Dollhouse fic - Enemies of My Soul, Conspirators in Pajamas; PG-13; Chapter 11
Title: Enemies of My Soul, Conspirators in Pajamas (An Epic Alias-Dollhouse Crossover)
Rating: PG-13 for language, and violence
Characters: Michael Vaughn, Laurence Dominic, Jack Bristow, Adelle DeWitt
Pairing: Adelle DeWitt/Laurence Dominic
Disclaimer: I do not own Dollhouse. Or Alias.
Words: 4,153
Notes: Spoilers for season 1 of Dollhouse and season 5 of Alias.
Also: Here be the previous chapters
Author's Notes: We're nearing the end. Surprised that I updated this soon? Me too. Herein lies some nifty sequences that I learned to write from the Alias fandom. I apologize for any mistakes.
I hope you enjoy :D
3 Months Later
He runs his hand on the side of his coat and tightens his grip on his briefcase as he joins the crowd on their way inside the building. He’s just in time for the early morning rush by the entrance.
There are security personnel everywhere - some are in uniform, while some are in suits - and most of them are operating the ID counter, monitoring the people entering the building.
He takes his ID card and swipes it across the sensors. The sensors beep in a confirmation and he moves forward and past the metal detectors to put his right hand on top of the counter for the system to log in his handprint.
“Good morning.” The man behind the counter says as the computers verified that he’s an employee of the company.
“Good morning,” He looks at the name tag on the man’s shirt, “Frank.”
After a few seconds, Frank gives him a nod. He gives the man an impersonal smile before heading towards the elevators.
His pace is even and he walks purposefully across the lobby. Even when the other employees are rushing towards the elevators, he keeps his pace. He has time. He can wait.
He takes out his Blackberry and checks them for messages as he waits for the next trip up to floors thirty-five to forty-seven.
Someone stands next to him. He turns his head to the left and sees a young woman with flaming red hair and a foot shorter than him, by his side.
She looks at him and gives him a smile. “Good morning.” She greets.
“Good morning.” He greets back. She’s also very beautiful.
“This is my first day at the job.” She coquettishly says, striking a conversation, “What’s your floor?”
“Forty-seventh.” He says.
“Really?” she asks. Bemusement flashes across her face, “Well, since I’m new here, I could probably ask this without sounding stupid. Does this mean this isn’t the elevator to the twelfth floor?”
He feels amusement coursing through him and he can’t help but smile, “No.” he points towards the opposite side of the lobby, “Those are the elevators to the twelfth floor.”
“Oh.” An embarrassed smile appears on her face, “Thanks.”
He watches as she leaves as hurriedly as her heels can allow her. He shakes his head.
After a few minutes, the elevator doors chime open and he steps inside. Two other people follow him inside.
They press the buttons for their respective floors. While the elevator quickly moves upward, neither of them say a word to each other and simply gives a slight nod of the head as a form of goodbye when one steps out of the elevator.
He was the last to step out. He doesn’t waste any time mingling with the employees milling about and walks towards the office at the end of the corridor.
He slips inside the office and locks the door behind him. He puts his briefcase on top of the desk and looks around. The room is small, has an ugly carpet and has a totally crappy view of the city. He sits behind the desk, takes his ID, and inputs the password to the computer.
A glance at his watch. Five minutes. Perfect.
He reaches for his briefcase and takes out a USB drive from one of the compartments. He sticks it into the computer hard drive, and waits.
He opens his case and takes his com-link. He plugs the earpiece in his ear.
“Shotgun. I’m on level.” Michael Vaughn says, checking in with their base of operation within the city.
“Copy that, Shotgun.”
He hears the others team leaders reporting their statuses.
“Evergreen, on level.”
“This is Phoenix, we’re in position.”
“Outrigger. We’re in position.”
“Oracle to base camp, in position.”
Seconds later, a message pops on the screen. He pushes the enter key.
The computer monitor shuts down after he presses the okay button. He waits for a few minutes before standing up and going to the ventilation shaft in one corner of the room.
He unscrews the bolts and takes the duffel bag hidden inside. He unzips the bag and takes only the guns, which he checks for bullets and the tranquilizers. He then tucks the gun with live ammunition in his waistband, hides the modified Mk. 22 inside his coat pocket and slips two syringes of sedatives in his pants pocket.
Another glance at his watch. He buttons his coat as makes his way out of the room.
Everybody ignores him, assuming that he's another faceless employee and he makes his way to another elevator-the one that leads to the fiftieth floor. The building was designed in a way that certain floors can only be accessed through different elevators situated on different levels. The fiftieth floor can only be accessed through the forty-seventh, if he came from the lobby.
Vaughn takes a glance around before swiping the ID card on the sensors. The elevator opens to a ding and he enters the little space. He pushes the button to his destination and looks at his appearance on the reflective surface of the wall to straighten his tie.
The lift stops and the doors slide open once again. There will be three men doing rounds in this floor for this shift. He has to disable them first before his team arrives.
He goes out and puts his bag by the wastebasket. He also readies his tranquilizer gun, just in case, before walking quietly in search for the floor’s security
He finds two of them in the break room, having coffee. He checks his ammunition first. The men are fairly-built. From experience, he knows that tranquilizers do not affect everyone the same way; he doesn’t know if they’ll be knocked out quickly.
He shoots both men on the chest, then quickly goes towards them to discard of their walkie-talkies. He waits for them to lose consciousness before finding the third man.
The third one, he finds in the bathroom, in front of the urinal. He creeps up to the man but waits for him to finish and zip up his pants before grabbing him from behind and injecting him with the sedative. The man struggles for a few good minutes, but finally succumbs to the tranquilizer. Vaughn washes his hands before leaving.
The last one to take care of is the secretary. He goes back to where he came from and continues walking past the elevator. He turns the corner and sees the secretary’s table a few feet away from the end of the hallway.
There’s a slender blonde behind the desk. He takes a deep breath and saunters towards the table.
“Good morning.” He greets, “Judith, right?”
The woman looks at him with suspicion and confusion, “I’m sorry, but-”
Vaughn tranquilizes her before she can finish her sentence, “Sorry ‘bout that.” He mutters and drags her away from the desk.
He takes the duffel bag he left by the elevator proceeds to one of the rooms. The security feeds are in loop, and everybody from the lobby to the forty-sixth floor thinks that everything upstairs is okay.
He changes from his suit to the more appropriate black shirt, black cargo pants and half-body armor. He puts his extra gun on the holster and keeps his tranquilizers handy. Mission parameters dictate that there will be as minimal civilian deaths as possible.
“Shotgun to base camp. Fiftieth floor’s all clear. I repeat, the floor’s all clear. Awaiting Team Charlie.” He reports.
“Hold your position, Shotgun. Team Charlie’s en route to your position.”
~*~*~
The cornflakes float listlessly in the bowl of milk. He stares at them, blankly.
He should be thankful she said no. She pops in his mind so often that if she had allowed him to send her flowers every time he thought of her, he probably would have sent her enough to fill up every inch of a football field.
Maybe he should send her a bouquet, one of these days.
“Earth to Ben.”
He blinks and looks up. His brother is staring at him.
“What?” he asks, pushing Adelle DeWitt out of his thoughts.
“What’s wrong with you?” his brother asks, folding the newspaper and putting it in front of his plate. He points to the sodden cereals, “That shit is disgusting.”
“You talk to your kid with that mouth?” he sarcastically remarks before eating a spoonful of soggy cornflakes. His brother, Zack, dropped in unannounced in the city and insisted that he will be staying with him in the house, instead of checking in a hotel. That was two days ago.
“No, I don’t, but it has the habit of appearing every time I talk to my older brothers.” He takes a drink of coffee and looks at him questioningly, “What is up with you, Ben? We didn’t hear from you in almost five months and then you suddenly arrive in New York- with a tan, I should add - all grumpy and angry and depressed. I know you were in an undercover operation and all, but dude. Five months of no calls or even a text message? Did you know how sick with worry Mom was?”
The man who’s been using the name Laurence Dominic for the past three years tries to stay patient, “I know how worried she was. She told me that every day that I was at home. And as I told you before, I got held up and I couldn’t call anybody.”
“And why couldn’t you?”
Maybe because his mind and body were separated during that time and he couldn’t do anything about it?
He glares at his younger brother. “Can we not have this conversation, Zack?”
Zack looks at his face for a few seconds before shrugging, “Yeah. Sure.”
He continues eating his breakfast. He misses her. For the past three years, he saw her face every day. He talked to her every day. He heard her voice every day. And, after three months, he feels like if he doesn’t see her face any day soon the world will come to an end. And he doesn’t like that feeling.
They sit in awkward silence. He ignores Zack’s probing gaze and settles on staring at the morning paper.
Roses are too predictable. Maybe he should send her orchids instead.
~*~*~
Jack keeps his eyes on the multiple screens on the wall and watches the various teams under his command take their positions in different parts of the Rossum Corp. building. At the other side of the wall are more screens with a live feed of his counterparts, overseas and within the country.
This is one of the biggest joint operations he had been part of ever since he joined the CIA, and he has control over this operation and over fourteen intelligence agencies across the globe.
The last source of power and income of Prophet Five is the Rossum Corporation- more specifically, the Dollhouse. If they destroy Rossum Corporation, they will finally destroy Prophet Five. Everybody wins-especially his daughter and granddaughter.
He crosses his arms in front of his chest and waits for the DGSE and the SVR to report.
“You sure this will work, Jack?”
He looks to the left. The voice belongs to the director of SIS, Theodore McGuire.
“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I wasn’t sure about it.” He answers, flicking a glance at his watch.
“How long have you been on this case?”
“Eight months.”
“I know of operations being planned for years and failing.” Jack sees a tight smile appearing on McGuire’s face, “There are a lot of good men and women working to bring this thing down.”
He looks at the screen where Sydney and her team can be seen. Both Vaughn and Sydney volunteered for the operation; if anything goes wrong, it will be his fault that Isabelle lost one (or both) her parents.
“It won’t fail, Ted.” He says, in a matter-of-fact way.
“Good. And make sure the extraction is successful. I don’t want any of my agents here, or there, dead.”
Jack nods his head. The French suddenly checks in, confirming that their teams are in position. The Russians follow a few seconds later, reporting in their status. So far so good.
He glances behind him. Marshall and another technician are behind their laptops.
“Start the countdown.” He orders. The plan is solid and flawless and he’s confident about it. But there’s also a sense of anxiety. There’s always the chance of failure, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.
A timer appears on the monitors. Thirty seconds quickly whittle down to zero.
“All teams. You have the go signal. I repeat. You have the go signal.”
~*~*~
A thunderous blast goes through the entire level, making the walls shake and the floor tremble. He pays no notice and leads his team towards the room at the end of the hall and breaks down the door.
He sees the target, a woman, moving quickly towards the desk to trigger the alarm. He fires a shot and hits her knee. The woman stumbles and falls on the floor and he switches guns-from his shotgun to his tranquilizer.
He approaches her, with his team following behind him, cautiously.
“Oh, god.” She gasps in pain. He sees her roll to her side and he almost cringes. He’s pretty sure he heard something crack when he shot her with the non-lethal rubber rounds.
“Adelle DeWitt?” he asks.
She doesn’t answer him. She’s clutching her knee and her eyes are squeezed shut. He has to confirm her identity, though, even though she looks exactly like the woman pictured in the personnel files.
“Adelle DeWitt?” He asks again.
She opens her eyes and looks at him, “What do you want?” she answers back, breathing heavily.
Her accent is all he needs to hear. He levels the modified Mk. 22 to her chest. He sees fear flash in her eyes.
Vaughn squeezes the trigger.
The sedatives act quickly and she’s out cold in a matter of seconds. He scoops up the unconscious woman from the floor. She’s not exactly lightweight, but she isn’t that heavy either.
“Rig this place to blow.” He orders his men as he makes his way to the elevator.
“Base camp. I have the package. I’m on my way to the extraction point. Medical assistance, required.”
“Chopper’s on the way, Shotgun.”
~*~*~
“I haven’t seen that sad and pathetic look on your face since… well, since you and Jenny broke up.”
He scowls. Really, he can’t shut up for just a few minutes? “I’m thinking about a case.” He says frowning at his brother.
Zack looks at him, almost in disbelief, “Don’t pull that shit on me, Ben. You don’t get that look on your face when you think about work.” He can feel his anger rising. He doesn’t know how Zack can easily push his buttons every time they see each other, “You’re thinking about someone involved in that case. Not the case itself.”
He stares at his Zack. They don’t resemble each other at all. They both have the strong jaw they got from their father, and their eyes are the same shade of blue, as their mother’s. And that’s it.
He then closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. He doesn’t want to start the day arguing with Zack, even if it’s becoming very tempting. “Don’t you have a… what do you call that? Cardiologist Anonymous to go to?” he asks with exasperation.
“Don’t change the subject.”
Zack will not let this go, “Fine.” He sighs, “I was compromised. I had to be pulled out.”
“And there’s a woman?”
God, he’s annoying, “Yes.”
“And you had a relationship?”
“You could say that.”
“So, you're worried that she might have found out that you were an undercover agent and - as cliché as this might sound - think that everything between you two was a lie?”
He fights the urge to roll his eyes. That sounds like it came from a romantic novel. “What, you’re the love doctor now, Zack?” he instantly regrets saying those words the minute it came out of his mouth.
“Well, I am a heart doctor, Ben. I’m supposed to be the expert on matters of the heart.”
He cringes at the awful joke, “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
“So. Am I right? You’re afraid that she’ll think everything was a lie?”
“No. She knew I was an agent.”
Zack gapes at him, “She knew?” he says, aghast, “She knew about who you really are? Your family? Grandpa? Dad? Aren’t you afraid she can blackmail you-”
“-she just knew I was undercover, Zack. So, shut up, eat your food and go to your convention.” His cell phone starts to ring and he stands up to get it from the coffee table, “And this conversation never happened.” He says.
He walks towards the living room and grabs his phone on the table. He catches himself before he can bark out ‘Dominic’ to the speaker at the other line, “Yeah.” He gruffly says instead.
“Am I seeing what?” His brows furrow as he listens to the caller. He looks for the remote control and turns on the TV.
“…what you’re seeing are live footages of the Rossum Corp. building in downtown LA, where a series of massive explosions occurred just a few minutes ago...”
Blood drains away from his face as he stares at the television. A haze of black smoke billows out of what used to be Adelle DeWitt’s office.
“…Authorities are still trying to determine whether or not there were people in that floor when the explosion took place and, in case there were, if there are survivors…”
Frantically, he looks around for the wall clock. She’s not… she’s probably… Langton will be with… and he freezes when he sees the time. It’s 8.45.
She always arrives in the office before this time. She’ll be in that floor, having her tea and reading reports. She won’t be with Langton in the facility. She’ll be in… His throat closes up and it’s suddenly very difficult to breathe.
She’s not dead. She can’t possibly be dead. She’s Adelle DeWitt. She just can’t…
“Oh, shit. Where’s that?” Zack has followed him to the living room and is watching the TV while he sips his coffee, “Terrorist attack?”
He can’t think straight. All his thoughts are scattered in his mind, simultaneously screaming, and he doesn’t know what to do. What should he do? What will he do?
“Ben?”
“I have to go…” he mutters, He frenetically starts to walk back and forth. His heart hammers against his chest painfully and his eyes feel like they’re burning. Where did he put his keys? “I have to leave, I have to go there. I have to…where the hell are my keys?!”
“Ben!”
He stops in his tracks and looks at his brother. Zack tosses him something and, almost automatically, he holds out his hand and catches it. He glances at his hand and realizes that he has his car keys.
He practically runs out of his house.
~*~*~
A loud explosion wakes her up and she sits up, taking in a panicked gasp as fear and adrenaline pump in her system. The building’s security has been breached and she has to alert the underground facility so that they can protect the Actives. The Actives must be protected at all cost.
She looks around, wildly, looking for the source of the sound. The walls are painted white, windowless. The chairs seem to be made of steel and the tables, of glass. And she’s in a bed. She starts to move, to climb out, but a jolt of pain from her right leg brings her back to her senses. Her leg is raised, in a cast.
Is she in a hospital? She has to assume she isn’t, and that whoever stormed into the building wants something from the Dollhouse. And if they got her, then there’s a great possibility that they got to the facility.
Dread settles at the pit of her stomach at the thought. Those people she had promised to protect. The staff. Topher. Langton. Judith. What has happened to them, she worriedly thinks.
She hears the door creak open and she instinctively freezes.
“Ms. DeWitt.”
She doesn’t know whether she should be relieved or not when she realizes who had arrived.
“Agent Bristow.” She greets guardedly, automatically straightening her posture.
The older man, faultlessly dressed to the nines, walks towards the bed. What happened, really, and what is he doing here? She tries to get something from the Jack Bristow’s face, or his body language, but finds it extremely difficult to do so. The man is the epitome of stoicism.
“What am I doing here, Agent Bristow?” she finally asks. He has taken a seat in one of the chairs.
“You were extracted from your mission.” He answers.
“Extracted?” Anger unexpectedly flares within her, “My mission ceased to be when my agency abandoned me seven years ago.” She replies, icily, “There isn’t any mission to speak of.”
Agent Bristow looks at her impassively, “Nevertheless, you still are an SIS agent. Your agency requested that their agent within Rossum Corp. be extracted before… well, before its destruction.”
Did she hear that right? Confusion quickly replaces anger. The destruction of Rossum Corporation?
“I beg your pardon?”
“A few hours ago, a simultaneous assault on the Dollhouse facilities across fourteen countries was undertaken by different intelligence agencies. The Board of Directors, the Executives, essentially all the heads of the different branches and the staff, has been detained.”
She closes her eyes. She can’t believe what she’s hearing, “You brought down the Dollhouse?” It was impossible. And yet, here he is, telling her that they’ve succeeded.
“Yes, we did.”
A flurry of questions goes off in her mind. What about the technology, the clean-up, the cover-up… “And the Actives?” she asks. “Were they also detained?”
“Mr. Brink and his counterparts in the other branches are currently restoring the Actives’ true personalities. They will be released, as with members of the staff that are considered to be low-risk, after they’ve been briefed.” He replies simply.
She opens her eyes and looks at Jack Bristow, “Why should I believe you?” she frowns deeply, “You cannot bring down the Dollhouse that easily. It’s just not… possible.” Rossum Corporation’s power is vast and seemingly limitless. The mere idea that they can be crippled at an instant is preposterous.
An amused smile appears flits quickly across the agent’s face, “You actually can, if you know its weakness.”
She studies him. She thinks back on their previous conversations-in Ibiza and when they had a meeting in her office. She remembers how the higher-ups stressed the importance of the CIA’s operation and how they bent their own rules to make sure they are able to assist in Jack Bristow’s mission.
“You set them up.” she says, realization dawning on her, “They wanted whatever Ferguson had, and they couldn’t get it. And you used it against them.”
“And the CIA thanks you for your help.”
Their help. She and Laurence jumped off a cliff for those manuscripts, “And what of Adelle DeWitt?” she asks.
“Adelle DeWitt’s office was destroyed in an explosion. Her secretary survived the explosion. DeWitt, however, did not.” Agent Bristow narrates laconically, “Everybody thinks you’re dead.”
“I…” she knows that the media will not be getting any verified photographs of her. It’s for her protection. But it also means that she can’t have contact with anyone who knew her as Adelle DeWitt.
Her thoughts immediately go to Laurence and her heart sinks.
The value of her extraction suddenly weighs heavily on her. After how many years, she can finally get back to her life, to be rid of the Dollhouse, to go back home. But in exchange for that is the fact that she will never see Laurence Dominic again and, in the chance that their paths do cross, that she has to act like she does not know him. And she doesn’t have a say in the matter. She stays here, she loses her identity; she goes back, she loses… him.
Tears start to sting her eyes and she blinks them back desperately. What a miserable, fucked-up universe she’s living in, she bitterly thinks.
“I’m… I’m suddenly feeling very tired, Agent Bristow. Can we continue this conversation some other time?” she says and looks at the older man. Her tone doesn’t break, but she knows he can perfectly read the expression on her face.
“Of course.” He says and stands up. A tear drops on her cheek and she hastily brushes it away. His reaction indicates that he take no notice of it, “Agent Vaughn apologizes for injuring you during your extraction.”
She merely nods her head as a response.
She let her tears fall when she hears the door close.
chapter twelve
Rating: PG-13 for language, and violence
Characters: Michael Vaughn, Laurence Dominic, Jack Bristow, Adelle DeWitt
Pairing: Adelle DeWitt/Laurence Dominic
Disclaimer: I do not own Dollhouse. Or Alias.
Words: 4,153
Notes: Spoilers for season 1 of Dollhouse and season 5 of Alias.
Also: Here be the previous chapters
Author's Notes: We're nearing the end. Surprised that I updated this soon? Me too. Herein lies some nifty sequences that I learned to write from the Alias fandom. I apologize for any mistakes.
I hope you enjoy :D
3 Months Later
He runs his hand on the side of his coat and tightens his grip on his briefcase as he joins the crowd on their way inside the building. He’s just in time for the early morning rush by the entrance.
There are security personnel everywhere - some are in uniform, while some are in suits - and most of them are operating the ID counter, monitoring the people entering the building.
He takes his ID card and swipes it across the sensors. The sensors beep in a confirmation and he moves forward and past the metal detectors to put his right hand on top of the counter for the system to log in his handprint.
“Good morning.” The man behind the counter says as the computers verified that he’s an employee of the company.
“Good morning,” He looks at the name tag on the man’s shirt, “Frank.”
After a few seconds, Frank gives him a nod. He gives the man an impersonal smile before heading towards the elevators.
His pace is even and he walks purposefully across the lobby. Even when the other employees are rushing towards the elevators, he keeps his pace. He has time. He can wait.
He takes out his Blackberry and checks them for messages as he waits for the next trip up to floors thirty-five to forty-seven.
Someone stands next to him. He turns his head to the left and sees a young woman with flaming red hair and a foot shorter than him, by his side.
She looks at him and gives him a smile. “Good morning.” She greets.
“Good morning.” He greets back. She’s also very beautiful.
“This is my first day at the job.” She coquettishly says, striking a conversation, “What’s your floor?”
“Forty-seventh.” He says.
“Really?” she asks. Bemusement flashes across her face, “Well, since I’m new here, I could probably ask this without sounding stupid. Does this mean this isn’t the elevator to the twelfth floor?”
He feels amusement coursing through him and he can’t help but smile, “No.” he points towards the opposite side of the lobby, “Those are the elevators to the twelfth floor.”
“Oh.” An embarrassed smile appears on her face, “Thanks.”
He watches as she leaves as hurriedly as her heels can allow her. He shakes his head.
After a few minutes, the elevator doors chime open and he steps inside. Two other people follow him inside.
They press the buttons for their respective floors. While the elevator quickly moves upward, neither of them say a word to each other and simply gives a slight nod of the head as a form of goodbye when one steps out of the elevator.
He was the last to step out. He doesn’t waste any time mingling with the employees milling about and walks towards the office at the end of the corridor.
He slips inside the office and locks the door behind him. He puts his briefcase on top of the desk and looks around. The room is small, has an ugly carpet and has a totally crappy view of the city. He sits behind the desk, takes his ID, and inputs the password to the computer.
A glance at his watch. Five minutes. Perfect.
He reaches for his briefcase and takes out a USB drive from one of the compartments. He sticks it into the computer hard drive, and waits.
He opens his case and takes his com-link. He plugs the earpiece in his ear.
“Shotgun. I’m on level.” Michael Vaughn says, checking in with their base of operation within the city.
“Copy that, Shotgun.”
He hears the others team leaders reporting their statuses.
“Evergreen, on level.”
“This is Phoenix, we’re in position.”
“Outrigger. We’re in position.”
“Oracle to base camp, in position.”
Seconds later, a message pops on the screen. He pushes the enter key.
The computer monitor shuts down after he presses the okay button. He waits for a few minutes before standing up and going to the ventilation shaft in one corner of the room.
He unscrews the bolts and takes the duffel bag hidden inside. He unzips the bag and takes only the guns, which he checks for bullets and the tranquilizers. He then tucks the gun with live ammunition in his waistband, hides the modified Mk. 22 inside his coat pocket and slips two syringes of sedatives in his pants pocket.
Another glance at his watch. He buttons his coat as makes his way out of the room.
Everybody ignores him, assuming that he's another faceless employee and he makes his way to another elevator-the one that leads to the fiftieth floor. The building was designed in a way that certain floors can only be accessed through different elevators situated on different levels. The fiftieth floor can only be accessed through the forty-seventh, if he came from the lobby.
Vaughn takes a glance around before swiping the ID card on the sensors. The elevator opens to a ding and he enters the little space. He pushes the button to his destination and looks at his appearance on the reflective surface of the wall to straighten his tie.
The lift stops and the doors slide open once again. There will be three men doing rounds in this floor for this shift. He has to disable them first before his team arrives.
He goes out and puts his bag by the wastebasket. He also readies his tranquilizer gun, just in case, before walking quietly in search for the floor’s security
He finds two of them in the break room, having coffee. He checks his ammunition first. The men are fairly-built. From experience, he knows that tranquilizers do not affect everyone the same way; he doesn’t know if they’ll be knocked out quickly.
He shoots both men on the chest, then quickly goes towards them to discard of their walkie-talkies. He waits for them to lose consciousness before finding the third man.
The third one, he finds in the bathroom, in front of the urinal. He creeps up to the man but waits for him to finish and zip up his pants before grabbing him from behind and injecting him with the sedative. The man struggles for a few good minutes, but finally succumbs to the tranquilizer. Vaughn washes his hands before leaving.
The last one to take care of is the secretary. He goes back to where he came from and continues walking past the elevator. He turns the corner and sees the secretary’s table a few feet away from the end of the hallway.
There’s a slender blonde behind the desk. He takes a deep breath and saunters towards the table.
“Good morning.” He greets, “Judith, right?”
The woman looks at him with suspicion and confusion, “I’m sorry, but-”
Vaughn tranquilizes her before she can finish her sentence, “Sorry ‘bout that.” He mutters and drags her away from the desk.
He takes the duffel bag he left by the elevator proceeds to one of the rooms. The security feeds are in loop, and everybody from the lobby to the forty-sixth floor thinks that everything upstairs is okay.
He changes from his suit to the more appropriate black shirt, black cargo pants and half-body armor. He puts his extra gun on the holster and keeps his tranquilizers handy. Mission parameters dictate that there will be as minimal civilian deaths as possible.
“Shotgun to base camp. Fiftieth floor’s all clear. I repeat, the floor’s all clear. Awaiting Team Charlie.” He reports.
“Hold your position, Shotgun. Team Charlie’s en route to your position.”
~*~*~
The cornflakes float listlessly in the bowl of milk. He stares at them, blankly.
He should be thankful she said no. She pops in his mind so often that if she had allowed him to send her flowers every time he thought of her, he probably would have sent her enough to fill up every inch of a football field.
Maybe he should send her a bouquet, one of these days.
“Earth to Ben.”
He blinks and looks up. His brother is staring at him.
“What?” he asks, pushing Adelle DeWitt out of his thoughts.
“What’s wrong with you?” his brother asks, folding the newspaper and putting it in front of his plate. He points to the sodden cereals, “That shit is disgusting.”
“You talk to your kid with that mouth?” he sarcastically remarks before eating a spoonful of soggy cornflakes. His brother, Zack, dropped in unannounced in the city and insisted that he will be staying with him in the house, instead of checking in a hotel. That was two days ago.
“No, I don’t, but it has the habit of appearing every time I talk to my older brothers.” He takes a drink of coffee and looks at him questioningly, “What is up with you, Ben? We didn’t hear from you in almost five months and then you suddenly arrive in New York- with a tan, I should add - all grumpy and angry and depressed. I know you were in an undercover operation and all, but dude. Five months of no calls or even a text message? Did you know how sick with worry Mom was?”
The man who’s been using the name Laurence Dominic for the past three years tries to stay patient, “I know how worried she was. She told me that every day that I was at home. And as I told you before, I got held up and I couldn’t call anybody.”
“And why couldn’t you?”
Maybe because his mind and body were separated during that time and he couldn’t do anything about it?
He glares at his younger brother. “Can we not have this conversation, Zack?”
Zack looks at his face for a few seconds before shrugging, “Yeah. Sure.”
He continues eating his breakfast. He misses her. For the past three years, he saw her face every day. He talked to her every day. He heard her voice every day. And, after three months, he feels like if he doesn’t see her face any day soon the world will come to an end. And he doesn’t like that feeling.
They sit in awkward silence. He ignores Zack’s probing gaze and settles on staring at the morning paper.
Roses are too predictable. Maybe he should send her orchids instead.
~*~*~
Jack keeps his eyes on the multiple screens on the wall and watches the various teams under his command take their positions in different parts of the Rossum Corp. building. At the other side of the wall are more screens with a live feed of his counterparts, overseas and within the country.
This is one of the biggest joint operations he had been part of ever since he joined the CIA, and he has control over this operation and over fourteen intelligence agencies across the globe.
The last source of power and income of Prophet Five is the Rossum Corporation- more specifically, the Dollhouse. If they destroy Rossum Corporation, they will finally destroy Prophet Five. Everybody wins-especially his daughter and granddaughter.
He crosses his arms in front of his chest and waits for the DGSE and the SVR to report.
“You sure this will work, Jack?”
He looks to the left. The voice belongs to the director of SIS, Theodore McGuire.
“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I wasn’t sure about it.” He answers, flicking a glance at his watch.
“How long have you been on this case?”
“Eight months.”
“I know of operations being planned for years and failing.” Jack sees a tight smile appearing on McGuire’s face, “There are a lot of good men and women working to bring this thing down.”
He looks at the screen where Sydney and her team can be seen. Both Vaughn and Sydney volunteered for the operation; if anything goes wrong, it will be his fault that Isabelle lost one (or both) her parents.
“It won’t fail, Ted.” He says, in a matter-of-fact way.
“Good. And make sure the extraction is successful. I don’t want any of my agents here, or there, dead.”
Jack nods his head. The French suddenly checks in, confirming that their teams are in position. The Russians follow a few seconds later, reporting in their status. So far so good.
He glances behind him. Marshall and another technician are behind their laptops.
“Start the countdown.” He orders. The plan is solid and flawless and he’s confident about it. But there’s also a sense of anxiety. There’s always the chance of failure, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.
A timer appears on the monitors. Thirty seconds quickly whittle down to zero.
“All teams. You have the go signal. I repeat. You have the go signal.”
~*~*~
A thunderous blast goes through the entire level, making the walls shake and the floor tremble. He pays no notice and leads his team towards the room at the end of the hall and breaks down the door.
He sees the target, a woman, moving quickly towards the desk to trigger the alarm. He fires a shot and hits her knee. The woman stumbles and falls on the floor and he switches guns-from his shotgun to his tranquilizer.
He approaches her, with his team following behind him, cautiously.
“Oh, god.” She gasps in pain. He sees her roll to her side and he almost cringes. He’s pretty sure he heard something crack when he shot her with the non-lethal rubber rounds.
“Adelle DeWitt?” he asks.
She doesn’t answer him. She’s clutching her knee and her eyes are squeezed shut. He has to confirm her identity, though, even though she looks exactly like the woman pictured in the personnel files.
“Adelle DeWitt?” He asks again.
She opens her eyes and looks at him, “What do you want?” she answers back, breathing heavily.
Her accent is all he needs to hear. He levels the modified Mk. 22 to her chest. He sees fear flash in her eyes.
Vaughn squeezes the trigger.
The sedatives act quickly and she’s out cold in a matter of seconds. He scoops up the unconscious woman from the floor. She’s not exactly lightweight, but she isn’t that heavy either.
“Rig this place to blow.” He orders his men as he makes his way to the elevator.
“Base camp. I have the package. I’m on my way to the extraction point. Medical assistance, required.”
“Chopper’s on the way, Shotgun.”
~*~*~
“I haven’t seen that sad and pathetic look on your face since… well, since you and Jenny broke up.”
He scowls. Really, he can’t shut up for just a few minutes? “I’m thinking about a case.” He says frowning at his brother.
Zack looks at him, almost in disbelief, “Don’t pull that shit on me, Ben. You don’t get that look on your face when you think about work.” He can feel his anger rising. He doesn’t know how Zack can easily push his buttons every time they see each other, “You’re thinking about someone involved in that case. Not the case itself.”
He stares at his Zack. They don’t resemble each other at all. They both have the strong jaw they got from their father, and their eyes are the same shade of blue, as their mother’s. And that’s it.
He then closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. He doesn’t want to start the day arguing with Zack, even if it’s becoming very tempting. “Don’t you have a… what do you call that? Cardiologist Anonymous to go to?” he asks with exasperation.
“Don’t change the subject.”
Zack will not let this go, “Fine.” He sighs, “I was compromised. I had to be pulled out.”
“And there’s a woman?”
God, he’s annoying, “Yes.”
“And you had a relationship?”
“You could say that.”
“So, you're worried that she might have found out that you were an undercover agent and - as cliché as this might sound - think that everything between you two was a lie?”
He fights the urge to roll his eyes. That sounds like it came from a romantic novel. “What, you’re the love doctor now, Zack?” he instantly regrets saying those words the minute it came out of his mouth.
“Well, I am a heart doctor, Ben. I’m supposed to be the expert on matters of the heart.”
He cringes at the awful joke, “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
“So. Am I right? You’re afraid that she’ll think everything was a lie?”
“No. She knew I was an agent.”
Zack gapes at him, “She knew?” he says, aghast, “She knew about who you really are? Your family? Grandpa? Dad? Aren’t you afraid she can blackmail you-”
“-she just knew I was undercover, Zack. So, shut up, eat your food and go to your convention.” His cell phone starts to ring and he stands up to get it from the coffee table, “And this conversation never happened.” He says.
He walks towards the living room and grabs his phone on the table. He catches himself before he can bark out ‘Dominic’ to the speaker at the other line, “Yeah.” He gruffly says instead.
“Am I seeing what?” His brows furrow as he listens to the caller. He looks for the remote control and turns on the TV.
“…what you’re seeing are live footages of the Rossum Corp. building in downtown LA, where a series of massive explosions occurred just a few minutes ago...”
Blood drains away from his face as he stares at the television. A haze of black smoke billows out of what used to be Adelle DeWitt’s office.
“…Authorities are still trying to determine whether or not there were people in that floor when the explosion took place and, in case there were, if there are survivors…”
Frantically, he looks around for the wall clock. She’s not… she’s probably… Langton will be with… and he freezes when he sees the time. It’s 8.45.
She always arrives in the office before this time. She’ll be in that floor, having her tea and reading reports. She won’t be with Langton in the facility. She’ll be in… His throat closes up and it’s suddenly very difficult to breathe.
She’s not dead. She can’t possibly be dead. She’s Adelle DeWitt. She just can’t…
“Oh, shit. Where’s that?” Zack has followed him to the living room and is watching the TV while he sips his coffee, “Terrorist attack?”
He can’t think straight. All his thoughts are scattered in his mind, simultaneously screaming, and he doesn’t know what to do. What should he do? What will he do?
“Ben?”
“I have to go…” he mutters, He frenetically starts to walk back and forth. His heart hammers against his chest painfully and his eyes feel like they’re burning. Where did he put his keys? “I have to leave, I have to go there. I have to…where the hell are my keys?!”
“Ben!”
He stops in his tracks and looks at his brother. Zack tosses him something and, almost automatically, he holds out his hand and catches it. He glances at his hand and realizes that he has his car keys.
He practically runs out of his house.
~*~*~
A loud explosion wakes her up and she sits up, taking in a panicked gasp as fear and adrenaline pump in her system. The building’s security has been breached and she has to alert the underground facility so that they can protect the Actives. The Actives must be protected at all cost.
She looks around, wildly, looking for the source of the sound. The walls are painted white, windowless. The chairs seem to be made of steel and the tables, of glass. And she’s in a bed. She starts to move, to climb out, but a jolt of pain from her right leg brings her back to her senses. Her leg is raised, in a cast.
Is she in a hospital? She has to assume she isn’t, and that whoever stormed into the building wants something from the Dollhouse. And if they got her, then there’s a great possibility that they got to the facility.
Dread settles at the pit of her stomach at the thought. Those people she had promised to protect. The staff. Topher. Langton. Judith. What has happened to them, she worriedly thinks.
She hears the door creak open and she instinctively freezes.
“Ms. DeWitt.”
She doesn’t know whether she should be relieved or not when she realizes who had arrived.
“Agent Bristow.” She greets guardedly, automatically straightening her posture.
The older man, faultlessly dressed to the nines, walks towards the bed. What happened, really, and what is he doing here? She tries to get something from the Jack Bristow’s face, or his body language, but finds it extremely difficult to do so. The man is the epitome of stoicism.
“What am I doing here, Agent Bristow?” she finally asks. He has taken a seat in one of the chairs.
“You were extracted from your mission.” He answers.
“Extracted?” Anger unexpectedly flares within her, “My mission ceased to be when my agency abandoned me seven years ago.” She replies, icily, “There isn’t any mission to speak of.”
Agent Bristow looks at her impassively, “Nevertheless, you still are an SIS agent. Your agency requested that their agent within Rossum Corp. be extracted before… well, before its destruction.”
Did she hear that right? Confusion quickly replaces anger. The destruction of Rossum Corporation?
“I beg your pardon?”
“A few hours ago, a simultaneous assault on the Dollhouse facilities across fourteen countries was undertaken by different intelligence agencies. The Board of Directors, the Executives, essentially all the heads of the different branches and the staff, has been detained.”
She closes her eyes. She can’t believe what she’s hearing, “You brought down the Dollhouse?” It was impossible. And yet, here he is, telling her that they’ve succeeded.
“Yes, we did.”
A flurry of questions goes off in her mind. What about the technology, the clean-up, the cover-up… “And the Actives?” she asks. “Were they also detained?”
“Mr. Brink and his counterparts in the other branches are currently restoring the Actives’ true personalities. They will be released, as with members of the staff that are considered to be low-risk, after they’ve been briefed.” He replies simply.
She opens her eyes and looks at Jack Bristow, “Why should I believe you?” she frowns deeply, “You cannot bring down the Dollhouse that easily. It’s just not… possible.” Rossum Corporation’s power is vast and seemingly limitless. The mere idea that they can be crippled at an instant is preposterous.
An amused smile appears flits quickly across the agent’s face, “You actually can, if you know its weakness.”
She studies him. She thinks back on their previous conversations-in Ibiza and when they had a meeting in her office. She remembers how the higher-ups stressed the importance of the CIA’s operation and how they bent their own rules to make sure they are able to assist in Jack Bristow’s mission.
“You set them up.” she says, realization dawning on her, “They wanted whatever Ferguson had, and they couldn’t get it. And you used it against them.”
“And the CIA thanks you for your help.”
Their help. She and Laurence jumped off a cliff for those manuscripts, “And what of Adelle DeWitt?” she asks.
“Adelle DeWitt’s office was destroyed in an explosion. Her secretary survived the explosion. DeWitt, however, did not.” Agent Bristow narrates laconically, “Everybody thinks you’re dead.”
“I…” she knows that the media will not be getting any verified photographs of her. It’s for her protection. But it also means that she can’t have contact with anyone who knew her as Adelle DeWitt.
Her thoughts immediately go to Laurence and her heart sinks.
The value of her extraction suddenly weighs heavily on her. After how many years, she can finally get back to her life, to be rid of the Dollhouse, to go back home. But in exchange for that is the fact that she will never see Laurence Dominic again and, in the chance that their paths do cross, that she has to act like she does not know him. And she doesn’t have a say in the matter. She stays here, she loses her identity; she goes back, she loses… him.
Tears start to sting her eyes and she blinks them back desperately. What a miserable, fucked-up universe she’s living in, she bitterly thinks.
“I’m… I’m suddenly feeling very tired, Agent Bristow. Can we continue this conversation some other time?” she says and looks at the older man. Her tone doesn’t break, but she knows he can perfectly read the expression on her face.
“Of course.” He says and stands up. A tear drops on her cheek and she hastily brushes it away. His reaction indicates that he take no notice of it, “Agent Vaughn apologizes for injuring you during your extraction.”
She merely nods her head as a response.
She let her tears fall when she hears the door close.
chapter twelve