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cats_motherTitle: Too Late to Say You're Sorry
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cats_mother
Fandoms: Sports Night/Dollhouse
Characters: Natalie Hurley, Dan Rydell, Isaac Jaffee
Summary: Nothing is the same any more.
Rating/word count: PG; 2,770 words
Notes: This follows on from the events in Make This Beggar a King. Many thanks tolomedet for a marvellous beta job.
Something's lost that can't be found …
Something's lost that can't be found …
Something's lost that can't be found …
That's Lora-Lee, the nine-year-old from the next-door apartment, jumping rope in the hallway, chanting the same words monotonously over and over, if ear-splitting shrillness can be called a monotone. Natalie pauses around the corner of the stairs, making a face. She's a kind-hearted woman, and she'd been sorry for the kid when the family'd first moved in – she'd seemed lonely and friendless, wasn't allowed out alone, had noplace to play but around the building – so Natalie had gone out of her way to make friends, always sparing a smile and stopping for a few words any time their paths crossed.
That hadn't been often, what with Natalie's work schedule, so it had taken a while to dawn on her that sometimes the lonely and friendless are that way for a very good reason. Gradually the truth filtered through: tales of name-calling and stone-throwing, banging on doors and writing on walls. Lora-Lee had a low boredom threshold, as witness the never-ending stream of broken, abandoned playthings down by the refuse bins and, more tragically, the number of tiny cardboard coffins. Lacking any gift of inventiveness in finding ways of filling up her time, she made up for it in strength of malice.
"Some days I wonder if we should feel sorry for her," another of Natalie's neighbours had said one day as they passed in the hallway and shared a passing glance at the latest outbreak of abusive and misspelt graffiti. "But then I come to my senses and file her under 'Demon Seed'."
Natalie had sympathised. The best she'd managed to salvage from the relationship was the rescue of a small, bedraggled white kitten that had somehow managed to escape Lora-Lee's clutches. It lived with Dana now and, once its whiskers and eyebrows had grown back, had seemed to recover from the trauma quite nicely.
Now she heaves a sigh, jiggles the grocery bags in her arms to adjust their weight, braces herself, and turns the final corner.
Lora-Lee spots her immediately. "Hi, Ms Hurley!"
Natalie fakes a friendly smile. "Hi there, Lora-Lee. Have you lost something?"
The jumprope stops turning and Lora-Lee looks up, eyes big and sad. The effect might be angelic if not for the wad of gum stuffed into a corner of her cheek, and if Natalie didn't know her. "I lost my new pet hamster, Snowy. He climbed out of his cage, and we can't find him anywhere."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Natalie lies, while mentally congratulating Snowy on his lucky escape. "So you're asking St Anthony for help?"
"Mom says he finds things that're missing," Lora-Lee tells her. And then, inevitably, "Ms Hurley, why don't you ask him to find your friend?"
Because Lora-Lee can scent weakness like a shark can smell blood, and she'd homed in on Danny's disappearance from the very first day.
Ms Hurley, has your friend come home yet?
Ms Hurley, what happened to him?
Do you think he died?
Do you think somebody killed him?
Who do you think killed him?
How do you think they killed him?
Do you think maybe he killed himself? My dad says only cowards kill themselves.
Ms Hurley, my dad says your friend ran away because he was going to jail, is that true?
Ms Hurley, didn't the police ever find him?
"They're not looking for him any more, Lora-Lee," she'd said to that last question. Because it was true. Barely a week after Danny had gone missing the office had been visited by a bored-looking detective who'd informed them, none too apologetically, that the charges were being dropped – all a mistake, he'd told them, flawed evidence, these things happen, real sorry about that – and Dan Rydell was free to go back to living his everyday life, not a stain on his character.
Or he would have been if he'd still been around to enjoy his freedom.
Lora-Lee's dad had said (Lora-Lee chose to inform Natalie) that the police had dropped the case just because Dan was famous. "My dad says people that're famous never go to jail because they're s'lebrities," she'd told Natalie. "Do you think that's true, Ms Hurley?"
Natalie had had a lot of trouble finding an answer to that one.
She doesn't have much of an answer now, either, so she does what she always does: smiles, says something quick and casual and noncommittal, and gets away as fast as she can. She closes her apartment door behind her, drops the grocery bag to the counter, and flops into a kitchen chair, resting her elbows on the table and letting her forehead fall into her hands.
Something's lost that can't be found …!
Yes, as a matter of fact, she has tried that. She's tried everything – they all have, everyone at Sports Night – everyone at Quo Vadimus. They hired private detectives, they offered a reward, they talked to every source, followed every lead. For all their efforts, all of Calvin Trager's billions, they were as helpless as one of Lora-Lee's doomed baby animals. They came up with nothing – over and over again; for months now, nothing but false leads and false hopes, nothing but dead ends.
Although she tries not to use the word 'dead'. In spite of everything, against all reason and all the evidence, she still refuses to believe that's possible. Danny would never have done that to himself – no matter how hopeless things had seemed. He would never have done that to them.
Even though they'd let him down. Even though they'd stood by and watched him fall and done nothing to try to catch him, to save him.
They'd had their reasons. Those phone calls, late at night, threatening, warning: they'd all had them. Casey had received an envelope in the internal mail stuffed with close-up photos of Charlie, at school, in the park, outside his own home. With Jeremy it had been Louise; for Dana it was Kyle. For Natalie … she can't bear to say it aloud, not even to herself. She couldn't even tell Jeremy – especially not Jeremy – and that had been the final wedge that had riven their relationship apart. They all had their weak spots, their Achilles heels, something they valued more than their own safety, more than their love for Dan. Some reason not to stand up and speak out for him, some reason to leave him to flounder and suffer alone.
Is it any wonder that these days they can hardly bear to look at one another? They all know what they did; they all share the same burden of guilt.
Everything's so different now.
Well, of course it is; that much goes without saying. They've lost a friend, a partner, a confidant; the one person in their close little circle who could always be depended on to say the right words, do the right thing, who would give anything, anything, to help the people he loved.
But they've lost more than that. They had been a family. Eccentric and dysfunctional, true, but a family nonetheless. Not any more. They've lost trust; they've lost faith in one another. And, with those things gone, the next victim had, inevitably, been love.
They'd let Danny down. And now it was too late to say "I'm sorry."
Something's lost that can't be found –
Please, St Anthony, look around!
It has exactly as much chance of success as anything else they can do. Maybe more. When human effort fails, what can you do but hope for a miracle?
***
"It's done?"
He glances over his shoulder, then looks back at the bloody mess he's created. Not bad, he reflects, for less than a minute's highly-paid work, and allows himself a moment's satisfaction.
"Done," he confirms. He makes as if to holster his gun and turn away, then suddenly snaps around, aims, and looses off one last shot, grinning as he registers the disbelief, the astonishment on the face of his former partner, the last name on his contract. A man can go through a lifetime of experience, he's sometimes thought, in that fraction of a moment between life and death.
Some days he longs to know that feeling himself: to understand everything, all the hidden secrets of the universe. One day, he knows, and probably sooner rather than later, he will do.
So: job done. Quick, clean, efficient – all his usual trademarks. He's quietly pleased with himself. And then …
Movement in his peripheral vision. He whirls, heart thudding – this wasn't part of the plan! – brings the gun back up, trains it on the man who's seemingly appeared out of nowhere. A heartbeat before he shoots, the stranger speaks.
*
Are you ready for your treatment?
*
Funny how life can take you by surprise. Ever since High School he's dated the same kind of trophy girl – tall, slim, pretty, nice legs, big … you know. Cheerleaders, Prom queens, models, starlets – an unending stream of blonde hair, straight white teeth and sunkissed skin. He'd always told himself it was what he deserved. He's a good-looking guy, he's rich, he's successful – he can have the best of everything, so why settle for anything less?
What an idiot he'd been. Now he's met Joyce he realises the truth: that it's what's inside that matters. She may not look like much – not until you know her, really know her, not until you look into her eyes and see the light that shines within her – but in her heart, in her soul, Joyce is more beautiful than all the others put together.
All of the others were dolls, beautiful, flawless, but empty. Joyce – ah, Joyce is a woman.
He reaches out to her: "Shall we dance?" She doesn't wait for him to ask a second time, but grabs hold of his hand and all but drags him onto the dance floor. He laughs, loving it, loving her. He's barely aware of the bride, but Joyce meets her sister's angry glare and smiles, secretly, smugly.
Nobody's looking at Heidi any more. For the first time in her entire life, all eyes are on Joyce.
*
Hello, Delta.
*
The download bar's moving slowly, too slowly, barely crawling upward: twenty percent … twenty five … thirty …
"Come on," he breathes, "Come on!"
His hands are sweating inside their latex gloves. He tips back his head, inhales deeply, forces himself to relax.
Sixty percent … seventy …
Footsteps outside the door. Shit! He turns off the screen, moves on silent feet to flatten himself against the wall: waiting.
The handle turns. His hand comes chopping down, swift, silent, precise, and the intruder drops. He drags the unconscious body inside none-too-gently – if it's found it'll screw up his clean getaway, fuck up everything, dammit! – drags a chair against the door, and returns to his mission. His heart's thumping, but that's okay, that's good: it keeps him on the edge, at the top of his game, shows him he's alive …
Ninety percent … ninety five …
Finally!
He pulls the datastick free, drops it into his pocket, cracks the door open just wide enough to slip through, and is gone, like a shadow, like a spectre. Like no-one, no-one at all.
*
Did I fall asleep?
*
He clasps the woman's hands in his own: strong, comforting. "You must understand," he tells her gently, "This is an experimental procedure. It's been tried exactly once before."
Her anxious eyes seek his. "And it was successful?"
He hesitates for no more than a fraction of a second. "It will be." He says it firmly, his voice confident; he knows he speaks the truth. He has faith in himself, in his skills, in who he is.
He knows that he's the best there is.
*
Should I go now?
*
He kneels silently, passive, acquiescent. The stone floor is cold against his skin and his shoulders ache with strain, but he holds himself still and waits for what is to come.
It isn't his to question. It isn't his to wonder why.
He's nothing. He's nobody.
This … is all there is.
*
Should I go now?
"If you like," says the man – he knows he's seen him before, but he can't recall his name. It doesn't bother him.
He knows who he is – Delta – and that …
"… is all I need to know," he whispers, and wonders where he's heard those words before.
***
Casey throws to him – "… I give you Isaac Jaffee, former Managing Editor of Sports Night" – the floor manager cues him in, Dana whispers, "You go, boss!" in his ear, and then it's just him, him and whoever might be listening out there in the night.
"Good evening." He glances down at the notes he's scribbled on memo cards, raises his eyes to Camera 2. "More than a hundred thousand people go missing in the United States every year. A hundred thousand. That's a statistic and, like most statistics, out of context it's pretty meaningless. How many is a hundred thousand? It's hard to visualise, I know, so let's paint a picture. Imagine Yankee Stadium. Imagine it full. Now double that. It's a rough estimate, but there you pretty much have your figure.
"Chances are that still doesn't mean very much to you. Most of us have trouble relating to tragedy in the abstract. We reason it away, we brush it aside, we try to forget about it. Most of the time, we can do that. Until it happens to us. When it does – well, when it does, that changes things. It changes everything. Your life will never be the same again.
"A year ago today, our lives here at Sports Night were changed in just that way. One of our own – someone very dear to all our hearts – became one of those statistics, the one out of the hundred thousand who isn't nameless, faceless, anonymous. A year ago today, Dan Rydell who, along with his partner Casey McCall had been the face of Sports Night from the very beginning, walked out of his apartment and has never been seen again."
He pauses – for effect, for breath, to control the slight involuntary catch in his voice. He's seen more than enough heartbreak in the course of his career, reported it coolly, unemotionally, professionally. No-one's ever seen Isaac Jaffee lose control, on camera or off, and nobody ever will.
But … god. If he'd only been here when it had happened. If he hadn't chosen that month, of all possible times, to take Esther and Ellie back to London for their first visit since his stroke; if someone had thought to let him know what was going on instead of trying to shield him; if, if, if. Isaac doesn't know what he could have done, but he knows this: he would have tried his damnedest to do something. Anything. No matter what it might have cost.
It took him a long time to forgive the rest of them. In a lot of ways, he still hasn't. He has to remind himself that they're grieving too, and that they have their failures to bear, as well as the loss.
When – when, not if – Danny comes home, Isaac's going to make sure that there's a reckoning. In the meantime, they're all in this together, and they need to act as a team. Everything else can wait.
"Losing Danny – " Damn! "Losing anyone, anyone close, is always a tragedy. That's a given. But tragedy's a part of life. Over time you learn to deal with it, you learn how to go on. You mourn, you find some form of closure, and, eventually, the healing begins.
"Except that in this case, as for those hundreds and thousands of others, the families, friends and loved ones of missing persons, there is no closure. There can't be. All there is is emptiness, unknowing: fear of what might have happened, fear of what might be happening still.
"And so I make this plea: Dan, if you're out there, if you can hear us – send us word. If you can't come back to us, at least let us know you're alive. Or if anyone, anyone at all, has seen him, knows anything that would help us, then please, in the name of humanity, show some mercy and share what you know.
"I'm Isaac Jaffee, and you're watching Sports Night on QVN. On behalf of everyone here, I say one more time: Danny, wherever you are, whatever you've gone through, whatever your life may be now, we love you and we miss you. No matter what you may believe, we're your friends, and we need you badly. Badly," he echoes, as Danny had echoed once, so very, very long ago now. Long ago, and in another world.
"Remember us. Come home to us.
"And may god be with you, and with all those other lost and lonely souls."
And they're out.
***
Author:
cats_motherFandoms: Sports Night/Dollhouse
Characters: Natalie Hurley, Dan Rydell, Isaac Jaffee
Summary: Nothing is the same any more.
Rating/word count: PG; 2,770 words
Notes: This follows on from the events in Make This Beggar a King. Many thanks to
lomedet for a marvellous beta job.Something's lost that can't be found …
Something's lost that can't be found …
Something's lost that can't be found …
That's Lora-Lee, the nine-year-old from the next-door apartment, jumping rope in the hallway, chanting the same words monotonously over and over, if ear-splitting shrillness can be called a monotone. Natalie pauses around the corner of the stairs, making a face. She's a kind-hearted woman, and she'd been sorry for the kid when the family'd first moved in – she'd seemed lonely and friendless, wasn't allowed out alone, had noplace to play but around the building – so Natalie had gone out of her way to make friends, always sparing a smile and stopping for a few words any time their paths crossed.
That hadn't been often, what with Natalie's work schedule, so it had taken a while to dawn on her that sometimes the lonely and friendless are that way for a very good reason. Gradually the truth filtered through: tales of name-calling and stone-throwing, banging on doors and writing on walls. Lora-Lee had a low boredom threshold, as witness the never-ending stream of broken, abandoned playthings down by the refuse bins and, more tragically, the number of tiny cardboard coffins. Lacking any gift of inventiveness in finding ways of filling up her time, she made up for it in strength of malice.
"Some days I wonder if we should feel sorry for her," another of Natalie's neighbours had said one day as they passed in the hallway and shared a passing glance at the latest outbreak of abusive and misspelt graffiti. "But then I come to my senses and file her under 'Demon Seed'."
Natalie had sympathised. The best she'd managed to salvage from the relationship was the rescue of a small, bedraggled white kitten that had somehow managed to escape Lora-Lee's clutches. It lived with Dana now and, once its whiskers and eyebrows had grown back, had seemed to recover from the trauma quite nicely.
Now she heaves a sigh, jiggles the grocery bags in her arms to adjust their weight, braces herself, and turns the final corner.
Lora-Lee spots her immediately. "Hi, Ms Hurley!"
Natalie fakes a friendly smile. "Hi there, Lora-Lee. Have you lost something?"
The jumprope stops turning and Lora-Lee looks up, eyes big and sad. The effect might be angelic if not for the wad of gum stuffed into a corner of her cheek, and if Natalie didn't know her. "I lost my new pet hamster, Snowy. He climbed out of his cage, and we can't find him anywhere."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Natalie lies, while mentally congratulating Snowy on his lucky escape. "So you're asking St Anthony for help?"
"Mom says he finds things that're missing," Lora-Lee tells her. And then, inevitably, "Ms Hurley, why don't you ask him to find your friend?"
Because Lora-Lee can scent weakness like a shark can smell blood, and she'd homed in on Danny's disappearance from the very first day.
Ms Hurley, has your friend come home yet?
Ms Hurley, what happened to him?
Do you think he died?
Do you think somebody killed him?
Who do you think killed him?
How do you think they killed him?
Do you think maybe he killed himself? My dad says only cowards kill themselves.
Ms Hurley, my dad says your friend ran away because he was going to jail, is that true?
Ms Hurley, didn't the police ever find him?
"They're not looking for him any more, Lora-Lee," she'd said to that last question. Because it was true. Barely a week after Danny had gone missing the office had been visited by a bored-looking detective who'd informed them, none too apologetically, that the charges were being dropped – all a mistake, he'd told them, flawed evidence, these things happen, real sorry about that – and Dan Rydell was free to go back to living his everyday life, not a stain on his character.
Or he would have been if he'd still been around to enjoy his freedom.
Lora-Lee's dad had said (Lora-Lee chose to inform Natalie) that the police had dropped the case just because Dan was famous. "My dad says people that're famous never go to jail because they're s'lebrities," she'd told Natalie. "Do you think that's true, Ms Hurley?"
Natalie had had a lot of trouble finding an answer to that one.
She doesn't have much of an answer now, either, so she does what she always does: smiles, says something quick and casual and noncommittal, and gets away as fast as she can. She closes her apartment door behind her, drops the grocery bag to the counter, and flops into a kitchen chair, resting her elbows on the table and letting her forehead fall into her hands.
Something's lost that can't be found …!
Yes, as a matter of fact, she has tried that. She's tried everything – they all have, everyone at Sports Night – everyone at Quo Vadimus. They hired private detectives, they offered a reward, they talked to every source, followed every lead. For all their efforts, all of Calvin Trager's billions, they were as helpless as one of Lora-Lee's doomed baby animals. They came up with nothing – over and over again; for months now, nothing but false leads and false hopes, nothing but dead ends.
Although she tries not to use the word 'dead'. In spite of everything, against all reason and all the evidence, she still refuses to believe that's possible. Danny would never have done that to himself – no matter how hopeless things had seemed. He would never have done that to them.
Even though they'd let him down. Even though they'd stood by and watched him fall and done nothing to try to catch him, to save him.
They'd had their reasons. Those phone calls, late at night, threatening, warning: they'd all had them. Casey had received an envelope in the internal mail stuffed with close-up photos of Charlie, at school, in the park, outside his own home. With Jeremy it had been Louise; for Dana it was Kyle. For Natalie … she can't bear to say it aloud, not even to herself. She couldn't even tell Jeremy – especially not Jeremy – and that had been the final wedge that had riven their relationship apart. They all had their weak spots, their Achilles heels, something they valued more than their own safety, more than their love for Dan. Some reason not to stand up and speak out for him, some reason to leave him to flounder and suffer alone.
Is it any wonder that these days they can hardly bear to look at one another? They all know what they did; they all share the same burden of guilt.
Everything's so different now.
Well, of course it is; that much goes without saying. They've lost a friend, a partner, a confidant; the one person in their close little circle who could always be depended on to say the right words, do the right thing, who would give anything, anything, to help the people he loved.
But they've lost more than that. They had been a family. Eccentric and dysfunctional, true, but a family nonetheless. Not any more. They've lost trust; they've lost faith in one another. And, with those things gone, the next victim had, inevitably, been love.
They'd let Danny down. And now it was too late to say "I'm sorry."
Something's lost that can't be found –
Please, St Anthony, look around!
It has exactly as much chance of success as anything else they can do. Maybe more. When human effort fails, what can you do but hope for a miracle?
"It's done?"
He glances over his shoulder, then looks back at the bloody mess he's created. Not bad, he reflects, for less than a minute's highly-paid work, and allows himself a moment's satisfaction.
"Done," he confirms. He makes as if to holster his gun and turn away, then suddenly snaps around, aims, and looses off one last shot, grinning as he registers the disbelief, the astonishment on the face of his former partner, the last name on his contract. A man can go through a lifetime of experience, he's sometimes thought, in that fraction of a moment between life and death.
Some days he longs to know that feeling himself: to understand everything, all the hidden secrets of the universe. One day, he knows, and probably sooner rather than later, he will do.
So: job done. Quick, clean, efficient – all his usual trademarks. He's quietly pleased with himself. And then …
Movement in his peripheral vision. He whirls, heart thudding – this wasn't part of the plan! – brings the gun back up, trains it on the man who's seemingly appeared out of nowhere. A heartbeat before he shoots, the stranger speaks.
Are you ready for your treatment?
Funny how life can take you by surprise. Ever since High School he's dated the same kind of trophy girl – tall, slim, pretty, nice legs, big … you know. Cheerleaders, Prom queens, models, starlets – an unending stream of blonde hair, straight white teeth and sunkissed skin. He'd always told himself it was what he deserved. He's a good-looking guy, he's rich, he's successful – he can have the best of everything, so why settle for anything less?
What an idiot he'd been. Now he's met Joyce he realises the truth: that it's what's inside that matters. She may not look like much – not until you know her, really know her, not until you look into her eyes and see the light that shines within her – but in her heart, in her soul, Joyce is more beautiful than all the others put together.
All of the others were dolls, beautiful, flawless, but empty. Joyce – ah, Joyce is a woman.
He reaches out to her: "Shall we dance?" She doesn't wait for him to ask a second time, but grabs hold of his hand and all but drags him onto the dance floor. He laughs, loving it, loving her. He's barely aware of the bride, but Joyce meets her sister's angry glare and smiles, secretly, smugly.
Nobody's looking at Heidi any more. For the first time in her entire life, all eyes are on Joyce.
Hello, Delta.
The download bar's moving slowly, too slowly, barely crawling upward: twenty percent … twenty five … thirty …
"Come on," he breathes, "Come on!"
His hands are sweating inside their latex gloves. He tips back his head, inhales deeply, forces himself to relax.
Sixty percent … seventy …
Footsteps outside the door. Shit! He turns off the screen, moves on silent feet to flatten himself against the wall: waiting.
The handle turns. His hand comes chopping down, swift, silent, precise, and the intruder drops. He drags the unconscious body inside none-too-gently – if it's found it'll screw up his clean getaway, fuck up everything, dammit! – drags a chair against the door, and returns to his mission. His heart's thumping, but that's okay, that's good: it keeps him on the edge, at the top of his game, shows him he's alive …
Ninety percent … ninety five …
Finally!
He pulls the datastick free, drops it into his pocket, cracks the door open just wide enough to slip through, and is gone, like a shadow, like a spectre. Like no-one, no-one at all.
Did I fall asleep?
He clasps the woman's hands in his own: strong, comforting. "You must understand," he tells her gently, "This is an experimental procedure. It's been tried exactly once before."
Her anxious eyes seek his. "And it was successful?"
He hesitates for no more than a fraction of a second. "It will be." He says it firmly, his voice confident; he knows he speaks the truth. He has faith in himself, in his skills, in who he is.
He knows that he's the best there is.
Should I go now?
He kneels silently, passive, acquiescent. The stone floor is cold against his skin and his shoulders ache with strain, but he holds himself still and waits for what is to come.
It isn't his to question. It isn't his to wonder why.
He's nothing. He's nobody.
This … is all there is.
Should I go now?
"If you like," says the man – he knows he's seen him before, but he can't recall his name. It doesn't bother him.
He knows who he is – Delta – and that …
"… is all I need to know," he whispers, and wonders where he's heard those words before.
Casey throws to him – "… I give you Isaac Jaffee, former Managing Editor of Sports Night" – the floor manager cues him in, Dana whispers, "You go, boss!" in his ear, and then it's just him, him and whoever might be listening out there in the night.
"Good evening." He glances down at the notes he's scribbled on memo cards, raises his eyes to Camera 2. "More than a hundred thousand people go missing in the United States every year. A hundred thousand. That's a statistic and, like most statistics, out of context it's pretty meaningless. How many is a hundred thousand? It's hard to visualise, I know, so let's paint a picture. Imagine Yankee Stadium. Imagine it full. Now double that. It's a rough estimate, but there you pretty much have your figure.
"Chances are that still doesn't mean very much to you. Most of us have trouble relating to tragedy in the abstract. We reason it away, we brush it aside, we try to forget about it. Most of the time, we can do that. Until it happens to us. When it does – well, when it does, that changes things. It changes everything. Your life will never be the same again.
"A year ago today, our lives here at Sports Night were changed in just that way. One of our own – someone very dear to all our hearts – became one of those statistics, the one out of the hundred thousand who isn't nameless, faceless, anonymous. A year ago today, Dan Rydell who, along with his partner Casey McCall had been the face of Sports Night from the very beginning, walked out of his apartment and has never been seen again."
He pauses – for effect, for breath, to control the slight involuntary catch in his voice. He's seen more than enough heartbreak in the course of his career, reported it coolly, unemotionally, professionally. No-one's ever seen Isaac Jaffee lose control, on camera or off, and nobody ever will.
But … god. If he'd only been here when it had happened. If he hadn't chosen that month, of all possible times, to take Esther and Ellie back to London for their first visit since his stroke; if someone had thought to let him know what was going on instead of trying to shield him; if, if, if. Isaac doesn't know what he could have done, but he knows this: he would have tried his damnedest to do something. Anything. No matter what it might have cost.
It took him a long time to forgive the rest of them. In a lot of ways, he still hasn't. He has to remind himself that they're grieving too, and that they have their failures to bear, as well as the loss.
When – when, not if – Danny comes home, Isaac's going to make sure that there's a reckoning. In the meantime, they're all in this together, and they need to act as a team. Everything else can wait.
"Losing Danny – " Damn! "Losing anyone, anyone close, is always a tragedy. That's a given. But tragedy's a part of life. Over time you learn to deal with it, you learn how to go on. You mourn, you find some form of closure, and, eventually, the healing begins.
"Except that in this case, as for those hundreds and thousands of others, the families, friends and loved ones of missing persons, there is no closure. There can't be. All there is is emptiness, unknowing: fear of what might have happened, fear of what might be happening still.
"And so I make this plea: Dan, if you're out there, if you can hear us – send us word. If you can't come back to us, at least let us know you're alive. Or if anyone, anyone at all, has seen him, knows anything that would help us, then please, in the name of humanity, show some mercy and share what you know.
"I'm Isaac Jaffee, and you're watching Sports Night on QVN. On behalf of everyone here, I say one more time: Danny, wherever you are, whatever you've gone through, whatever your life may be now, we love you and we miss you. No matter what you may believe, we're your friends, and we need you badly. Badly," he echoes, as Danny had echoed once, so very, very long ago now. Long ago, and in another world.
"Remember us. Come home to us.
"And may god be with you, and with all those other lost and lonely souls."
And they're out.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-22 01:12 am (UTC)So they specifically set Danny up? Is there going to be a sequel?
(loved the wedding part, man, I'm glad I'm an only child)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-22 01:24 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-22 03:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-22 09:28 am (UTC)There's one more section in my head and ready to go any time I can work the brain/actually sitting down and typing it up interface, though it doesn't advance the plot much (it's just me being self-indulgent). After that, we'll all have to see what happens. I'd quite like to know what's going on myself.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-22 05:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-22 12:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-22 06:27 am (UTC)I love the changes you made (especially to the Isaac section). My heart is breaking for all of them, so very, very much.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-22 09:27 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-22 07:13 am (UTC)I had this sudden thought, though. Wouldn't Delta and his handler have witty banter? Because Dan would so do that, wiped or not.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-22 09:14 am (UTC)And thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-22 03:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-22 08:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-22 10:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-22 04:12 pm (UTC)And I love that Isaac wasn't there, that he would have done something if he had.
Really good fic. Will there be more soon?
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-22 08:26 pm (UTC)I knew Isaac had to have not been there. Isaac would never have just stood by when Danny was in trouble, no matter what. (They have a special bond, you know ... even if Isaac has it with other people too.)
There should be another bit of this along soon - it doesn't further the plot, it's just me being self-indulgent - and bits of 'how to fix this' storyline are trying to come together in my head, so I hope there'll be more after that.
Many thanks again for reading, and for commenting!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-23 08:16 am (UTC)I haven't read SN fic in ages, but this universe you built has drawn me in...
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-23 10:29 pm (UTC)(Excuse me replying under my other LJ username, I'm too tired to log in and out of my Sekrit [mostly from my sister-in-law] Identity.)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-23 09:12 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-23 10:31 pm (UTC)I'm really enjoying Dollhouse. I think people are thrown because it's not what they expected from Joss - in which case poor old Joss, imagine being expected to write the same thing ALL THE TIME. Last week's episode was especially good - it was like they'd laid the foundations with the first few eps, and now they could crank it up a notch.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-23 12:16 pm (UTC)moreplease? I love this, even though I don't have a clue about Dollhouse. *goes to do research*
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-23 10:33 pm (UTC)Vague fragments of actual plot are also trying to make themselves heard. Let's see how that goes.
And thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-23 05:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-23 10:35 pm (UTC)I'm not sure myself how this is going to end, but I'll do my best to make it as happy as possible, promise!
And thank you so much for reading and for commenting.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-24 06:46 am (UTC)I am so glad that Isaac wasn't around, it makes so much more sense knowing that. And the fact that Charlie was threatened, which explains why Casey didn't stick up for him. Now I'm wondering how Casey feels about all this, as we really don't have a sense yet.
*sigh*, now I have to go find something cheerful to read so that I can get to sleep (I have to be up in less than six hours, so it will have to be something short...)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-24 07:46 am (UTC)Thank you for reading!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-24 06:46 pm (UTC)names you Georgesays, "That was wonderful!!!!... now when part 3 is coming out?"* ;)PS: This part The stone floor is cold against his skin and his shoulders ache with strain, but he holds himself still and waits for what is to come. might not have actually been meant to be some kind of, like, dungeon porn, but my dirty little mind made it go that way, anyway... and liked it a lot. *snork*
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-24 08:43 pm (UTC)2) It totally is dungeon porn, or at least some sort of nod to kink!fic, and you're the only person who's noticed!!
3) Thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-24 08:50 pm (UTC)You say that like it's a deterrent of some type. ;) And, hey, as I have fics on my hd from, like, a year ago, I totally would be throwing stones at glass houses if I were to push someone else to get with it... not that I wouldn't anyway, 'cause who wants to live in glass, what with the lighting issues and the high cost of curtains and all... but I digress, as what I meant to say was I'll wait patiently for whenever you get it up. ;)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-25 09:59 pm (UTC)I loved the Lora-Lee character...that whole thing where Natalie gets involved because she feels sorry for her, and only then realises that the kid is a budding psycho was wonderful, it added a great depth to the whole thing and was interesting in its own right. The Lora-Lee character was really chilling and nasty.
I really liked the paragraph with Joyce. I haven't seen the Dollhouse thing yet, but I could see why Joyce hired him, and what's going on with the Doll. It was quite poignant to see how much emotional investment the doll has with the subject...sorta like an "escort" who has to go through the whole thing as though it's real. Poor Danny!
Loved how Isaac resents the team for not telling him/doing more to save Danny...yet understands why...but he still can't really forgive them.
I see now why Casey didn't do more. And...it's his son in danger, he COULDN'T do anything. It must have absolutely torn him apart to have to leave Danny out to dry.
Gosh, this story is so damn good!!!!!!
Love it so MUCH. Next part please. *G*
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-25 11:55 pm (UTC)I have to admit that Lora-Lee got called that because my bloody useless work supervisor - insofar as you can supervise a department from America - is called something similar. Childish of me? Why, yes. I was having trouble finding a way into the story, and the kid using the St Anthony verse as a skipping rhyme was the best one I found.
The dolls are completely wiped of personality when they're not on assignment, and when they're active they completely take on the persona they're imprinted with - so they completely believe that everything they're experiencing is real.
I knew Isaac would have helped Danny if he could, no matter what, so he had to have been out of the country. All the rest of them had something that mattered to them more, even if it was only just.
Casey's pov will follow in due course. At least, I hope it will.
Next part coming up as soon as I can get it out of my head and onto the computer ...
And thank you!!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-02 11:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-03 06:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-06 10:29 pm (UTC)Such a heartbreaking part. Off to read the next part.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-07 07:32 pm (UTC)And thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-15 02:51 am (UTC)yeah, probably a good thing Joss is writing this and not us. (I've already been thing of ways to either revise or AU my own Dollhouse crossover with Doctor Who.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-15 09:59 pm (UTC)The way Adelle speaks of it, though, I get the impression that it's something that she considers a higher purpose, something that is worth all the human cost. And there my imagination fails me.