derevko_child: (dh | treatment)
derevko_child ([personal profile] derevko_child) wrote on May 30th, 2011 at 11:55 pm
3 More Dollhouse AUs (PG-13, Alternate Universes)
Title: 3 More Dollhouse AUs
Disclaimer: Don't own them, never will.
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Don't mind me, I'm just here, being crazy.




I. Thieves

“You make it very difficult for me to find you, Dominic.”

Laurence Dominic downs what remains of his whiskey before looking at the man who takes the empty seat beside him. He frowns before turning his attention back to the bartender and motioning him to refill his glass, “Maybe you’re losing touch.”

“Yeah, sure.” The other man says, “And you’re still an insurance investigator.”

He takes a sip from his drink, “What do you want, Tony?”

Tony (last name unconfirmed) is a fence – a very discreet go-to person for rare, expensive items – a criminal, really, although he likes to call himself a businessman. In Tony’s words, he’s a matchmaker. Clients contact him about certain merchandises and he looks at the market to see if it’s there.

“What do you think?” Tony retorts and looks at him, “Don’t you think it’s a bit early to start drinking at this time of the day? Especially that?” he asks, pointing at his glass.

Dominic never liked small talk, and though he’s walking on the path to ruin, he’s not entirely sure if he wants to include “master the art of chitchat” to his future self-help, yet-to-be-written book, Your Path to Self-Destruction: A Manual.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” he says dryly and takes another sip of whiskey.

Tony jerks his head to the door, “Let’s go outside.” He digs his hand in his coat pocket and puts it on the bar, “Tab’s on me.”

“What, this place isn’t good enough?”

Tony makes a disgruntled face, “It's dark and the only lights on are colored pink.”

“And?”

“It’s a little bit shady for my taste.”

He takes one long look at the man with curly hair and eyes that are too earnest for a crook, “Didn’t take you for someone who’s uncomfortable with shady.”

“Well, I don’t want to tell my clients I found their honest man in a bar like this.” Tony retorts. “It’s easy money, Dom. And I think you’re gonna love it.” He whirls around and struts out the door.

Dominic downs his drink and sets the glass on the table, bottoms up. “Everything’s easy money when it comes to you.” He mutters before following Tony out of the bar.

~*~

The gray skies and the biting wind make this part of the city bleaker, uglier. Dominic grunts as he pulls his coat closer to him. He had actually forgotten why he was drinking at a bar this early; then he realizes what the weather is like and gets quickly reminded why, exactly.

He trails a few steps behind, alert for anything. Tony’s a criminal; even though he’s worked with the guy a couple of times since he got out of the business and he knows that Tony isn’t the type of criminal that will resort to violence, it’s best to be prepared.

Tony glances over his shoulder several times, checking if he’s still there. Dominic glares at him every single time he looks at him.

“You want some coffee?” the younger man asks when he sees a coffee stand at the corner of the street.

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” Tony stops at the stand and orders a cup of coffee for himself.

Dominic shoves his hands inside his coat and tries to wait patiently as the vendor takes a sweet time with brewing a fresh pot.

Minutes later, they’ve resumed walking down the street. From the route Tony’s taking, it appears they’re walking towards the foot bridge leading directly to the park—a very good place to ambush someone, if he isn’t careful.

Tony strolls on the grass and takes a seat on an empty bench overlooking the river.

He sits at the other end of the bench. A boat filled with tourists is passing through and they all look like they’re having a blast with the short tour.

He frowns. Come to think of it, he’s never been on those river tours.

“My new client is looking for someone to oversee a little job and he wants an honest man.” Tony starts.

“And you thought of me?” he asks, “I’m touched.” He adds in mockery.

“You’re the only honest man I know, Dominic.” Tony replies in an equally sardonic tone.

“I’ve been working with you. How does that make me an honest man?”

Tony rolls his eyes, “The only way I could get you to help me out is if I don’t involve you in anything illegal.” He points out, “And I swear on my mother’s grave, those four, five jobs I got you in were totally legal.”

“Your mother isn’t dead.”

“Have you ever heard of metaphors?”

Dominic glances at the not-so-honorable man giving him a job offer. He’s slouched against the bench, sipping his coffee like a damn yuppie, “Saying that you swear on your mother’s grave when your mother is still alive isn’t a metaphor.”

Tony flashes an irritated look, “Fine, it’s a figure of speech.” He says, “But those jobs were legal.” He stresses.

“Fine, I get it. What’s this job?”

“The client has the details, but before you say no,” Tony pauses and there’s a shift in his posture, “you should know that IYS…”

The mere mention of those three letters catches his full attention.

“…is part of the equation and if you want to rip them off for revenge, now’s the time for it.”

The idea that he can finally take revenge against the company that screwed him over suddenly galvanizes him. He didn’t have the chance to do this fourteen months ago and now that the opportunity is posing itself right in front of him… it would be insane to let it go—criminal activity be damned.

He keeps the expression on his face blank, “What details do you have?” he asks curtly.

Tony slowly lifts his hand before reaching inside his coat. “I have an address and the time of the meet.” He then hands him a folded piece of paper, “instructions are in there.”

Dominic surreptitiously looks around before unfolding the paper. Tony rises from the chair.

“And a piece of advice, Dom. Lose the beard. You look like a worn-out hobo.”

~*~

He doesn’t shave off his beard, as Tony had advised (he hasn’t sunk that low into depression that he’s going to follow a suggestion from a crook). He does, however, makes himself look presentable: he trims his beard, wears a charcoal gray suit, no tie – he’s not going to overkill it – and black leather shoes to make the people he’s meeting with believe he’s the ‘honest man’ they’re looking for.

The meeting place is an empty warehouse, which he scouts beforehand (fairly isolated from foot traffic, with several security cameras installed). He also does a little research before heading to the little powwow.

The warehouse is owned by Randolph Industries, a big player in several businesses but primarily in telecommunications. He has no idea what they’d need him for; any shifty transactions can be easily handled by their ‘shifty transactions’ department— all companies have those (he should know; he was in insurance back then).

Dominic keeps his head low as he walks towards the warehouse. He doesn’t want his face to be seen by any of the surveillance cameras (he has no idea what this is all about; it’s best to be cautious).

The side door is unbolted, per the instructions. When he steps inside, he immediately sees the people he’s meeting—two heavily-built men and a man in a brown suit who are in the center of the room under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights. All three men look to his direction the moment they hear the door open.

“Mr. Dominic?” the man in brown asks, his voice ringing out in the empty space. He’s seated on one of the chairs in front of a metal table, while the two men showing off their gun holsters stand by his side.

“Yes, sir.” He answers and slowly makes his way to where they’re positioned. It’s not inconceivable that these two aren’t the only members of the security team. The warehouse is large enough for a small army.

One of the men, the bald one, blocks him halfway through.

“Put your hands where I can see them.”

Dominic stops walking and shows him his hands.

“ID?”

“In my pocket.”

“Get it. Slowly.”

He does he was told and steadily takes his wallet from his coat pocket. He opens it and gives his driver’s license to the man.

“Weapons?”

“Knife. On my ankle.”

The man begins to pat him down, searching for any weapons or bugs. Dominic keeps himself from sighing and waits to be cleared as a security risk.

The bald man takes his knife and inspects it.

“He’s clear.” The man declares and gives Dominic back his knife before moving out of his way.

He’s closer now and he can clearly see the features of the man he’s meeting with.

“I’m sorry about that, Mr. Dominic.” The man in brown vaguely apologizes as he stands up, “Clyde Randolph. Randolph Industries.”

He’s older than the picture on the website, Dominic thinks, and surprisingly, meeker. It’s not what he imagined a CEO of a big corporation would be like; Clyde Randolph looks like a timid English Lit professor—with a British accent to boot.

“When my chief of security told me who his contact got for the job, I knew I was going to be in good hands. Your reputation precedes you.”

“I haven’t said yes, Mr. Randolph.”

“I know.” Randolph clasps his hands together, “But you're here, which means you're interested.”

Dominic puts his hands behind his back and squares his shoulder, “I was made aware of a certain detail that interested me. I don’t know if I’ll be interested with the rest.”

Randolph glances at his mooks (although the other one’s better-dressed than the bald guy, so he’s guessing chief of security) and both men go out of earshot.

“Please, have a seat.” Randolph motions for him to take a chair, which he does.

“What is it – exactly – that you want me to do?” Dominic leans back on the chair, finally getting the chance to ask the question.

“What do you know about cell towers, Mr. Dominic?”

Dominic shrugs, “Not much.” He replies, biting back the sarcasm. Clyde Randolph’s a potential employer; he probably shouldn’t be antagonistic. But then, couldn’t they just skip this?

Randolph sighs, “We’ve been developing a way to make our cell towers so that they’d reach more people and be more efficient. To make the long story short, the designs have been stolen.”

“And you want me to look for it?”

“No, I want you to steal it back.”

He stares at Randolph with incredulity, “I thought you were looking for an honest man…sir.”

“I am.” Randolph replies earnestly, “I have a group of thieves who would steal it. I’m now looking for an honest man to watch over them.”

He doesn’t know how to respond. Obviously, Randolph knows who took his designs, but it’s very risky to steal them back—especially when he’s employed a group of thieves.

“May I ask why you want them stolen back?” he asks, “Wouldn’t it be easier to call the police?” Randolph’s a powerful man. He can get justice faster than you can say ‘my cell phone doesn’t have a signal’

The older man shifts in his seat, “I simply don’t have the time for an investigation, Mr. Dominic.” He states, “Matthew Harding is a dowdy businessman, if I may say so myself, but a really aggressive competitor. I never expected he’d cross the line.”

Upon mention of Matthew Harding’s name, Dominic immediately knew that this is going to be a very dicey venture.

“It was an inside job. They made sure to steal it less than two weeks before I present it to the Board of Directors.” Randolph explains, leaning forward and dropping the tone of his voice, “If there was any legal way to do this, I would have done it already. I am desperate, Mr. Dominic. I invested a lot of money in this design and if I don’t have anything to show for it… I don’t actually care about the money. It’s my company’s reputation I’m worried about.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Even if he’s itching to take revenge on IYS, there are still too many variables to consider.

“Here is the team I’ve hired.” The older man says and gives him a bunch of folders, “I’ve been assured that they’re the best for this job.”

Dominic rifles through the files. He had chased these people at some point in his 12 years in insurance investigation. Topher Brink (New York, three years ago), Paul Ballard (Berlin, five years ago)… Echo.

His brows rise in surprise, “You got Echo?” he asks in disbelief.

“Why?” Randolph’s tone falters a bit and he tugs his ear nervously. “Is there someone else better?”

“She’s the best, but she’s…” he trails off, trying to find a word to describe Echo, “let’s just say she’s unpredictable and leave it at that.” He replies. These people are the best (if not the very best), but they aren’t group heist material.

“These people work alone.” Dominic states, frowning as he puts the folders down the table, “And they work best when they’re alone. Not in a team.”

“For three-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars each, they will. Or at least, I think they will.” Randolph shakes his head, “And yours is double that. Everything is off the books, of course.” He stresses.

Dominic blinks. Double. “That’s… a lot of money.”

But then again, $1.7M is chump change compared to what the insurance company will shell out if the theft is reported. And he’s sure it’s an amount that no insurance company will part with.

“How much are the plans insured for?”

“Fifty million.”

It’s definitely an amount that no insurance company will part with.

“I’m willing to pay for the best.” Randolph declares, “And you people are the best.”

He doesn’t say anything and looks at the files again. Brink will be very difficult to work with, he’s sure of it. A compromise might be reached with Ballard, but he doesn’t know what to do with Echo— volatile, crazy Echo.

The long silence that follows is uncomfortable for the two of them (but more for the other man than for him). To be able to get paid and get his revenge, he needs to be sure that this will work.

After a few minutes, he looks at Clyde Randolph.

“I’m in.”






II. Spies
Former FBI Agent Paul Ballard walks inside the lobby of the Spangler Building in the central business district of London. It’s his first day of work and if he doesn’t move faster than he’s moving right now, he’s going to be late.

He goes with the tide of people coming in through the doors and goes past the metal detectors to get in line for the elevators.

Paul glances at his watch. He was never late back when he was in the FBI and it probably won’t make a good impression if he comes in during the first day of work a second later.

He checks his pocket for the white plastic card that was given to him when he was hired. He was instructed to give the card to the officer on the sixth floor. He then fixes his sling bag, making sure that it isn’t messing up his suit.

After a few minutes, he’s squeezed inside one of the elevator cars with fourteen other people. He can see the top of everybody’s heads.

The elevator ride lasts less than thirty seconds and the moment he steps out, immediately makes his way to the Citizen’s Institute (Suite 6004-6007).

He tries to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Paul Ballard?” a man’s voice booms from out of the little speaker at the side of the door.

“Yes.”

“Please take a step back.”

He takes a step back. After a few seconds, the door beeps thrice and he hears the door clicks. Paul takes a deep breath before going inside.

The receiving area has dark-colored walls and feels very warm and welcoming. He briskly walks towards the front desk, “Good morning.” he smiles at two people – a tiny woman and a large man drinking coffee – partially being hidden by the large counter.

“You’re late.” the woman says and stands up. She’s wearing a pantsuit, doesn’t seem to have a British accent and barely reaches his shoulders.

“I’m Paul Ballard.”

“Identification please.” The man says.

He takes his driver’s license from his wallet and hands it for inspection. The man scrutinizes his ID and looks at him. Paul makes the same face on his license.

“He’s all yours, luv.” The man tells the woman and hand his ID back to him.

“Thanks.” She replies then takes her cup from the table, “And thanks for the coffee, Timmy.”

“Always my pleasure, Judith.”

The woman – Judith – motions him to follow her, which he does.

“It won’t happen again.” He says apologetically as he follows her through a rather narrow hallway, “Being late.”

She turns her head and looks at him, “Well, good thing your bosses aren’t here.” She gives him a quick smile and continues walking.

“Do you have your card?” she asks as they stop in front of the door at the end of the hallway. Paul notes that there isn’t a handle on the doorknob, only a shiny metal plate which he assumes to be a sensor.

He takes the white card from his pocket and gives it to her. Judith then taps it on the metal, which slides up to reveal another biometric scanner.

Judith presses her left hand on the pad. For a few seconds they stand in front of the door, waiting.

Finally, the door opens and reveals itself to be an entrance to another elevator. Judith steps inside and he follows suit. The doors close automatically before whirring to life.

“Am I that late to have missed the morning rush hour?” he remarks half-jokingly

“Guests with official business and new employees are the only ones who pass through the sixth floor office.” She informs him, “Once you’ve been inputted in the system, you’ll be able to enter through any of the other entrances to the HQ.”

Paul nods his head, “how many are there?”

“We have seven others.” Judith answers, “Two more offices in nearby buildings are used as access points to HQ and one of them is the official satellite office,”

“You’ll be further briefed about security protocols, but since the Assistant Director is in Libya overseeing an operation, the Director will be the one talking to you about it.” She looks at him, “Mind you, she’s actually stricter about security protocols than the Assistant Director.”

He nods his head again. He met Director DeWitt prior to his recruitment to this very secret international organization. She’s a beautiful woman and genial, but she also seems like a woman he shouldn’t cross.

“Since she’s out for a meeting, one of your teammates will be giving you a tour of the facilities.”

The elevator lurches to a halt and the doors open. A corridor in front of them is the same width as the elevator and consists of glass.

“All the glass panes in the office are impact-resistant.” Judith notes as they walk out.

Paul looks around as they walk across a bunch of empty tables. There aren’t a lot of solid walls, only glass panes. He wonders how people go about with the lack of privacy.

“The Director and the Assistant Director’s offices are upstairs.” Judith motions to the giant glass offices. Paul can bet that every movement on the lower floor can be seen and vice versa, “The panes frost up when they close the doors.” She adds.

He notices a very colorful room to his right, the one with green couches, and if he isn’t mistaken, a gumball machine by the door.

“The room to the right is Topher’s office. You’ll meet him later.” Judith says.

He follows her to several cubicles and they stop in front of one with a woman sitting inside.

“Agent Costley.” Judith greets, “This is Agent Paul Ballard, formerly of the FBI.”

“The new guy.” Agent Costley glances at him and turns off her computer monitor, “About time we got one.” She says and smiles at him and extends her hand, “Madeleine Costley, formerly of Interpol.”

He takes her hand and shakes it, “Nice to meet you.” Her eyes are bright blue and he can’t seem to tear his gaze from them.

“I’ll leave you two. Introduce him around, Costley.” Judith then leaves the two of them.

“I don’t think you have a table yet, but you can put your things in Tony’s table since he’s not here.” She says and points to the stall with a cactus.

Paul takes off his sling bag and puts it on a chair. He turns his attention back to the voluptuous woman with startlingly bright blue eyes.

“So,” she starts, “Would you like a tour?”

~*~

“The food in the cafeteria’s excellent and the food’s diverse enough that you won’t really feel the need to go up and eat out.” Madeleine says as they walk past the cafeteria, “But if you want, you can also bring your own lunch. You can have them re-heated here or in the lounge.”

She stops walking and glances at him, “Can you walk beside me? It’s a bit difficult to talk to you when you’re a few steps behind.” She asks with an apologetic smile.

“Sure.” He goes to her right side.

Madeleine continues with their tour of the facilities. She brings him to the security office (and introduces him to the head of the security, directly under the Director’s office), the clinic and the locker rooms. There’s also a three-level gym, a two-level armory and a target area practice the size of the gym and armory combined. Quantico’s facilities very much pale in comparison.

“What kind of black ops division is this?” He remarks as they make their way back to the main office. She mentioned something about the entire division relocating to London from Paris a year ago, but he doesn’t know what that was about.

Madeleine grins, “My reaction exactly when I first started. Topher says we’re like the Impossible Mission Forces.”

“Topher, the guy with a gumball machine in his office?”

“Yes. He’s self-appointed boy genius of the division.” She says lightly, “He is a genius, but don’t say that to his face. You won’t hear the end of it. Ever.”

“What does he do?”

“He makes the stuff we need.”

They walk to the glass office he had noticed before they started going around the facility. The door isn’t closed, but Madeleine still knocks before going inside.

“Hey, Topher.” She greets.

“Hey yourself, Madeleine.”

Paul ducks inside and immediately sees that the resident genius is sitting on a wheelchair.

“This is Paul Ballard, he’s the new agent.” Madeleine introduces.

Topher wheels towards them and gives him a once-over. He scrunches his face, like when a child tries to understand something new, and looks up at him, “How tall are you, exactly?”

“I’m six-four.”

“You’re a… man-mountain.”

“I don’t think—”

Topher looks at Madeleine, “Are his biostats up in the system?” he says rather excitedly.

Madeleine looks at him, “Are your biometrics up?”

He shakes his head, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Fingerprints, handprints, irides? Have you had those scanned yet?” Topher asks and rolls behind his computer.

He shakes his head again. “No, not yet.”

Topher’s face lights up, “We scan those here. Ivy normally processes that, but she’s out.” He says and motions him to go to his workstation, “Come here, man-mountain. Let’s put you up in the system.”

Paul looks at Madeleine, assessing what to do. Madeleine nods her head and gestures that he goes towards Topher.

“So what did you do before you got this gig, man-mountain?” Topher asks as he attaches a tablet to his computer.

“I was with the FBI. Counterterrorism Unit.”

Topher takes his right hand and presses them on the tablet, “Caught any bad guys?”

“A few.” He replies. The most difficult part of his job in the FBI was determining the bad guy from a bunch of innocent people with the intel they had. The analysts were helpful, but only to a certain point; the rest would be their call.

“Just a few?” Topher wrinkles his nose, “I guess you’re better than the other FBI guys if Delta 1 brought you in.”

“Who’s Delta 1?”

“Director DeWitt.” Topher answers and brings his attention to his scanned handprint on his computer. “Does that mean you don’t have your call sign yet?”

“Today’s his first day, Topher.” Madeleine sighs.

“Yeah, but—”

“Topher.” They all look towards the entrance as an imposing, older man enters.

“Boyd-man.” Topher greets, “Hey. Have you met Paul Ballard? He doesn’t have a call sign yet.”

“Yes, we’ve met.” Boyd Langton nods at him before turning to Topher, “I’m losing Delta 2’s video feed and Delta 2’s losing Victor and Echo’s feeds.”

“What do you mean?” Topher begins to move around, maneuvering his chair out of table, “It’s probably a signal problem. Maybe you just have to do a little re-routing.”

“And how do you do that?”

Topher rolls his eyes and grabs a laptop on one of the tables, “Lead the way, man-friend.”

Boyd Langton and Topher leave the two of them in the room.

He and Madeleine stare at each other for a few seconds.

“So.” He starts, “Maybe I’ll go back here when Topher’s done… re-routing?”

Madeleine motions him to go out with her, “Or when Ivy comes back.” She says, “Ivy’s our other tech, but Topher treats her like his assistant. She can input your biometric stats into the system.”

He follows her out of the room and walks beside her.

“I’m assuming Delta 2’s the Assistant Director?” He starts, “Do you call each other with your call signs even when you're not in an operation?”

She thinks for a while, “A bit. Force of habit, mostly.”

“What’s your call sign?”

“It’s November.” She answers, “Topher’s Charlie. Boyd’s Bravo.”

“You use the NATO alphabet as your call signs?” Strange and a bit impractical if they have more than 26 personnel.

“Just the field agents, and the people who handle the communications.”

“I see.” He nods his head, already computing the number of tables he saw earlier, “Why does the Director share a call sign with the Assistant Director?”

An amused expression appeared on her Madeleine’s face, “Well, I assume it’s because they’re…” she trails off and looks at him fastidiously, “…the Director and the Assistant Director. Number 1 and number 2.”

He can tell it isn’t the initial answer that she was going to say, “Okay.” He says. Maybe she thinks she’s going to introduce him to office gossip? He had met the Assistant Director before. He didn’t talk much during their meeting but he had an intensity about him that was a bit chilling.

“Agent Ballard.” He hears Judith trail behind them. Both Madeleine and Paul stop walking.

“The Director would like to see you in her office.”








III. Those People from Gallifrey

“Aside from Topher being Topher, everything’s under control.”

“And I’ll expect you to keep it that way while I’m gone.” She says. The response is almost perfunctory, as though she had said it hundreds of times before.

“Did Rossum tell you why they’re calling you in?” Mr. Dominic asks with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Considering our recent track record, I’m sure they want to pat me in the head and tell me I’ve been running a crackerjack operation.” She tells him in a light tone, “Maybe there’ll be cake.”

“Ma’am, none of these incidents were your fault.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Dominic. Everything that happens under this roof is my fault.” She always thought it was easy lying to him, but somehow his palpable concern makes her feel guilty.

He doesn’t say anything.

“And for the next forty-eight hours, it’s yours.” She tells him. He gives her a small smile and suddenly, a wave of déjà vu assaults her.

She turns around and walks away from him. Adelle knows she should be relieved that she’s actually getting a day off, but she can’t shake off the thought that something’s going to go wrong today.

~*~

At the periphery, Adelle already knew what was going to happen before it happened. It’s as though she’s gone through this day over and over, stuck in a loop.

~*~

She takes the bottle of vodka and a glass from her kitchen and drags herself to her bedroom. She has a splitting headache, a throbbing side and a shattered heart that wants to be acknowledged.

She goes and sits on the chair by the window and pours a drink in the glass. A chill starts to envelope her and she finishes the alcohol to keep warm. Tears begin to burn her eyes. There isn’t any point going over the events of the day.

Adelle pours another shot of vodka and puts the bottle on the floor.

They had a spy. He was caught, interrogated and sent to the Attic. Never mind the fact that the spy was Mr. Dominic. He had been dealt with accordingly.

Her eyes fall on her dresser.

She takes a sip of her drink before pulling herself off the chair and walk towards it. She puts the glass on top of the dresser before pulling out the middle drawer.

It takes her a few moments to find what she’s looking for—her father’s fob watch, the only keepsake given to her when her father died. Her father had always been aloof to her when she was a child and it left her with a feeling of ambivalence towards the man, but she liked having his watch with her. In one way or another, it makes her feel stronger.

She finds it under her pajamas.

Holding the fob watch doesn’t make her feel any better, as it always did in the past. Adelle brings herself to lie down on the bed, clutching on to the watch.

She stifles a sob. A sharp pain flares from her side, which she ignores.

She wills herself to sleep.

~*~

“Aside from Topher being Topher, everything’s under control.”

Adelle pauses and furrows her brows as she looks at Mr. Dominic. She’s been feeling dread ever since she woke up this morning and seeing her head of security – which had lightened her mood somewhat – makes the anxiety greater.

He frowns, “Are you all right, ma’am?”

Adelle blinks, “Of course I’m all right.” She replies, “Why do you ask?”

Mr. Dominic’s frown grows deeper. He looks at her carefully before shaking his head, “It’s nothing.”

“Well, then, Mr. Dominic.” She says when she has looked at him a second longer than she had intended, “The house is yours for forty-eight hours.”

“Yes, ma’am.” A small smile appears on Mr. Dominic’s face, a smile which she returned.

She turns around and walks away.

~*~

Adelle dresses up quietly, painfully aware that any movement she makes might wake up Roger (Victor).

Then she starts rummaging her dresser, looking for her father’s watch. She keeps it under her clothes for some reason but she always looks for it during moments of uncertainty.

She glances back to her bed where Roger (Victor) is sleeping. He hasn’t stirred.

Adelle takes the fob watch and gently shuts the drawer. She walks across her room and sits on the chair.

There’s going to be a call. She doesn’t know what the call would contain, but she knows it’s going to be horrid news.

She holds her father’s watch and waits.

~*~

“Aside from Topher being Topher, everything’s under control.”

Adelle stares at Laurence Dominic, who has his arms crossed in front of his chest.

She’s supposed to tell him that she expects him to keep the house in complete order while she’s gone. But there’s a very tiny, very persistent voice telling her that she’s done this before, countless of times, over and over again.

“Ma’am?”

She takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry, but I’m experiencing an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, Mr. Dominic.” She tells him.

Mr. Dominic purses his lips and furrows his forehead. He moves slightly, almost turning his posture into a defensive stance, but he doesn’t say anything.

She shakes her head, “Rossum cancelled the meeting, which means I won’t be going anywhere.” Her decision is spur-of-the-moment; something tells her that she needs to be here.

Mr. Dominic visibly loosens up and it occurs to her that he really was concerned about her fake meeting with Rossum.

"I’ll be in my office.” She says, giving him a small smile.

“Yes, ma’am.” He replies and nods his head.

~*~

She calls Topher to inform him of the cancellation of Ms. Lonelyheart’s engagement. The younger man responds with an uncomfortable laugh and hurriedly ends the call.

Adelle leans back on her chair and begins playing with her father’s old watch, something she had taken from her dresser at whim.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing, why she cancelled her engagement. She doesn’t have anything to do right now—Mr. Dominic took some of the paperwork that’s due today since he thought she’d be out (bless him).

Adelle stares at the fob watch and notices strange engravings on the cover. Curious, she looks at them closer. She’s never seen these markings before. And it doesn’t seem to be in English or any other language she (or her father) knows.

Something urges her to open the watch (because come to think of, she’s never opened this watch before).

She won’t be able to accurately describe what happens after that.

~*~

She’s back now—two hearts, knowledge of the universe, and all the glory and memories of her five regenerations.

If she computed it correctly, this part of Los Angeles has been disjointed from the time stream and has been experiencing a time loop for 27 days and counting.

She needs to find the source of this problem. She doesn’t want to get shot again.

~*~

“I never lied to you about my methods, or my priorities.”

She takes a deep breath and looks at Echo and Mr. Langton, “Can you leave me with Mr. Dominic?” she orders, “Please.” She adds.

Echo gives her a considering look before nodding her head and following Mr. Langton out of her office. When the door closes, she sighs and sits on her chair, which is directly in front of the chair where Mr. Dominic is shackled.

“I have a question, Mr. Dominic. And I want you to answer it as truthfully as possible.”

He glares at her. The Captain never liked being caught.

“You have a fob watch. It’s old, and you probably inherited it from your father, or grandfather, or maybe an uncle.” She starts, “Where did you put it?”

Puzzlement flashes on Mr. Dominic’s face, “How did you know about that?” he asks, “And how is it related to anything?”

She shrugs, “I just need to know where you placed it, Mr. Dominic.”

He doesn’t answer her for a long time. He probably expected an exchange of heated words and anger, but not a question about fob watches.

“It’s in my apartment.”

“Where exactly?”

“In the closet with some other things. Probably in a shoebox.”

“Thank you, Mr. Dominic. I know that you know what happens next.”

He gapes at her, “That’s it? I betray you and you ask where I placed my uncle’s fob watch?”

The betrayal still hurts (Adelle DeWitt truly cared for Laurence Dominic—cares for him still) but she’s been shot 27 times. She’d rather avoid both for now.

“I try not to think about it.” She turns to the telephone to call Mr. Langton back to her office.

“The technology needs to be reined in, Adelle.”

She turns to him and smiles, sadly. “I know.”

~*~

She gets shot on her side for the 28th time

~*~

“Aside from Topher being Topher, everything’s under control.”

“And I’ll expect you to keep it that way while I’m gone.” She replies. She doesn’t wait for him to reply—she still needs to cancel the Lonelyhearts engagement so that she can go to Mr. Dominic’s apartment to find that damn fob watch.

But before she steps in the elevator, she glances back at him. He hasn’t made a move from his spot.

“I think you worry too much, Mr. Dominic. I’ll be fine with Rossum.”

~*~

The security in Mr. Dominic’s apartment is excellent and she had to use her sonic fountain pen (the Captain also has one. She hopes he hasn’t lost it in his travels) more than a few times to open locks and disable security cameras.

The perception filter is a tricky thing, but a fob watch is still a fob watch (although it takes her a little under three hours to find it).

Now, all she has to do is make him open it.

It’s not going to be easy.

~*~

“Have Echo interrogate him and when she’s done, send him to the Attic.” She tells Langton. It’s mighty strange to order around the founder of this very large and influential company. It might have been funny, but he’s the reason why Earth will go through a horrible apocalypse-like era in their history.

“Call me when he’s delivered to the Attic.”

Langton nods his head. He’s now re-assessing his view on Adelle DeWitt— she’s not that tough dragon lady he always seen her; she doesn’t want to see her most loyal aide get wiped.

Frankly speaking, she just doesn’t want to get shot anymore.

~*~

When Mr. Langton tells her that it’s done and over with, it was truly over. They’ve wheeled in the unconscious Laurence Dominic in the Attic. They haven’t changed his outfit yet, which she’s thankful for because she doesn’t know what his reaction would be if he wakes up wearing something out of a moon mining facility in Korra.

“Could you leave me alone for a few minutes?” she asks the technician. He nods his head.

She places the fob watch in Mr. Dominic’s hand before glancing at hers. She needs to wait for the right time to wheel Mr. Dominic out of the Attic. The time loop’s going to reset any minute now.

~*~

It’s fascinating to watch a Time Lord regain their physiology after passing themselves as human for quite some time-- all that gold dust swirling around his body as he draws in air and his Gallifreyan nature takes over... it's just fascinating.

After a few seconds, he wakes up and audibly groans. He rolls away from the stretcher and falls on the floor with a resounding thud.

She bites her lips in amusement and stands up to get a glass of vodka from the mini bar (she likes this vodka. There isn’t a drink in the universe comparable to a good glass of vodka).

She takes the finest bottle she can find and pours a drink from him. She doesn’t know what he’s feeling at the moment, although it’s probably unpleasant. She just ordered the brain of his human counterpart to be sucked by that dreadful, apocalypse-bringing chair.

When she turns around, she finds him dragging himself to one of the chairs. She walks towards him and hands him the glass.

“I think this might help.”

His head snaps up and he stares at her with incredulity.

“You.” He says in astonishment.

They’ve known each other for centuries and he actually thought she had perished.

She smiles at him.

“Hello, sweetie.”





Point things: fics - 2k-words each; 25 x 3 = 75
wallpapers - 11 wps - 10 x 11 - 110
gifspam/picspam - 6 pts for gifs; 18 pts for pics = 24
total: 209 pts

 
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