Pairing(s): Mellie/Caroline, November/Echo
Word Count: 1,247
Spoilers: Through 1x09
Summary: Mellie still dreams of her; she never tells Paul. Instead, she tells herself that if he can keep secrets than so can she...
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
A/N: Written for thefemslash09 ficathon.
-- imprint: mellie --
She’s never actually hated anyone before—not that she can recall—but now, now she feels it, the loathing, sinking deep down within her like an anchor settling on the seabed, on a place where her heart was supposed to rest.
Nowadays just thinking of the name makes Mellie’s stomach twist up in knots, makes her feel like she needs to vomit just like she did the day she realized that he loves her, truly—and she can’t compete with that.
She’s never actually hated anyone before—not that she can recall—but now, now she knows, knows what it feels like to hate a ghost; it feels a lot like losing control; actually, it feels a lot like falling in love.
-- imprint: november --
She opens her eyes, sees faces she can’t quite place but knows, somehow, that they’re familiar and she’s safe here, somehow.
“Hello, November. How are you?” the man says and his tone is soft and easy, pleasant like his blue eyes and blonde hair.
Her mind is foggy, and she’s not exactly sure what it is but knows there’s something missing there. And she feels compelled to ask, “Did I fall asleep?”
“For a little while,” he tells her with a tight smile.
Her eyebrows narrow, a little crease of curiosity forming between them because that smile seems to suggest something else; she wonders what it is but nevertheless, “Shall I go now?” she asks.
“If you like.”
She’s the first person November sees when she leaves the room and she doesn’t know her, not a name or anything, but she feels it and her chest tightens with something—a feeling that rises like the tide within her.
November waves back at her, mirrors a smile before she can think twice about it and descends the stairs, walking toward her.
“My name is Echo,” she greets her and there’s a smile there—cheeks rising and teeth showing—a real smile, November thinks.
“Hello. I’m November,” she tells her.
“I’m going to art class.”
“I like art class,” November says, “It helps me be my best.”
“Shall we go together then?”
“Yes, lets go together,” she answers.
Echo’s hand is outstretched and November eyes it for a moment when something possesses her; it comes as quickly as it leaves and all she does is blink because she doesn’t know what it means. And if she did, know better, she’d recognize it as betrayal.
So, yes, she hesitates but then their hands are clasped and they’re on their way.
She spends the rest of the day with Echo doing yoga and then laps in the pool before dinner. They walk to their beds together with their fingers entwined.
She made a friend today and she smiles because she likes Echo. Yes, Echo is nice, she thinks.
-- imprint: mellie --
He’s told her multiple times that he can’t sleep. He says that all he ever thinks about is the Dollhouse but Mellie knows what he really means.
He’s not the only one; Mellie spends her nights, alone and in his bed, listening to the rustling of papers from the adjacent room and she can’t help but think about Caroline as well because she’s ruining them, destroying so much without even realizing it and no one should have that much power, however helpless they might be.
One night, Mellie dreams of the ghost that’s haunting her. She knows what Caroline looks like, has seen the video of her paused on Paul’s television screen. And she dreams of pools and open spaces, of running water, of bonsai trees.
It used to be Paul’s face, the last thing she imagined every night before she fell asleep. Now, the last thing that Mellie pictures before sleep envelops her, is Caroline.
She’s never actually hated anyone before—not like this—to the point where she thinks of her as often as she thinks of him.
In fact, Mellie suspects that she might be more consumed with Caroline than Paul is; and she’s not sure what that means, exactly, only knows that, somehow, the enigmatic Caroline has become a part of her.
-- imprint: november --
She likes the others—Sierra, Victor, Tango and Mike—they’re all nice enough but Echo, Echo gets her.
They don’t talk much, not more or less than anyone else but there’s comfort even in those silent moments shared between them.
And it’s nice, just being with her.
So one day, November tells her; it only seems natural, no secrets between them.
Echo looks up from her fruit salad and smiles, “I like being with you too,” she says.
And just as November is considering asking Echo if she would like to join her in the sauna, a man walks up to their table.
November recognizes him by his tall stature, his dark skin. Most of all, she recognizes the fact that every time she sees him, he takes Echo away—and that, she doesn’t like.
“Echo?” he asks. And his name is Boyd, if November remembers correctly.
Echo looks up at him and just likethat and her eye contact with November is broken.
“Are you ready for your treatment?”
“I like my treatments…but I like being here too,” she says, eyes now back on November.
Boyd throws a curious look between the two of them but then urges gently, “That’s very good, Echo but its time for your treatment now.”
November watches as Echo stands and gives her a tight smile and it reminds her of something, of a smile she’s seen before—of a smile that suggests something it shouldn’t but nevertheless, “Goodbye, Echo,” she says.
-- imprint: mellie --
Mellie still dreams of her; she never tells Paul. Instead, she tells herself that if he can keep secrets than so can she.
Lately, the dreams seem to be getting more real, more detailed and its like she’s living a double-life in her sleep.
And its no longer pools and open spaces, running water, or bonsai trees that invade her mind while she sleeps. No, now she sees flashes of smooth, pale skin; she can practically feel the whisper of delicate hands running up and down her sides, of soft lips caressing, of hipbones pressing perfectly against her own; she can practically hear the sounds of soft breath tripping over lips, of half-swallowed groans and hushed words that seem to echo back off of the walls of the confined space where they lie.
And when she wakes, turns to see Paul actually in bed with her—sleeping soundly on his side—she gets up quietly. She pulls on one of his shirts, not so nuzzle-worthy anymore, and walks into the living room.
She looks around, takes a glance at the wall of everything Dollhouse and then at the television screen and there she is, staring back at her.
She sits at the couch and she’s still, just lets herself be until she finally reaches for a file on the coffee table.
Paul needs to find her but he’s not the only one anymore. No, now they both need her.
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