An Angel has no Memory, Part 2/4, a Dollhouse fanfiction
Title: An Angel has no Memory, Part 2/4
Author: mightyfastpig
Characters/Pairings: Ivy/Sophie Alvarez femslash
Rating: M for sexual content, some language
Spoilers: Up to 1.12 "Omega", but occurs before 1.06 "Man on the Street"
Disclaimer: Dollhouse belongs to Joss Whedon and FOX
Word Count: 1507
Summary: If Topher Brink was your boss, what would you do to relieve stress?
The petite redhead with the pixie cut and the porcelain skin finished twitching and gasping in the imprint chair. Ivy watched closely as the Active’s face settled into the usual unfocussed smile. Sophie stood next to her, just back from an engagement.
The chair shifted to an upright position. “Hello, Whiskey. How are you feeling?” Topher asked.
“Did I... I feel funny,” she said, then doubled over and clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Aww, don’t let her do that in here!” Topher squawked, backing up against the wall.
Sophie rushed to Whiskey’s side as the Active started retching. Ivy dashed into the outer office and came back with a waste basket, which she placed in front of Whiskey just in time.
As the Active threw up into the basket, Sophie kept her hands on Whiskey’s shoulders while glaring at Topher. “What did you do to my girl?”
“I didn’t do anything! You must have let her eat something she shouldn’t have.” Topher was going through his twitch routine faster than Ivy had ever seen.
“You’re supposed to include allergies in the imprint.” Sophie wiped the vomit from Whiskey’s mouth with a red handkerchief. “Whiskey, everything’s going to be all right.”
“I do!” Topher was almost vibrating with discomfort. “It’s not my fault if you let her go off mission.”
“Yeah, nothing’s ever your fault, is it?”
“Just get her out of here, already,” Topher snapped.
Sophie helped Whiskey to her shaky feet and half-carried her out of the imprint room. Ivy held the doors open for them, then followed them through Topher’s office.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” Sophie said again to Whiskey. Her voice made Ivy believe her completely.
“Now that you’re--” Whiskey was coughing too badly to complete the phrase.
On the stairs on the way down to the lower level, Ivy held Whiskey’s other arm, then kept going to the infirmary.
“Oh, no! What happened?” Concern on her scarred face, Dr. Saunders jumped up from her desk and helped Sophie and Ivy put Whiskey on the examination table.
“Topher wiped my girl and then she threw up,” Sophie said.
“I’m sorry. I’m not my best,” Whiskey said sadly.
Dr. Saunders fussed over the Active, examining her. “Usually this is because of food allergies, or just drinking too much on engagement. Whiskey, sweetie, does it hurt anywhere?”
Ivy and Sophie backed off to let the doctor work.
“Thanks,” said Sophie quietly. “From me and from her.”
“It’s all right,” Ivy said, shyly. “Part of the job.”
“It’s more than just the job.”
Dr. Saunders turned around and faced them. “Whiskey must have eaten too much on her dinner date. Their food here doesn’t have much sugar or salt, and sometimes they get cravings. Just club soda and a little rest and she’ll be fine.”
“Thanks, Doc. I’ll get some from the kitchen. Whiskey, I’ll be right back.” Sophie turned and left the doctor’s office, Ivy following a moment later.
Ivy almost followed Sophie to the kitchen, but hesitated and instead she turned and walked back up the stairs to the mezzanine level.
Back in Imprinting, Topher sat at his computer, scrolling through lines of code.
“Dr. Saunders says Whiskey should be all right,” she told him.
“Hmm? Oh, good.” Topher barely looked up from the monitor. “Clean that up, will ya?” He pointed at the waste basket in the imprint room.
Ivy went cold again, and said nothing as she picked up the waste basket and carried it to the bathroom.
***
Ivy stood against the wall at Girlfrenzy, sipping her rum and diet coke and watching the women dance and make out on the club’s floor to the blasting dance music. After work, she had come here solo, hoping things would be different. Instead, this felt like the beginning of yet another night of watching every other lesbian, bisexual, bicurious or just-drunk-enough woman in Los Angeles county have a better time than her.
Whoa, is that--?
Sophie looked great in tight black jeans and a white wifebeater that showed off her muscular arms, her black hair gelled into a fifties greaser style that gave her a note of androgyny, though the hard nipples poking through the white cloth were distinctly female. She danced with another woman in a bra top and pants with cut-outs along her legs, her blonde dreads whipping like an octopus underwater.
Suddenly red-faced with embarrassment, Ivy pretended her drink was intensely interesting. When she looked up again, Sophie was looking right back at her. Damn it, she Heisenberged me.
Sophie paused in nibbling the blonde woman’s ear and cocked her head at Ivy, challenging her, inviting her?
The music pounded into her ears. Let's play a love game, play a love game...
Ivy tore her gaze away from Sophie and the blond woman, gulped down the last third of her drink and headed for the ladies room. Inside, she shouldered her way through the couples grinding against each other and the femmes primping at the mirrors, and splashed a little cold water from the sink on her face.
She could go out there, wait for Sophie and her “friend” to finish dancing, say “Hello,” chat a bit, concoct some cover story about work.
She went home instead.
Her bed was in the same place as before. She climbed down into her “pod” and wrapped herself tightly in the sheets. In the darkness, she whispered, “I’m safe. I trust my handler with my life. My handler looks after me. My handler takes me to my treatments....”
***
Ivy locked the door of her Insight hybrid and walked through the parking garage at 23 Flower Street.
“Morning,” said Sophie, falling into step beside her. She was back in her usual suit and hairstyle.
“Morning,” Ivy said stiffly.
Their steps echoed against the concrete walls. “You could have said, ‘hi,’” Sophie said.
“You looked like you had all the company you needed,” Ivy answered.
“Kaycee? She was fun, not much more than that. If I’d known you were there, things would have been different.”
“I’m not going to dive into a threesome in front of every woman in the city.”
“Hey, we could have just talked, had a drink, like co-workers. No pressure.”
“I’m not looking for anything right now, all right?”
“All right.”
“Just don’t spread this around.” Ivy hated being in the closet almost as much as she hated being known as “the Asian lesbian” wherever she was. “Please.”
“Sure. It’s not like we’re going to blackmail each other, right?”
“No, I suppose not.”
They reached the elevator bank, just as two other handlers arrived. Langton nodded politely at the two women, while Hearn didn’t acknowledge them at all.
On the way down in the elevator, Ivy looked sideways at the three handlers, almost military in their dark suits and upright bearing. She adjusted her light blue lab coat, not sure why she bothered with it every day when Topher just lounged around in khakis and anime t-shirts.
The elevator chimed and the doors opened on the level with the handler’s wardroom and armory. Langton, Hearn and Sophie got off, the last giving one last look backwards.
Ivy stayed in the car, and let the doors close and the elevator descend.
***
“Ivy, fill out this form.... Ivy, file this.... Ivy, I need some more soy milk.... Ivy will take you downstairs, Victor.... Will you run this up to Wardrobe, Ivy?.... Ivy, you can do the monthly report to DeWitt, can’t you?... I’m busy, Dominic, ask Ivy.... No, Ivy, not a French maid, an English maid.... Give Dr. Saunders a hand, will you Ivy?... Ask me again on Thursday, Ivy....”
Ivy looked for any opportunity to not be in Imprinting. She’d even do paperwork downstairs on one of the cafeteria tables between the Actives’ meal times.
“You’re sad.”
Ivy jumped a little, then looked up at the brunette doll standing beside her. Echo had a habit of sneaking up on people and turning up in odd places. “I’m not my best,” she admitted, and looked down at Topher’s expense report. In what universe did business expenses include shipping charges for a vintage whack-a-mole machine?
“I go swimming when I’m sad,” Echo stated.
“That’s good.”
“It’s quiet at the bottom of the pool. I can hear myself there.”
Ivy thought about herself in her “pod,” but that wasn’t hearing herself, that was just silly fantasies that probably needed a good therapist. Besides, her desire to ask for a transfer out of this place was growing and she didn’t need any attachments. She pointed at the koi pond. “Oh look, fish!”
“Where?” Echo turned and wandered in the direction Ivy pointed.
Back to work.
Author: mightyfastpig
Characters/Pairings: Ivy/Sophie Alvarez femslash
Rating: M for sexual content, some language
Spoilers: Up to 1.12 "Omega", but occurs before 1.06 "Man on the Street"
Disclaimer: Dollhouse belongs to Joss Whedon and FOX
Word Count: 1507
Summary: If Topher Brink was your boss, what would you do to relieve stress?
The petite redhead with the pixie cut and the porcelain skin finished twitching and gasping in the imprint chair. Ivy watched closely as the Active’s face settled into the usual unfocussed smile. Sophie stood next to her, just back from an engagement.
The chair shifted to an upright position. “Hello, Whiskey. How are you feeling?” Topher asked.
“Did I... I feel funny,” she said, then doubled over and clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Aww, don’t let her do that in here!” Topher squawked, backing up against the wall.
Sophie rushed to Whiskey’s side as the Active started retching. Ivy dashed into the outer office and came back with a waste basket, which she placed in front of Whiskey just in time.
As the Active threw up into the basket, Sophie kept her hands on Whiskey’s shoulders while glaring at Topher. “What did you do to my girl?”
“I didn’t do anything! You must have let her eat something she shouldn’t have.” Topher was going through his twitch routine faster than Ivy had ever seen.
“You’re supposed to include allergies in the imprint.” Sophie wiped the vomit from Whiskey’s mouth with a red handkerchief. “Whiskey, everything’s going to be all right.”
“I do!” Topher was almost vibrating with discomfort. “It’s not my fault if you let her go off mission.”
“Yeah, nothing’s ever your fault, is it?”
“Just get her out of here, already,” Topher snapped.
Sophie helped Whiskey to her shaky feet and half-carried her out of the imprint room. Ivy held the doors open for them, then followed them through Topher’s office.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” Sophie said again to Whiskey. Her voice made Ivy believe her completely.
“Now that you’re--” Whiskey was coughing too badly to complete the phrase.
On the stairs on the way down to the lower level, Ivy held Whiskey’s other arm, then kept going to the infirmary.
“Oh, no! What happened?” Concern on her scarred face, Dr. Saunders jumped up from her desk and helped Sophie and Ivy put Whiskey on the examination table.
“Topher wiped my girl and then she threw up,” Sophie said.
“I’m sorry. I’m not my best,” Whiskey said sadly.
Dr. Saunders fussed over the Active, examining her. “Usually this is because of food allergies, or just drinking too much on engagement. Whiskey, sweetie, does it hurt anywhere?”
Ivy and Sophie backed off to let the doctor work.
“Thanks,” said Sophie quietly. “From me and from her.”
“It’s all right,” Ivy said, shyly. “Part of the job.”
“It’s more than just the job.”
Dr. Saunders turned around and faced them. “Whiskey must have eaten too much on her dinner date. Their food here doesn’t have much sugar or salt, and sometimes they get cravings. Just club soda and a little rest and she’ll be fine.”
“Thanks, Doc. I’ll get some from the kitchen. Whiskey, I’ll be right back.” Sophie turned and left the doctor’s office, Ivy following a moment later.
Ivy almost followed Sophie to the kitchen, but hesitated and instead she turned and walked back up the stairs to the mezzanine level.
Back in Imprinting, Topher sat at his computer, scrolling through lines of code.
“Dr. Saunders says Whiskey should be all right,” she told him.
“Hmm? Oh, good.” Topher barely looked up from the monitor. “Clean that up, will ya?” He pointed at the waste basket in the imprint room.
Ivy went cold again, and said nothing as she picked up the waste basket and carried it to the bathroom.
***
Ivy stood against the wall at Girlfrenzy, sipping her rum and diet coke and watching the women dance and make out on the club’s floor to the blasting dance music. After work, she had come here solo, hoping things would be different. Instead, this felt like the beginning of yet another night of watching every other lesbian, bisexual, bicurious or just-drunk-enough woman in Los Angeles county have a better time than her.
Whoa, is that--?
Sophie looked great in tight black jeans and a white wifebeater that showed off her muscular arms, her black hair gelled into a fifties greaser style that gave her a note of androgyny, though the hard nipples poking through the white cloth were distinctly female. She danced with another woman in a bra top and pants with cut-outs along her legs, her blonde dreads whipping like an octopus underwater.
Suddenly red-faced with embarrassment, Ivy pretended her drink was intensely interesting. When she looked up again, Sophie was looking right back at her. Damn it, she Heisenberged me.
Sophie paused in nibbling the blonde woman’s ear and cocked her head at Ivy, challenging her, inviting her?
The music pounded into her ears. Let's play a love game, play a love game...
Ivy tore her gaze away from Sophie and the blond woman, gulped down the last third of her drink and headed for the ladies room. Inside, she shouldered her way through the couples grinding against each other and the femmes primping at the mirrors, and splashed a little cold water from the sink on her face.
She could go out there, wait for Sophie and her “friend” to finish dancing, say “Hello,” chat a bit, concoct some cover story about work.
She went home instead.
Her bed was in the same place as before. She climbed down into her “pod” and wrapped herself tightly in the sheets. In the darkness, she whispered, “I’m safe. I trust my handler with my life. My handler looks after me. My handler takes me to my treatments....”
***
Ivy locked the door of her Insight hybrid and walked through the parking garage at 23 Flower Street.
“Morning,” said Sophie, falling into step beside her. She was back in her usual suit and hairstyle.
“Morning,” Ivy said stiffly.
Their steps echoed against the concrete walls. “You could have said, ‘hi,’” Sophie said.
“You looked like you had all the company you needed,” Ivy answered.
“Kaycee? She was fun, not much more than that. If I’d known you were there, things would have been different.”
“I’m not going to dive into a threesome in front of every woman in the city.”
“Hey, we could have just talked, had a drink, like co-workers. No pressure.”
“I’m not looking for anything right now, all right?”
“All right.”
“Just don’t spread this around.” Ivy hated being in the closet almost as much as she hated being known as “the Asian lesbian” wherever she was. “Please.”
“Sure. It’s not like we’re going to blackmail each other, right?”
“No, I suppose not.”
They reached the elevator bank, just as two other handlers arrived. Langton nodded politely at the two women, while Hearn didn’t acknowledge them at all.
On the way down in the elevator, Ivy looked sideways at the three handlers, almost military in their dark suits and upright bearing. She adjusted her light blue lab coat, not sure why she bothered with it every day when Topher just lounged around in khakis and anime t-shirts.
The elevator chimed and the doors opened on the level with the handler’s wardroom and armory. Langton, Hearn and Sophie got off, the last giving one last look backwards.
Ivy stayed in the car, and let the doors close and the elevator descend.
***
“Ivy, fill out this form.... Ivy, file this.... Ivy, I need some more soy milk.... Ivy will take you downstairs, Victor.... Will you run this up to Wardrobe, Ivy?.... Ivy, you can do the monthly report to DeWitt, can’t you?... I’m busy, Dominic, ask Ivy.... No, Ivy, not a French maid, an English maid.... Give Dr. Saunders a hand, will you Ivy?... Ask me again on Thursday, Ivy....”
Ivy looked for any opportunity to not be in Imprinting. She’d even do paperwork downstairs on one of the cafeteria tables between the Actives’ meal times.
“You’re sad.”
Ivy jumped a little, then looked up at the brunette doll standing beside her. Echo had a habit of sneaking up on people and turning up in odd places. “I’m not my best,” she admitted, and looked down at Topher’s expense report. In what universe did business expenses include shipping charges for a vintage whack-a-mole machine?
“I go swimming when I’m sad,” Echo stated.
“That’s good.”
“It’s quiet at the bottom of the pool. I can hear myself there.”
Ivy thought about herself in her “pod,” but that wasn’t hearing herself, that was just silly fantasies that probably needed a good therapist. Besides, her desire to ask for a transfer out of this place was growing and she didn’t need any attachments. She pointed at the koi pond. “Oh look, fish!”
“Where?” Echo turned and wandered in the direction Ivy pointed.
Back to work.