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dollsomeTitle: Jim and Pam Wish They Could Pull Off The Powerwalk (In Which The Dollhouse Is Plagued By The Work-Married Phenomenon, At Least According To Topher)
Characters/Pairing: Topher, Ivy, DeWitt/Dominic
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,528
Summary: "Ugh, Topher, don’t tell me you’re reading the relationships section of Yahoo again." Yes. Yes, he is.
Author's Note: Whatever, y'all, it's fic day! It's all silly fluff, all the time up in here!
+
Ivy interrupts him as soon as he pauses to breathe, and what she says is: “Ugh, Topher, don’t tell me you’re reading the relationships section of Yahoo again. You remember how that went last time?”
“Ah-ah-ah. Ivy babe. Hear me out here.”
“Yeah, sure, okay.”
“This is for real. It’s happening all around us! Now, you can turn a blind eye, or you can rub a couple of those adorable little brain cells of yours together, and admit that we’re work married.”
“Uh, we are not work married. We’re not even work dating. We aren’t even, like, you work-ask me for my number and I work-give you a fake one. Okay?”
“It’s a legit phenomenon! Look around, Ives. We’re not the only ones who’re doing it.”
“We’re not doing anything, Topher—”
“Look at Boyd and Saunders! Mr. and Mrs. Doom and Gloom, right there. There’s no way you haven’t seen them hanging out in her office, all mopey and guilty and close-standy … occasionally a little bit gazey—”
“Way to pay attention.”
“Genius, hi.”
“Jealous, hi.”
“Of my genius? You? Aw, Ivy, don’t beat yourself up over it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I understand the impulse. Were I not me, I too would want to punch myself in the inferior cranium at least a little bit. But be fair to yourself. Not everyone can be this—”
“You. Jealous of the Boyd and Saunders situation. Duh.”
“Yeeeeah, well. Boyd’s my man-friend. My special man-migo. If he’s gonna put his close-standy gazey whatever with the Phantom before our fine bromance, then yeah, I’m gonna take some umbrage. Hem hem.”
“You are so lame.”
“Youuu are trying to change the subject, wifey mine. The point is: work marriedness. It’s everywhere. Much like hot willowy twentysomethings in casual workout wear. What about Ramirez and Lewis? You can’t say you haven’t been picking up on that vibeage. Classic case of handlers in desperate want of some handlin’. Or – hey hey hey, here we go – Dom and DeWitt.”
“Oh my God, Topher, fine, I’ll get you the freaking Funyuns, okay? Just stop talking—”
“Mommy and Daddy Dollhouse, right there. Although, okay, sure, DeWitt’s the one wearing the pants in that relationship – well, trousers. ‘Cause, you know, fun fact: to those wily Brits, pants are underwear. Not that she wouldn’t be wearing underwear. Unless—”
“Stop right there or—”
“Or?”
“Or my fingers accidentally slip on the computer and Tango here will wind up with some extra-special ‘Whoopsie! I strangled Topher’ skills.”
“Heh heh. Strangulation. Kinky. You know what, I bet Mr. and Mrs. D-D could get behind that. (Would they hyphenate, do you think? Nah. Dom would probably just take DeWitt's last name. Am I right or am I right? Up top.)”
“Why are you talking.”
“I’m just sayin’. They torture a lot of people, and it never really seems to bum them out. In fact, remember when that security grunt got plastered and mentioned the ol’ DHizzle to one of his drinking buddies? Dom dragged him up to the office, DeWitt shut the door, Judith reported some serious grade-A agonized screaming from within – and afterwards they were both in a weirdly good mood. Methinks that was a prime case of the them equivalent of some serious afterglow. Watching Dom pummel some poor unfortunate lackey -- whoo baby. To DeWitt, that's probably like getting her ear nibbled on. Turning on some Barry White, lowering the lights, pouring a glass of wine, running a sexy bubblebath for two—”
“Oh, gross.”
“There is nothing gross about speculation, Ivy. You know what’s gross? How closed-minded you are. Also: these chips. This is like eating cardboard flavored with a hint of crippling despair. Why are you doing this to me?”
“They’re pita chips, moron. They’re good for you. You’re going to go into a diabetic coma if you don’t stop eating like a ten year old whose parents are out of town for the weekend.”
“Which is your primary concern, because you want to take care of me. Because we … are work married. Is it just me, or does this moment merit a hearty ‘booyah’?”
“Topher?”
“Mrs. Brink?”
“I’m work divorcing you.”
“She ready yet?” Dominic, striding in with his usual air of gruff, vaguely pissed off busyness.
“Just throwing in a few finishing touches. You can’t rush perfection, L-dawg.”
“Don’t call me that ever again. And yeah you can, unless you want the whole House to slow down and DeWitt to get upset. Do you really need a reminder of what happens when DeWitt gets upset?”
“You maim, she swoons?”
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing. The old ball and chain getting you down again?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Topher considers the expression on Dominic’s face, and reaches a wise decision. “Nnnnothing.”
“Did I fall asleep?” (Tango.)
(Topher, with extra focus and zeal and one heck of a speedy turn.) “For a little while …”
Dominic turns to Ivy. “What the hell’s he talking about?”
“Topher’s new thing,” Ivy replies, with the bleak composure of someone who’s lost all hope, “is to think that all of us are work married.”
“Work married?”
“I know, right? Seriously, I am blocking his internet access altogether one of these days. Whenever he tries to look into the practices of actual functioning human beings – ugh, let’s just say that way lies badness.”
“And me and DeWitt are—”
“Work married by Parson Brink. Yep. It was a lovely ceremony, filled with talk about torture and underwear.”
“Huh.”
“The way I see it, you scored. At least you’re not stuck with Topher.”
Dominic ushers Tango out. He’s so distracted that he almost doesn’t stop her from flirtatiously fondling his tie (“You know the only thing I love more than a man in a suit?” she purrs, while Dominic ponders exactly what would drive someone to work-marry him to Adelle DeWitt. Yeah, he’s a man and she’s a woman, but it’s not like this is elementary school, so that shouldn’t exactly be a basis for— “A man out of a suit.”) until it’s too late. Fortunately, his reflexes are good. He really likes this tie.
+
“I’m just saying it’s in the best interest of the House to keep her contained for a little while. A week or so. That way, we can keep an eye on her. Make sure her behavior in the tabula rasa state isn’t atypical. Maybe have Topher wipe her a few extra times.”
“To which I reply once again, Mr. Dominic, that I can’t quite see the business sense in allowing our number one Active to spend a week or so fingerpainting and getting massages.”
“Ma’am, I know that you’re reluctant to acknowledge the situation, but there’s no denying that Echo’s behavior lately has been abnormal—”
“I’m not reluctant to acknowledge anything. Save for perhaps your oversensitivity on the matter. Pointing that out just seems in bad taste.”
“Ms. DeWitt—”
“Mr. Dominic?” She arches her eyebrows, leaning back in her chair. Her lips are poised on the verge of a smirk – not quite there yet, but the threat of it is cheerfully apparent. She drives him crazy sometimes.
The old ball and chain getting you down again? Topher’s voice asks in his head. Dominic tells it to shut the hell up. Being related to Topher even slightly, it doesn’t listen. And continues, relentlessly, to annoy him.
“Something on your mind?” DeWitt asks, tilting her head. Her curls brush against her shoulder, looking very dark against the pale blue of her blouse.
“Topher thinks we’re … work married. It’s irrelevant. You were saying?”
“Work married?”
He crosses his arms. “Like I said. It’s irrelevant.”
“That does seem to be your default stance regarding anything said by Topher.”
“Right. So—”
“What exactly constitutes a work marriage?”
“I didn’t really get that part. Spending a lot of time together, I guess. Bickering.”
“Like us,” she surmises.
“I was thinking more along the lines of Topher and Ivy.”
“Ah. Of course.”
“Ivy was about to file for a work divorce.”
“Lamentable, really,” DeWitt deadpans, “that no one can stay together anymore.”
He shrugs, straightfaced. “I guess when the spark is gone …”
She makes a little appreciative sound in the back of her throat, the more elegant, less drawn-out cousin of a laugh. Her lips are curved in a faint smile. Whatever irritation he’d felt at her – well, he can’t quite muster it anymore.
“Three days,” she says then, surprising him.
“What?”
“We’ll keep Echo House-bound for three days. During those three days, Mr. Dominic, you may observe her to your heart’s content. If her behavior is as strange as you seem to believe it is, we will take it into consideration and figure out how to proceed from there. If not, her engagements shall resume.”
“Thank you,” he says, meaning it.
“Yes, well,” she responds, smirking, “I’ve heard the key to a successful marriage is compromise.”
+
“Yeah,” Topher says sagely, watching DeWitt and Dominic stride side-by-side past the lab, “they’re totally work-doing it.”
Ivy rolls her eyes. The next time he’s not looking, she raids the drawer of inappropriate starches and replaces all its contents with stuff she got at Whole Foods.
Characters/Pairing: Topher, Ivy, DeWitt/Dominic
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,528
Summary: "Ugh, Topher, don’t tell me you’re reading the relationships section of Yahoo again." Yes. Yes, he is.
Author's Note: Whatever, y'all, it's fic day! It's all silly fluff, all the time up in here!
+
Ivy interrupts him as soon as he pauses to breathe, and what she says is: “Ugh, Topher, don’t tell me you’re reading the relationships section of Yahoo again. You remember how that went last time?”
“Ah-ah-ah. Ivy babe. Hear me out here.”
“Yeah, sure, okay.”
“This is for real. It’s happening all around us! Now, you can turn a blind eye, or you can rub a couple of those adorable little brain cells of yours together, and admit that we’re work married.”
“Uh, we are not work married. We’re not even work dating. We aren’t even, like, you work-ask me for my number and I work-give you a fake one. Okay?”
“It’s a legit phenomenon! Look around, Ives. We’re not the only ones who’re doing it.”
“We’re not doing anything, Topher—”
“Look at Boyd and Saunders! Mr. and Mrs. Doom and Gloom, right there. There’s no way you haven’t seen them hanging out in her office, all mopey and guilty and close-standy … occasionally a little bit gazey—”
“Way to pay attention.”
“Genius, hi.”
“Jealous, hi.”
“Of my genius? You? Aw, Ivy, don’t beat yourself up over it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I understand the impulse. Were I not me, I too would want to punch myself in the inferior cranium at least a little bit. But be fair to yourself. Not everyone can be this—”
“You. Jealous of the Boyd and Saunders situation. Duh.”
“Yeeeeah, well. Boyd’s my man-friend. My special man-migo. If he’s gonna put his close-standy gazey whatever with the Phantom before our fine bromance, then yeah, I’m gonna take some umbrage. Hem hem.”
“You are so lame.”
“Youuu are trying to change the subject, wifey mine. The point is: work marriedness. It’s everywhere. Much like hot willowy twentysomethings in casual workout wear. What about Ramirez and Lewis? You can’t say you haven’t been picking up on that vibeage. Classic case of handlers in desperate want of some handlin’. Or – hey hey hey, here we go – Dom and DeWitt.”
“Oh my God, Topher, fine, I’ll get you the freaking Funyuns, okay? Just stop talking—”
“Mommy and Daddy Dollhouse, right there. Although, okay, sure, DeWitt’s the one wearing the pants in that relationship – well, trousers. ‘Cause, you know, fun fact: to those wily Brits, pants are underwear. Not that she wouldn’t be wearing underwear. Unless—”
“Stop right there or—”
“Or?”
“Or my fingers accidentally slip on the computer and Tango here will wind up with some extra-special ‘Whoopsie! I strangled Topher’ skills.”
“Heh heh. Strangulation. Kinky. You know what, I bet Mr. and Mrs. D-D could get behind that. (Would they hyphenate, do you think? Nah. Dom would probably just take DeWitt's last name. Am I right or am I right? Up top.)”
“Why are you talking.”
“I’m just sayin’. They torture a lot of people, and it never really seems to bum them out. In fact, remember when that security grunt got plastered and mentioned the ol’ DHizzle to one of his drinking buddies? Dom dragged him up to the office, DeWitt shut the door, Judith reported some serious grade-A agonized screaming from within – and afterwards they were both in a weirdly good mood. Methinks that was a prime case of the them equivalent of some serious afterglow. Watching Dom pummel some poor unfortunate lackey -- whoo baby. To DeWitt, that's probably like getting her ear nibbled on. Turning on some Barry White, lowering the lights, pouring a glass of wine, running a sexy bubblebath for two—”
“Oh, gross.”
“There is nothing gross about speculation, Ivy. You know what’s gross? How closed-minded you are. Also: these chips. This is like eating cardboard flavored with a hint of crippling despair. Why are you doing this to me?”
“They’re pita chips, moron. They’re good for you. You’re going to go into a diabetic coma if you don’t stop eating like a ten year old whose parents are out of town for the weekend.”
“Which is your primary concern, because you want to take care of me. Because we … are work married. Is it just me, or does this moment merit a hearty ‘booyah’?”
“Topher?”
“Mrs. Brink?”
“I’m work divorcing you.”
“She ready yet?” Dominic, striding in with his usual air of gruff, vaguely pissed off busyness.
“Just throwing in a few finishing touches. You can’t rush perfection, L-dawg.”
“Don’t call me that ever again. And yeah you can, unless you want the whole House to slow down and DeWitt to get upset. Do you really need a reminder of what happens when DeWitt gets upset?”
“You maim, she swoons?”
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing. The old ball and chain getting you down again?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Topher considers the expression on Dominic’s face, and reaches a wise decision. “Nnnnothing.”
“Did I fall asleep?” (Tango.)
(Topher, with extra focus and zeal and one heck of a speedy turn.) “For a little while …”
Dominic turns to Ivy. “What the hell’s he talking about?”
“Topher’s new thing,” Ivy replies, with the bleak composure of someone who’s lost all hope, “is to think that all of us are work married.”
“Work married?”
“I know, right? Seriously, I am blocking his internet access altogether one of these days. Whenever he tries to look into the practices of actual functioning human beings – ugh, let’s just say that way lies badness.”
“And me and DeWitt are—”
“Work married by Parson Brink. Yep. It was a lovely ceremony, filled with talk about torture and underwear.”
“Huh.”
“The way I see it, you scored. At least you’re not stuck with Topher.”
Dominic ushers Tango out. He’s so distracted that he almost doesn’t stop her from flirtatiously fondling his tie (“You know the only thing I love more than a man in a suit?” she purrs, while Dominic ponders exactly what would drive someone to work-marry him to Adelle DeWitt. Yeah, he’s a man and she’s a woman, but it’s not like this is elementary school, so that shouldn’t exactly be a basis for— “A man out of a suit.”) until it’s too late. Fortunately, his reflexes are good. He really likes this tie.
+
“I’m just saying it’s in the best interest of the House to keep her contained for a little while. A week or so. That way, we can keep an eye on her. Make sure her behavior in the tabula rasa state isn’t atypical. Maybe have Topher wipe her a few extra times.”
“To which I reply once again, Mr. Dominic, that I can’t quite see the business sense in allowing our number one Active to spend a week or so fingerpainting and getting massages.”
“Ma’am, I know that you’re reluctant to acknowledge the situation, but there’s no denying that Echo’s behavior lately has been abnormal—”
“I’m not reluctant to acknowledge anything. Save for perhaps your oversensitivity on the matter. Pointing that out just seems in bad taste.”
“Ms. DeWitt—”
“Mr. Dominic?” She arches her eyebrows, leaning back in her chair. Her lips are poised on the verge of a smirk – not quite there yet, but the threat of it is cheerfully apparent. She drives him crazy sometimes.
The old ball and chain getting you down again? Topher’s voice asks in his head. Dominic tells it to shut the hell up. Being related to Topher even slightly, it doesn’t listen. And continues, relentlessly, to annoy him.
“Something on your mind?” DeWitt asks, tilting her head. Her curls brush against her shoulder, looking very dark against the pale blue of her blouse.
“Topher thinks we’re … work married. It’s irrelevant. You were saying?”
“Work married?”
He crosses his arms. “Like I said. It’s irrelevant.”
“That does seem to be your default stance regarding anything said by Topher.”
“Right. So—”
“What exactly constitutes a work marriage?”
“I didn’t really get that part. Spending a lot of time together, I guess. Bickering.”
“Like us,” she surmises.
“I was thinking more along the lines of Topher and Ivy.”
“Ah. Of course.”
“Ivy was about to file for a work divorce.”
“Lamentable, really,” DeWitt deadpans, “that no one can stay together anymore.”
He shrugs, straightfaced. “I guess when the spark is gone …”
She makes a little appreciative sound in the back of her throat, the more elegant, less drawn-out cousin of a laugh. Her lips are curved in a faint smile. Whatever irritation he’d felt at her – well, he can’t quite muster it anymore.
“Three days,” she says then, surprising him.
“What?”
“We’ll keep Echo House-bound for three days. During those three days, Mr. Dominic, you may observe her to your heart’s content. If her behavior is as strange as you seem to believe it is, we will take it into consideration and figure out how to proceed from there. If not, her engagements shall resume.”
“Thank you,” he says, meaning it.
“Yes, well,” she responds, smirking, “I’ve heard the key to a successful marriage is compromise.”
+
“Yeah,” Topher says sagely, watching DeWitt and Dominic stride side-by-side past the lab, “they’re totally work-doing it.”
Ivy rolls her eyes. The next time he’s not looking, she raids the drawer of inappropriate starches and replaces all its contents with stuff she got at Whole Foods.
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no subject
Date: 2010-01-24 02:20 am (UTC)And this line just kicks ass:
"She makes a little appreciative sound in the back of her throat, the more elegant, less drawn-out cousin of a laugh."
no subject
Date: 2010-01-24 05:53 pm (UTC)