New fic : Crossing the Rubicon 1/?
Title: Crossing the Rubicon
Author: Morgan72uk
Pairing: DeWitt/Dominic
Characters: DeWitt, Dominic, Langton, Topher - and well everyone really. Even a OC or two later on.
Rating: R
Spoilers: For season 1 and Epitaph 1
Disclaimer: Not mine - regrettably.
Summary: One woman declares war on an empire
A/N - This is really an AU for Epitaph 1, because I couldn’t stop myself from asking what happened after the scene with Ambrose. It picks up right after the scene in the kitchens and its my version of what would have happened if... well, you need to read the story to find out the rest.
Crossing the Rubicon
"You can not have that body, Mr. Ambrose. It belongs to another soul and I will not sell these people off at any price."
Adelle leaves the kitchens with a flourish, giving the appearance that she is confident that her orders will be followed, no matter the cost. She will check of course, the risk is too great not to. Only in the corridor, when she is alone, does the enormity of what she has just done hit her.
Her breath shortens with something she refuses to acknowledge as panic, her vision blurs and she stretches out a hand to steady herself against the wall. She can’t afford the weakness of regrets so she takes a couple of deep breaths to stave off the emotions that are battering at her defences and pushes away from the wall, continuing on her way as though the moment of vulnerability had never taken place.
She is committed to her course now - though the first move was not hers and there is very little comfort in the fact that her employers forced this decision on her. The only remaining question is whether she should wait, cowering, for the consequences of her infraction to be visited down upon her, or whether she should, in the words of the popular adage - get her retaliation in first.
She does not expect Rossum to overlook her decision to claim back her active. She wonders idly if any of her colleagues have made the same decision, or if she is the only one to have committed the irrevocable breech, the act of treason. After all that has happened lately she is not entirely surprised to find herself facing a decision about whether or not to cross the rubicon. She doubts if Rossum will be surprised to discover her disloyalty - they set the test after all.
Her steps do not falter as she continues on her journey back to her office. She has made her decision and she is coming to terms it. Already she realises, though Rossum may not, that this is war, that it has to be. She will not allow herself to be disposed of like some disobedient and troublesome child - she has to fight fire with fire and ensure that her choice means something.
Her employers consider themselves above the law, above the Government even, which does not give her a great deal of hope that there is a place to turn to for help. But she is not without resources; she will play the hand she has dealt and only time will tell whether it is a winning one.
“Ma’am?” Langton is waiting for her and predictably, he looks worried, “I heard…?”
“I’m quite sure you did.”
“So it’s true, Ambrose wants Victor’s body?”
“Topher is wiping him now.” Langton raises an eyebrow and she realises that he had not expected that she would refuse this request - which she supposes is understandable. She is however a little disappointed, for a man who purports to look beneath the surface he has made very little attempt to get to know her. Perhaps she expects too much, or perhaps he has seen enough to know to steer clear.
It is not the first time that she has realised that she can not count on the loyalty of those around her and, as she always does when this realisation intrudes, she tells herself it is better to know that you can not trust people than to trust and be betrayed. She has learnt that the hard way. But there is no comfort in knowing that Langton and the others may not follow her into battle.
“You’re confidence is heartening,” she comments as she pours herself a drink. It is early, but she has just defied her employers and possibly signed her own death warrant. She deserves a drink.
“So, what happens now?”
“Well, I think we can safely assume I won’t be in receipt of a promotion any time soon.” She sips her drink, half listening to Langton’s suggestions for improving their security - apparently he is expecting an invasion. She didn’t entirely disagree - but withstanding a siege isn’t what she has in mind. It isn’t just the bodies of ‘her’ actives that Rossum has decided to steal.
“When Topher has finished with Victor I want him to restore your predecessor.”
“Into his own body?” She cradles the glass in her hand, weighing it as she weighs the options.
“I suspect Mr Dominic will want to be himself for this.”
***
The first thing he sees are her eyes; hard, cold and penetrating. He struggles against the restraints as he tries to make himself look away, relief coursing through him as he realises it is own body that is straining against the bonds. Topher strays into his line of sight - looking pale and fidgety and immediately Dominic wonders what has happened. There is no point looking to Adelle to see how bad it is. He knows she never flinches.
He must be here for a reason. She does nothing without a reason.
“You can leave us.” He is surprised when Topher does not debate her order; he actually looks relieved to get out of there, even if he is being kicked out of his own lab. Langton hesitates, though his uncertainty does not survive her expression.
He is not expecting her to unfasten his restraints. When she does he takes advantage of the lapse, surging out of the chair though his body feels weak and his knees almost buckle. His hand tightens around her throat and there is a surge of dark emotion at the genuine fear that flashes in her eyes as he pushes her back onto he chair.
"Give me a reason why I shouldn't show you how it feels?" He demands, tightening his grip on the pale column of her throat, imagining himself squeezing the breath and life out of her, imagining wiping her brain the way she wiped his whole existence away.
He wants to pretend that this is a simple case of taking his revenge against an enemy - but in this world, things are never that clear cut. He remembers her cool disdain in the face of his betrayal, how she had condemed him to a fate worse than death as though it meant nothing at all. He'd honestly thought he would be able to convince her that he wasn't working against her, that she would believe his defence, that she would believe him. He'd carefully compartmentalised his loyalties, deceiving himself every bit as much as he had deceived her.
His grip falters for a moment - because he is still deceiving himself when it comes to her. He is not surprised when she takes advantage of his momentary weakness - he would expect nothing less. Her swift kick to his thigh (she was aiming higher) allows her to pull his hand away from her throat. She is stronger than she looks, faster as well as she moves sparely and cleanly out of the chair. He knows he is out of shape, he hates feeling uncomfortable in his own skin. But, when he looks at her all he can see are the livid red marks around her throat. She is going to have to wear a blouse with a high neck tomorrow.
"What do you want Adelle?" He asks wearily.
Once he was the only person she trusted, although even that trust had limits. Now he is the last person she has to turn to, the only person who can help her. She thinks bitterly that the pride before this particular fall was immense. But what choice does she have?
"I need you to fulfill your original mission." She has his full attention now and she almost sighs in relief, because the angry, broken man before her has been replaced. His training holds good and he is alert, in command of himself and probably wondering what she will do to manipulate him next. She doesn't need a hidden agenda though, she needs his help and she has no idea what it will take to get it.
His expression twists into a disgusted sneer as she explains about Ambrose but the sneer is replaced with disbelief as she tells him her response.
"Why did you do it? Why refuse him?" At least he is brave enough to ask her that particular question.
"Rossum are breaking the contract I persuaded people to sign."
"As simple as that? Do you think it matters, after what you do to people?"
"I let them go when the term of the agreement is over."
"Release them after their term of slavery ends you mean?"
"Things have changed," she tells him as she thinks about Sierra, the first tme she'd really wanted to rebel against her employers, but had been too afraid to follow through. She suppresses a fleeting thought that perhaps she should let him kill her. It would certainly be a cleaner ending that anything Rossum has planned for her. But looking at him now she is not completely sure that he would kill her. Goosebumps break out across her skin as she remembers the way he'd looked as he'd pressed her down into the chair. This dark and beautiful creation is all hers; one more of her crimes. "Debating what you perceive to be my failings will get us nowhere. Rossum believe they are above the law, above the Government - the question is, do your employers agree."
"My mission was to protect the technology. It's not at any immediate risk."
"You aren't nieve enough to think there is no risk in Rossum offering some people immortality, in re-ordering the world to a particular agenda with no one to stop them? Even I can see where that road leads Mr Dominic and I know exactly how compromised my morals are."
"Then why draw a line here? Why not join them, compromise the rest of those morals?" Well, that is the question she has been expecting him to ask and even now she isn't sure she has an answer - not one that he will believe at least. She looks at him, remembering all the things he has been party to over the years - all that she and the NSA have made him complicit in. What sort of a man signs up for a job like that? She is perfectly aware that she has no idea, that she doesn't know him, not really. The sense of familiarity his presence evokes is an illusion, a fabrication. She can't trust him, but she needs his help.
"Why not?" She answers, as though that makes some kind of sense, which of course it doesn't. "Lines have to be drawn somewhere." He shakes his head in disbelief and she sighs. "Mr Dominic, believe me I am well aware that I'm no one’s idea of a rebel leader, but at the moment I'm all there is."
TBC
Author: Morgan72uk
Pairing: DeWitt/Dominic
Characters: DeWitt, Dominic, Langton, Topher - and well everyone really. Even a OC or two later on.
Rating: R
Spoilers: For season 1 and Epitaph 1
Disclaimer: Not mine - regrettably.
Summary: One woman declares war on an empire
A/N - This is really an AU for Epitaph 1, because I couldn’t stop myself from asking what happened after the scene with Ambrose. It picks up right after the scene in the kitchens and its my version of what would have happened if... well, you need to read the story to find out the rest.
Crossing the Rubicon
"You can not have that body, Mr. Ambrose. It belongs to another soul and I will not sell these people off at any price."
Adelle leaves the kitchens with a flourish, giving the appearance that she is confident that her orders will be followed, no matter the cost. She will check of course, the risk is too great not to. Only in the corridor, when she is alone, does the enormity of what she has just done hit her.
Her breath shortens with something she refuses to acknowledge as panic, her vision blurs and she stretches out a hand to steady herself against the wall. She can’t afford the weakness of regrets so she takes a couple of deep breaths to stave off the emotions that are battering at her defences and pushes away from the wall, continuing on her way as though the moment of vulnerability had never taken place.
She is committed to her course now - though the first move was not hers and there is very little comfort in the fact that her employers forced this decision on her. The only remaining question is whether she should wait, cowering, for the consequences of her infraction to be visited down upon her, or whether she should, in the words of the popular adage - get her retaliation in first.
She does not expect Rossum to overlook her decision to claim back her active. She wonders idly if any of her colleagues have made the same decision, or if she is the only one to have committed the irrevocable breech, the act of treason. After all that has happened lately she is not entirely surprised to find herself facing a decision about whether or not to cross the rubicon. She doubts if Rossum will be surprised to discover her disloyalty - they set the test after all.
Her steps do not falter as she continues on her journey back to her office. She has made her decision and she is coming to terms it. Already she realises, though Rossum may not, that this is war, that it has to be. She will not allow herself to be disposed of like some disobedient and troublesome child - she has to fight fire with fire and ensure that her choice means something.
Her employers consider themselves above the law, above the Government even, which does not give her a great deal of hope that there is a place to turn to for help. But she is not without resources; she will play the hand she has dealt and only time will tell whether it is a winning one.
“Ma’am?” Langton is waiting for her and predictably, he looks worried, “I heard…?”
“I’m quite sure you did.”
“So it’s true, Ambrose wants Victor’s body?”
“Topher is wiping him now.” Langton raises an eyebrow and she realises that he had not expected that she would refuse this request - which she supposes is understandable. She is however a little disappointed, for a man who purports to look beneath the surface he has made very little attempt to get to know her. Perhaps she expects too much, or perhaps he has seen enough to know to steer clear.
It is not the first time that she has realised that she can not count on the loyalty of those around her and, as she always does when this realisation intrudes, she tells herself it is better to know that you can not trust people than to trust and be betrayed. She has learnt that the hard way. But there is no comfort in knowing that Langton and the others may not follow her into battle.
“You’re confidence is heartening,” she comments as she pours herself a drink. It is early, but she has just defied her employers and possibly signed her own death warrant. She deserves a drink.
“So, what happens now?”
“Well, I think we can safely assume I won’t be in receipt of a promotion any time soon.” She sips her drink, half listening to Langton’s suggestions for improving their security - apparently he is expecting an invasion. She didn’t entirely disagree - but withstanding a siege isn’t what she has in mind. It isn’t just the bodies of ‘her’ actives that Rossum has decided to steal.
“When Topher has finished with Victor I want him to restore your predecessor.”
“Into his own body?” She cradles the glass in her hand, weighing it as she weighs the options.
“I suspect Mr Dominic will want to be himself for this.”
***
The first thing he sees are her eyes; hard, cold and penetrating. He struggles against the restraints as he tries to make himself look away, relief coursing through him as he realises it is own body that is straining against the bonds. Topher strays into his line of sight - looking pale and fidgety and immediately Dominic wonders what has happened. There is no point looking to Adelle to see how bad it is. He knows she never flinches.
He must be here for a reason. She does nothing without a reason.
“You can leave us.” He is surprised when Topher does not debate her order; he actually looks relieved to get out of there, even if he is being kicked out of his own lab. Langton hesitates, though his uncertainty does not survive her expression.
He is not expecting her to unfasten his restraints. When she does he takes advantage of the lapse, surging out of the chair though his body feels weak and his knees almost buckle. His hand tightens around her throat and there is a surge of dark emotion at the genuine fear that flashes in her eyes as he pushes her back onto he chair.
"Give me a reason why I shouldn't show you how it feels?" He demands, tightening his grip on the pale column of her throat, imagining himself squeezing the breath and life out of her, imagining wiping her brain the way she wiped his whole existence away.
He wants to pretend that this is a simple case of taking his revenge against an enemy - but in this world, things are never that clear cut. He remembers her cool disdain in the face of his betrayal, how she had condemed him to a fate worse than death as though it meant nothing at all. He'd honestly thought he would be able to convince her that he wasn't working against her, that she would believe his defence, that she would believe him. He'd carefully compartmentalised his loyalties, deceiving himself every bit as much as he had deceived her.
His grip falters for a moment - because he is still deceiving himself when it comes to her. He is not surprised when she takes advantage of his momentary weakness - he would expect nothing less. Her swift kick to his thigh (she was aiming higher) allows her to pull his hand away from her throat. She is stronger than she looks, faster as well as she moves sparely and cleanly out of the chair. He knows he is out of shape, he hates feeling uncomfortable in his own skin. But, when he looks at her all he can see are the livid red marks around her throat. She is going to have to wear a blouse with a high neck tomorrow.
"What do you want Adelle?" He asks wearily.
Once he was the only person she trusted, although even that trust had limits. Now he is the last person she has to turn to, the only person who can help her. She thinks bitterly that the pride before this particular fall was immense. But what choice does she have?
"I need you to fulfill your original mission." She has his full attention now and she almost sighs in relief, because the angry, broken man before her has been replaced. His training holds good and he is alert, in command of himself and probably wondering what she will do to manipulate him next. She doesn't need a hidden agenda though, she needs his help and she has no idea what it will take to get it.
His expression twists into a disgusted sneer as she explains about Ambrose but the sneer is replaced with disbelief as she tells him her response.
"Why did you do it? Why refuse him?" At least he is brave enough to ask her that particular question.
"Rossum are breaking the contract I persuaded people to sign."
"As simple as that? Do you think it matters, after what you do to people?"
"I let them go when the term of the agreement is over."
"Release them after their term of slavery ends you mean?"
"Things have changed," she tells him as she thinks about Sierra, the first tme she'd really wanted to rebel against her employers, but had been too afraid to follow through. She suppresses a fleeting thought that perhaps she should let him kill her. It would certainly be a cleaner ending that anything Rossum has planned for her. But looking at him now she is not completely sure that he would kill her. Goosebumps break out across her skin as she remembers the way he'd looked as he'd pressed her down into the chair. This dark and beautiful creation is all hers; one more of her crimes. "Debating what you perceive to be my failings will get us nowhere. Rossum believe they are above the law, above the Government - the question is, do your employers agree."
"My mission was to protect the technology. It's not at any immediate risk."
"You aren't nieve enough to think there is no risk in Rossum offering some people immortality, in re-ordering the world to a particular agenda with no one to stop them? Even I can see where that road leads Mr Dominic and I know exactly how compromised my morals are."
"Then why draw a line here? Why not join them, compromise the rest of those morals?" Well, that is the question she has been expecting him to ask and even now she isn't sure she has an answer - not one that he will believe at least. She looks at him, remembering all the things he has been party to over the years - all that she and the NSA have made him complicit in. What sort of a man signs up for a job like that? She is perfectly aware that she has no idea, that she doesn't know him, not really. The sense of familiarity his presence evokes is an illusion, a fabrication. She can't trust him, but she needs his help.
"Why not?" She answers, as though that makes some kind of sense, which of course it doesn't. "Lines have to be drawn somewhere." He shakes his head in disbelief and she sighs. "Mr Dominic, believe me I am well aware that I'm no one’s idea of a rebel leader, but at the moment I'm all there is."
TBC