Name: Elevator
Rating: R mainly for language
Characters/Pairing: Adelle DeWitt, Laurence Dominic
Spoilers: very vague, 1x09, hints of Epitaph one
Disclaimer: NOT mine

Notes: I wrote this some time ago, it´s my first attempt at Dom´s POV. Enjoy.


They stumble into the elevator, he hits the wall hard, holding Adelle to his chest. He drops the gun the second the door closes with a familiar, cheerful ding, and he presses his hand firmly on the wound on her stomach.
"Hold on," he commands.
She nods, clasping her fingers around his. She`s pale and she`s dying and he probably should`ve left her behind, for all the good she is to him now.

"Oh, look, Mr Dominic, I`m bleeding all over you," she whines.
"Oh, great, and the Armani is ruined," he replies dryly, the irony automatically present.
She tries to laugh, but that only leads to another cry of pain. She really is bleeding all over him.

As he stares blindly in front of himself, he wonders again and again why he`s helping her. He knows better than to be oblivious to the fact that this goes far beyond the initial mission description. He tries to think of all this as ensuring safety of the technology. More like saving the whole goddamn world. Even that idea is hard to grasp. And he doesn`t even try to question himself what exactly this all has to do with saving the life of his former boss.
She`s the cause, for Christ`s sake. She`s caused all this, and here he is, saving her pathetic ass and dragging her the hell out of here. Ensuring safety of the technology. Yeah, right, like he didn`t fail at that mission long ago.

The image of her eyes, indifferent and cold when he pinned her down with a gun pointed in her face, keeps getting back at him. It was at that moment that he realized that he- no, they had failed. Later on, when she described the apocalypse, her voice lacking its usual sardonic edge, he thought he could just kill her. Send a bullet through her head, simple and cleaner than most of the things he`d been trained to do.

But then again she was the one who taught him that there were worse things than death, and Adelle DeWitt sure as hell doesn´t deserve the solace.

But he also knows that that isn`t the reason he`s trying to save her now, his arm wrapped firmly around her fragile shoulders, her unsteady heartbeat disturbing the harmony of his own breathing.

He tries to think back on the times when he still was the Head of Security. It seems too distant to even recall. The way they used to sense something approaching, but it never did, now that almost makes him nostalgic. He could laugh about how stubbornly professional they used to be. Now it all seems like a goddamn fairytale, a dream, so unreal.
And it`s always been unreal. He was a spy. She knew nothing. She overreacted and he ended up locked up in a box, a fucking glass coffin - and he kind of did expect that, she`s always been that pathetic. What she didn`t realize was that with signing his death warrant, she was also signing her own.
Thus it came as no surprise to him that the world lay in ruins the next time he woke up.

The anger he felt, however, was hollow. She`d always been naive, too damn idealistic, and he hated himself for not being able to hate her for it.

"You`re making this so fucking hard, Adelle," he hisses through grit teeth.
"I`m sorry," she exhales, her voice girlish and meek and muffled with pain. She sounds guilty and he chooses to ignore that.
"I`m sorry for it all."

There will be an NSA chopper waiting for them at the roof. He really doesn`t know why he`s helping her, and he`s pretty sure he doesn`t want to know.

All he does is he hugs her tighter and drags her on as they escape to the night.