False Felicity
Following Root's "lead" turned out to be a bewildering experience.
"You know, we could take the bus to wherever this dollhouse of yours is." Tripp said, conversationally, to her. "Or the subway. Or get one of the SUV's from the safehouse. There's lots of ways to get around LA without walking, is what I'm saying."
"Come now, Agent Tripp." Root answered, crossing the street behind a building contractor's truck and snagging a sledgehammer off the back of it, "Haven't you ever heard that the best way to know a city is to walk through all its streets?"
"No." Tripp frowned, dropping a wad of twenties into the same truck as he passed it. "In fact, I'm not even sure that's a saying. And even if it was, I'd like to re-iterate my desire not to walk every street in LA. I'm not sure if you're aware, but there're a lot of them."
"Well over 250." Root nodded absentmindedly, slinging the sledgehammer over her shoulder. "Not counting avenues and major thoroughfares."
"So you DO know." Tripp rolled his eyes. "I'd just like to point out that while I probably can walk that far, I'd rather not. And there are others in our party who might not have my endurance." He cast an anxious glance back at Jenna and Skye, toiling in the rear.
"Aren't you sweet." Root smiled at him. They passed by a set of laughing teenagers just heading into a hotel. Barely even pausing, Root snatched one of the backpacks they had left sitting by their car and continued walking. "But as it happens, we're nearly done. Just a few more blocks, and then we can get back on the subway."
Tripp, with equal speed and grace, stuffed a wad of bills into one of the other bags. "Is there any reason why we have to steal everything, and can't just get it from the SHIELD safehouse?" He asked.
Half-turning, Root raised an eyebrow at him. "You keep sledgehammers at your safehouses?"
"Well, no." Tripp admitted. "But we do have explosives, which serve just as well."
"And how do you know, Mr. Tripp?" Root questioned, stopping suddenly as a man stumbled and fell on the sidewalk before her, the contents of his box spilling over the pavement. "We might have some very delicate excavations that preclude the use of crude explosives." As Tripp was helping the man up, she scooped up several of the bags of flour he had sent flying.
"Do we?" Tripp asked, slipping a twenty into the man's pocket. "I mean, seriously, what do we need all this stuff for?"
Root shrugged as she palmed an ipod off a nearby table. "I have no idea." She confessed.
"Ma'am, you can't go in there, that's restricted, it..."
"FBI." Root, still carrying the sledgehammer over her shoulder, flashed a badge at the attendant. "Special Investigations. We're looking into a room on the 17th floor, see we're not disturbed." Brushing past the gaping man, she led the rest of the team into the elevator and pressed the button. "That went well." She commented, as the door closed.
"I still can't believe you actually were hired by the FBI." Skye muttered. "I mean, we all have fake badges, but you're the one whose badge is authentic? Did they miss the psycho part of your psyche?"
Root smiled at the girl. "I can do a really good impression of a sane person when I need to." She answered.
"Aaaaaaand it's more creepy." Skye shook her head.
The doors opened and the team got out. "What're we looking for?" Tripp asked.
"A closed office." Root answered, walking rapidly down the hallways. It had the appearance of once having been extremely plush, but it had obviously not been used in some time. "The business entrance is the only one they really left remotely accessible." Root drew up short in front of a house plant and a picture.
"Uh, Root? Skye glanced at the wall. "There's nothing here."
"No wait..." Tripp looked up and down the hallway. "...there should be. All the office doors are equidistant, but there's a strange gap here. There should be a door right here."
"Exactly." Root brought out the sledgehammer. "Tripp, dear, you're so marvelously more competent at these things than I am, would you mind?"
Tripp rolled his eyes and grabbed the hammer. "Stand back." He warned the girls, heaving it backwards. The ponderous hammer crashed into the wall, ripping through the wallpaper, and cracking a sturdy wooden door hidden beneath the plaster. A second blow applied to the door broke the lock, and the team filed into a dim office.
Like the rest of the floor, this room had clearly not been used in years. Dust lay everywhere, plastic plants were tipped over, the windows that lined the far wall were so grimy they could hardly be seen through. A party of rats scurried for cover as the team looked around the room.
"Don't these places have exterminators?" Skye raised an eyebrow at the rats.
"They wouldn't send exterminators here." Root began to walk about the room in a lazy, dreamlike state. "This place doesn't exist."
Tripp wiped clear a portion of the windows and glanced outside. "I've been in a lot of places that 'didn't exist.'" He noted. "A big expensive view like this is not a desirable feature. It's the sort of real estate that attracts attention. Skye?"
"Already on it." Skye was on her phone, tapping out commands. "Hm. No immediate results. That's odd. Okay, let's try..."
"My word!" Simmons was going through the desk's drawers. "These are from the Rossum corporation!" She groaned at the blank looks the others were giving her. "Seriously? A pioneer in the neurological sciences? Practically cured Alzheimers, Parkinsons?"
"Wait..." Tripp had a contemplative look on his face. "I think I do remember that. Collapsed about four years ago, right?"
Skye sent him a look. "Since when are you up-to-date on the neurological businesses?"
"Since I spent about a month searching through deserted facilities and questioning bewildered executives about it." Tripp answered. "SHIELD went crazy when they collapsed. Lot of noise upstairs. Not sure what it was all about. They sent all sorts of agents after every conceivable lead."
"Find anything?"
Tripp shook his head. "Not really."
Skye looked around the office. "Well, if nothing else, a hidden office indicates they were up to something at some point."
"Not just a hidden office." Root was standing in front of a wallpapered section of the wall. "Tripp, dear, could you use your marvelous sledgehammering skills again?"
Tripp rolled his eyes again, but picked up the hammer, walked over, and swung it at the wall. This time, though, the hammer bounced back quickly, nearly hitting Tripp. The ripped wallpaper revealed close-packed cement blocks just beyond the facade.
Tripp looked at Root. "Nothing false about this wall."
"False, no, new and out-of-place, yes." Root returned. "Notice the lack of mortar between the bricks. Besides, office buildings only have cement blocks like this on the outside. Up here, it should all be drywall."
"Who boards up a place with cinder blocks?" Skye asked.
"And how is Tripp supposed to smash through those?" Simmons insisted.
"He doesn't have to smash through them, dear." Root sent the bio-chemist a patronizing look. "There's no mortar. Just knock a few out, preferably on top, and we can haul the remaining ones out by hand."
"By 'we,' you mean 'me,' don't you." Tripp eyed the hacker glumly.
Root just shrugged and smiled. "Well, if you want to make a couple of ladies work their fingers to the bone moving cement blocks..."
Tripp sighed as he hefted the hammer again. "I KNEW we should have brought explosives."
"Two of the four blue numbers are in New York City, the other two are in Arizona." Koenig reported, handing Coulon the file. "Agent May is prepping the jet."
"Good." Coulson said, tucking the folders under his arm. "Can't wait to see what new people we're getting. Still, hope this is the last... we've got about as much as we can take right now."
"It... should be interesting to see what you think of them, sir." Koenig agreed. "By the way, the Noir team has gotten some possible Maggia accounts out of Solohob. We're investigating them now."
"What about the grab he mentioned... Bauer?"
Koenig shook his head. "He clammed up on that, sir. And there's nothing in international politics that fits."
Coulson nodded. "Reach out to Walker. She has CIA connections, she may be able to help us out with that."
Koenig nodded again. "One last thing: Skye said to tell you that apparently a rocket has launched off from a town called Danville..."
"Skye's still trying to get me to recruit those ten-year old prodigies." Coulson rolled his eyes, heading for the door. "Tell her my answer's still no."
"Why would you have a secret elevator in a secret office?" Skye grumbled, as the team rappelled down a disturbingly long shaft. The rappel gear had come from the students' knapsack, who had apparently been carrying the climbing gear for the others.
"Layers of security." Tripp answered, far in the lead of the others. "You find the first secret base, you think you've found the secret. You don't always look for the second. SHIELD does it all the time."
"In any case, aren't you glad you didn't bring your explosives, Mr. Tripp? Root called. She was ahead of Skye, but still far behind Tripp. "You might have damaged some of the electronics in that elevator up there."
Tripp just grunted. "For all the good that will do. The power was pretty thoroughly cut."
"If we can restore power, though, we're going to be glad it's there." Skye pointed out. "This is not a climb I want to make more than I have to. Plus, depending on what's down there, SHIELD might be able to use a new safehouse."
"Assuming there aren't explosions set to go off below us." Simmons , far in the back, and having difficulty with her harness, pointed out, in a somewhat peeved tone.
"Speaking of which... hold on." Grabbing one of the sacks of flour tied to his belt, Tripp sprinkled some in the air, revealing some gleaming red lines in the shaft. Frowning, he swung to the side. "Alright, but hold on while I defuse the devices."
The others stopped, grateful for the rest. "How far does this go down, anyway?" Skye groaned. "We've got to be practically beneath the building by now."
"We are." Root answered, touching her ear with a frown. "I'm having some difficulty hearing Her. The ground is blocking transmissions."
"I think I can see the bottom." Tripp called out, defusing the last laser. "Shouldn't be too much further from here."
Simmons sighed gratefully. "Thank god."
"Any ideas as to what's at the bottom?" Skye asked. "Aliens? Nuclear missiles?"
A chuckle drifted up to them from Tripp. "Trust me, nuclear missile silos are loads harder to break into." Tripp swung away from the side. "All right. We're good. Carry on."
Ten more minutes and three laser-traps later, the team touched down at the bottom, next to a pair of sliding metal doors.
"What, no cinder blocks?" Skye deadpanned.
"Probably thought it was irrelevant, after the whole shaft business." Tripp pointed out. Gripping the crack between the doors, he pushed and slid them apart. "Now, let's see what all the fuss is about..."
His voice died away. They were standing on a balcony, overlooking a wide interior courtyard, housing what must have once been a modest garden and set of pools. Hardwood floors disappeared under elegantly curving balconies with large glass panes.
"What the hell?" Tripp breathed.
Root and the others filed in after him. "Ooookay." Skye glanced around. "I'm not sure what I was expecting, but this was not it."
"Boys and girls..." Root answered, a victorious smirk on her lips, "...welcome to the Dollhouse."
"Sounds like a prize." Coulson nodded at the screen of his tablet. On it was a poorly-rendered gaming avatar, on the backdrop of a bizarre world. "Make sure you tell the team to go over that place thoroughly. Fury was interested in them for some reason, there has to be something there." Tapping the screen, he closed the video game and turned to the other occupant of the limo. "Thanks for picking me up." He said, taking off his earphones.
"It was on our way," shrugged Zoe Morgan. She nodded at the tablet. "Anything I should know about?"
Coulson laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Skye's idea. We communicate through online chat in an obsolete MMO. There's no record kept of the conversations, and no one monitors it because barely anyone plays Uru anymore."
Zoe gave a slow blink. "I meant what you were talking about with Los Angeles." She clarified.
Coulson looked thoughtful for a moment. "Do you remember the Rossum corporation?" He asked.
"The neurological firm?" Zoe arched an eyebrow. "Certainly. They had a firm here in New York. Several of their executives were clients of mine." She sent Coulson a significant look. "I distinctly remember having to rescue some of them from your agents when your organization had its little witch hunt, following the Tucson explosion."
"Mmm." Coulson nodded pensively. "There was a lot of pressure from Fury and Pierce both after that incident. They scrambled all our resources looking into Rossum's assets."
"Which turned up nothing, as I recall." Zoe answered.
"Apparently, because we still didn't look hard enough." Coulson leaned back. "A team we sent to Los Angeles just stumbled across an abandoned secret underground facility of theirs, complete with computer room, barracks, and armory."
Zoe's eyes widened ever so slightly. "I see what you meant by a prize." She noted. "Should you really be telling me that, though?"
Coulson shrugged and smiled. "I feel you and Mr. Reese have more than proven yourselves, certainly in terms of helping us keep an eye on the New York area."
"About that." Zoe's gaze drifted toward her suitcase. "Have you looked into that lead I gave you at all?"
"The School for the Gifted in Washington Heights?" Coulson's brow furrowed. "Yes, though I can't say I have much hopes for it. I find it hard to believe that an entire community of 'Gifted' could be in the middle of New York, right under SHIELD's nose. Although..." he considered. "...we're now finding there was a whole magical community. And there was the whole Hydra thing."
Zoe smirked. "SHIELD's former track record isn't looking so good right now, is it?"
"When you consider how many threats we DID know about, and how many we DID stop, it's actually a lot more impressive than you think." Coulson answered defensively. "There are lots of secret societies and communities in the world, and SHIELD had their fingers in virtually every one." He sighed. "It's just... the few we completely missed turned out to be hugely significant."
"What are you in New York for anyway, Coulson?" Zoe asked.
Coulson frowned at the papers. "Another recruitment. Thought we were over with them, but we got a few more names. I'm having trouble making sense of them, though... the one is a delusional ex-FBI agent who never closed a case in his career and was finally discharged after shooting an innocent bystander. The other is a former online blooger/animal rights activist now working as a yoga instructor."
Zoe arched an eyebrow. "Sounds like SHIELD's scraping the bottom of the barrel."
"I'll admit I didn't think we were this low yet." Coulson admitted, folding the file and putting it away. "I may need to talk to Root."
"And... the Washington Heights school?" Zoe reminded him. "They snatched up that Worthington kid you were so interested in. That's got to mean something."
"We've got people looking into it." Coulson promised.
"Dr. House, we are not interested in a medical examiner." The bald headmaster informed the man seated across the desk.
House snorted. "Well, that's interesting, because you most definitely need a medical examiner."
"I disagree."
"You don't have a medical examiner listed on your staff directory." House argued. "You've got a school full to bursting of unusually athletic teenagers with raging hormones. Who's going to look after the sprained ankles, the concussions, the STD's?"
"The matter is well in hand." The headmaster repeated. "One of the members of our staff, a Dr. McCoy, serves as a medical examiner."
"Oh. Your professor of biology, chemistry, and genetics." House twirled his cane derisively. "He must be very industrious, to be able to handle medical examining on top of all that."
"Our school counselor, Ms. Grey, attends him with meeting the needs of the student body." The headmaster continued.
"Yes, I saw the picture. Quite a 'student body.'" House leered at the man. "Can't be more than a year out of med school, but I suppose that doesn't make much difference when you've got boobs like those." He frowned and tilted his head as if an idea had just occurred to him. "If I had boobs, would you hire me? I guess I'm maybe a little old for you—you seem to go more for the thirty-and-under crowd, given 90% of the 'faculty' here."
"Dr. House..." The headmaster was slowly turning a shade of purple.
"Bet you just love being the only old man in a big mansion full of sexy teenagers screwing each other, don't you?" House continued, interrupting the man. "I mean, I'll be honest, that's half the reason I applied. I'll bet this place is just one big happy love mansion, everyone sleeping with everyone, isn't it? Tell me, what do you think Ms. Grey is most 'gifted' at in terms of 'attending' to the 'needs' of the 'student body?'"
The bald man exchanged a look with the collosal teacher looming beside him.
"Well, I think that went pretty well." House smirked as he walked off the school grounds. "I could get used to this spy stuff."
"Dr. House, you could NOT have handled that worse." The tiny voice in his ear asserted wearily.
"I could have pulled a gun on him the second I walked in." House pointed out. "That would have been worse."
"You got thrown out in five minutes."
"Ten. I got thrown out of the administrator's office in five. During the other five, I was free to observe the students." House answered smugly, walking toward the dark car parked at the entrance to the school. "At least three were suffering from third-degree burns, several were sporting bruises in places you don't get from wrestling, and one was wearing sunglasses indoors."
"Which proves?"
"Either Mr. Bald-and-handicapped is somehow abusing his younger and more capable students, or there's more going on at that school than appears."
"Brilliant detective work."
House rolled his eyes as he popped open the door to the van. "So you think you can do better?" He demanded.
"Let's take the car around once and I'll show you." Gideon answered, coming from the back to sit in the driver's seat. "They'll be too suspicious if I go right in after you."
"The armory, med center, and barracks I get... secret office equals secret conspiracy and all." Skye noted, as she and Tripp picked through a trashed room. "But what the heck is up with those beds-in-the-floor? And the wardrobe upstairs? Was this a secret society of evil movie actors?"
"We are in California." Tripp grinned.
Skye punched him in the shoulder.
"This was the security office." Tripp observed, glancing around the room. "There's a gun rack against the opposite wall, and a bank of monitors used for security cameras."
"A bank of severely destroyed monitors." Skye snorted, picking her way over a cracked screen lying on the floor. "Someone trashed it but good." Taking up one of the computers, she poked around inside and shook her head. "Can't even retrieve these hard drives. They were systematically destroyed by someone who REALLY knew what he was doing."
"And there's the bullet holes." Tripp thumbed a finger inside a hole in the far wall. "Perhaps whoever was doing the shooting destroyed the computers? Or they destroyed the computers to protect the information from whoever was shooting?"
"Whatever it was, I can't do anything from here." Skye answered, setting the computer down and moving away. "They made sure to wreck this place thoroughly."
"That they did." Tripp agreed. Suddenly he frowned. "Hullo..." bending suddenly, he picked a magnet off one of the computers. "What're you doing here?"
"What is it?" Skye aksed.
Tripp dug a fingernail under the cover of the magnet and prised it off. "Huh." He turned it toward Skye showing the intricate circuitry inside. "Bleeding-edge SHIELD computer bug. Attach it onto the side and it reads all the electronic information that passes through."
"Seriously? Cool." Skye took the magnet and looked it over. "What does it do with the information?"
Tripp shrugged. "There's not much storage space. It has to be regularly replaced, or the drive fills up. After that, it cycles through the most recent intel, replacing the oldest data with whatever it's currently recording."
"Huh." Skye raised an eyebrow. "Nifty. "But if this is a SHIELD gadget..."
"There must have been a SHIELD agent here." Tripp concluded. "And for equipment like this, a pretty high-placed one, too."
Skye frowned as something occurred to her. "Or a Hydra agent. After all, there was nothing about this place in the Toolbox, right?"
"So far as I know." Tripp shrugged. "I guess it's possible. But if it was Hydra, why'd they leave?"
There was a knock at the door and both looked up to see Jenna. "It's Root." She said, breathlessly. "You... ah... it... There's something you should see."
The room was crowded without being cluttered, and full without being close. There was ample room for the entire team to cluster in and stare at the item in the center.
A chair.
It was fairly obviously a chair, much like what you would see in a dentist's office, designed to lean back and rest on a pedestal just behind it. What made it notable was that it was the only item of furniture in the room, and had hundreds of cables running toward it. It was also, very noticeably, completely wrecked. Both arms had been cracked off its sides, and the headrest had been broken off completely. The pedestal, whatever it had been once used for, was half-smashed, and barely more than a mass of twisted, half-melted metal.
The rest of the room matched the chair. It was easily the most thoroughly destroyed portion of the facility. The computer monitors that hung from the wall were utterly shattered, hanging from their twisted cables like limp puppets. The bank of computers lining the opposite walls, like the pedestal they were connected to, were misshapen mounds of metal and plastic.
"So... clearly they didn't want anyone finding out what this place was for." Skye frowned around the room. "Any idea what's up with the chair?"
"No idea." Simmons shrugged. "I imagine it has something to do with the pedestal, but she..." a nod at Root, who was circling the chair with a very intense expression, "...won't let me near it."
Tripp glowered at the woman, who appeared utterly oblivious to their presence. "Why? What's up with her?"
"Again, I haven't the foggiest notion." Simmons threw up her hands helplessly in the air. "She came up here and found it, and went very still. Then she started pacing around it and poking into all sorts of crevices. I keep asking her what's wrong, but she won't reply."
"This is... just a guess." Skye said, holding up her hands. "But it occurs to me that we got started on this whole thing when we found that weird chair in the bank. Any chance the two are connected?"
Simmons' eyes went a little distant as she appeared to think it over. "The technology is obviously much more advanced, but I suppose it's possible. The chair itself doesn't have anything that would support it, but perhaps the pedestal..." She stepped forward.
Root's hand shot out, a gun clutched firmly in its fist.
Tripp moved faster than any of them could follow. The gun had barely come up before he'd whipped in front of Simmons, knocking the pistol away and grabbing Root by the wrist. Jerking her away from the chair, he whirled her around and twisted the arm behind her back. "Don't ever point a weapon at her." He gritted, through clenched teeth.
"Let me go, you ignorant thug-monkey!" Root shouted, struggling with uncharacteristic vehemence. "And get away from the chair!"
"Why?" Tripp demanded. "What the hell is so important about the chair?"
Root, unexpectedly, crumpled at this simple demand. "I don't know." She said softly, sagging in Tripp's grip. "I have no idea."
"Mr. Gideon, we are not hiring a psychology teacher."
"I understand that." Gideon smiled warmly. "I'm not so stupid as to come up and apply for a position you don't have."
"Then what are you here for?" The same bald headmaster looked at him wearily.
"Just as a concerned neighbor." Gideon answered. "I'm a house guest at the Fergusons'... you know them? They live across the way."
"Quite so." The headmaster nodded in reply. "Very pleasant people."
"I'll tell them you said so." Gideon nodded. "In any case, I am a clinical psychologist, Mr. Xavier, and I took something of a... personal interest in your school. The students don't seem to ever actually go outside. Don't you feel they could use a little more exposure?"
"Dr. Gideon, at Xavier's, we do not seek to conquer the world. Change, perhaps, but only through gentle example. For that, my students get all the exposure they require." Xavier assured him, waving a hand. "More than necessary. "
Gideon hmmmed a little noncommittedly. "It just... worries me." He answered. "Children at such a young, impressionable age, spending so much time in an isolated school. A field trip, perhaps, of some kind or another."
Xavier seemed to consider this. "I prefer to think of the school as remote more than isolated, but it is an idea, certainly." He agreed. "I shall bring it up at the next board meeting."
"Splendid." Gideon chuckled. "I'm sorry for the presumption, it just had rather worried me. I work with children a lot, so you can understand my concern."
"Of course." Xavier's smile did not quite reach his eyes.
"I also have a personal interest—I have a son of my own, who has been doing unusually well in school lately, and I've given thought to enrolling him at a school like this. May I ask what sort of school this is?" Gideon inquired mildly.
"Surely that is self-evident." Xavier spread his hands. "It is a school for the gifted, as it says on the sign."
"Gifted is such an inexact term." Gideon gave a pensive frown. "I am gifted in psychology, you are gifted in managing a school, what, exactly, are the children here gifted in?"
"Everything you could imagine." Xavier smiled. "As your son has no doubt showed you, most children have yet to develop a specialty, but are nonetheless showing a remarkable aptitude for schooling in general. Our task is to provide an outlet for that aptitude, and eventually to help them find their focus. We emphasize the student, Dr. Gideon, not the role the world wishes them to fill."
"Indeed, indeed." Gideon leaned forward a little and folded his hands on the desk. "And the, ah, elder grades? I understand you have high-schoolers and even college-age students enrolled here."
Xavier's smile became a touch more guarded. "By their request. Those are particularly unusual cases, where the students have continued to excel in all areas, and so enrollment in a traditional 'specialized' institution would be limiting."
"That is impressive." Gideon admitted, chewing his lip. "You must have some very talented faculty."
"We do." Xavier's smile remained watchful. "Intelligent, respectable, law-abiding experts in all sorts of fields."
"I must confess..." Gideon produced a flier from his pocket and began to leaf through it, "...it's surprising that, gifted as they are, I've never run across their names in scholarship. Although..." He gave Xavier a fatherly smile. "...I suppose I'm hardly an art critic, so my not knowing Dr. Logan is hardly surprising. But the psychology professor you have on staff... Dr. Grey? I can't say I'm familiar with her work."
"Dr. Grey prefers practical experience to published articles." Xavier answered. "She would rather work with students than contribute to scholarship." He motioned to the huge man standing by his chair. "Mr. Gideon, while this interview has been a delight, I'm afraid I must leave—I have an English drama class to oversee."
"Of course." Gideon rose and, with another smile, gripped the man's hand. "Thank you for indulging an old man's presumption. Perhaps I'll be in touch with you about my son?"
Xavier seemed to consider this. "We're not a large institution. I would need to personally examine him." He warned. "But certainly. Feel free to contact me."
"We need to contact the director." Gideon said, as he dropped into the car.
"Look who's so confident." House sneered at him. "I don't see that you learned anything terribly productive. You do know he was lying to you the entire time, right?"
"Yes." Gideon answered mildly. "That was fairly transparent. But what was interesting was the way he was lying. All of his replies, from beginning to end, were carefully constructed to divert attention from what we were specifically looking for. He did not become more or less suspicious, or more or less nervous, and he always targeted his replies to emphasize that the school was not a threat." Gideon looked at House. "He knew who we were, and what we were there for."
"Well, of course he knew who YOU were." House snorted. "You're a lousy spy."
"The first thing he said," Gideon continued, ignoring the doctor. "He knew we were working together. He thought I'd try the same cover as you."
House gave this some thought. "Well, we were pretty much the only ones Coulson told about this, since he thought it was a wild goose chase." He considered. "And I know I'm not a spy, and you're not clever enough to backstab a slug. So that means..." His eyes met Gideon's.
"Psychics are still considered unverified." Gideon pointed out. "As a mutation, anyway."
"Time to update the registry, then." House smirked as he gunned the car.
"Impossible." Jenna shook her head. She stood up from her study of the pedestal. "It's absolutely impossible to make anything of this. It's like they melted it with hydrochloric acid and then set off a phosphate charge in the room."
Tripp nodded. "About what I expected." Turning to Root, he raised his eyebrows. "You're sure there's nothing you can tell us about this?"
"Nothing." Root's lips were tight, her brow was a thin line as she glared at the chair. "It... I can't remember a single thing about it. It just seems... oddly familiar... like something I've seen in a dream."
"Isn't the Machine giving you any information?" Skye asked.
Root shivered and pressed her hands to her ears. "No." She answered. "I can't hear her, this far down. The transmissions are utterly blocked. I don't know why... she should have foreseen this, she should have warned me this was coming."
"What? The transmission cut-off?"
"All of this!" Root practically shouted, waving her hands at the room. "This whole place, it... it feels like I'm walking in my head! Like it's a recurring dream, the sort you completely forget until you have it again! The... the garden, and the med-bay, and that blasted CHAIR!" She jabbed a finger with such fury that Simmons moved a step away from the object. "It's like a beacon, burning white-hot in my mind, but I can't tell what or how or why!" Her wild gaze shifted to Simmons. "Tell me what it is!"
"I don't know!" Simmons practically wailed. "I'm absolute rubbish at wires and gears and things! We need Fitz!"
"Fitz isn't here." Tripp said quietly. "And wishing he was isn't going to do anything about it. He's gone."
"Not 'gone.'" Simmons whispered, glaring at Tripp with such fury that he looked away. "Never."
"No." Despite all the shouting, Skye had a mischievious little glint to her eye. "But I think I know where we can find a replacement."
The others looked at her uncomprehendingly.
"Ever hear of a town called Danville?"
The Ballards were back from their romantic evening. Early.
"I don't know what you want from me!" Caroline insisted.
"How about a little honesty?" Paul asked, slamming his car door. "Or at least more creative lying?"
"Baby, I'm not hiding anything from you!" Caroline's face was twisted in pain, she stared at her husband in distress. "I don't even know what you think I'm lying about!"
"I don't either, but..." Paul shook his head and looked away. "They taught us stuff about how to spot liars in the FBI, you know? And you're lying. About something."
Caroline let out a sobbing laugh. "Seriously? 'About something?' That's the best you can do, Paul?"
"I can do a little better, if you want." Paul shot back, storming up the walk to the house. "What were you up to all those years? Where'd you learn to speak all those languages? Why won't you share your secrets with me?"
"Oh, you want to talk about secrets?" Caroline stalked after him, straight up to the door. "You want to talk about them, Paul? How about these dreams you keep having? Where you wake up in a sweat, or crying, or screaming? Why won't you tell me what that's all about, huh?"
"I told you!" Paul shouted back, fumbling for the keys. "I don't remember my dreams. Never have."
"Who's 'Millie,' Paul?" Caroline asked, on the verge of tears. "Who's 'Echo?'"
"You tell me," Paul answered savagely, swinging the door open. "You're the only one who's ever mentioned them, and only when you want to change the subject. For all I know, you're just making them..."
Suddenly Paul's eyes widened. Pushing Caroline behind him, he drew his pistol from his coat and pointed it at the balding, middle-aged man sitting in a chair in the living room.
The man's eyes were opened rather wide, and he was staring at the two of them in an embarressed fashion. "Ah... sorry." He said, spreading his hands. "Look, clearly this is a bad time, and the two of you have a lot to talk about, so I'll just leave and..."
Letting loose a primal scream, Caroline pushed Paul out of the way and leapt at the man. He dove left just in time, and her kick landed dead center in the middle of the couch. Whirling around, she caught him in the act of drawing a gun from his jacket and kicked it away into the darkness, where it slid under a desk. The man grabbed her ankle, but she dropped to one knee, kneeing him firmly in the solar plexus. He gasped and doubled over in pain.
There was shouting in the back room. Caroline stood, just in time to block a kick from a furious-looking asian woman. A flurry of punches followed, which Caroline dodged away from with lightning speed. Catching the glint of a gun barrel in the dark, she back-flipped over the recliner and knocked a strange gun away from a silver-haired man. She traded a few blows with him, but without warning he leapt away, and suddenly the recliner came crashing on top of her.
The asian woman was there, breathing hard, eyes burning. "Get up." She ground out. "Please. I'm not nearly done yet."
Caroline gritted her teeth and gathered her feet under the recliner. A furious push, and she sent it crashing back onto the asian, who caught it, but still went down.
The silver-haired man was back, shooting blinding jabs at her face and chest. She blocked, grappled, and dodged. A left hook came sailing at her face and she grabbed the hand, ducking under the blow and flipping the man over her back. She turned just in time to see him turn the fall into a roll.
The asian woman was getting back up, and a heavy table lamp was in her hand. The silver-haired man was slowly getting up to his feet, a knife suddenly appearing in his palm. Caroline gritted her teeth and grabbed at the floor lamp behind her.
"Carrie?"
The simple word shocked her out of the reddened haze she was in. Off in the darkness stood Paul, backed against the wall, staring at her with a mixture of awe and fear.
Caroline's eyes went wide. The floor lamp crashed on the carpet. "Paul... I... I..." She swallowed. "You weren't supposed to find out." She said, tearfully. "You weren't supposed to remember."
With a great leap, she backflipped, crashing through the studio window behind her. The asian woman and silver-haired man ran to the window just in time to see the car speeding away.
A cough interrupted them. Coulson was clambering to his feet, in obvious pain.
"Okay." He managed to say. "That was a bit more complicated than I thought."
A/N: I have to echo (heh) Coulson's comment here. This chapter grew in complexity as I got new and more interesting ideas for subsequent chapters. Initially, this was going to be a fairly straightforward crossover, no parts for either Phineas and Ferb or the X-men. As it turns out, both will be important in the upcoming plot, though still very subordinate to the main "Dollhouse" plot going on here. I have some really fun ideas for how to bring everything together.
Please review! I'm trying a new writing process, which has benefits and drawbacks, and I'm interested to hear what you all think of the revelations this chapter and where the story is headed overall. Next chapter will start to make it a bit more clear what is going on and where this story fits in the Dollhouse timeline (though fans can probably guess already.)
