Dollhouse fic: The Senator's Son; PG-13
Title: The Senator's Son
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Adelle DeWitt, Laurence Dominic
Words: 2, 498
Disclaimer: Don't own Dollhouse
Notes: au_bingo prompt-- Alternate History: Personal life of character changed
The day starts innocuously enough, unlike the several days these past few weeks when mayhem and chaos plagued her every waking hour. She actually has time to enjoy her tea and look over the stack of paperwork on her desk before meeting the Head of Security to go over the agenda of the day.
Her House is in order. Finally.
The morning goes by without a hitch and there’s nary a peep or squeak from the security chief (who’s a rather skittish man, but the only qualified person for the job as compared to the others in his lot).
She takes a quick lunch in her office, reading financial reports in between bites. After lunch, she proceeds to Dr. Saunders’ memos (the Actives’ diet needs to be modified; apparently someone in the kitchen has been giving them too much sugar) and is signing release forms when Judith knocks on her door and reminds her that a client will be arriving in an hour.
“Thank you, Judith.” She merely replies. She clears her desk of the clutter and leaves the dossier that security had compiled on the Dollhouse’s new client.
She looks at the short bio and the photograph which security provided. The new client is Laurence Prewett, in his mid-30’s eldest son of Senator Jackson Prewett. His photograph reveals nothing, except for the fact that the guarded expression on his face seems to be permanent, and that his eyes are a stunning blue.
He was easily cleared by security, which surprises her. She had noticed that children of prominent politicians - biological or adopted - had a propensity to fail the initial background screenings. Too many covered-up youthful indiscretions tend to pop up during Rossum’s very thorough background checks.
She idly flips through the file, committing several details to memory.
His mother died when he was 12. He has two younger brothers-one of whom is following their father (and grandfather)’s footsteps while the other is content with his booze and women (both are also clients of the Dollhouse, although she’s quite certain neither knows about it). He spent his undergraduate years in Stanford and holds and an MBA from Wharton. And despite the crash in the economy, his businesses had stayed afloat, even managing to grow stronger.
She glances at her watch and, upon seeing that she has a few minutes before the client arrives, rises from her chair and goes to the washroom to freshen up.
Several minutes later, her assistant calls her and informs her of the younger Prewett’s arrival. She takes a deep breath and readies the genial smile she gives all her clients before telling Judith to let the man in.
No sooner than that, the double doors leading to her office opens and a tall, exquisitely-dressed man enters the room.
“Mr. Prewett, good afternoon.” She greets warmly, walking towards him. She extends her hand, “Adelle DeWitt.”
A look of surprise appears on his face when he sees her. “Ms. DeWitt.” He cordially greets back and shakes her hand firmly, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Please, have a seat.” She tears her gaze away from him as she motions to the chairs to her left. She too, had been taken slightly aback with his appearance. He looks younger, his eyes are much more intense in person, and his posture gives him a commanding presence.
Mr. Prewett takes the seat nearest her desk, his back facing the lift that directly leads to the facility.
“Would you like anything to drink?” she asks.
“No, thank you.”
She sits on the sofa across him. He seems to be a man of very few words.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Prewett?” she starts after Judith brings in a tray of freshly-brewed tea. She notices the slight flinch on his face when she said his name, which she promptly ignores. She pours a cup of tea for herself, “You do know what this… department of Rossum delves in, I suppose?” she asks, “Tea?”
He shakes his head, “I don’t drink tea.” He replies, “But yes, I do know what you do.”
She hears a slight mockery in his tone, which makes her raise a brow, “And…?”
A very brief smile flits on his face, “I am in no position to judge.”
“Yet, I can hear your disapproval loud and clear.”
His mouth twists in a little frown which, for some reason, amuses her. He leans back on the chair and in a somewhat defensive pose, puts his arms in front of him.
“I’m here because of my father.” He starts, changing the subject, “He’s dying.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Prewett.” She says sincerely, “Our Actives can do many things-”
“Actives?” he interrupts, “The person who… will do what I’ll want to be done?”
“Yes.” She answers, nodding her head, “They will be the one who would fulfill our client’s needs. Engagements, as we call them.” She adds.
If this were a different client, she would have launched her usual spiel of what an Active is, and how they go about with engagements, but she doubts if Mr. Prewett would be interested. He seems like the type who makes a list of pros and cons before jumping into a new activity.
“As I was saying our Actives can do many things, Mr. Prewett, but we haven’t found a cure for cancer.” Not yet, anyway.
His brows furrow in bemusement, “You get requests like that?” he asks in disbelief.
Among many things, yes. “Unfortunately.” She answers, lifting the cup of tea to her lips.
He stares at her and she can feel herself being scrutinized by those deep blue eyes. She doesn’t look away; instead, she steadily holds his gaze. Usually, the moment the client walks in her office, she has a grasp on what they want. This man is different. She can’t get a clear read on him, but one thing is definite: he arrived here with a decision in mind. It will be difficult to ask him to change it.
“I know my father’s a client of this esteemed establishment.”
She tilts her head to the side, “I’m not at liberty to discuss such matters with you, sir.” She tells him in a gentle but firm tone, “Nor will it curry any favours.”
He suddenly smirks, which catches her off-guard.
“I’m sure it won’t.” he says dryly. He then loosens up a bit on his seat, “My father already wants to die, but he tells me that he wants to see my mother before he passes away from this good earth.” He gives her a pointed look, “Which poses a big problem for me.”
“You need your mother to be by your father’s side before he dies?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“And you believe that the senator has been requesting Actives in your mother’s image?”
“Yes, I do.” A quick flash of horror appears on his face before he hurriedly adds, “What I want for him is companionship for him until he passes on to the afterlife. Nothing kinky.”
“That can be arranged,” She hides her smile, “And where is your father right now, Mr. Prewett?” She inquires.
“Manhattan.”
She stands up and goes to her desk, “Of course, you need this engagement to start as soon as possible.” she states as she goes to her desk to call the lab. She orders Topher to check the Active and imprint details of Jackson Prewett’s previous engagements.
“I had the lab check for the details of the senator’s past engagements.” She informs him, “It might take a while.”
“Knowing Jackson Prewett, he’s not going to die until he gets what he wants.” He replies in a rather gruff tone as he glances at her, “I have time.”
“May I interest you with a glass of bourbon? Perhaps whiskey, or coffee?”
He does that little frown again, “Coffee sounds great.”
She calls Judith to request for a pot of coffee before walking back to the couch.
She takes a subtle glance at him and thinks that it will probably be a good business move if she convinces him to be a client. His father’s death will create a small void in their list of patrons.
“Is there anything else you want to discuss?” She smoothed over the hint of hesitation in her tone, “Perhaps an engagement for yourself?” there’s a part of her that secretly wants him to decline. She sits down across him once again and drapes her arm on the sofa.
“Frankly speaking, when I first heard about the existence of this business, I wasn’t surprised. People will whore themselves for a price.”
She draws in a sharp breath and was about to rebut him when he cuts her off.
“I see what’s appealing about it. It’s hard not to judge, since I was raised in a very judgmental household. I’m just doing this because it’s my father’s last request. But the entire consequence-less existence and how it extends to your clients doesn’t really tempt to me.”
She quirks a brow. His answer was earnest enough and she can clearly see he’s not going to change his mind. However…
“But a man of your stature, with your name and wealth? How can you be sure that the women attracted to you are in it for you and not your money? Men have needs, Mr. Prewett. And unlike women, men can’t ignore them as well as they think they can.” She remarks, “Men in your position are expected to be as discreet as humanly possible.”
“I know that you know that I’m a Prewett only by name, Ms. DeWitt.” he replies, observing her keenly, “I don’t really count. In fact, I have the freedom to be as indiscreet as I want.”
Laurence Prewett was born Laurence Dominic, the only son of Gideon and Amanda Dominic. His mother divorced his father when he was only six-months-old, due to domestic abuse. His mother met Jackson Prewett, scion of the very politically-inclined Prewetts of New York during a fund-raiser, and when Laurence was two, his mother got married to the budding politician. He was legally using his stepfather’s name by the time he was eight.
“As a respected businessman, then.” She offers, crossing her legs.
He makes a face, “Well, high-class hookers are as discreet. And they certainly are less expensive than what you offer here.” He says, deadpan.
She gives him a polite smile, “I see.”
He waits for a beat before smiling, “I can hear your disapproval loud and clear from where I’m sitting, ma’am.” He replies, rather cheekily.
Before she can respond, there’s a quick rap on the door and Judith enters, carrying a pot of hot coffee. She sets in on the table with the mugs before wordlessly taking her leave.
He doesn’t give her a chance to serve him. Since the coffee pot is in his immediate reach, he merely extends his arm and pours a cup for himself. He then drops two cubes of sugar in the cup before taking a sip.
They sit in silence for a while, watching each other as he drinks his coffee while she drinks her tea. And unlike most clients, the silence between them isn’t awkward or uncomfortable at all. For one thing, Laurence Prewett doesn’t seem to be an egotistical, oversexed maniac, an anti-social genius, or a thrice-divorced man looking for a way to avoid divorcing wife number four by looking for a very discreet affair.
She can’t understand why she’s comfortable with him, though.
“Was there any time when a client went in to your office to request for a romantic date with an Active and… wanted to go out with you instead?” he asks, out of the blue.
Amusement suddenly fills her and she mulls over his question for a good few seconds. Most of her clients have a very specific desire. They merely see her as this very British mouthpiece for the very thing they’ve been searching for. Some flirted with her, but they were all very harmless.
“No.” she answers, finally.
Disbelief appears on his face, “What, they all blind or something?”
She shouldn’t have found his comment funny or charming but it elicits a small, genuine laugh from her. Bloody hell, she probably shouldn’t find him attractive-he’s too fair, his eyes are too drawn together and his nose seems to be oddly crooked - but there’s just something about him that she finds appealing.
“Perhaps you might change your mind upon seeing our Actives.” She says.
The corner of his lips tugs upwards, “I doubt it.” He answers back and watches her through the rim of his coffee mug as he takes another sip.
The manner of which he’s staring at her doesn’t border into leering. Not at all. Come to think of it, his gaze has a very restrained comportment to it, which she finds very interesting.
The shrill ring of the telephone interrupts their little moment.
“Excuse me.” She tells him and picks up the call using the extension line on the other side of the couch.
“Yes?”
It’s Topher. And with a lot of fanfare, he tells her that throughout Senator Prewett’s steady patronage, he found only three imprints that the senator favored, with two being a variation of the older personality named Amanda. The young man then tells her that he found two more, but they’re located in the Manhattan House and he’s wondering if he has to call the programmer there to access the imprints.
“I don’t see any need for it. Continue.” She says.
The last Actives that were imprinted with the personality were Golf, India and Lima- small women, with light brown hair and blue eyes.
“Isn’t this senator dude dying or something?”
She ignores Topher’s comment, “Check with Dr. Saunders about the availability of India.” She tells him. If she remembers correctly, India broke her wrist a few days ago and doesn’t have any engagements scheduled for the entire week, “This engagement is top priority.”
“Right-o, Boss Lady.”
She can’t help but roll her eyes as she ends the call. Topher Brink’s an insufferable genius and she can’t help but pity her Head of Security who can’t seem to control the man’s antics.
She looks back at Laurence Prewett and gives him a small smile, “The engagement will be underway in a few hours. Will you be accompanying our Active to your father’s bedside?”
A somber expression appears on his face. He shakes his head, “I’d rather not.” He answers, “I can arrange a plane to take her to Manhattan. My father’s long-time aide can meet her in the airport.” He takes one long look at her before standing up, “Your assistant will be handling the financial transaction?”
“Yes, she will.” She stands up herself and accompanies him towards the door.
“Thank you.” He says.
“We’re glad to be of service.” She replies and holds her hand to him, “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Prewett.”
He takes her hand, “Likewise, Ms. DeWitt.”
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Adelle DeWitt, Laurence Dominic
Words: 2, 498
Disclaimer: Don't own Dollhouse
Notes: au_bingo prompt-- Alternate History: Personal life of character changed
The day starts innocuously enough, unlike the several days these past few weeks when mayhem and chaos plagued her every waking hour. She actually has time to enjoy her tea and look over the stack of paperwork on her desk before meeting the Head of Security to go over the agenda of the day.
Her House is in order. Finally.
The morning goes by without a hitch and there’s nary a peep or squeak from the security chief (who’s a rather skittish man, but the only qualified person for the job as compared to the others in his lot).
She takes a quick lunch in her office, reading financial reports in between bites. After lunch, she proceeds to Dr. Saunders’ memos (the Actives’ diet needs to be modified; apparently someone in the kitchen has been giving them too much sugar) and is signing release forms when Judith knocks on her door and reminds her that a client will be arriving in an hour.
“Thank you, Judith.” She merely replies. She clears her desk of the clutter and leaves the dossier that security had compiled on the Dollhouse’s new client.
She looks at the short bio and the photograph which security provided. The new client is Laurence Prewett, in his mid-30’s eldest son of Senator Jackson Prewett. His photograph reveals nothing, except for the fact that the guarded expression on his face seems to be permanent, and that his eyes are a stunning blue.
He was easily cleared by security, which surprises her. She had noticed that children of prominent politicians - biological or adopted - had a propensity to fail the initial background screenings. Too many covered-up youthful indiscretions tend to pop up during Rossum’s very thorough background checks.
She idly flips through the file, committing several details to memory.
His mother died when he was 12. He has two younger brothers-one of whom is following their father (and grandfather)’s footsteps while the other is content with his booze and women (both are also clients of the Dollhouse, although she’s quite certain neither knows about it). He spent his undergraduate years in Stanford and holds and an MBA from Wharton. And despite the crash in the economy, his businesses had stayed afloat, even managing to grow stronger.
She glances at her watch and, upon seeing that she has a few minutes before the client arrives, rises from her chair and goes to the washroom to freshen up.
Several minutes later, her assistant calls her and informs her of the younger Prewett’s arrival. She takes a deep breath and readies the genial smile she gives all her clients before telling Judith to let the man in.
No sooner than that, the double doors leading to her office opens and a tall, exquisitely-dressed man enters the room.
“Mr. Prewett, good afternoon.” She greets warmly, walking towards him. She extends her hand, “Adelle DeWitt.”
A look of surprise appears on his face when he sees her. “Ms. DeWitt.” He cordially greets back and shakes her hand firmly, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Please, have a seat.” She tears her gaze away from him as she motions to the chairs to her left. She too, had been taken slightly aback with his appearance. He looks younger, his eyes are much more intense in person, and his posture gives him a commanding presence.
Mr. Prewett takes the seat nearest her desk, his back facing the lift that directly leads to the facility.
“Would you like anything to drink?” she asks.
“No, thank you.”
She sits on the sofa across him. He seems to be a man of very few words.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Prewett?” she starts after Judith brings in a tray of freshly-brewed tea. She notices the slight flinch on his face when she said his name, which she promptly ignores. She pours a cup of tea for herself, “You do know what this… department of Rossum delves in, I suppose?” she asks, “Tea?”
He shakes his head, “I don’t drink tea.” He replies, “But yes, I do know what you do.”
She hears a slight mockery in his tone, which makes her raise a brow, “And…?”
A very brief smile flits on his face, “I am in no position to judge.”
“Yet, I can hear your disapproval loud and clear.”
His mouth twists in a little frown which, for some reason, amuses her. He leans back on the chair and in a somewhat defensive pose, puts his arms in front of him.
“I’m here because of my father.” He starts, changing the subject, “He’s dying.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Prewett.” She says sincerely, “Our Actives can do many things-”
“Actives?” he interrupts, “The person who… will do what I’ll want to be done?”
“Yes.” She answers, nodding her head, “They will be the one who would fulfill our client’s needs. Engagements, as we call them.” She adds.
If this were a different client, she would have launched her usual spiel of what an Active is, and how they go about with engagements, but she doubts if Mr. Prewett would be interested. He seems like the type who makes a list of pros and cons before jumping into a new activity.
“As I was saying our Actives can do many things, Mr. Prewett, but we haven’t found a cure for cancer.” Not yet, anyway.
His brows furrow in bemusement, “You get requests like that?” he asks in disbelief.
Among many things, yes. “Unfortunately.” She answers, lifting the cup of tea to her lips.
He stares at her and she can feel herself being scrutinized by those deep blue eyes. She doesn’t look away; instead, she steadily holds his gaze. Usually, the moment the client walks in her office, she has a grasp on what they want. This man is different. She can’t get a clear read on him, but one thing is definite: he arrived here with a decision in mind. It will be difficult to ask him to change it.
“I know my father’s a client of this esteemed establishment.”
She tilts her head to the side, “I’m not at liberty to discuss such matters with you, sir.” She tells him in a gentle but firm tone, “Nor will it curry any favours.”
He suddenly smirks, which catches her off-guard.
“I’m sure it won’t.” he says dryly. He then loosens up a bit on his seat, “My father already wants to die, but he tells me that he wants to see my mother before he passes away from this good earth.” He gives her a pointed look, “Which poses a big problem for me.”
“You need your mother to be by your father’s side before he dies?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“And you believe that the senator has been requesting Actives in your mother’s image?”
“Yes, I do.” A quick flash of horror appears on his face before he hurriedly adds, “What I want for him is companionship for him until he passes on to the afterlife. Nothing kinky.”
“That can be arranged,” She hides her smile, “And where is your father right now, Mr. Prewett?” She inquires.
“Manhattan.”
She stands up and goes to her desk, “Of course, you need this engagement to start as soon as possible.” she states as she goes to her desk to call the lab. She orders Topher to check the Active and imprint details of Jackson Prewett’s previous engagements.
“I had the lab check for the details of the senator’s past engagements.” She informs him, “It might take a while.”
“Knowing Jackson Prewett, he’s not going to die until he gets what he wants.” He replies in a rather gruff tone as he glances at her, “I have time.”
“May I interest you with a glass of bourbon? Perhaps whiskey, or coffee?”
He does that little frown again, “Coffee sounds great.”
She calls Judith to request for a pot of coffee before walking back to the couch.
She takes a subtle glance at him and thinks that it will probably be a good business move if she convinces him to be a client. His father’s death will create a small void in their list of patrons.
“Is there anything else you want to discuss?” She smoothed over the hint of hesitation in her tone, “Perhaps an engagement for yourself?” there’s a part of her that secretly wants him to decline. She sits down across him once again and drapes her arm on the sofa.
“Frankly speaking, when I first heard about the existence of this business, I wasn’t surprised. People will whore themselves for a price.”
She draws in a sharp breath and was about to rebut him when he cuts her off.
“I see what’s appealing about it. It’s hard not to judge, since I was raised in a very judgmental household. I’m just doing this because it’s my father’s last request. But the entire consequence-less existence and how it extends to your clients doesn’t really tempt to me.”
She quirks a brow. His answer was earnest enough and she can clearly see he’s not going to change his mind. However…
“But a man of your stature, with your name and wealth? How can you be sure that the women attracted to you are in it for you and not your money? Men have needs, Mr. Prewett. And unlike women, men can’t ignore them as well as they think they can.” She remarks, “Men in your position are expected to be as discreet as humanly possible.”
“I know that you know that I’m a Prewett only by name, Ms. DeWitt.” he replies, observing her keenly, “I don’t really count. In fact, I have the freedom to be as indiscreet as I want.”
Laurence Prewett was born Laurence Dominic, the only son of Gideon and Amanda Dominic. His mother divorced his father when he was only six-months-old, due to domestic abuse. His mother met Jackson Prewett, scion of the very politically-inclined Prewetts of New York during a fund-raiser, and when Laurence was two, his mother got married to the budding politician. He was legally using his stepfather’s name by the time he was eight.
“As a respected businessman, then.” She offers, crossing her legs.
He makes a face, “Well, high-class hookers are as discreet. And they certainly are less expensive than what you offer here.” He says, deadpan.
She gives him a polite smile, “I see.”
He waits for a beat before smiling, “I can hear your disapproval loud and clear from where I’m sitting, ma’am.” He replies, rather cheekily.
Before she can respond, there’s a quick rap on the door and Judith enters, carrying a pot of hot coffee. She sets in on the table with the mugs before wordlessly taking her leave.
He doesn’t give her a chance to serve him. Since the coffee pot is in his immediate reach, he merely extends his arm and pours a cup for himself. He then drops two cubes of sugar in the cup before taking a sip.
They sit in silence for a while, watching each other as he drinks his coffee while she drinks her tea. And unlike most clients, the silence between them isn’t awkward or uncomfortable at all. For one thing, Laurence Prewett doesn’t seem to be an egotistical, oversexed maniac, an anti-social genius, or a thrice-divorced man looking for a way to avoid divorcing wife number four by looking for a very discreet affair.
She can’t understand why she’s comfortable with him, though.
“Was there any time when a client went in to your office to request for a romantic date with an Active and… wanted to go out with you instead?” he asks, out of the blue.
Amusement suddenly fills her and she mulls over his question for a good few seconds. Most of her clients have a very specific desire. They merely see her as this very British mouthpiece for the very thing they’ve been searching for. Some flirted with her, but they were all very harmless.
“No.” she answers, finally.
Disbelief appears on his face, “What, they all blind or something?”
She shouldn’t have found his comment funny or charming but it elicits a small, genuine laugh from her. Bloody hell, she probably shouldn’t find him attractive-he’s too fair, his eyes are too drawn together and his nose seems to be oddly crooked - but there’s just something about him that she finds appealing.
“Perhaps you might change your mind upon seeing our Actives.” She says.
The corner of his lips tugs upwards, “I doubt it.” He answers back and watches her through the rim of his coffee mug as he takes another sip.
The manner of which he’s staring at her doesn’t border into leering. Not at all. Come to think of it, his gaze has a very restrained comportment to it, which she finds very interesting.
The shrill ring of the telephone interrupts their little moment.
“Excuse me.” She tells him and picks up the call using the extension line on the other side of the couch.
“Yes?”
It’s Topher. And with a lot of fanfare, he tells her that throughout Senator Prewett’s steady patronage, he found only three imprints that the senator favored, with two being a variation of the older personality named Amanda. The young man then tells her that he found two more, but they’re located in the Manhattan House and he’s wondering if he has to call the programmer there to access the imprints.
“I don’t see any need for it. Continue.” She says.
The last Actives that were imprinted with the personality were Golf, India and Lima- small women, with light brown hair and blue eyes.
“Isn’t this senator dude dying or something?”
She ignores Topher’s comment, “Check with Dr. Saunders about the availability of India.” She tells him. If she remembers correctly, India broke her wrist a few days ago and doesn’t have any engagements scheduled for the entire week, “This engagement is top priority.”
“Right-o, Boss Lady.”
She can’t help but roll her eyes as she ends the call. Topher Brink’s an insufferable genius and she can’t help but pity her Head of Security who can’t seem to control the man’s antics.
She looks back at Laurence Prewett and gives him a small smile, “The engagement will be underway in a few hours. Will you be accompanying our Active to your father’s bedside?”
A somber expression appears on his face. He shakes his head, “I’d rather not.” He answers, “I can arrange a plane to take her to Manhattan. My father’s long-time aide can meet her in the airport.” He takes one long look at her before standing up, “Your assistant will be handling the financial transaction?”
“Yes, she will.” She stands up herself and accompanies him towards the door.
“Thank you.” He says.
“We’re glad to be of service.” She replies and holds her hand to him, “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Prewett.”
He takes her hand, “Likewise, Ms. DeWitt.”