In The Time That We Have (DeWitt/Dominic)
Mar. 18th, 2010 10:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dollsomeTitle: In The Time That We Have
Pairing: DeWitt/Dominic
Word Count: 1,800
Rating: PG
Spoilers: set between "Epitaph One" and "Epitaph Two"
Summary: Dominic pays a visit to Safe Haven.
Author's Note: Bam, one fic down! Meme, I will best you. This is for the prompt 'DeWitt/Dominic, absolution' from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
oltha_heri.
God, there are guns growing out of our bones
God, every road takes us farther from home
All these men that you made
how we wither in the shade
of your trees, on your wings
we are carried to the sea
God, give us love in the time that we have
-Iron & Wine, ‘On Your Wings’
He comes across an abandoned grocery store on the way back to Safe Haven. Walking through it creeps him out more than human stampedes and streets on fire. It’s dark and silent, no refrigerator hum from the frozen food aisle. It smells like rotten meat, dried-out fruit, and dust. He keeps his hand on his gun. As far as he can tell, there’s no one in there but him, and nothing happens to prove him wrong.
His knapsack’s a treasure trove of nonperishable items when he gets back; he spills them out like gold across the kitchen table, and Ballard and Priya ooh and ahh over barbeque-flavored potato chips and Oreos and that popcorn you cook over campfires. Echo smiles along with them, but she was raised on fresh berries and organic carrot sticks and never developed a proper appreciation for the kind of food that laughs in the face of its own expiration date. There’s dinosaur-shaped fruit snacks for T. (And Topher.)
Last, he hands a box of English Breakfast tea to Adelle. She lifts her eyebrows, smirking wordlessly at him. He shrugs. They look at each other, not quite smiling, until T steals the spotlight by making his fruit snacks growl.
That night, when everyone else is getting ready for bed, Adelle makes herself a cup of tea and goes out to sit in the garden. He stands just outside the door and watches her back, the surrender of her shoulders, the way she relaxes just slightly when she knows no one’s looking at her anymore. He can remember her doing that at the ends of long days, when he’d show out Langton or Ambrose or whoever was giving her trouble – shut the door, and it’d be just the two of them left in her office. (Him, she didn’t need to fool, not to the same degree at least; him, she trusted.)
He knows how much it takes out of her to take care of Topher day after day, and how hard she’ll fight before she finally admits that he’s not gonna get better. There’d been a moment earlier, one of those rare flickers where Topher was Topher again, happily spewing out T-Rex facts. He’d even gotten in a snappy remark at Ballard before he’d sunk back into – his guilt, his brain. Whatever it is that’s got him locked up.
Dominic, he’d never liked Topher. It’s not like that’s a secret. Once upon a time, he would’ve been happy to watch all these people fall apart and burn.
Now, not so much. He breathes in the night air as it cools, and watches Adelle pluck a blade of grass from the ground, then let it fall. The breeze takes it a foot or two before it gives up against gravity. There’s the faint sound of Priya singing to T. It spills out the open upstairs window.
He listens for a few seconds. He’s struck by a memory of his mom singing to him. No specifics, no song; just what it felt like to listen to her. It hit him hard when his mom died. She didn’t even make it to fifty. It’d seemed like some sick cosmic joke at the time, ugly and unfair. Now, he thinks, Thank God. It’s hard to get used to that – being grateful for the untimely demises of your loved ones, because at least that means they didn’t make it to the here and now.
The thought is heavy in him, the perfect gateway to dwelling on the futility of it all, and it’s never good to go there. Instead, he walks down into the grass. He keeps one hand and its contents hidden behind his back.
“How is it?” he asks.
She doesn’t turn around right away. “Well, if we weren’t certain about it being the Apocalypse before, here stands our confirmation.”
“That bad?”
“Not at all. In fact, I’m rather enjoying it.”
“And … ?”
“It’s from a tea bag.”
“Ergo Apocalypse.”
“Precisely.”
“There is,” he says, “another alternative.” He pulls the bottle of bourbon from behind his back. “Supermarket had a liquor store in it.”
She smiles. “My hero.”
He sits down next to her, and she sets the cup of tea aside. They pass the bottle back and forth between them, alternating sips. They don’t talk much at first, but the sky starts to darken and welcome, slightly fuzzy relaxation creeps up in him. He asks how things have been here. She tells him. She laughs at the most terrible parts, and her voice doesn’t waver. Efficiently dealing with agony’s her area of expertise, after all. But she quiets, seems almost shy, when she tells him that the garden’s finally cooperating, and for the first time the strawberries grew.
“It was the best thing that’d happened to me in months,” she murmurs, looking at the ground, seeming half-ashamed of the words as they come out of her mouth. “Realizing that I’d actually coaxed something from the earth. I’m a bit more used to destroying things than creating them.”
She runs a hand through her hair and gladly accepts the bottle when he hands it to her. She takes a jerky, determined sip, the kind specifically tailored to drown something.
He tells her about the butcher that almost got him. He was down, no gun, gaping head wound. The thing was right up in front of him, nothing but inches in between them, so close he could smell it, all reeking breath and ripe flesh, sweat and shit. He can smell it even now, just looking back, even though the night around him smells like grass and calm and Adelle, who somehow still smells as good as she always has even though he’s pretty damn sure she’s out of perfume.
“I knew it had me if I didn’t do something in like two seconds,” he continues, and pauses to take a drink. He’s glad to have the bottle to wrap his fingers around. Still, a sick current of memory runs through them. “And so I reached up and I stuck my fingers in his eye and I dug it out.”
She grimaces. “Lovely.”
It’s such a – he doesn’t know, British response – that it’s heartening. It loosens him up.
“And it was just like – like, even as I was standing there, it seemed unreal. I had this eye in my hand, and he doubles over in pain, thank God, and like for a few seconds, I swear, I’m frozen, and it’s almost funny, how sick it is, and all I can think is, ‘Dude, this is disgusting.’”
“Dude,” she repeats. He’s willing to bet it’s a historic occasion. Adelle DeWitt saying ‘dude.’
“Dude,” he confirms, chuckling. “It was – it was just crazy. I had this guy’s eye in my hand. I dug it out with my fingernails.”
“A charming story,” she tells him, with something that’s almost a giggle. “You should save it for cocktail parties.”
“Right,” he says, mock-serious. Laughing, which kinda wrecks the ‘serious’ part. “Put it on my résumé. Ya know. In case I ever get back into security.”
“I’ll be sure to write you a glowing recommendation.”
“Thanks, boss.”
They laugh a little longer, then sink into quiet. She leans against him.
“I felt like one of them,” he admits. It feels good to admit it. “I just can’t shake that one, for some reason. It was like – what makes me better? Here’s some kid, this teenager who didn’t even have any choice, and I ripped his eye out and once he was down on the ground I kicked him ‘til he stopped moving.”
“You had no choice,” she reminds him.
“Yeah.” He looks at her for a couple seconds, then at the nothing-in-particular in front of him. “I don’t know why it bugged me so much. I’ve always been willing to get my hands dirty.”
“So long as none of it gets on your suit,” she adds sagely.
He laughs. “Exactly.”
“We were very neat about it, weren’t we?” she muses. “Back then?”
“Yeah.” He thinks of them the way they were, king and queen of their twisted little Eden. Of luxuries like order and authority and – yeah, okay – business attire. “You miss it?”
“Yes,” she says, without pausing. Then she relents, “And no. I’m much better here, I think. Far less capable of wreaking havoc. My evil powers have been checked at last.” She smirks bitterly, takes a sip. “Rather too late, I suppose.”
He can’t quite argue that one, even now with her warm against him and a little bit drunk. He doesn’t hate her anymore. That doesn’t mean he’s gonna lie to her, tell her that, well, whoops, she sure did mess up, but hey, everybody makes mistakes, that’s all right. She’ll carry this one in her bones ‘til she dies, and he’s not going to interfere. He tells himself she wouldn’t want him to.
She inhales. “I’m sorry.”
He looks at her. Something in her expression makes him realize that this apology, this regret, it’s just for him. For old wounds. Then he realizes that he doesn’t really need it. Hey, at this point, the Attic sounds like a damn spa vacation. At least there, the rest of the world wasn’t crashing down into hell along with him. There, it was a nightmare he’d almost earned.
“That’s okay,” he says anyway. He’ll give her this one.
Her hand twitches in the grass, like she’s reaching up to touch him. He’s drunk enough to want her to, or to acknowledge that he wants her to. Something along those lines. Doesn’t matter. She catches herself and lowers it. One of these days, he decides, he’s going to kiss her. Before he leaves again. That way, he’ll have the memory to carry around with him, even if he doesn’t make it back. Her shoulder rests against his now. It feels good after so many years of staying carefully apart.
There’s one last swig in the bottle. He lets her have it.
“You know what I like about living here?” she says, wiping the back of her hand against her mouth. She sets the empty bottle down in the grass, and it falls over on its side, threatening to knock down the abandoned mug of tea.
He rights it for her without thinking, a habit. “What’s that?”
“The stars.” She cranes her neck, considering the sky. “You never could see them in the city.”
“No,” he agrees, following her gaze up.
Pairing: DeWitt/Dominic
Word Count: 1,800
Rating: PG
Spoilers: set between "Epitaph One" and "Epitaph Two"
Summary: Dominic pays a visit to Safe Haven.
Author's Note: Bam, one fic down! Meme, I will best you. This is for the prompt 'DeWitt/Dominic, absolution' from
oltha_heri.God, every road takes us farther from home
All these men that you made
how we wither in the shade
of your trees, on your wings
we are carried to the sea
God, give us love in the time that we have
-Iron & Wine, ‘On Your Wings’
He comes across an abandoned grocery store on the way back to Safe Haven. Walking through it creeps him out more than human stampedes and streets on fire. It’s dark and silent, no refrigerator hum from the frozen food aisle. It smells like rotten meat, dried-out fruit, and dust. He keeps his hand on his gun. As far as he can tell, there’s no one in there but him, and nothing happens to prove him wrong.
His knapsack’s a treasure trove of nonperishable items when he gets back; he spills them out like gold across the kitchen table, and Ballard and Priya ooh and ahh over barbeque-flavored potato chips and Oreos and that popcorn you cook over campfires. Echo smiles along with them, but she was raised on fresh berries and organic carrot sticks and never developed a proper appreciation for the kind of food that laughs in the face of its own expiration date. There’s dinosaur-shaped fruit snacks for T. (And Topher.)
Last, he hands a box of English Breakfast tea to Adelle. She lifts her eyebrows, smirking wordlessly at him. He shrugs. They look at each other, not quite smiling, until T steals the spotlight by making his fruit snacks growl.
That night, when everyone else is getting ready for bed, Adelle makes herself a cup of tea and goes out to sit in the garden. He stands just outside the door and watches her back, the surrender of her shoulders, the way she relaxes just slightly when she knows no one’s looking at her anymore. He can remember her doing that at the ends of long days, when he’d show out Langton or Ambrose or whoever was giving her trouble – shut the door, and it’d be just the two of them left in her office. (Him, she didn’t need to fool, not to the same degree at least; him, she trusted.)
He knows how much it takes out of her to take care of Topher day after day, and how hard she’ll fight before she finally admits that he’s not gonna get better. There’d been a moment earlier, one of those rare flickers where Topher was Topher again, happily spewing out T-Rex facts. He’d even gotten in a snappy remark at Ballard before he’d sunk back into – his guilt, his brain. Whatever it is that’s got him locked up.
Dominic, he’d never liked Topher. It’s not like that’s a secret. Once upon a time, he would’ve been happy to watch all these people fall apart and burn.
Now, not so much. He breathes in the night air as it cools, and watches Adelle pluck a blade of grass from the ground, then let it fall. The breeze takes it a foot or two before it gives up against gravity. There’s the faint sound of Priya singing to T. It spills out the open upstairs window.
He listens for a few seconds. He’s struck by a memory of his mom singing to him. No specifics, no song; just what it felt like to listen to her. It hit him hard when his mom died. She didn’t even make it to fifty. It’d seemed like some sick cosmic joke at the time, ugly and unfair. Now, he thinks, Thank God. It’s hard to get used to that – being grateful for the untimely demises of your loved ones, because at least that means they didn’t make it to the here and now.
The thought is heavy in him, the perfect gateway to dwelling on the futility of it all, and it’s never good to go there. Instead, he walks down into the grass. He keeps one hand and its contents hidden behind his back.
“How is it?” he asks.
She doesn’t turn around right away. “Well, if we weren’t certain about it being the Apocalypse before, here stands our confirmation.”
“That bad?”
“Not at all. In fact, I’m rather enjoying it.”
“And … ?”
“It’s from a tea bag.”
“Ergo Apocalypse.”
“Precisely.”
“There is,” he says, “another alternative.” He pulls the bottle of bourbon from behind his back. “Supermarket had a liquor store in it.”
She smiles. “My hero.”
He sits down next to her, and she sets the cup of tea aside. They pass the bottle back and forth between them, alternating sips. They don’t talk much at first, but the sky starts to darken and welcome, slightly fuzzy relaxation creeps up in him. He asks how things have been here. She tells him. She laughs at the most terrible parts, and her voice doesn’t waver. Efficiently dealing with agony’s her area of expertise, after all. But she quiets, seems almost shy, when she tells him that the garden’s finally cooperating, and for the first time the strawberries grew.
“It was the best thing that’d happened to me in months,” she murmurs, looking at the ground, seeming half-ashamed of the words as they come out of her mouth. “Realizing that I’d actually coaxed something from the earth. I’m a bit more used to destroying things than creating them.”
She runs a hand through her hair and gladly accepts the bottle when he hands it to her. She takes a jerky, determined sip, the kind specifically tailored to drown something.
He tells her about the butcher that almost got him. He was down, no gun, gaping head wound. The thing was right up in front of him, nothing but inches in between them, so close he could smell it, all reeking breath and ripe flesh, sweat and shit. He can smell it even now, just looking back, even though the night around him smells like grass and calm and Adelle, who somehow still smells as good as she always has even though he’s pretty damn sure she’s out of perfume.
“I knew it had me if I didn’t do something in like two seconds,” he continues, and pauses to take a drink. He’s glad to have the bottle to wrap his fingers around. Still, a sick current of memory runs through them. “And so I reached up and I stuck my fingers in his eye and I dug it out.”
She grimaces. “Lovely.”
It’s such a – he doesn’t know, British response – that it’s heartening. It loosens him up.
“And it was just like – like, even as I was standing there, it seemed unreal. I had this eye in my hand, and he doubles over in pain, thank God, and like for a few seconds, I swear, I’m frozen, and it’s almost funny, how sick it is, and all I can think is, ‘Dude, this is disgusting.’”
“Dude,” she repeats. He’s willing to bet it’s a historic occasion. Adelle DeWitt saying ‘dude.’
“Dude,” he confirms, chuckling. “It was – it was just crazy. I had this guy’s eye in my hand. I dug it out with my fingernails.”
“A charming story,” she tells him, with something that’s almost a giggle. “You should save it for cocktail parties.”
“Right,” he says, mock-serious. Laughing, which kinda wrecks the ‘serious’ part. “Put it on my résumé. Ya know. In case I ever get back into security.”
“I’ll be sure to write you a glowing recommendation.”
“Thanks, boss.”
They laugh a little longer, then sink into quiet. She leans against him.
“I felt like one of them,” he admits. It feels good to admit it. “I just can’t shake that one, for some reason. It was like – what makes me better? Here’s some kid, this teenager who didn’t even have any choice, and I ripped his eye out and once he was down on the ground I kicked him ‘til he stopped moving.”
“You had no choice,” she reminds him.
“Yeah.” He looks at her for a couple seconds, then at the nothing-in-particular in front of him. “I don’t know why it bugged me so much. I’ve always been willing to get my hands dirty.”
“So long as none of it gets on your suit,” she adds sagely.
He laughs. “Exactly.”
“We were very neat about it, weren’t we?” she muses. “Back then?”
“Yeah.” He thinks of them the way they were, king and queen of their twisted little Eden. Of luxuries like order and authority and – yeah, okay – business attire. “You miss it?”
“Yes,” she says, without pausing. Then she relents, “And no. I’m much better here, I think. Far less capable of wreaking havoc. My evil powers have been checked at last.” She smirks bitterly, takes a sip. “Rather too late, I suppose.”
He can’t quite argue that one, even now with her warm against him and a little bit drunk. He doesn’t hate her anymore. That doesn’t mean he’s gonna lie to her, tell her that, well, whoops, she sure did mess up, but hey, everybody makes mistakes, that’s all right. She’ll carry this one in her bones ‘til she dies, and he’s not going to interfere. He tells himself she wouldn’t want him to.
She inhales. “I’m sorry.”
He looks at her. Something in her expression makes him realize that this apology, this regret, it’s just for him. For old wounds. Then he realizes that he doesn’t really need it. Hey, at this point, the Attic sounds like a damn spa vacation. At least there, the rest of the world wasn’t crashing down into hell along with him. There, it was a nightmare he’d almost earned.
“That’s okay,” he says anyway. He’ll give her this one.
Her hand twitches in the grass, like she’s reaching up to touch him. He’s drunk enough to want her to, or to acknowledge that he wants her to. Something along those lines. Doesn’t matter. She catches herself and lowers it. One of these days, he decides, he’s going to kiss her. Before he leaves again. That way, he’ll have the memory to carry around with him, even if he doesn’t make it back. Her shoulder rests against his now. It feels good after so many years of staying carefully apart.
There’s one last swig in the bottle. He lets her have it.
“You know what I like about living here?” she says, wiping the back of her hand against her mouth. She sets the empty bottle down in the grass, and it falls over on its side, threatening to knock down the abandoned mug of tea.
He rights it for her without thinking, a habit. “What’s that?”
“The stars.” She cranes her neck, considering the sky. “You never could see them in the city.”
“No,” he agrees, following her gaze up.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-03-19 07:54 am (UTC)Walking through it creeps him out more than human stampedes and streets on fire. It’s dark and silent, no refrigerator hum from the frozen food aisle. It smells like rotten meat, dried-out fruit, and dust.
First, I totally see the supermarket being creepier. Second, your description of the smells, just perfect and vivid, and amazing.
never developed a proper appreciation for the kind of food that laughs in the face of its own expiration date
Just a well put, funny line.
Him, she didn’t need to fool, not to the same degree at least; him, she trusted.
AH! I always loved this about them, and always noticed it. And I'm glad Dom knew it, and is almost nostalgic about it.
It’s such a – he doesn’t know, British response – that it’s heartening. It loosens him up.
“And it was just like – like, even as I was standing there, it seemed unreal. I had this eye in my hand, and he doubles over in pain, thank God, and like for a few seconds, I swear, I’m frozen, and it’s almost funny, how sick it is, and all I can think is, ‘Dude, this is disgusting.’”
“Dude,” she repeats. He’s willing to bet it’s a historic occasion. Adelle DeWitt saying ‘dude.’
“Dude,” he confirms, chuckling. “It was – it was just crazy. I had this guy’s eye in my hand. I dug it out with my fingernails.”
This whole exchange was just perfect. I like how Dominic opens up to her, and his thoughts and what he was thinking seems in character.
He thinks of them the way they were, king and queen of their twisted little Eden. Of luxuries like order and authority and – yeah, okay – business attire.
Just, guh.
One of these days, he decides, he’s going to kiss her. Before he leaves again. That way, he’ll have the memory to carry around with him, even if he doesn’t make it back. Her shoulder rests against his now. It feels good after so many years of staying carefully apart.
So perfect.
There’s one last swig in the bottle. He lets her have it.
True love.
I love the way you evoke this kind of quiet, day to day in hell mood. And the quietness and intimacy of their interactions, it suits them really well and is beautiful. I love how Dominic realizes he kind of (in terms of Rossum's idea of justice) deserved the Attic, and how it's just "That's okay." And how Adelle doesn't need to specify what she is sorry for. It is so them, and so perfect. Good job. As always. :D
AND YAY YOU WROTE D/D FIC FOR ME! *IZ IMMENSELY PLEASED*
no subject
Date: 2010-03-19 06:55 pm (UTC)I always loved this about them, and always noticed it. And I'm glad Dom knew it, and is almost nostalgic about it.
Hee, I was totally specifically thinking of that one scene in Man on the Street where Dominic shows Boyd out of her office post-Hearn badness, and Adelle just kind of very visibly relaxes and you can suddenly tell that she's exhausted. And maybe I should be worried that I have all of their scenes pretty much ingrained in my subconscious, but, well, that's what happens when we have limited interaction to work with! It all becomes EPIC.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-19 10:23 am (UTC)I really like how they're not...hating each other. Like they just accept it and move on sort of thing. I don't know.
One of these days, he decides, he’s going to kiss her. Before he leaves again. That way, he’ll have the memory to carry around with him, even if he doesn’t make it back.
And I really liked the sort of simplicity of those lines. That he's not too fussed about whether he makes it back or not-- not quite that, but I'm not sure how else to describe it.
And that he brings Adelle tea! (Though in my mind, she drinks Earl Grey. English Breakfast is for pansies who don't know the taste of real tea.) But that, because she's using a tea bag, it's the end of the world. Brilliant! :)
I also really liked how Dominic says 'like' so much. I don't know, makes him seem more...human or relate-able or something.
And...this comment is really just a jumble of thoughts. I really liked it, it was a nice quick, cute read. I'm glad I decided to check my flist one more time before going to bed!
no subject
Date: 2010-03-19 07:00 pm (UTC)I really like how they're not...hating each other. Like they just accept it and move on sort of thing. I don't know.
It felt good to do that. Haha,
Though in my mind, she drinks Earl Grey. English Breakfast is for pansies who don't know the taste of real tea.
Ha! I meant for that to be a specific sort of Ha Ha Ha, Because You're English, Get It? move on Dom's part, like he's teasing her a little, and now that you point it out, I am totally Team Earl Grey on this one.
I also really liked how Dominic says 'like' so much. I don't know, makes him seem more...human or relate-able or something.
I always find myself paying a lot of attention to the fact that they speak really differently, with him being sort of informal and gruff and more prone to slang, and her so articulate and, well, British. I always feel like with fanfiction, the dialogue on the show itself doesn't have to be that exact, because you have the actors to say it and therefore it will seem in character because it is literally being said by the character, but with fic, you kind of have to emphasize certain dialogue mannerisms to make it sound like them. And, okay, this is boring and rambly and I don't even know why I am forcing these reflections upon you; mostly I think it's so I can avoid transitioning into Homework Mode! Ughhh, homework.
Anyway. Again, thank you! :D
no subject
Date: 2010-03-19 03:50 pm (UTC)I really like the way these lines add depth to what the show already portrayed. Thanks for sharing!
no subject
Date: 2010-03-19 07:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-19 04:20 pm (UTC)I loved him bringing her tea (and alcohol - it's love) and reminiscing while star gazing.
Would you mind if I friended you?
no subject
Date: 2010-03-19 07:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-20 03:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-19 06:04 pm (UTC)Ohh, man. I love that line.
This was WONDERFUL.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-19 07:03 pm (UTC)Thank you, buddy. :)
no subject
Date: 2010-03-19 07:47 pm (UTC)“So long as none of it gets on your suit,” she adds sagely.
He laughs. “Exactly.”
“We were very neat about it, weren’t we?” she muses. “Back then?”
This says so much about who they used to be and where they are now, it's excellent.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-19 07:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-19 10:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-19 10:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-19 11:33 pm (UTC)I love how you also made note that Adelle was changing. How she was creating things instead of destroying them. It's this kind of thing that I wished we'd seen over a third season cos Adelle seemed to be in a very different mindset in Epitaph Two. :(
no subject
Date: 2010-03-20 02:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-20 03:32 am (UTC)I am trying to work my way up my list of Adelle fic!
no subject
Date: 2010-03-20 02:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-20 05:55 am (UTC)The internal dialogue was very well done. I could actually understand how a supermarket would be creepy in the apocalypse, your description of rotting food smells did the trick.
Both Dom and Dewitt stayed in character, great work. I also found it a bit sad that he wouldn't ease her pain and tell her it's all okay, in regards to her past actions; But, in a way it's very fitting. You can't sugar coat such horrible acts.
Amazing work, Dollsome. Keep it up!!!!
no subject
Date: 2010-03-21 11:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-20 11:46 am (UTC)You created this feeling of sadness and guilt and regret, but also somehow peace and acceptance which is so perfect for Safe Haven and for D&D in E2. Thier relationship was bittersweet, I love how he wouldn't say something to make her feel better, and even if he did she would know it was an empty statement.
Adelle saying Dude: <3
Dominic comparing himself to the butchers: <3
Basically everything: <3 :P
You're amazing, congratualtions xD
no subject
Date: 2010-03-21 11:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-20 04:33 pm (UTC)Er. Sorry. But. You wrote D/D again and of course it was awesome, SQUEE!!!
Oh man. These two. I love the sort of weary, tired feeling over all of it, how they've settled into these roles even though you can tell they're maybe not exactly happy about it (though they make a point to not think about that). And yeah, I love any fic that takes the (TOTALLY CANON, SHUT UP) idea that Dominic is still around and visiting Safe Haven, and his little thoughts and observations on everyone.
(That little part about how "And Topher" is set aside, in paraentheses, like he won't even admit to himself that he cares or even wants to think about Topher at all, because he just. Can't. Go there. I got all choked up ;_;)
It was a little frustrating but in, like, that good beautiful bittersweet shippery way, that they weren't really *together* yet but they were still building on their rapport again and being all comfortable around each other and, really, in a weird way that's kinda the best part of this pairing so, you know, it's okay. And it was clear they wanted to, and given a bit more time they're going to, so that makes it just fine. They've got time.
And god, it just knocked all the breath out of me to be reminded how gloriously fucked up these two are together and how awesome it is. Because, really, that whole conversation? Saner people would have gone off screaming into the wild at half the things they said and touched on there. Instead, they snarked and laughed and got all wistful. Ohh, D/D. Truly you were made for each other. There can be no other way.
I love them. And I love you. ♥
no subject
Date: 2010-03-21 11:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-21 02:20 am (UTC)It never ceases to amaze me how beautifully you write these two. I love how settled they are here, how they're letting their guard down, but she's still carrying this guilt (always will) and he doesn't try to stop her which is felt so real.
And this:
One of these days, he decides, he’s going to kiss her. Before he leaves again. That way, he’ll have the memory to carry around with him, even if he doesn’t make it back.
Beautiful, beautiful fic.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-21 11:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-21 07:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-21 11:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-21 07:47 pm (UTC)The whole telling a story with such sparsity and yet still taking your readers on a journey was really wonderful.
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Date: 2010-03-21 11:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-22 05:40 am (UTC)And of course their conversation is perfect, and I really just enjoy being able to read about them talking to each other without having it be caught up so heavily in deception or professionalism or anger.
One of these days, he decides, he’s going to kiss her. Before he leaves again. That way, he’ll have the memory to carry around with him, even if he doesn’t make it back. Her shoulder rests against his now. It feels good after so many years of staying carefully apart.
Ah, and that's just beautiful.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-25 12:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-22 07:25 pm (UTC)Fics like this are essentially filling in my canon for what happened during the years they skipped over at Safe Haven, because we all know, Dominic was there for some of the time... :)
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Date: 2010-03-25 12:49 am (UTC)Thanks for reading! :)
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Date: 2010-03-24 06:17 pm (UTC)And the intent to kiss her before he goes in case he doesn't make it back. Not thinking ahead to the more interesting scenario--kiss her now and makes it back--what then?
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Date: 2010-03-25 12:50 am (UTC)Oh, that is awesomely phrased.
Thanks for reading!
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Date: 2010-03-27 07:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-27 11:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-29 01:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-04 04:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-26 10:10 am (UTC)“How is it?” he asks.
She doesn’t turn around right away. “Well, if we weren’t certain about it being the Apocalypse before, here stands our confirmation.”
“That bad?”
“Not at all. In fact, I’m rather enjoying it.”
“And … ?”
“It’s from a tea bag.”
“Ergo Apocalypse.”
“Precisely.”
Stunning!
no subject
Date: 2010-05-13 08:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-05 07:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-18 08:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-30 02:59 pm (UTC):-) :-) :-)
So quiet and understated! Lovely! :-)