A/N: I do not own this universe or any of the characters in it. None of them.

Jane wrung her hands as she tried to sit still in the empty room. The vibe it gave off was not something she was very comfortable with. The modern furniture, the frosted glass, the palm trees. It felt very futuristic dystopia. Very. But that's basically what she had signed up for. The Dollhouse. As science-fiction as it came.

She had first heard of the Dollhouse two months ago. Right after being retrieved from Hoyt's cellar. She remembered her time with him clearly. Like a brand, seared directly into her brain. Into her eyes. Into every nerve ending in her entire body. Everything after that got foggy, to say the least. She remembered Korsak. She vaguely remembered the ambulance. After that, though, everything sort of faded together.

Hands. She felt hands.

One set. No, three.

No, just one. His.

No.

Maybe four sets. Ten.

At her feet, her arms, her legs, her head. Her sides, her stomach, her hips. Everywhere and nowhere.

Her brain yelled at her. Telling her something. Trying to.

"Jane!" she heard.

Hoarse and frantic. Her mother. Mother. Ma.

She forced her eyes open, only to see men, women, clad in pastels and cartoons and everything in between. Each was clutching at a part of her, fear in their faces. Etched in every crease, every depth and hue of their eyes.

People, lots of people.

Her eyes shot around the room, trying to understand. Where was she? What was…where was…?

She saw her mother. Standing to the side, eyes wide. Flowers she had purchased on the way in still clutched in her death-grip, stems bending. Their eyes met, and relief flooded the older woman's stance, all the way up to her turquoise eyes.

Real.

Not real.

"Janie," she breathed, taking a step closer. "You're safe. You're here. With me, you're right here."

Her words were muddled up by tears. She reached out tentatively, hesitantly toward her daughter, fingers trembling.

No. Not real.

Jane felt her own lungs expel all their air in a scream. Rough and scratchy and desperate as she once again tugged at the arms restraining her.

Was it arms?

Her body felt tired, sedate, no matter how hard she tried to kick.

Get out. Get out, she needed to get out.

Hoyt was in her head. She had let him in.

And now she couldn't get out.

How many times she had went through that process, Jane wasn't sure. But she remembered waking up quite often, and every time, she couldn't quite place reality. Eventually, she had woken up, restrained by padded cuffs instead of hands. From then on, no one had stayed around to talk her down. They had just left her.

Safe. Safe. You're safe.

The words didn't sound right in her head.

She closed and unclosed her fists, wincing with every tensed muscles.

But they were free. No more metal through them.

She blinked, trying to focus on something. Anything.

Teddy bear. Korsak.

Flowers. Ma.

Card. Pop.

Ice and sweets. Frankie.

Pain shot up her arm. Her body jerked.

Stay. Stay here. This is right.

She opened her eyes again, this time looking above her.

Ceiling. Ceiling was good and familiar; she could work with it.

Real, and bright, and white. It wasn't a basement.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

She looked down at herself. So many things came from her. Pads and cuffs and wires and tubes.

I.V...I..V?

She followed the clear tube. Up and up and up.

Morphine.

If she could just…turn it off. Turn it off and she'd stay here.

Or she'd die.

Either one worked for her.

Her fingers stretched for the valve, but they shook.

They shook. Stung. Burned.

She whimpered.

"Stop."

The voice was low. Raspy like her own. Like a chain smoker. Like smoke holding her up.

But it was so clear.

She turned her head toward the source. In the bed next to hers, just a little ways away was another woman. Tanned skin. Chocolate hair. Round face. Doe eyes. She didn't face Jane. She just stared at the ceiling.

"I…I can't," Jane couldn't grip the words, the dryness of her throat giving her no friction. Air just rushed out.

She needed to stay in reality. She needed the woman to know—

"Can't? Yeah. Can't focus, can't think," the woman laughed, dark and low and unamused. "Morphine really jacks ya up, doesn't it?"

"W-how—"

"Shh," she shushed. "Just…stay with me, okay?"

Notes of genuine concern hung in the question.

"Stay with me and I'll try to keep you here."

She paused to see if Jane would protest, but Jane didn't have the strength. She collapsed back into her bed, her eyes closing.

Just as she started to question where she was again, the woman's voice was back.

"I was just a kid. A silly naïve kid. Thought I could change the world."

Even though she couldn't force her eyes open, Jane could see the woman. Strong and defiant, fighting through the darkness inside her own head.

"Animal rights activist, some people called me. I guess they'd be right. We'd been planning this heist for months. Get into Rossum's headquarters. Get proof of the animal cruelty acts they were committing with all their research and then….blow it up. An act of terrorism. But…when we actually got there….I just…There's a lot worse things going on at Rossum besides animal cruelty."

The room was quiet as she paused, her intake of breath heavy. Like the weight of the world. And Jane was hanging on it. Clinging.

"People," she breathed, almost in disbelief. "They were testing…people. But not just…testing. There was…There were…people. But they weren't…people. They were like….robots. But flesh and blood. Living. They were…programmed. Erased and refilled. Over and over and over."

Jane's ears rung with the silence the woman left behind. She did not inhale or exhale. She did not shift. They sat in perfect, painful silence for what felt like an eternity.

"And I got caught," the woman whimpered. "They found me. Now I gotta pay the price."

Jane worked to find her voice, every part of her body defying her. Her hands would not close. Her arms would not move. Her lips would not form clear words.

"Why…" she tried. "tellme?"

This earned her a laugh. A pitiful, tear-filled, attempt to cover the pain. But still a laugh.

"Because," the word came, vulnerable. "I'm…as good as dead anyway. I need…someone to know the truth. Even…even if you are high or low or…drugged."

Jane wanted to ask her. Why would she be dead? What about jail? What about the illegal things Rossum was doing? But she had been lucky to get three words out at all.

Instead, she forced her eyes opened, turning on her side as best she could. She looked pleadingly across the room, tugging at her restraints, and their eyes locked. Brown to brown. Fear to fear. Tears with tears. And she hadn't needed to ask.

"They're gonna make me one of 'em," the woman forced out as tears built up more in her eyes. "They're gonna take my mind and wipe it clean and never give it back…" she whispered. "I'll never be real again. I'll never be me…"

Jane had seen the tears falling onto the woman's face and she was gone again. Back in the basement.

Karenna (blonde…?) was sobbing beside her on the dirty mattress, quiet begging spilling out between the gasps and shudders.

"Jane, God Jane stay awake," the blonde woman's shrill whisper came. "You have to get us out. You can do it, just stay. Awake."

Jane blinked away the tears blocking her vision, trying to see Karenna better, but it wasn't just her tears blinding her. It was the pain. The searing pain trailing cold and hot from her palms, through her arms, right to her head.

The pain was gone.

Karenna was gone.

The low timber of her hospital roommate's voice was back, steady in its cadence.

"My name is Caroline Farrell. I'm twenty-three years old. My parents died when I was eight. I grew up in Orange County…" she repeated it over and over, as if to remember. As if it would save her. "My name is Caroline Farrell…"

Even today. Jane remembered her voice. Those words, repeating in her head, shaky with fear, yet low in determination.

After that, though, things got blurry again. She had passed out, then woken up, only to find Caroline gone. The only indication she was ever there was the solitary metal handcuffs still hanging from the bed railing.

How much of what she remembered about Caroline was true, she was not sure. She had been drugged, her blood spiked with both the morphine and the adrenaline of her post-Hoyt encounter. She could have still been hallucinating. But in all honesty, it didn't matter how much was real, because the fact that even a piece of Caroline's story was true made Jane almost positive she hadn't imagined a single word.

What Caroline had talked about, the programmable, empty, robot-like people, was called the Dollhouse. After a month of research, Jane had caught a trail. Just a faint, barely existent one. But she had followed it none the less, driven by a fire burning deep within her. This place, this Dollhouse was exactly what she needed. A way out of the world. A way out of Hoyt.

How did she know for sure Caroline's story was true? How did she know the Dollhouse existed? She was sitting in it. Right then and there, she was sitting in an office thirty floors below a Rossum corporation skyscraper smack in the middle of Boston, waiting to see if they would accept her, take her in.

Along with her research as to where it was, also came more information of what it really was.

And that simple. It was a business.

A really sick, scary business of the simplest, most common illegal form. Prostitution. Right out there in the open, yet anyone who didn't want to see it, didn't.

It boiled down to three different types of people that did business with Rossum. The first was the rich or powerful that needed play-things. That was their consumers. Then there were they actual bodies they needed. Those came from two places. The first was criminals. If the asked criminals agreed to spend their time working for the Dollhouse, with the standard five year contract, it would count as their full sentence. Done and done.

The other, final type? They were people with traumas. Serious, deep, overpowering traumas, because the process they used to create these programmable people numbed the pain of memories. Working the body and mind to its breaking point took the edge off any traumatic memories the person held.

And that was the boat Jane was in. She needed them to take Hoyt from her. Even if it was just a little. But at the same time, it still felt so wrong. People shouldn't have that kind of power. To play with what the mind sees or remembers. It shouldn't be possible.

And she remembered the fear in Caroline's eyes. Like the Dollhouse was worse than hell. It gave Jane pause, yet at the same time, she was already in her own personal hell. Hadn't slept in weeks. Hadn't been allowed to go back to work. She was going insane, and this seemed like her only way out. But it still felt bad. Very bad. Evil.

Jane's mind raced as she sat there, fighting with herself. Stay or don't. Even if she had wanted to leave, what would she do then? This was her only way out. Well, not exactly. She'd spent many a night just staring at her gun, but even through all her desperation, she still wasn't that desperate.

Then again, she could always try and handle her issues like anyone else would have to. The long way. She could just get up and walk away before the meeting started, but she kept her body rooted firmly in place, nervous none the less.

Kneading her palms, she glanced around once again, her eyes lingering on the security camera. She was getting a bad feeling in her gut, but she pushed it down. This was something she needed, she told herself again. She needed it.

Her thumb pressed into her palm the wrong way and she winced, immediately hit with more flashing images. Ones she didn't want to see. She closed her eyes, only to see them more vividly. Hoyt. On top of her. Holding her down.

Her heart pounded faster, the still too-fresh psychological wound splitting open once again. The same cold terror she felt before was collapsing in on her now. She felt his hand gliding down her arms, a dull burning on her neck.

"Jane Rizzoli?"

Jane jumped at the sound of the British voice behind her, pulled gratefully out of her flashback, and turned around. Adelle DeWitt. The older woman certainly looked as strict as her voice sounded.

Her dark hair was pulled back in a low bun, not a strand out of place. Her eyes, near the pupil, were that of a piercing gray, fading to an icy blue until the outer ring of color ended in pristine white. Even with her shorter stature, she filled the room. Jane could imagine her in a locker room full of massive football players, and she would still be the strongest presence. How did she know that? She felt it now. She felt small, lesser than the woman standing before her. Her attire was business professional, the pencil skirt pressed so perfectly, Jane could barely believe the woman had been working for six hours already. It made her feel very conscious of her own fairly worn and disheveled clothing, so she chose to stay seated.

"Yes," she finally spoke.

"Don't affirm a question of which you didn't know the implication," she said curtly, striding over to sit at the table.

Something about the woman intimidated Jane, a rare occurrence, and she instantly sat up just a little straighter.

"I…I'm sorry. What did I misinterpret, Ms. Dewitt?" Jane asked carefully.

"You assumed that my question was to affirm that you were, in fact, Jane Rizzoli, when my question was in a tone that said 'Jane Rizzoli? What on Earth are you doing here?' There. Now you may answer."

Jane just looked at her, stunned. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to understand the question.

"Well…I called and…and talked with your people…and—"

"And nothing. They specifically told you to think more about it."

"I did."

"They meant serious thinking, Ms. Rizzoli. A year's worth of thinking."

"I couldn't wait that long. Will you do it or what?"

"For an officer of the law? I'm not sure we have much choice."

"Don't be coy with me," Jane muttered. "We both know full well you don't exist within the justice system. Nor could I—one person—do anything about it."

Adelle gave her a forced smile. "I'm glad we're on the same page."

"Maybe so, but are we on the same line?" Jane smirked.

"I don't think it's wise of you to be requesting our assistance."

All teasing left Jane, replaced with a cold fear that her opportunity was slipping through her fingers.

"Ms. DeWitt, I-I'm begging. I can't take one more night of nightmares, one more day of looking over my shoulder. I'm dying from fear of a man who's locked up in the deepest hole Boston had to offer, but I can't …shake him," Jane choked out her request. "It's like…like I'm down in that hole with him, and I want out. I-I need out."

"I understand that, Ms. Rizzoli; we looked into your history. But there are other issues. The Actives we keep are generally solo in their life. No one would be looking for them. You…"

"You're the most sophisticated research facility in the world and you can't handle one helicopter mom?"

"'Can't' isn't the right word. 'Prefer not to' is more accurate."

"You said you needed people. I'm here. I fit the requirements."

"More so than you know," DeWitt said calmly.

"So then say yes!" Jane said, exasperated.

The older woman stared at her for a long time, her jaw set firmly as she thought.

"It's five years of your life, Jane. Five years gone in the blink of an eye."

"That's fine!"

"You'll be thirty when you get out."

"And?"

"I'm just making sure you know. 'Voluntary informed consent' laws and all."

"Again, using laws to validate your point makes you kind of a hypocrite," Jane mumbled.

"It's a 'yes', Jane."

"Really?"

DeWitt sighed deeply, nodding.

"Yes, really," she affirmed, standing.

Jane followed suit, trying to smooth her wrinkled slacks.

"We'll be in touch," DeWitt said, giving a polite nod. "Welcome to the Dollhouse, Jane."

The detective could only half smile; she felt as though she had just made a deal with the Devil.

As soon as Jane left, Adelle DeWitt let out a small sigh. She wasn't a complete ice queen. She hated signing new employees. New clients she could deal with.

Her phone rang and she answered it before the second ring.

"What?"

"Dewiiiitttt", a man called into the phone, his voice nervous, sing-song-y even. "I think you really need to get down here."

"I've another appointment in twenty, Topher; it had better be quick."

An uneasy laugh echoed back to her. "I'll try my best, your highness."

Snapping her phone shut, she couldn't help but scowl. She hated his sarcasm. Quickly, she made her way onto the elevator, its doors opening up on the lower floor and revealing chaos she did not want to see. The room that usually looked like a giant spa now looked like it was a giant spa from hell.

The elevator let her off onto a skywalk overlooking the obnoxiously large room below; the only other thing on this level was a room with frosted glass windows. This was the room where all the chaos was. That's where it always was. On the floor below, guards were running towards the stairs and that little room. They weaved expertly around seemingly unaware young people. Those unnerving, eerily calm people, dressed as normally as if they were going to exercise: they just continued whatever they were doing. Eating. Drawing. Meditating. All as if the room they were in was not vibrating with screams of sheer terror.

"Hold her down!" Adelle heard Topher yell from behind the frosted glass, his voice struggling to be heard about the hysterical cries. "C'mon, I can't do everything!"

Adelle sighed, walking briskly over to the smaller room. A woman no older than twenty was kicking wildly to free herself from the hold of the guards, shrieking as more hands grabbed her and forced her down into the only piece of furniture in the room: A reclining chair.

"Lemme go, lemme go!" she cried, her voice cracking as she gave another forceful kick, yanking her arms from the man's hold.

Adelle spotted Topher standing by uselessly, yelling orders at the men. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he rocked back onto his heels, leaning as far away from the frantic woman as he could.

"She's stronger than she looks, fellas. Just push her head back! C'mon, I don't have all day!"

In a group effort, the guards pushed her head down, holding it as Topher typed frantically on his computer behind them.

"Steady…" he said carefully as the woman kicked again, but she was pinned. There was no more escape.

The headrest of the chair lit up, almost blindingly bright, and she stopped her fighting, her eyes wide as her body shook in painful tremors. Hesitantly, the guards released their grip on her, expecting her to jump up. She did not, and Topher gave them an annoyed wave to get out.

"Get!" he hissed. "Too many stimuli."

They gave him glares before exiting. He took the quiet moment to readjust his sweater vest, flattening his blonde hair as best he could as the chair shut off and the woman sat up. She looked at Topher for long seconds.

"Hello, Echo," he said.

Her concerned look did not change.

"Did I fall asleep?"

"For a little while," he explained evenly; when he talked to the Dolls, it was the calmest DeWitt ever saw him.

"Shall I go now?" the woman asked quietly.

"If you like."

She hesitated, her eyes trained on him. He gave her a small smile, and it seemed encouragement enough. She got up and walked out of the room, past DeWitt as if she wasn't even there. The second the door closed behind her, Topher let out an annoyed groan.

"She keeps glitching, Dewitt! There is something wrong with her that is not in her file!" he exclaimed, his tone accusing.

"Well there's nothing I can do about it, Topher," Adelle replied calmly. He was no threat to her. "You're supposed to be the best at this. Be able to wipe anything from their minds."

"I am the best!" he protested. "But this is the third time this week she's gone postal! I don't think my body can handle the stress!"

She gave a dark laugh.

"The stress of standing? Oh, you poor dear. You've got the hard life. Playing with million dollar equipment, all the time in the world to do any research you desire. You get to build people. Minds. You get to make yourself any playmate you want any day of the week—"

She stopped talking when he started walking away and into his adjoining office. Her eyes moved from his retreating form to the smallest movement in the corner of the room. His intern, Ivy, stood quietly, her dark eyes trained respectfully down at the ground, her hands clasped in front of her. She was petite and had short black hair to match, her bangs threatening to cover her eye.

Adelle walked past her, and immediately felt the girl falling into step with her as she followed Topher, finally tuning in to his usual ramblings.

"You know I don't like Dolls," he laughed. "I want something real."

"What is real?" DeWitt asked bluntly, ignoring her impulse to correct Topher's slang. They were Actives. Not Dolls. "We create real companions for clients who ask. It's real to them."

"Can't argue with that," Topher said, though his tone was not sincere. "Ivy! Soda."

His intern moved immediately from her place behind Adelle, her lab coat fluttering behind her as she ran to the fridge, tossing the can across the room.

"Was that all?" DeWitt asked, her patience thinning.

"Well if you're not gonna do anything about, then yeah."

"Please try and hold down the fort while I'm gone," she warned. "I have an important client upstairs."

"Newbie?" he asked, interested.

"New in the area. But she was one of our most…affluent clients in Paris. The director has requested I treat her with the utmost respect, and I intend to do so. In other words. Do. Not. Interrupt."

The blonde man rolled his eyes and gave a conceding nod.

"Relax. I can handle a bunch of mindless shells for an hour or two."

Adelle didn't grace him with a response, turning and walking back to her private elevator. She stepped into her office, although it could hardly be considered an office. More like an apartment. Couches…TVs…Whiskey. Most of the time she preferred to stay here.

A woman was seated on the edge of her couch, her ankles crossed and her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her eyes were focused to the side, probably inspecting the alcohol Adelle had forgotten to put away. Damn.

Her face was flawless, round cheeks, small chin…Her hazel eyes stood out as much more gold, reflected against the contrasting purple dress she sported. Her hair waved out in sensuous volume, tumbling over her shoulders and down her back.

"Ah, Dr. Isles. It's so wonderful to be meeting you at last."

The woman looked up at the voice, and a dazzling smile spread across her face, her eyes bright. It shocked DeWitt, knocked her slightly off-kilter, even. Normally clients with high social standing and good looks lacked social etiquette. Or at least didn't like it. But assuming had been wrong. This woman's secret was clearly deeper down.

"Ms. DeWitt. I'd have to say the same," the honey-blonde laughed as she stood. "Mr. Ambrose spoke very highly of you."

DeWitt nearly passed out. This woman was in touch with the company's Executive Vice Chairman?

"I, uhh," she faltered. "Please. Call me 'Adelle'."

"Then you may call me 'Maura'," the woman said easily, extending her hand.

Adelle took it and offered a smile.

"Don't be silly, Dr. Isles. I have too much respect for you."

"And I, you, Adelle, but I don't see why we can't be informal. You know me on quite an intimate level already, I'm sure."

This woman. This woman was every man's dream. Beautiful. Educated. Polite. Straightforward. Why was she here? DeWitt cursed herself. She was never curious about clients. They all had something that made them tick. It wasn't…wasn't supposed to be fascinating. Drink. Drink, where was her drink?

"Well, yes, Maura. I can attest to the fact that your file was sent over. We are working on a list of Actives that fit your needs now."

She felt bad turning her back on the woman to pour herself a brandy, but felt better when she turned back around to find Maura sitting again.

"That was actually something I needed to discuss with you," Maura said warily.

Immediately, Adelle caught the sheepishness in her tone, but did not press right away. One thing she'd learned from working here was how to read a person and when to broach topics.

"Really?" she asked, moving to sit on the couch opposite Maura.

"Yes. I…I was hoping that I could maybe…change it up."

The seemingly well put together woman was stumbling over her words.

"Was there something wrong with the Actives you were given in Paris?" Adelle asked, almost gleeful. Maybe she could do better than her biggest rival.

"No!" Maura was quick to protest. "Not at all. They were wonderful. They just weren't…"

"What you wanted."

"…Yes," the honey-blonde agreed after a moment. "But it wasn't their fault. I don't…I don't think I gave them the correct parameters," she admitted.

"Well you can trust me, Maura. There is no judging at the Dollhouse."

"E-everything was…quite pleasing," Maura again assured, her hands now clenched a little tighter in her lap. "But I never did specify…gender."

Oh. That was it. Adelle felt slightly…disappointed. She expected something much deeper from the woman.

"You could've just told them!" she laughed, hiding her negative emotions as she pulled up Maura's file, the hologram floating above the coffee table between them.

"I know. I just…I had gotten to know their coordinator so well…I just…It felt…strange, to tell him that."

Adelle nodded as she rearranged the hologram, also sneaking glances at Maura's other general parameters. Chivalrous. Brave. Kind. Smart. Independent. Considerate.

It looked like a jumbled mess of conflicting ideas, and yet when she looked to Maura expectantly, waiting to change anything else, the woman simply shook her head.

"That's all."

Adelle refrained from shrugging. She would discover more about the woman when she called in for more specialized parameters for her first appointment.

"And I don't need to remind you of anything else? Privacy policy?"

Maura smirked at her. Adelle was so the right woman for this job.

"I don't tell anyone about you, and you don't disclose any damaging information about me."

Adelle smiled at her. Smart woman.

"Then we'll send you a list in a couple of days." She stood. Maura stood.

"I look forward to doing business with you."

"Likewise."

She walked Maura to the elevator.

"And Maura?" she said as she hit the call button.

"Yes?"

"Welcome to Boston."

A/N: If y'all are looking for some weird shit, this story is probably it. It will be totally normal and yet totally strange and a little fucked up all at once. There will be fluffy goodness and some bad angst and sexy sexy times and hopefully it'll end in some really believable love. So if you're willing to stick around for the weird trip, I'd love to have the company.

And you can yell at me all you want for taking so much time with my other stories. I deserve it. But I'm working. Trust me. This is just something I've had in the archives and decided to finally post.