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Pointless Yet Comforting
damien listening guitar
Title: Pointless Yet Comforting
Rating: R (language and sexual situations)
Author: rogoblue
Summary: It’s the thoughtpocalypse and Adelle and friends must get back into the Dollhouse and call upon an old acquaintance for help.
Words: 2,000 and change
Spoilers: Season 1 a tiny bit and 2 a little bit through episode 12. Set probably right around the time of Epitaph 2 events (whatever they might be).
Disclaimers: The toys are Joss Whedon’s. The idea is mine.
Dedication: To Reed and Olivia. They deserve better than what they’re likely to get for all of the fun they’ve brought us.


We watch them heading for our shelter, Topher, Priya, Anthony, Paul Ballard and I. Echo stumbles. Dominic catches her by the elbow, steadies her, pushes her ahead of him. Dropping to one knee, Dominic fires several times at those who pursue them. We can hold this shelter indefinitely. We’ve planned this excursion for months. All they need to do is make it here.

Ballard is nearly vibrating with intensity. Priya is muttering, “Come on, come on, come on,” under her breath. She seems to have developed a certain fondness for the tired, battered, blonde blue eyed man. Anthony has his arm around Priya, silent, watchful eyes missing nothing. Topher is humming a jaunty tune. It’s maddening, truth be told. And I, I’m trying not to think at all. Certainly not to hope. Hope is death.

Echo is nearly at the shelter’s entrance. Dominic is backing toward her firing continuously. And everything goes to hell. A bright light illuminates them both. A loud pitched noise very akin to a scream tears up the fabric of the night. Echo topples. Laurence lands nearly on top of her. Their position is oddly suggestive of the moments following culmination of fantastic sex—the collapsing together. No smiles and heavy breathing here, however.

“That was an imprint burst,” Topher says, holding up the analyzer he’d made out of a television remote control. “It’s still active.”

Paul and Anthony stop just shy of the door, aborting their rescue attempt. I feel a tear slide down my cheek, but I will not acknowledge it.

Eight Hours Ago

We were shown into a large room with mismatched desks. It was a busy room. Competence showed in so many ways, large and small. Priya jutted her chin to a partially open door. Stepping toward it, she raised her voice, “Dominic,” she called.

No one in the smaller room reacted. Their conversation—a strategy for solving some problem relating to the northeast quadrant of the eastern sector, whatever that was—continued unabated. Priya frowned and shared a confused glance with Echo. The strategy session broke up. Orders were given. People dispersed. He followed them out, pausing in the doorway. “That’s a name I’ve not heard in a while,” he said.

He didn’t look at me, but he listened to Mr. Ballard describe our strategy for getting into the Dollhouse to retrieve what we need. He conversed with Priya, Anthony, Echo and, to a lesser extent Paul, to determine exactly what we wanted from him. He looked over the architectural plans and shared his much more up to date map of the streets of Los Angeles. He ignored Topher completely, communicating quite clearly to me where I currently rated in his esteem. I didn’t attempt to interject myself into the proceedings. I would’ve only damaged our chances, quite possibly beyond repair.

Finally there was nothing left for us to say, particularly those of us who hadn’t spoken. We awaited his verdict, Priya bold enough to rest her hand lightly on his forearm and courageous enough to meet those impossibly blue eyes. “We have enough firepower to get you in,” Dominic said, “but I doubt I can get you back out.”

“We’ll get ourselves back out,” Echo said. Dominic’s eyes were on Priya. When she nodded, he set the wheels in motion, leading with an effortlessness I’d never have suspected of him. I watched his every motion, stunned as I was by his decision to come with us. He never glanced my way.


“The burst’s dissipated,” Topher whispers. Voice shifting to an eerie, near sing song cadence, he added, “You … you may go now.”

The rest of us nearly collide at the door. Paul carries Echo inside. Anthony, Priya and I maneuver Dominic onto the threadbare couch. He’s pale. His breathing is labored, skin hot to the touch.

Echo coughs and opens her eyes, seeming unsurprised and unperturbed at being in Ballard’s arms. “Are we good?” she asks.

“Jury’s still out,” Priya says, taking Dominic’s hand in hers, resting her other hand on his sweating forehead.

“Damn,” Echo mutters, eyes sliding ever so briefly to me.

I stand frozen at his side. Near enough to touch him, not daring to do so. To touch him at this juncture would merely tempt fate.

“Adelle,” Echo says. I force myself to look at her, but in my mind all I can see is a pale face etched in pain. “His brain is different. He could roam from mind to mind in The Attic. He might be able to beat this.”

I sigh and whisper, “And he might not.”

Three Hours Ago

I came upon him when he’d finished his shower. He’d found clean jeans and a button down shirt that fit him reasonably well. He turned at my approach and frowned. He looked away. I didn’t. I watched him button his shirt, seeing no reason to continue to deny myself the view of a well muscled chest. I nearly laughed at the rush of warmth flowing though my body. The laughter would’ve been bitter had I given it voice. None of my very few female peers had believed Dominic and I weren’t lovers. Their disbelief had irritated me. I’d suspected they thought me weak. Look what being strong has done for me. I have nothing and no one.

Not bothering to tuck in his shirt, Dominic picked up his gun and moved past me. I turned to walk at his side. Expression intent, body clearly tense, he picked up his pace. In heels, I would’ve been hard pressed to match it. With the unbecoming, yet highly practical footwear I’m forced to wear these days, it was easier. He sighed and slowed down. “What do you want?” Dominic asked.

“To ask you a question,” I said, surprising myself. I’d intended to say, “To move.” He, as I’m beginning to expect from him, said nothing. “How did you find the will to go on?” I asked. “To gather your group together and lead them.”

His head turned toward me. “Probably the same way you did,” he muttered.

“Oh, no, Mr. Dominic,” I said, meeting his eyes. “I don’t lead anymore. I simply do as I’m told.”

“Sucks to be you.”

“Indeed it does.”

My agreeability startled him and his reaction pleased me at a visceral level. Shrugging, he said, “It kept me busy. I don’t know. Gave me a focus other than the world going to hell around me. So I pulled people together, trained them and tried to make a part of LA as safe as I could.”

“And when you aren’t busy?” I asked.

“There’s always something that needs doing,” he said, unconsciously, I think, speeding up again.

“What about sleep?” I asked.

“If you do that, you might dream.”

I risked putting a hand on his arm to slow him. “You don’t sleep?”

“Only when I absolutely can’t go on without it.”

Refusing to acknowledge how relieved I was that we were able to converse, I said, “Sounds lonely.”

“It is.”

Knowing the loneliness of command and enforced solitude all too well, I sighed and considered my next move. Recklessness was an aspect of my personality that had been coming to the fore more often as time passed. I wasn’t sure I wanted him to see it; however, the decision was taken out of my hands when he evinced utter fascination with our surroundings. “Did none of your female fighters appeal to you, Mr. Dominic?”

His blue eyes looked angry for just an instant. “Sex seems pointless,” he muttered.

I stopped. “Pointless? I think I might find it comforting.”

Several paces ahead, Dominic stopped as well. “Comforting?”

The conversational symmetry recalled better days to mind, when we were so completely in synch. I walked toward him, right into his personal space, and wrapped my arms around his waist. “Comforting,” I repeated.

“Pointless,” he repeated but didn’t pull away.

I pressed against him and leaned my head on his shoulder. His hands came to rest on my hips. We stood that way for several minutes. When I’d mustered my courage, I gazed up at him. Dominic’s eyes were ice and yet I knew he wasn’t unmoved. I slid a hand between us and pressed it gently against the zipper of his jeans. A shudder went through him and the ice gave way to the blue of an extremely hot flame. One of his hands meandered from my hip to my backbone, followed my spine to my neck and rested there. I remembered to breathe at this juncture. He lowered his head slightly. I tilted mine upward.

“All clear,” Anthony said, as he and Priya rounded a bend and into view. “That’s a relief. I didn’t really want to shoot squatters today.”

Priya aimed the knowing smile I loathed at Dominic and me. “Topher says we have another hour or so to kill,” she said. “See you … both in a while.”

Dominic tracked them with his eyes. Or is it her? He stepped out of my embrace and started walking again. I fell into his orbit, setting my strategy. When we’d arrived at the place I’d selected, I caught his arm again and halted. Annoyance obvious in his stance, he looked down at me. I experienced a brief moment of nostalgia for my heels. Seeing something of the thought, perhaps, he took a step to the side. I moved in front of him and inclined my head to the door on our right. He stared at it, possibly trying to recall what was behind it or assessing whether he wished to enter. Taking his hand, I opened the door. He stepped inside with me into the comfortably appointed reading room. It wasn’t ideal, but it was private.

“This isn’t—,” he said, but my lips swallowed the rest of his statement and my hand stroking below his waist turned his second attempt into a low groan.

When I was convinced there would be no further resistance, I said, “Laurence, I’m—.”

Abruptly shaking his head, Dominic covered my mouth with his hand, gently yet firmly. Expression calm, serious, almost thoughtful, he said, “There’ll be time for that later or there won’t be a later. Let’s not waste now.” I wholeheartedly agreed, so we lost ourselves in each other for our allotted time.


Emotions building with no outlet, I violate my own rule. I take Dominic’s hand in both of mine. Surprised by how cold his hand is in view of the temperature he’s running, I rub it vigorously. Not surprisingly, mine is a solitary vigil, yet I pitch my voice low, nonetheless. “I really would rather you didn’t die.”

Somewhat dazed blue eyes stare up at me. I make an inarticulate sound, but everything I feel in that moment—startled, pleased, relieved and a myriad of other things—turns to fear. Everyone gathers around. Anthony and Ballard are armed, pistols ready to do whatever proves necessary.

Gripping his hand harder to still my shaking ones, I whisper, “What’s your name?”

He looks up at me for a long moment. “Lionel Davenport.”

I release his hand and lower my head, shoulders slumping in defeat, despair and desolation. I’m alone again. I so desperately don’t want to be alone.

He sits up, making a slight hissing sound in response to some ache or pain. Ignoring or failing to sense the rising tension in Ballard and Anthony, he takes my chin in his hand and lifts my head to face him. Wiping away the few tears I’d been unable to contain, he says, “It would be Laurence Dominic to you.”

Gripping his field jacket in both hands, I finally notice the name stitched on his chest. Davenport. His real name is Davenport. I find this funny. He doesn’t seem to mind. I’m in his arms. I don’t recall how I arrived there. He kisses me and I don’t care about anything other than this moment. The future be damned. We’re alive now and together. That’s enough. To be perfectly honest, it’s more than I had any right to expect.

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Thank you!

My mind was oddly blank when I tried to think of another man's name beginning with "L." Not sure why.

Glad you liked it. This story grabbed me by the throat and wouldn't let go.

I want to know more! I want to know what they're doing and what Dominic's been up to and where Topher is on the sanity scale and why Priya and Dominic are all tight and and and - all of it! I want to know this world you've created!

I don't suppose I'm going to get my wish. ;)

You're presuming I know what they're doing and what Dom's been up to, etc.--that's generous of you! I had no intention of writing this story itself--had some other things that need both doing and writing, but it fought it's way out. I'm kind of hoping the concept leaves me alone for a couple of days, but you never know.

Thank you for the shot in the arm, though. It's great to know that I've come up with something interesting on more levels than I'd intended.

I so totally blame you for sitting in my kitchen this morning thinking, "So why were Dom and Priya all tight?" And the answer pops into my head. And I think, "Well, yeah, but that really doesn't fit at all with this community." And I realize that it is merely a mention or a flashback in one that does. Sigh. Where to find some time? RL is becoming an obstacle to my fandom.

I would feel worse about this is I weren't so delighted by the prospect of future fic. :)

Yeah, I might mention the first draft is DONE. And I think I've covered everything. It's a bit rough at the moment and I wonder what the end says about me. It's best not to dwell on that.


Oh, I'm very excited now. :D

I'm trying for Friday! I think that's fic day. And we all know where the blame resides!

Oh, YOU. This was so nice! Once again, the only happy ending those guys can get is stained with bitter, and you managed to capture that perfectly! AND it's written in an 'I' form! Unusual and refreshing! :)

I like to play with tenses and voices in stories, sometimes to my detriment. I don't write from Adelle's pov much and it helped me to imagine her talking to herself when she wasn't talking to someone else or listening to others talk.

The other things I've written/am writing have been funny (for whatever reason). This ... just screamed for angst and anger and bitterness and suppressed emotions of all types. Glad it worked for you.

Gracious, woman, you are on FIRE lately. (::has no appropriate icon, but when in doubt, go with the Metallicar::)

Hey! I think my muse is having a nervous breakdown b/c I have two more on paper (or I should say screen) at the moment. That filter you have sometimes that says, "Nice idea, but I don't have time to write it right now," is not operational.

That car is fine!

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I blame my desire for pace and urgency (and to get this story out of my head) for the focus of the story being the interaction/non-interaction and feelings/suppressed emotions revolving around Adelle and Dom.

I'm glad you enjoyed it and that the picture was complete enough on enough levels. Thanks!

Oh, I really enjoyed this! I like the basic idea of it, that Dominic has gone off to do his own thing in the post-Apocalypse world, and I really like the character dynamics you've set up, where he's ignoring Adelle but he and Priya kind of have a friendship going.

There's a sequel up the line called Restlessness b/c I was challenged to answer some questions I left here. Dom went off on his own and he's tried to make some sense of his life.

I'm so glad you liked it. Adelle's voice is difficult for me, so this was a bit challenging.

Dom and Priya was somthing that intrigued me since episode 4 of season 1. "A nervous nellie. he's actually kind of sweet." He and Dichen had amazing chemistry.

Dom and Priya was somthing that intrigued me since episode 4 of season 1. "A nervous nellie. he's actually kind of sweet." He and Dichen had amazing chemistry.

I agree! And I always thought it was neat that Sierra seemed to be his go-to whenever he needed a doll to do something security related for him. And Reed and Dichen did work really well together, it's probably why I'm so invested in the idea that Dom and Priya were buddies post Epitaph One.

The way they interacted (and moved together) in Spy in the House of Love sold me on the possibility of the two of them together in some form or fashion. I think he could respect her in the imprints relating to spying or SWAT team member or whatever too.

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