
“Do you…” he starts and then shifts his position, sitting up, so that he can her face, her reaction, “Do you want to continue this?”
“What is ‘this’, Laurence?” she asks, angling her head.
He scowls slightly, “You know what I mean, Adelle.” And she knows exactly what he means.
She stares at him and he waits, patiently, for her answer.
She considers all the possibilities, all the consequences. She thinks about what other people would say, what upper management would say. She thinks about her responsibilities and his responsibilities. They aren’t on a deserted island anymore; they aren’t the only people affected anymore.
And then she thinks about what she wants.
“Yes.” she finally says, “Yes, I do want to continue this.” she pushes back to the bed and covers her body with his.