Clean

Notes: This is a missing scene from the episode "Belonging." Suggestions/comments are very welcome!

Pairing: Victor/Sierra, though nothing more than we've seen in the series

Spoilers: For episode 2x04: Belonging, and a little bit for episodes preceding it

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Dollhouse does not belong to me. Probably just as well; I've seen the kind of stress that running it brings. Though I do wish I owned Victor. I'm just sayin'.

~*~

Drip… drip-drip… drip…

Adelle DeWitt stood in the entrance to the shower area, gazing down at the mess inside without expression. The only sound, now that the tech had shut off the automatic showerhead, was the pattering of water falling from the hair and clothes of the two soaked Dolls. Rivulets of black paint spiraled down the drain like some inhuman blood.

Per her instructions, Mr. Langton had called her when one of his security team had found the pair. She had a standing order that, except in cases of violence or emergency, no one was to try to force any Doll to do anything; she wouldn't have "the children" upset needlessly. Instead, if gentle suggestion failed, they were to call her. She wasn't a part of the Dolls' daily routine; if she were the one to upset them, they were easier to calm once she vanished back into her office.

If someone was going to have to disrupt the peace of the Dollhouse, let it be its matriarch.

More importantly, Adelle kept a particularly close watch on these Dolls. Anything odd that occurred involving Echo, Victor, or Sierra was to be reported to her immediately. The rest of the House was normal, but these three – she didn't know why, yet, but these three were changing. Had been for some time. She was reluctant to put a stop to it; maybe it was curiosity, or maybe she was fonder of them than she ought to be. But she would be damned if she didn't keep an eye on them. It would be on her head if these "changes" started interfering with the business enough that Rossum took notice.

…drip… drip… drip…

Victor sat slumped on the floor, his angelic face smeared with paint, his clothes stained with it. He wasn't looking at her. His wide dark eyes were fixed straight ahead, focused on nothing. Next to him, Sierra knelt, hair falling in a tangled honey curtain around her shoulders. Unlike Victor, she was quite aware of them; her fearful gaze flitted, hummingbird-like, from the security people to Adelle and back to Victor. Thin fingers traced anxiously over the other Doll's unresponsive face.

All right. Figuring this out would start with her.

"Sierra." Adelle spoke soothingly, pasting on a reassuring smile. She couldn't demand answers from them; she could be the Dragon Lady to the staff in this place, but not to the Dolls. They had to be handled gently. Simple questions. Simple answers. "Sierra, what are you doing?"

"We were playing," the Asian girl confessed timidly. "Victor took the paints. So I wouldn't have to use that color anymore. Victor wanted to help me. I put the paint on his face." Her eyes darted back, to her black-stained fingers smearing through the runny paint on his skin.

"All right," Adelle said, trying to recapture her attention. "Did Victor not like it when you put paint on his face?"

"He was laughing. He put paint on my face. Then he fell." Now her innocently frightened gaze was glued to him. She cradled his face between her hands, an anxious sound escaping. "Is Victor hurt?"

"We'll see to it that he sees the doctor," Adelle assured her. Then she shifted her gaze to the man. There were times, when she caught sight of him passing on his way to or from an engagement, that she remembered Roger and felt a pang of loss. True, Roger hadn't existed, but she of all people knew how real the illusions the Dollhouse provided could be. That was why she'd had to put a stop to it, but sometimes seeing him did twinge a bit.

Not now, though. Bewildered, drenched with water and paint, pale under his olive complexion, Victor couldn't have looked less like her warm and confident Roger. He looked like a child. A lost child.

"Victor?"

No response. He scarcely seemed to be breathing. She allowed just a hint of steel into her voice. "Victor. What's wrong?"

"…I don't want to take charge…"

It was just a murmur, but it rang in the silent room. Adelle's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Victor?"

"I don't want to take charge."

Well. This wasn't a welcome development. No one else in the room could recognize the significance of that simple phrase. Sierra was running her hands anxiously over Victor's face and through his hair, whispering his name, and the men outside the shower area were exchanging baffled looks. Who would ever expect a Doll to take charge of anything?

But Adelle knew. After all, that was what had drawn the man Victor had been to the Dollhouse in the first place.

Heels clicking on the tile, she moved closer and crouched down in front of the pair, putting herself directly in Victor's line of sight. Sierra shifted slightly to make room, though she never broke contact with the male Doll. "Victor. You don't have to take charge. You don't have to take charge of anything. Remember? As long as you're here, we will take charge. All you ever have to do is… be your best."

"I don't want to… I…" Now Victor's gaze flickered, filled with confusion, and finally focused on her face. She could see him struggling with it, but the memories were receding now, and Adelle breathed a silent sigh of relief. "I… try to be my best."

"That's all we ask." She smiled at him, and then rose to her feet. "Would you like to wash up, and put on dry clothes?"

"I would like that." Hesitantly, he climbed to his feet as well, Sierra rising with him. Her hands were on his arm now, and he finally looked at her, moving one of his hands to cover her small one. They smiled at each other in that way they had that made Adelle's chest tighten. "Sierra is wet, too. May she have dry clothes?"

"Of course." Adelle gave the two Dolls her own reassuring, painted smile (how was it that sometimes she felt they were so much more genuine than she was?), and stepped out of their way. Hand in hand, the pair went to collect towels and moved out of sight.

Adelle watched them go. In just a few short hours, Sierra would be gone. It repulsed her in a way she'd never felt before, what she had to do, but she had no choice. Let Sierra – let Priya – go, or the Dollhouse would be taken from her, and Priya would go anyway. Would it help Victor, at least, when his honey-haired friend was gone? When there was no longer anything to disturb his perfect peace? Easy enough to have Topher give Victor a complete wipe – make him forget Sierra, forget whatever trace of his old self had risen to the surface today, so he could be happy again. Clean again.

Glancing down, she noticed a damp black stain on the hem of her four-hundred-dollar dress. Damn. It must have happened when she'd lowered herself to the Dolls' level.

There were times, and today was definitely among them, when she envied the Dolls their airy existence. When she wished Topher and his magic chair could wipe her clean. But nothing could ever do that, could it? Not after everything she'd done – everything she was still doing. Today was a new low, but she was cynical enough to realize that it probably wouldn't be the lowest she would sink in Rossum's employ. She could do her best within her power to care for the people in her House, but it would never be enough. Some stains just didn't come out.

Shifting her clothes so the spot on her skirt was less visible, she went upstairs to make the final arrangements for Sierra's last assignment.