![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Wrap my arms around him & pretend (Adelle/Victor)
Title: Wrap my arms around him & pretend
Pairing: Adelle/Victor
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,203
Spoilers: set right before 2x09
Summary: Miss Lonelyhearts has one last go. A prelude to “Stop Loss.”
Author's Note: ... I got up early today to work on homework. And then, as I was drying my hair, I thought, 'Hey! Isn't it interesting how Roger showed up in 1x09 and 2x09?' And then it was like, damn it.
Poor school. Poor my grades.
Also, in case any of you haven't seen it, OH SO HEARTILY I recommend this vid!
this bridge was written to make you feel smittener
with my sad picture of girl getting bitterer
and if i had a star to wish on
for my life i cant imagine
any flesh and blood could be his match
-The Dresden Dolls, ‘Coin Operated Boy’
Funnily enough, it has been one year almost exactly, when the day rolls ‘round that Anthony Ceccoli’s contract is up. And if, once upon a time, she’d vowed never again – well. One last slip hardly matters in the grand scheme of things, now, does it?
It is already dark outside when he arrives. Annoyance has begun to simmer in her. When the doorbell rings, she leaves her drink on the coffeetable, not bothering to find a coaster.
She opens the door and there he is. She’d expected him to look happier to see her. Perhaps there are circles under her eyes; perhaps her blouse is a little rumpled; he ought not to care. He ought to look upon her and be awestruck by the exquisiteness of bleary eyes, of neglected apparel. Wonder what on earth he could have done to deserve a creature of such perfection. Compose a damned sonnet or two.
In the shadows, he is less distinct. His dark hair, his thoughtful expression: yes, he really does look very much like Roger right now. Roger, of course, was more classically handsome – no puppy-dog eyes or funny ears. A bit taller as well. But the resemblance had struck her five years ago, watching him walk through the Dollhouse the first time, and, well. Good enough. There’s not much sense in being picky.
“Your hair,” he says.
For of course it’s been a very long time. She marvels for a moment at her own restraint. At present, it seems extremely pointless.
“It was a very hot summer,” she answers bluntly, moving aside so he can come in. “Do you like it?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” he says. He seems distracted. Still, he gives her a smile, lets his eyes rest on her. There is a well of uncommonly soft feeling in her: she thinks of sunshine and the sea and pink dresses, sweet little weaknesses that seem so very unlike her now. That she has not allowed herself to miss. “More of you to see.”
“Yes, well, now that we’ve ventured upon that happy subject—” She wraps a hand around his neck, nods toward the bedroom, “—shall we?”
He gently encircles his wrist with his steady fingers, guides it down. “I’d like to sit down first, if you don’t mind. Have a drink. Jetlag.”
“Of course,” she scowls. The words come out bitter, but the great draw of this whole situation is that it does not matter. Of course.
When he realizes that she’s hardly tripping over herself to grant his request, he reaches for the decanter himself. She settles back onto the sofa, slumping a little, not bothering to cross her legs. For awhile, she just watches him sip his drink. He’d taken the chair across from hers. Funny, that he isn’t clamoring to be close to her. All the same, it’s not as if she’s complaining. She didn’t have him sent over here to cuddle.
“It’s been a very long time,” she finally says. The silence bothers her.
“Yes,” he agrees, contrite. His glance falls over the room. “I haven’t been ‘round for awhile now, have I?”
“No,” she says, “you haven’t.”
“Work. Sometimes it’s impossible to get away. To find the time.”
She snorts. “God knows you don’t have to tell me that.”
“Ah, yes.” He makes sure to set a coaster down before he puts his glass onto the table. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, and considers her with all the attentiveness in the world. Perhaps even a little extra. “The Dollhouse. How is it?”
She thinks of Topher, forever looking at her as if she’s a wicked storybook queen who’ll demand his heart be cut out and served at lunch any second. Of Mr. Langton, who does not even pretend respect toward her anymore: it’s truly a marvel, the amount of soulful, righteous disapproval that can be projected out of one pair of eyes. Adelle is not about to claim that giving Topher’s plans to Harding was her finest hour, but she did what she had to do in order to regain control. It’s reached unparalleled levels of maddening, that no one around her seems capable of understanding that. Good Lord, it’s not as if they’re running a soup kitchen. Standing outside grocery stores and ringing little bells beside Salvation Army buckets at Christmas. She misses the days when the people around her actually understood the demands of what they do, and the fact that quaint little notions like morality are a luxury more than anything. She misses having a Head of Security who actually – God forbid – got the job done, no questions asked, no qualms, no hesitations.
And of course, he’d been so very good at getting the job done. Her fingers curl into a fist, nails biting palms.
“Let’s not talk about that,” she says.
His brow furrows. (The action is jarring to her, for there’s something in it that is not like Roger at all. It is all Victor, earnest and well-meant and empty, eating fresh fruit for breakfast or clipping at bonsai trees. She retrieves her drink from the coffeetable and finishes it off in one sip.) “We always talk about that.”
“Well, not this time,” she snaps.
“Fine,” he says. She can tell he’s startled. He looks at her as though he can’t quite recognize her. She could laugh. This man is programmed to love her, he exists to be wild about her, and even he is looking at her like that. What truly magnificent heights she’s reached. She stares evenly back. Lifts an eyebrow. Finally, his expression changes, turns kinder. “I did miss you, my darling.”
Oh, how he means it. Feeling positively drips from the words. And yes, all right, it’s false, but it’s ardent and it is hers, just hers, and so she crumbles. She allows herself this: just this, just for tonight.
“I missed you,” she says, sounding honest for the first time in a very long while. Slowly, he rises from his chair and comes to stand in front of her. She looks up at him. The fondness in his eyes – the sweet, worried line of his mouth – God, she thinks she could drown in that, die in that. (If the job or the liquor cabinet don’t claim her first.) He touches her cheek.
“Oh, Katherine,” he says, the words little more than breath.
Very suddenly, she can feel tears coming on. She stands in a movement that is abrupt and ugly, and in a movement that is abrupt and ugly she kisses him. Because she paid for this (and never mind if it was not in money; she has been paying in steady increments of soul for years). Because he is hers. Because she can do whatever she damned well pleases with him.
Pairing: Adelle/Victor
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,203
Spoilers: set right before 2x09
Summary: Miss Lonelyhearts has one last go. A prelude to “Stop Loss.”
Author's Note: ... I got up early today to work on homework. And then, as I was drying my hair, I thought, 'Hey! Isn't it interesting how Roger showed up in 1x09 and 2x09?' And then it was like, damn it.
Poor school. Poor my grades.
Also, in case any of you haven't seen it, OH SO HEARTILY I recommend this vid!
with my sad picture of girl getting bitterer
and if i had a star to wish on
for my life i cant imagine
any flesh and blood could be his match
-The Dresden Dolls, ‘Coin Operated Boy’
Funnily enough, it has been one year almost exactly, when the day rolls ‘round that Anthony Ceccoli’s contract is up. And if, once upon a time, she’d vowed never again – well. One last slip hardly matters in the grand scheme of things, now, does it?
It is already dark outside when he arrives. Annoyance has begun to simmer in her. When the doorbell rings, she leaves her drink on the coffeetable, not bothering to find a coaster.
She opens the door and there he is. She’d expected him to look happier to see her. Perhaps there are circles under her eyes; perhaps her blouse is a little rumpled; he ought not to care. He ought to look upon her and be awestruck by the exquisiteness of bleary eyes, of neglected apparel. Wonder what on earth he could have done to deserve a creature of such perfection. Compose a damned sonnet or two.
In the shadows, he is less distinct. His dark hair, his thoughtful expression: yes, he really does look very much like Roger right now. Roger, of course, was more classically handsome – no puppy-dog eyes or funny ears. A bit taller as well. But the resemblance had struck her five years ago, watching him walk through the Dollhouse the first time, and, well. Good enough. There’s not much sense in being picky.
“Your hair,” he says.
For of course it’s been a very long time. She marvels for a moment at her own restraint. At present, it seems extremely pointless.
“It was a very hot summer,” she answers bluntly, moving aside so he can come in. “Do you like it?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” he says. He seems distracted. Still, he gives her a smile, lets his eyes rest on her. There is a well of uncommonly soft feeling in her: she thinks of sunshine and the sea and pink dresses, sweet little weaknesses that seem so very unlike her now. That she has not allowed herself to miss. “More of you to see.”
“Yes, well, now that we’ve ventured upon that happy subject—” She wraps a hand around his neck, nods toward the bedroom, “—shall we?”
He gently encircles his wrist with his steady fingers, guides it down. “I’d like to sit down first, if you don’t mind. Have a drink. Jetlag.”
“Of course,” she scowls. The words come out bitter, but the great draw of this whole situation is that it does not matter. Of course.
When he realizes that she’s hardly tripping over herself to grant his request, he reaches for the decanter himself. She settles back onto the sofa, slumping a little, not bothering to cross her legs. For awhile, she just watches him sip his drink. He’d taken the chair across from hers. Funny, that he isn’t clamoring to be close to her. All the same, it’s not as if she’s complaining. She didn’t have him sent over here to cuddle.
“It’s been a very long time,” she finally says. The silence bothers her.
“Yes,” he agrees, contrite. His glance falls over the room. “I haven’t been ‘round for awhile now, have I?”
“No,” she says, “you haven’t.”
“Work. Sometimes it’s impossible to get away. To find the time.”
She snorts. “God knows you don’t have to tell me that.”
“Ah, yes.” He makes sure to set a coaster down before he puts his glass onto the table. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, and considers her with all the attentiveness in the world. Perhaps even a little extra. “The Dollhouse. How is it?”
She thinks of Topher, forever looking at her as if she’s a wicked storybook queen who’ll demand his heart be cut out and served at lunch any second. Of Mr. Langton, who does not even pretend respect toward her anymore: it’s truly a marvel, the amount of soulful, righteous disapproval that can be projected out of one pair of eyes. Adelle is not about to claim that giving Topher’s plans to Harding was her finest hour, but she did what she had to do in order to regain control. It’s reached unparalleled levels of maddening, that no one around her seems capable of understanding that. Good Lord, it’s not as if they’re running a soup kitchen. Standing outside grocery stores and ringing little bells beside Salvation Army buckets at Christmas. She misses the days when the people around her actually understood the demands of what they do, and the fact that quaint little notions like morality are a luxury more than anything. She misses having a Head of Security who actually – God forbid – got the job done, no questions asked, no qualms, no hesitations.
And of course, he’d been so very good at getting the job done. Her fingers curl into a fist, nails biting palms.
“Let’s not talk about that,” she says.
His brow furrows. (The action is jarring to her, for there’s something in it that is not like Roger at all. It is all Victor, earnest and well-meant and empty, eating fresh fruit for breakfast or clipping at bonsai trees. She retrieves her drink from the coffeetable and finishes it off in one sip.) “We always talk about that.”
“Well, not this time,” she snaps.
“Fine,” he says. She can tell he’s startled. He looks at her as though he can’t quite recognize her. She could laugh. This man is programmed to love her, he exists to be wild about her, and even he is looking at her like that. What truly magnificent heights she’s reached. She stares evenly back. Lifts an eyebrow. Finally, his expression changes, turns kinder. “I did miss you, my darling.”
Oh, how he means it. Feeling positively drips from the words. And yes, all right, it’s false, but it’s ardent and it is hers, just hers, and so she crumbles. She allows herself this: just this, just for tonight.
“I missed you,” she says, sounding honest for the first time in a very long while. Slowly, he rises from his chair and comes to stand in front of her. She looks up at him. The fondness in his eyes – the sweet, worried line of his mouth – God, she thinks she could drown in that, die in that. (If the job or the liquor cabinet don’t claim her first.) He touches her cheek.
“Oh, Katherine,” he says, the words little more than breath.
Very suddenly, she can feel tears coming on. She stands in a movement that is abrupt and ugly, and in a movement that is abrupt and ugly she kisses him. Because she paid for this (and never mind if it was not in money; she has been paying in steady increments of soul for years). Because he is hers. Because she can do whatever she damned well pleases with him.
no subject
Okay, so I know I've been all creepy!stalker-like and never commenting on your posts, but dude. This was BRILLIANT. Seriously. I love this fic to BITS, I love the characterization and just how vulnerable/hurt Adelle is. And that bit about Roger being a real person was a particularly insightful line as well!
Great work! :D
no subject
2. Awwwww, thank you! ♥ Some of the discussion over at
no subject
AUGGGGGGGGGGH, MY SOUL.
His dark hair, his thoughtful expression: yes, he really does look very much like Roger right now. Roger, of course, was more classically handsome – no puppy-dog eyes or funny ears. A bit taller as well. But the resemblance had struck her five years ago, watching him walk through the Dollhouse the first time, and, well. Good enough.
Yes! Adelle's mythical background! WOE THAT WE SHALL NEVER KNOW.
She settles back onto the sofa, slumping a little, not bothering to cross her legs.
Okay, this is slightly ridiculous, but of all the soul-crushing Adelle angst going on in this (glorious, magnificent, ugly in the very best way) piece, this little detail just killed me the most. I mean, when Adelle is not perfectly poised... I don't even know how to finish that sentence. It's like my brain can't comprehend such a thing. But God, here, you just SLAYED me.
He looks at her as though he can’t quite recognize her. She could laugh. This man is programmed to love her, he exists to be wild about her, and even he is looking at her like that. What truly magnificent heights she’s reached.
OH, ADELLE.
She stands in a movement that is abrupt and ugly, and in a movement that is abrupt and ugly she kisses him. Because she paid for this (and never mind if it was not in money; she has been paying in steady increments of soul for years). Because he is hers. Because she can do whatever she damned well pleases with him.
YOU ARE SO AMAZING. God, this hurt. In such a perfect, soul-crushing way.
I'm starting to repeat myself. Time to end the comment.
no subject
Adelle's mythical background!! On one hand, I sort of like that we get to just imagine stuff for ourselves. On the other, no I don't, I'm just a big liar, I want seasons upon seasons of Adelle DeWitt, damn it all!
The world is cruel.
Okay, this is slightly ridiculous, but of all the soul-crushing Adelle angst going on in this (glorious, magnificent, ugly in the very best way) piece, this little detail just killed me the most. I mean, when Adelle is not perfectly poised... I don't even know how to finish that sentence. It's like my brain can't comprehend such a thing. But God, here, you just SLAYED me.
OH, I love you picking that out! I didn't want to get super anvillicious with it, but oh man. I rewatched "Stop Loss" last night, and OLIVIA IN THAT EPISODE, JEEZ. The fact that Adelle DeWitt sunk to a low so low that she was passed out drunk on her desk, like, hair mussed and drooling, it just does things to my heart in the most brutal and awesome of ways. Best character ever, this woman!!
no subject
Was especially devastating. Oh, Adelle. And then the ending! Perfectly painful, truly gorgeous. Thanks for writing this. <3
no subject
no subject
IT WAS BEAUTIFUL AND PAINFUL. Oh Adelle, you can do whatever you please.
Compose a damned sonnet or two.
There are some of us who do want to compose sonnets for you Adelle!
Everyone has something to say about Adelle's hair don't they :D
I love the idea of her thinking Topher thinks she is a fairy tale evil queen ♥
no subject
Bwahaha, in my head, everyone's first priority would be going ":O" over Adelle's hair. Like, quite frankly, it sort of surprises me that comatose Attic-escaped Dominic was able to bust out "No, no, you bitch" rather than "Whoa, you cut off all your hair!" COME ON, THIS IS MONUMENTAL STUFF.
no subject
no subject
It’s reached unparalleled levels of maddening, that no one around her seems capable of understanding that. Good Lord, it’s not as if they’re running a soup kitchen. Standing outside grocery stores and ringing little bells beside Salvation Army buckets at Christmas.
This is completely bad-ass, I have to say. Awesome.
no subject
no subject
She misses having a Head of Security who actually – God forbid – got the job done, no questions asked, no qualms, no hesitations.
And of course, he’d been so very good at getting the job done. Her fingers curl into a fist, nails biting palms.
“Let’s not talk about that,” she says.
My shippery heart says YAY!
This is beautiful and a bit heart breaking and really good.
no subject
I thought up this whole backstory that did not even get touched on (you know, just in case!) wherein Adelle and Roger were together but both very career-driven and in the end, it was Adelle who was too career-driven, because when you work for Rossum, you Work For Rossum. Somehow, I thought that was more sad than him dying tragically or something. Because people make choices and then they have to live with those choices! I am now talking in random Adelle dialogue! I will silence myself!
Also -- hee, the D/D part was originally like twice that length, and then I realized that Adelle should be more mad and more denial-y and less willing to even acknowledge him a little bit, so that got pared down in an act of great restraint. BUT YOU KNOW IT IS ALL SHIPPY, ALL THE TIME.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
I have the vague idea of writing fic where she makes Roger pretend to be Dominic for kinky sex purposes - not having Victor imprinted with Dominic, but getting her fake boyfriend to pretend to be the guy she really loves without him realising it. Twisted manipulation is HOT, yo.
no subject
no subject
no subject
New OTP!
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
I love her observations about Victor, and the comparisons between him and the real Roger. And, then, later, when they're talking, and she notice him acting more like Victor than he should be - I like the idea that as time goes on the dolls are able to retain more of themselves even in their imprints, and also ouch foreshadowing for what happens later.
There is a well of uncommonly soft feeling in her: she thinks of sunshine and the sea and pink dresses, sweet little weaknesses that seem so very unlike her now. That she has not allowed herself to miss.
AH, Adelle! This is like a perfect way of illustrating how much she's changed since the first season, how she's gotten so much harsher as her grip has slipped.
no subject
This is like a perfect way of illustrating how much she's changed since the first season, how she's gotten so much harsher as her grip has slipped.
Oh man, I love this progression in her character so much. Like, it has been really hard to watch, but at the same time, it's so fascinating and sad. Augh, Adelle DeWitt!!! Finest Whedon creation in the entirety of the world, beating even the weirdo cheese man from the dream sequences in Restless? I THINK SO.
no subject
I AGREE COMPLETELY. She is really... like I get sort of coherent talking about how much I love her, and how utterly amazing her character arc is.