Disclaimer: I do not own Dollhouse or anything affiliated with it. It is owned by FOX, Mutant Enemy, and Joss Whedon. No infringement is intended and no profit is being made.

Spoilers: Everything up to, but not including the as-yet-unaired season finale.
Character(s): Paul Ballard
Pairing(s): Paul/Mellie, Paul/November...ish.
Author's Note: I love these two so much it's ridiculous.

Summary: He watches her heart break and tries not to let it bother him; he tries not to think about how much this is hurting him, too.

Watch the Sunlight Filter Through
by: chopsticks
pg

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The day after he finds out that a significant portion of his current life is a lie, he takes a walk to the nearby park and stands at the edge, far from the trees. He tilts his head up, closes his eyes against the glare of the sun and the sting of the tears, and lets the sunlight wash over him. He feels it seeping into him, warming him and cleansing him. He ignores the world around him, ignores the squeals of the playing children, the chastisements of the amused mothers, the whispers of the lovers, the beat of the iPods turned up to eardrum-shattering levels.

He lets the sunlight wash over him. He lets it soak into his eyelids, staining his vision red.

For the moment, he just exists.

-----

He watches her sleep, her eyelids fluttering with dreams, her legs tangled with his. He's trapped with these conflicting emotions, with this want when he sees her and with this revulsion at himself when the want rises within him. He reaches out; lets the pad of his index finger gently trace her features. He skims over the curve of her jaw, the turn of her lip, the point of her nose, the plane of her eyebrow.

He doesn't know what to do, what to think.

His hand travels to the back of her neck, tangling in her hair as he studies her features. He's pretty sure he's not in love with her, not yet. But, he's on the precipice, ready to tumble over.

She isn't even real.

He doesn't know what to do with that, with any of it.

She mumbles in her sleep and snuggles closer to him, an arm sneaking around his waist and her warm breath tickling his throat.

She isn't real, but she feels real, tastes real, acts real. He doesn't even know her name.

He thinks his life used to be simple.

-----

Days go by and he stands in the sunlight every chance he gets, closing his eyes and letting the warmth of the light wash away his senses, memories, confusion.

-----

He doesn't know what to do, so he does what he does best: he pushes her away. He runs away, because he just can't handle it, can't handle the screaming conflict taking place in his head.

Of course, she catches him in the act, and he thinks his ex-wife is probably laughing hysterically at him right about now. Mellie cries and says everything he needs to hear, and for a moment he wants to give in, to give up.

So, he thinks of Caroline. He thinks of her being brash and opinionated, of sitting in the sunlight giving a piece of her mind to a camera lens. He thinks she's safe, she's come to him before, he can save her. He's afraid of Mellie, now. He knows she killed the man who attacked her, and he has a feeling it was blind self-defense, that she has all the skills of a trained fighter and then some boxed up beneath the surface.

He watches her heart break and tries not to let it bother him; he tries not to think about how much this is hurting him, too.

He's pretty sure she won't even remember this tomorrow, that her mind will be wiped clean and all their shared memories vanishing like a sigh in a soft breeze.

He walks out. Out and out and into the sunlight.

-----

Of course her cell (and he can't think of it as anything else) would be the first to unlock, and he sees her peaceful in sleep, her face relaxed and no sign of the tears she cried earlier.

He has to fight down the urge to wake her and run out with her, and it would be so easy to slip his fingers into hers and pull her with him. So, so easy.

But, he remembers the dead body in his apartment, remembers that this woman lying here is not the woman that sobbed in his arms that night. Remembers that he vowed to save Caroline first, because she asked. Remembers that he will save everyone else, and he'll start with the woman lying here.

He will save her, just not yet. There's still too much to do.

-----

The Dollhouse doesn't fall.

-----

He wakes up four years later, dizzily coming back into consciousness. The first face he sees is Topher's, trepidation and maybe a little shame playing out in his expressions. The second face he sees is Adelle DeWitt's, impassive but smiling, and just the sight of her brings on a flash of anger and he has to fight the urge to choke her right there.

The third face he sees is November ("Her real name," Ms. DeWitt had snidely informed him on the last day he can remember.).

"Paul, this is Margaret. Margaret, this is Paul." Ms. DeWitt's smile grows larger, and he has the sick feeling that she is enjoying playing matchmaker like this.

They're released together, as promised in his own contract. His life and her life for four of his years; it isn't fair, it isn't moral, it isn't just--not by a long shot--but it will have to do. For now.

They step out of the building and are assaulted by the brilliant sunshine. He smiles into it, and invites her to take a walk. She looks up at him, wariness coloring her features in the light, but she agrees.

They walk in silence, looking at the world around them. They pass harried businessmen and women, children playing hooky, elderly couples out for a stroll.

"We have to do something," she says, breaking the silence with her voice, determination and anger tingeing it.

He smiles and looks at her, eyes squinting in the bright sunlight. "Yes, we do."

She nods and smiles as well, but the wariness never leaves her eyes. This woman is not Mellie, is not November, is not every other person she's ever been. She's Margaret, and he's glad he finally got to meet her.

He feels a giddy sense of anticipation at what the future holds for them, together.

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the end.