leah clearwater (runningfast) wrote in safeasthreads, @ 2009-12-13 20:03:00 |
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Claire was sitting on a bench just outside the infirmary. The massage area of the Dollhouse had been transformed into an infirmary long ago, with the original bit becoming the urgent care facility. Claire liked this spot because she could keep an eye on everyone from there, and was close enough to the badly injured patients that she could help them if necessary. She hadn't really left the infirmary area in weeks, not even to sleep. She found places nearby to nap when she needed to. Right now she felt entirely drained, emotionally and physically, but she knew she couldn't sleep. She'd given a lot of blood to Whiskey, and her sleeve was still rolled up to accommodate for the awkwardly wrapped bandage, and she held her arm awkwardly, with her hand in a fist. She was waiting for Dominic. She knew she probably should have called Boyd, because technically security breeches were his field now, but she trusted Dominic. Some part of her knew that that was no reason to confide in him, especially since the feelings were manufactured. Some part of her insisted that even if she hadn't been programmed to trust him, she would anyway. Laurence Dominic hated the infirmary. Hated everything about it, from the sterility to the smell to the color of the walls. In fact, the only places he hated more were the Attic and the imprint room, which unfortunately didn't leave him with a lot to love in the Dollhouse. Still, cleaning up Alpha's mess, as horrific as it was, had been a pretty good excuse to get out of the sick bay. So the question was, why the hell had he come back? Some days, even he questioned his sanity. But he'd needed to walk, and everywhere else was either covered in blood or people crying or people fucking, so he supposed the infirmary was as good a place as any. At least it was quiet. Claire had called for him, and so he'd come, god knows why. For some reason he still wanted to protect her. With his life. Spotting her, he walked over and stood behind her. "Hello," Claire greeted quietly, standing up as he arrived. She looked around at all the invalids that occupied the space one more time before wandering into the infirmary, expecting him to follow. Inside, Whiskey was on the bed; she was stable and breathing, but truly in bad condition. Claire was surprised and relieved that Alpha hadn't come for her already, but she tried not to think about that. Approaching the sleeping body with some apprehension, she brushed the hair out of her face. She was gentle in a real way; even though Whiskey sickened her and she could not remember the other girl in the slightest, because Topher's work was just too solid, that didn't change the fact that they were sisters. Claire suspected that like her own body's, no copy of this girl's original personality existed making it in essence a living corpse. They were the same now; Whiskey had destroyed both of their lives, and they had nobody to occupy them. That still didn't make Claire feel like she had a right to be in the body. Dominic nodded his hello, quickly falling into step with Claire as he followed her inside. He hadn't been sure why he'd called her there, but he suspected it was somewhat personal. He hadn't brought his gun. It was a decision he regretted the second he saw exactly who it was bed. The sight of the doppelganger of the woman standing in front of him made his gut clench, and instantly he felt perverted and wrong. It was hard enough, seeing Whiskey-Claire everyday, a living reminder of the 'house's cruelties, but to see her twin, with everything good about her stripped away? That just made him sick. He clutched the frame of the bed, white knuckled, and looked to Claire expectantly. "I didn't know what to do," She said, her eyes flitting up to meet his briefly before she returned her gaze to Whiskey's face. Asleep, she didn't look dangerous. She looked like Claire remembered herself looking in college; unmarred, innocent, frail. But she wasn't those things anymore, Claire had never been those things. And she knew that. But she couldn't help feeling a tie to the body. She felt no genuine affection for it, but she did feel a sort of duty. "I couldn't let her die," She said, stepping away and looking up at Dominic, knowing that he probably wouldn't understand. Strangely enough, he did. Well, not exactly. He would never see Whiskey the same way Claire did now, but he could appreciate the sentiment. He'd seen Claire as Whiskey torture and kill. He'd watched her become a thief, a prostitute, an assassin. There were many people here whose actions were unfathomable, irreprehensible, but he still felt duty-bound to protect them. "Of course you couldn't," he said roughly, with just enough kindness to betray his own thoughts. "You're a doctor. That's your job." And now she'd done it. He looked at her, right in the eyes, and then turned and walked away. Minutes later, he returned, his gun tucked firmly into his holster, completely hidden under his coat. She'd do her job, and he'd do his. "What are you doing?" Claire asked, her hand drawn to her face. She knew what he was doing, but the words came out of her mouth numbly, automatically. She didn't know what she could do to protect the other woman anymore. Dominic would kill her. He should kill her. She knew that when she'd called him. He wasn't going to do it right here and now. Call him trigger-happy, an asshole, a spy. All of those things were true. But goddamn it, he had the decency to wait to kill a woman until her twin's back was turned. So he didn't threaten, didn't reach for his gun. Just crossed his arms and looked at her, long and hard. "Whis-Claire," he corrected, looking away in spite of himself. Old habits died hard. He hadn't wanted to remind her of the connection between herself and the body lying quietly on the bed. It only made things more difficult, and silently, he cursed the mistake. Then he met her eyes again. "Claire." "You can't." She said, moving in front of her. "Look at her, you can't." She insisted, although he pushed past her easily to reach Whiskey. Claire backed off regretfully, turning her back to him as she anticipated the gunshot. She didn't hear it, however - she was just kind of jerked out of reality and into unconsciousness. Whiskey turned around on her heel, smirking as she approached Dominic and snatched his gun from him. "I wouldn't do that, Laurie." She whispered in his ear, skipping backwards after, holding his gun like a trophy. "Wouldn't want to hurt little Claire." Well shit. Dominic pinched the bridge of his nose, never looking away from Whiskey's face. "Don't call me that," he grunted, more out of habit than any real desire for change. He knew better than to make a grab for the gun. If those crazy girls could take her down, then so could he, and besides, now he really didn't want to shoot. Not if he didn't have to, at least. He just had to bide his time and pray she wouldn't turn the gun back on him. "Whiskey," he greeted, raising one eyebrow until his face was an interesting combination of irritated and amused. "I take it she's ..." "She's me, I'm her, hahaha, it's all really funny!" She claimed, disassembling his gun deftly before tossing it to the floor, minus clip, which she stowed in her pocket. She shed Claire's coat; she really had no desire to wear it, and tossed it over what was now Claire's unconscious body. "Look, Laurie, I'd love to stay and chat, but the thing is I have lots of stuff to do and shit. Tell Doctor Saunders that she's so nice and thanks for saving my life and stuff, you know... if she pulls through." She said, backing out of the room slowly as she spoke, her hands resting behind her neck in and arrogant fashion. |