A/N: Two weeks, two more episodes to go. I don't know about you guys, but my jaw is still firmly on the floor after "Getting Closer," so I'm not even going to go so far as to hazard a guess as to what Dollhouse is going to throw at us before the end, because I'll most likely be wrong!
This story is sort of bittersweet, because I'm starting to like Dollhouse more than both Firefly and Angel combined, which I never thought would happen, and although the second season has been truly amazing it's going to be weepy letting it go so soon. On the other hand, it's the type of story that gives us fans tons of opportunities for fanfiction! Also, this is my first attempt at writing in this 'verse, so don't kill me too hard if it isn't exciting and mysterious enough – we can't all be part of the Whedon team (but we can dream, damn it).
Timeline Note/Spoiler Warnings: "Lonely Souls" is set after "Haunted" and before "Briar Rose" during season one. Expect full spoilers up to that point. I'll refrain from foreshadowing or hinting at future revelations from season two.
Disclaimer: Dollhouse and all of its associated awesomeness was conceived by Joss Whedon (and partly by Eliza Dushku). It is owned by Mutant Enemy and Fox Network and all and everywhere in-between. I make no money, I'm just dabbling, blah blah blah. You know the drill.
Warnings: This story features non-graphic sex between both slash and gen couples – in layman's terms, this features both gay and straight sex, though it isn't described because I'm trying to keep this like an extended episode of the show, and Dollhouse doesn't run on HBO. Sadly. Can you picture Tahmoh Penikett in an HBO show? Sigh. In any case, it also features slightly graphic violence and some bloodshed. You have been warned.
And, so, without further ado:
Dollhouse
Lonely Souls
Prologue: The Intruder
Adelle DeWitt was very rarely, if ever, nervous. She felt that she had good reason for this confidence in her safety and power: she was only in her forties, in excellent health, and worked at a high level of the Rossum Corporation (and therefore made more than most multimillionaires with every monthly stipend). She also operated the highly secretive Los Angeles branch of the Dollhouse, the security of which made America's famed Fort Knox look like child's play.
Therefore, it was justifiable that she was trembling now as the intruder faced her calmly from her own sitting area, pointing a gun at her head. Her entire suite of office space was black from loss of power, of which this man was obviously the cause. She was grateful that the Dollhouse beneath her was on its own power grid, or else the Actives would be nervous and she couldn't afford to upset the house. There were many things one could say under similar circumstances, which she considered quickly. Who are you and how the bloody hell did you get in here? just sounded so tritely villainous, and she quickly discarded it. Other options ran round her head, but she took a deep, calming breath instead, and relied on her usual cold formality to get her out of this situation as it had so many others.
"How may I help you?" she asked calmly, with a calculatingly charming smile. The dark figure who she guessed to be a man from the size chuckled lightly.
"They were right about you, Miss DeWitt," he said smoothly, confirming her suspicions about gender. His accent was faint but it was noticeable. She paid astute attention to every detail that she could make out. If she could get out this (and she had every intention of doing so with her life), she would need every detail at her recall to help her head of security, Boyd Langton, track this man down and end his life. Provided he has not beat me to the punch and killed Langton already, she thought grimly.
"I beg your pardon?" she hinted, attempting subtly to get him to continue the conversation.
"You really are quite the piece of work," the man said after a moment, granting her wish. "I've just broken into the Dollhouse, one of the most highly secured places in America, one would guess, and broken through your private army of Rossum-backed goons to stand in your office, armed, and not even an outward flicker to tell how nervous you must be." There was a smirk in his voice, and DeWitt hated him fiercely for it. She decided that she might accompany her security on the later hunt and end his life herself.
"Whatever your sources of information may have informed you about me," she said after a moment, "they will no doubt have informed you that I am a businesswoman first and a pragmatist second. As you are already here, you have proved your considerable skills. I am quite under your power." She raised her empty hands to emphasize her lack of resistance even as she stroked his ego to lower his guard. "The fact that I am not dead yet would indicate that you want something from me, something that only this house can give you. It would be more expedient if we cut to whatever deal you wish to make."
"I can respect that," the man said. Her efforts at making him comfortable had worked, to an extent; he was no longer guarding his accent quite so well and he was most definitely of Greek origin, but he had been educated in America. That narrowed the list of potential suspects at who had given him his information down considerably. "You may have a seat." Internally she bristled at being ordered about in her own domain, but she smoothed her ruffled feathers. The man had the gun and she was no martial arts expert.
"Obviously, you need an Active for some sort of engagement," she began.
"Is that what you call them? Your 'Dolls?'" he asked disparagingly.
"That is what they are," she said frostily. Call her whatever you like, but Adelle DeWitt was nothing if not protective of her business as well as her charges. He snorted, but left it at that.
"Yes, I need an Active. Or, more than one. Which you will provide for me." His gun was still trained on her and condescension dripped from his tone. She wanted nothing more than to grab her crystal-handled paper cutter from her desk and drive it through his gut, but she kept still. He stood up, clearly lording his male power over her. No doubt he had been raised by an overbearing and domineering mother or elder sister. She filed this away in her mind along with the knowledge that his silhouette was not large. Though his face was masked by both his clothing and the dark in her office, she felt sure she could provide a satisfying sketch to the security section.
"You say that the Dollhouse can make any kind of person that I need?" he asked as he stared down at her. "I do hope that my informants were not lying to me."
"The Dollhouse can provide you with whatever you need," she said confidently.
"Good. I require at least five of your Actives. I need them...what was the word? Imprinted? Yes, imprinted, with the skills of master thieves, with enough to get them through the kind of lethal-response security system of which plans I will provide you with. I will also need one of them to become an assassin for a particular target. I need them to fetch what I need, eliminate the target, and then get out without a trace. They will have exactly twenty-five minutes in which to do this, or the security system will override and self-destruct the facility they will be infiltrating, killing everyone inside and destroying the information that I need – as well as your team of Actives. As you might guess, this would not be beneficial to either of us."
"And where would this take place?" she asked quietly.
"You may have heard of it – the Mayar Institute. The target is one Andrew Serogan."
"Are you completely out of your mind?" she asked incredulously, her shock causing her to lose some measure of her self-control. "The Mayar Institute? Have you any idea the security of that building – and to assassinate one of the most conspicuous political figures of the entire country of England?"
"I know exactly the security of that building," he said calmly, now seating himself. "I have the blueprints and codes for the security update happening in one week's time with me. You do not need to know the reason for the scientist's death, only that I want the information referenced in this file." He withdrew a thick manila folder from a hidden pocket in his jacket, his gun still trained on her with a steady hand. "Oh – and the Handlers that you send on these missions? None of them will be allowed to participate. My own security team will oversee your Actives – no possible breach of security should one of your men be listening to something they should not, you understand?" His tone was downright pleasant.
"That is out of the question! Do you have any idea what my employers would do to me if I went along with this? Frankly, I'd rather you shot me now than face them with this request! And even if they went along, the money involved would be more than your life is worth!" To her shock, he laughed uproariously.
"Oh, Miss DeWitt!" The son of a bitch actually slapped his knee! "Were you under the impression that I was paying for this service like one of your clients? Oh, how trite! You will be paying for this. I understand that the Dollhouse makes a considerable revenue from your particular services."
"You are completely insane," she whispered. He sobered abruptly, becoming deathly serious.
"No, madame – I am in fact completely sane. And you will do exactly as I say because if you do not I will detonate the bombs I have placed in your precious Dollhouse, killing every last one of your Actives and staff – including yourself. My men will be watching your institution in order to ensure that you follow my orders, else they will detonate. Oh, and it should be understood between us that any attempt to secretly evacuate this building will result in your immediate death." He spoke so calmly and matter-of-factly about it that she knew he meant every word.
"I certainly hope that you understand that the Rossum Corporation is not going to take your invasion lightly," she said after a moment, extending her hand for the information.
"If you appreciate your good health, Miss DeWitt, the Rossum Corporation will never know that this meeting occurred." She could hear his smile through his words and she gritted her teeth in impotent fury. "I have left contact information for when you have assembled my team, as well as a timeline. I certainly hope that your tech-man, Mr. Brink, is as good as my informants tell me, as you only have five days to assemble your Imprints."
"It will be carried out," DeWitt assured him with an icy smile.
"Very good," the man said. He inclined his head politely. "I am sure I will hear from you soon." With that, he melted into the shadows. She sat very still for three minutes and five seconds, counting every breath, until the lights suddenly flickered back on – a parting gift from her intruder, she reckoned, showing off that he held the Dollhouse firmly in his grip. She clutched her head and crossed to her cabinet. She washed down a strong shot of whiskey along with a pill for migraine relief, something she really shouldn't have done.
After a moment, the trembling in her limbs quieted to the point that she could walk straight, and she left her office to enquier as to the whereabouts of her security team. That she would be forced to play into this fool's gambit of a plan, she knew she had no choice. But her intruder had overplayed his hand. After completing this task, she would kill him herself. And she would do it with her bare hands.
"Ben, I understand that you don't want to do this, but please, just this once, accept your father's position and at least pretend to be happy!"
"What drugs are you on and where can I get them?" Benjamin Thous called through his bedroom door. His stepmother, Arielle, was currently pounding on the door and he was debating turning the volume of his music up louder to compensate for the woman's gratingly whiny voice.
"I will not be spoken to like that!" Arielle yelled at the door, cursing the day that her husband had chosen to put locks on the bedroom doors. Benjamin, crafty little bastard that he was, had instantly swapped his doorknob out for a lock that neither of them had the key for. "Not while we're running this late, at least."
The door opened a crack and her new stepson glared at her balefully. He was dressed to the nines in a formal tuxedo with his hair slicked back, just as she'd asked, although a half an hour late. He would have looked positively handsome were his aristocratic features not permanently turned down in a scowl. "When can we leave the damn party?" he asked irritably.
"Oh, yes, you have such a hard life in our opulent penthouse suite, never having to work for your allowance," she snarled at him, completely losing patience. "You and your father don't get along, that's fine, but I will not let your senseless anger ruin this opportunity! Have you any idea how important it is that this goes well for Jack?"
"Have you any idea how little I care?" he drawled. Her words had had absolutely no effect, which didn't surprise her. Arielle was Jack Thous' second wife, and she'd fast come to the conclusion that her stepson's mother had spoiled her son completely rotten. Add that to the fact that Benjamin and Jack Thous were polar opposites to the point that they fought about virtually everything and the fact that Benjamin blamed Jack for his mother's death meant that Arielle had been unsympathetically thrust into the center of a familial war zone.
Arielle sighed as she simply hustled her stepson out of his room and toward the front door. Arielle had been raised in a lower middle-class family and the wealth of her new position as a senator's wife was new to her. She prayed that she never became as spoiled in her behavior as Benjamin. Sometimes, just sometimes, he'd let her glimpse something beneath the handsome rich boy that hinted at a far more serious person, but she'd given up long ago on ever getting to know that Ben. She was just stuck with Benjamin Thous, and it was hard to tell which one of them disliked each other more in that moment.
At that moment, they were rushing to pose on the arm of Senator Jack Thous at a benefit engagement at the glitzy Harmonium Hotel. Arielle's husband was more than a politician, however; he was also the head of a global organization that developed pharmaceuticals. "The good people of America think that they want a rags to riches politician story, but in reality, if you have no money they have no interest," Jack had told her cynically one day as he campaigned for reelection. Therefore, Jack was very interested in making and keeping more money than his monthly government stipend.
Arielle assumed that Jack's business interests were why they were meeting such shady people tonight. She didn't know their names, but there were at least six high-ranking people from all over the globe that would be rubbing shoulders with her husband tonight. He'd be looking for his beautiful new wife on his arm. Arielle was no fool – she knew that she was more ornament than any object of real passion for her husband. She'd chosen her life, however, and when she committed, Arielle committed for life. She fingered her wedding band as they reached the doors. She frowned when Alejandro, their security head, didn't open the door as he should have been waiting just outside the hall.
After a long moment, the door creaked open. "It's about time," Benjamin began impatiently, until the massively built Spanish guard slumped to the floor, blood pouring out of a bullet hole in his head. Arielle shrieked as two large men dressed all in black strode calmly into the apartment, their faces covered by black masks. Reacting on instinct, she shepherded Benjamin behind her, holding her arms out defensively.
"What do we do with the woman?" asked the shorter of the pair, his voice muffled by the mask.
"Fuck her. We're here for the kid. You wanna keep that pretty throat in one piece, lady, you're gonna move aside," said the taller of the two, drawing a nasty looking switchblade, the knife long and polished and sharp.
"Who the hell are you? What do you want?" she demanded, trying to back them both farther away from the men with knives.
"We're here for the brat," said the shorter one. He had a nasally, unpleasant voice that made her shiver.
"I won't let you hurt him," she snapped. Whatever motherly instincts she had were flowing through her and she could sense Ben staring at her in amazement behind her back. She stood straighter to face the intruders, her anger and fear giving her a sort of adrenaline-based courage.
"Woman, you have ten seconds to move out of my way until I start cutting things that you might not want this knife to touch," said the taller one, walking towards her with slow, malicious intent. Arielle trembled and Ben wordlessly clenched her hand in his. The entire floor of the building suddenly shook with shock as the hardened and bullet-proof glass windows shattered and five men in black gear swung in from zip-lines. She didn't even have time to scream in shock before one of their would-be kidnappers fired on the new intruders. The shot slammed into the one closest to the window and with a strangled scream the man plummeted to his death from their apartment on the twentieth floor.
Her knees felt weak and she stumbled as the new men mercilessly pumped the murderer's body full of bullets. Blood sprayed from his throat as one of the bullets hit his jugular artery and Ben stood stock still as brilliant red splattered across his face, painting a macabre Picasso. The apparent leader of the newcomers walked forward and aimed his machine gun at the other kidnapper's head.
"You have one chance to tell me who sent you," he barked in a cold, emotionless voice. The other kidnapper's body was twisting spasmodically on the floor and ruining the white carpet Arielle had just had cleaned, she noted absently. "Stop him!" the leader hollered, charging forward, but the other man had already collapsed, disgusting green viscous fluid foaming from his mouth. He was dead by the time he'd hit the floor. Arielle vomited where she lay.
"Suicide pill," the leader said in disgust. He turned to his three remaining men. "Everyone else alright?" If he had any concerns about the fate of his compatriot, he didn't show them. When the other three nodded, he gestured towards the mess. "Clean this up. See if you can find anything on the bodies; I doubt you will, but still." As the three moved forward with efficiency, the leader knelt next to Arielle, who was shuddering violently.
"It's alright, ma'am. We're from the Mayar Institute; we work with the men your husband is working with." Arielle didn't know whether to be comforted or even more terrified than she was before. A single droplet of an unknown man's blood trickled like a tear across Benjamin's face, but he didn't move to wipe it away. He didn't move at all.
A/N: Dum dum dum! Really, this is the first "real world" sort of excitement I've written in a while, and it was almost more fun than my usual sci-fi/fantasy/horror schtick. In any case, this chapter got edited twice as I pussyfooted around deciding whether to set it in the first season or the second season, so if I missed something that should be different and it catches your eye, please feel free to flag me down in a review or comment. Thanks!
Oooh! I learned how to do a horizontal bar! That shouldn't excite me as much as it does, should it? Sigh. Until next week, children -- it's time for your treatment... ;)