jesterladyfic | DH Oneshot: Our Toil is Our Atonement

Title: Our Toil is Our Atonement
by Jesterlady
Rating: PG
Pairing: Tony/Priya, mentions of Adelle/Victor
Summary: In the aftermaths of the world's downfall Adelle still rules the House, muses on the past, particularly Roger, and continues to care for her charges.
Disclaimer: I don't own Dollhouse. The title is from a song by Derek Webb

Our Toil is Our Atonement

Her office was the tallest, most powerful part of the building. But despite the potent joys of being able to see the whole building on her screen and feeling as if she were above the House, it was definitely a place set apart. If one truly wanted to be beyond the House and yet partake of everything in it, then Topher’s lab was the place to go. It commanded a view of the entire main floor, cameras to all the other areas, and it housed the true seat of power: the chair.

It was all obsolete now, of course. Since they had taken on Rossum and the tech had
burnt the world, it wasn’t really safe to be in her office. They’d used it for
awhile as a sort of hospital and that was where the collage had been placed.
Sometimes she wondered why her office had been chosen for that purpose. She
certainly hadn’t had anything to do with it. Perhaps it had been a cruel kind of
ironic gesture. The one who ruined their lives was supposed to be the one to
remember them.

But she didn’t go there anymore. She stood where Topher used to stand, playing with
his toys, surveying his playground. She stood there because he huddled in one of the
pods, not daring to revisit the place of his greatest triumphs and ultimate
destruction. From there she could see everything.

And she watched her charges, because that’s how she still thought of them. She could
have cut out of this chase long ago, but this was her House, and she would not let it
completely crumble. She didn’t really like to stand there. It was a reminder of her
own fall from grace. But she needed to, for at least some minutes a day.

She could see them stocking weapons, tending to the wounded, standing sentry,
hurrying to Circle. Victor, no, Tony, was leaning with his back against the wall,
yet managing to rub Priya’s shoulders. Every day as Adelle stood there, she could
see the two of them. They were a mystery to her. How they managed to fall in love
despite their lack of personalities, their devotion to each other throughout their
imprints, their decision to stick together when they became themselves again. It was
one of the things that even Topher couldn’t explain. Something like Caroline or Echo
or whoever she really was.

Though they were part of her charges, she avoided Tony and Priya whenever possible.
A latent, guilty feeling, she mused. She must stay away from the man whose body she
knew by heart. A man whose body she’d violated through her own primal need. A man
who was so many people. Tony knew nothing of Roger who knew nothing of Victor who
could never know Anton Lubov.

Topher took up much of her time when she wasn’t standing guardian over the House or
working to keep things running smoothly. The boy man that she’d fostered and raised
not to care, cared all too well. He was broken and yet still looked to her for
guidance. And that charge she could take on and was one she allowed no other to do.
She read to him, listened to his rambles, got him his food and medication, held him
when he wept. And wept herself for the shambles of his life and the blood that he
held on his hands because of her.

But taking care of Topher allowed much time for thought and she pondered her life.
Pondered all that had led her to the Dollhouse. To being a part of the end of the
world. It was quite humorous, really, but she couldn’t laugh. Shortly after being
instated as the head of the LA Dollhouse, she’d found out what a lonely life it was.
Adrift on foreign shores without being at liberty to talk about her life to the few
people she did know.

She supposed that’s what led her to become Miss Lonely-hearts. A fitting epithet.
Though some might say she had no heart, let alone multiple that were lonely. But
that was the price one paid for being the top lady in charge. And she had believed
in the Dollhouse. Until fairly recently, in fact. It had all come crashing down
around them and she fought for control with all her British restraint; but there was
none to be had and so she faced herself and her choices and now, with the majority of
her time spent holding onto a genius whose mind was bent beyond repair, this was what
those choices had gotten her.

She didn’t regret them. But she sometimes yearned for when the House was pristine
and peaceful, not a den of refugees whose minds were under bounty. It was a façade,
she knew, but sometimes the picture was better than the grit hiding underneath. That
was what had led her to Roger. To wanting something real - even if it was fake. A
love so complete that she’d craved it all year long. She’d been careful, only once
or twice a year, not letting herself get carried away. Maybe a few more times than
that. The last two years, before she’d shelved the imprint, had been the happiest
and worst of her life.

Victor had been her ideal man. A great deal because of his origins. She didn’t know
the man who provided the Doll. She didn’t have to feel guilty for that part. Maybe
she should have gone to another Dollhouse for her fantasy fulfillment. But she
couldn’t arrange matters at another House and there she would be under the judging
eyes of her peers. So, she had to pick from her own House and the least she could do
was pick someone she didn’t know.

Not that he wasn’t perfect in other respects. She could feel his hands if she closed
her eyes. She remembered that freckle below his left ear, the calluses on his
fingertips - another repeat imprint, a musician - and the way his eyes had always
seemed to see through her yet never judge her. He had been her Roger and she was his
Katherine. A perfect story of star-crossed lovers who could never be. But it could
never be. That was the whole point. And after the events of Dominic and the
catching of the spy, she could no longer indulge herself in a fantasy. It was too
hideous a parody to continue.

Now, when she looked out on the Dollhouse floor and spotted Tony, it was with regret,
some fond remembrance, and guilt. He didn’t belong to her, not that he ever really
had. But he was with Priya and though Adelle knew Roger inside and out and had
intimate intel about Tony’s body, she could know nothing about him as a person.
Priya had that privilege and exercised it accordingly. And somehow, it did Adelle
good to see that. She would never speak of what she knew, but she could at least see
some of those she’d wronged get glimpses of a world of happiness.

She descended the stairs, her watching for the day at an end. It was time to meet
with Dr. Saunders and figure out what the week would bring. More waiting for
Caroline/Echo and Paul Ballard. More endless prayers at Circle, somewhat soothing,
yet hard to listen to. More of her self-appointed task to make sure Topher was as
comfortable as possible.

She passed Tony and Priya by the stairs, talking. Priya looked anxious, antsy. Tony
looked tense, stressed. They were holding hands.

“Go on,” Adelle said, unable to hold back. “Get going. You could use some rest, or
at least some privacy. Take my bed.”

They looked at her with some surprise. She wasn’t about to explain. Why should they
know why? But they went, some of the tension obviously relieved through the mere
suggestion of being somewhere other than right there. She watched them head up the
stairs to the lab, back to where Topher had used to dream boyish dreams. Then she
turned and strode firmly towards the pods. More people to take care of.