An Angel has no Memory, Part 3/4, a Dollhouse fanfiction
Title: An Angel has no Memory, Part 3/4
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: 1722
Summary: Ivy knows that it is all about trust, or lack thereof.
The clothes were easy enough to steal. Ivy figured out that they were fitted for each Active. Echo or Sierra’s clothes wouldn’t fit her at all, so she took the sealed package marked “November” from the laundry cart. In the locker room, she tore off the wrapping and put the drawstring pants and loose athletic tunic in her gym bag. There was a tense moment or two when she went through security at the end of the day, but she made it to her car without being stopped. The gym bag sat in her lap as she drove through the freeway system.
Back home, she forced herself to go through the routine of watering plants, answering phone messages, and making dinner, but eventually she went into her bedroom, shut the door and pulled the curtains. She lay the two garments out on her bedspread, just a little wrinkled from the gym bag. Emerald green, 300-thread-count organic cotton with a little spandex for stretch, no identifying tags or brand names, as soft as baby clothing but silky like expensive lingerie.
Her own clothes came off in a rush, not even bothering with the laundry basket.
“You’re just not working out here, Ms. Chung,” says Ms. DeWitt, lounging in her office while Sierra gives her a pedicure and Echo hand-feeds her chilled grapes. “But we do have another position for you in the organization.”
“I’m sorry I’m not Dollhouse material,” she pleads.
“I never said that.” Ms. DeWitt snaps her fingers and Tango brings in a contract and pen on a silver platter. Trembling, she signs her name on the dotted line, knowing she has no choice because she has fucked up completely.
“Ms. Alvarez, Ms. Ramirez, prep her.”
The two handlers in skin-tight black suits enter and strip her naked. Sophie whispers, “Don’t fight it,” as she takes away her glasses and her hair clips, though in her fantasy she can still see perfectly.
She pulled the pants and top on. The outfit was still big on her, as she was somewhere in the middle between Sierra’s lithe build and November’s voluptuous curves. The fabric slid deliciously over her hard nipples and caressed her damp groin. It made her feel like she glowed.
They march her into the imprint room, and put her in the chair.
She dropped into her Eames knockoff chair and tilted it back as far as it would go. This time, she used her baseball-sized vibrator, clicking through to her favorite cycle and pressing it against her pubic mound. The vibrations run through her entire torso and up her spine into her head.
Sophie turns on the machine. Her memories-- every demanding relative, every bad breakup with every untrustworthy girlfriend, every guy who ever leered at her, every teacher who ever took her for granted, every autistic idiot boss-- just go away, in a flood of blue light, and all that’s left is feeling.
Ivy clicked off the vibe, turned out the lights and settled into her improvised pod to sleep. As her fantasies faded into dreams, she saw a dark figure standing above her, looking down.
***
Ivy filled her coffee mug from the pot in the handlers’ wardroom. Imprint department had its own break room, but there was no one else there, except Topher. She noticed that Sophie was waiting for her turn at the coffee machine. Feeling a little guilty about how they last spoke, she said, “How’s it going?”
Sophie filled her own mug. “It’s the little things that bug me about this job. You know, this morning Dominic was biting my ass about one set of clothing missing from Laundry. Watch out, you’re spilling.”
Ivy hastily righted her coffee cup and mopped up the spill on the counter with paper towels. “Did-did you ever find the missing clothing?”
“No, nothing was missing. I made sure it was just a mix up in the inventory.”
“That’s good.” Ivy relaxed a little.
“So, how’re you settling in?” Sophie asked. They chatted a bit, as if they worked in an insurance office instead of a place that made programmable people.
When coffee break was over, they took the elevator down to the Actives’ floor, and stepped out onto the polished hardwood.
Without warning, Sophie asked, “If you had the money, would you hire an Active?”
Ivy thought a moment. “I can see why people would. Who wouldn’t want somebody who’s the perfect lover, who has no other life, who you can trust absolutely because they vanish at the end of the engagement? Nobody knows what happened except you. It’s like that line in Barbarella: ‘An angel has no memory.’”
“But who would you pick if you could?”
Ivy would pick Sierra in a black suit with silver pinstripes, butched up to just the right degree. They’d take one of the black sedans from the motor pool, drive up the highway until they were far away from everything, and the other woman would strip her bare and hold her naked body up to the warm wind and the blue sky.... “Haven’t really thought about it. What about you?”
“I don’t think I would, even if I had the money,” Sophie said. “It’d be like going to a magic show when you know how the tricks are done. No mystery, no surprise.”
“I’ve had enough surprises in my life.” Ivy said.
“You know what I’d do?” Sophie looked over to where Dr. Saunders was connecting a heart monitor to Whiskey on one of the treadmills. “I’d take Whiskey outside, without an imprint. Go to the zoo or the beach, something like that. Five years is a long time to look at the same walls.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Ivy could imagine taking Sophie taking Whiskey out somewhere, holding her hand, applying sunblock to that pale skin, giving her ice cream, even showing her how to kiss....
“Then again, she’s probably freak out after five minutes outside this place,” Sophie said wistfully. “Talk to you later.”
Ivy watched the other woman walk over to the treadmill and talk with the doctor as Whiskey ran in place. She bit her lip, fighting down what she reluctantly admitted was jealousy. Sophie’s devotion to Whiskey, unlike some of the other handlers, was one reason why Ivy was drawn to her, but it also meant there’d be no time for anyone else.
***
That night, she pushed her bed back against the wall, and put on her usual night shirt, leaving the Active outfit in the back of her closet. Funtime was over. No more bringing her work home with her, and any masturbation would be with her dog-eared copy of The Story of O.
When the red numbers on her clock said 2:13, and she hadn’t slept for a second, she gave up and pulled her bed away from the wall. The moment she lay down in her improvised pod, she fell asleep.
***
Ivy slouched in her chair, lackadaisically clicking through her third game of computer solitaire that day. Two weeks here and Topher hadn’t even given her a password for the imprint system.
Behind her, Topher rambled into his Bluetooth headset as he paced in front of the monitors. “...the squigglies say she’s eating something salty.... Sheesh, get your mind out of the gutter, Boyd. Echo’s at a restaurant, it’s probably caviar....”
The red seven clicked onto the black eight, and the cards bounced around the screen. “Yippee,” she muttered.
Now she could hear the springs squeak as Topher bounced on his mini-trampoline. “You wanted updates, man-friend, and I’m here all by my lonesome....”
Ivy’s eyes widened. That does it! She sat up straight, alt-tabbed to company email and sent a request to speak with Adelle DeWitt. She was getting out of here, away from this place, away from this autistic dork of a boss, and she didn’t care if the company sent her off to a branch in the middle of a war zone.
The moment she clicked “send”, the anger faded, and she felt a cold shot of fear. She slumped back again, covering her face with her hands.
She heard someone step into Imprint, and Sophie’s voice said, “Topher, DeWitt wants to see you upstairs. Something about Foxtrot speaking the wrong language.”
Topher ranted about the incompetence, treachery and ignorance of every other person in the organization on the way out.
A moment later, Ivy could feel Sophie standing next to her chair. “Ivy? You all right?”
“I’m going to tell DeWitt I can’t take this anymore. Topher’s driving me crazy. This place is driving me crazy. Being around you is driving me crazy.”
“Ivy, you don’t have to be so hard on yourself.” Sophie reached out for her shoulder.
“Don’t.” Ivy scooted her chair away on rollers. “People are watching.” She glanced up at one of those damned security cameras, then looked down again, wishing she could disappear.
“You don’t have to hide, not from me.”
“I don’t have that in me. I’m sorry.”
The other woman’s hand, small but strong, grasped hers. Sophie stood where the camera couldn’t see them touching, where it would just look like two people talking.
“Everything’s going to be all right.”
“Now--” Ivy coughed and cleared her throat, repeating the words she had heard in handler bonding. “Now that you’re here.”
“Do you trust me?”
“With my life. Oh, god, yes.”
Sophie’s thumb stroked Ivy’s palm, making her heart race like she had been touched far more intimately. In this place, where everything was watched and controlled, the tiniest gestures meant the world. “Tomorrow night, all the Actives will be in their pods. Topher is making a report to management. The internal security cameras will be down for maintenance. Bring your outfit. Wait in the north-side women’s washroom until the cleaning staff leaves. I’ll meet you there.”
“Yes, I’ll be there. How can you do all this?”
Sophie smiled that crooked smile of hers. “Let’s just say Miss Lonelyhearts owes me a favor.”
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: 1722
Summary: Ivy knows that it is all about trust, or lack thereof.
The clothes were easy enough to steal. Ivy figured out that they were fitted for each Active. Echo or Sierra’s clothes wouldn’t fit her at all, so she took the sealed package marked “November” from the laundry cart. In the locker room, she tore off the wrapping and put the drawstring pants and loose athletic tunic in her gym bag. There was a tense moment or two when she went through security at the end of the day, but she made it to her car without being stopped. The gym bag sat in her lap as she drove through the freeway system.
Back home, she forced herself to go through the routine of watering plants, answering phone messages, and making dinner, but eventually she went into her bedroom, shut the door and pulled the curtains. She lay the two garments out on her bedspread, just a little wrinkled from the gym bag. Emerald green, 300-thread-count organic cotton with a little spandex for stretch, no identifying tags or brand names, as soft as baby clothing but silky like expensive lingerie.
Her own clothes came off in a rush, not even bothering with the laundry basket.
“You’re just not working out here, Ms. Chung,” says Ms. DeWitt, lounging in her office while Sierra gives her a pedicure and Echo hand-feeds her chilled grapes. “But we do have another position for you in the organization.”
“I’m sorry I’m not Dollhouse material,” she pleads.
“I never said that.” Ms. DeWitt snaps her fingers and Tango brings in a contract and pen on a silver platter. Trembling, she signs her name on the dotted line, knowing she has no choice because she has fucked up completely.
“Ms. Alvarez, Ms. Ramirez, prep her.”
The two handlers in skin-tight black suits enter and strip her naked. Sophie whispers, “Don’t fight it,” as she takes away her glasses and her hair clips, though in her fantasy she can still see perfectly.
She pulled the pants and top on. The outfit was still big on her, as she was somewhere in the middle between Sierra’s lithe build and November’s voluptuous curves. The fabric slid deliciously over her hard nipples and caressed her damp groin. It made her feel like she glowed.
They march her into the imprint room, and put her in the chair.
She dropped into her Eames knockoff chair and tilted it back as far as it would go. This time, she used her baseball-sized vibrator, clicking through to her favorite cycle and pressing it against her pubic mound. The vibrations run through her entire torso and up her spine into her head.
Sophie turns on the machine. Her memories-- every demanding relative, every bad breakup with every untrustworthy girlfriend, every guy who ever leered at her, every teacher who ever took her for granted, every autistic idiot boss-- just go away, in a flood of blue light, and all that’s left is feeling.
Ivy clicked off the vibe, turned out the lights and settled into her improvised pod to sleep. As her fantasies faded into dreams, she saw a dark figure standing above her, looking down.
***
Ivy filled her coffee mug from the pot in the handlers’ wardroom. Imprint department had its own break room, but there was no one else there, except Topher. She noticed that Sophie was waiting for her turn at the coffee machine. Feeling a little guilty about how they last spoke, she said, “How’s it going?”
Sophie filled her own mug. “It’s the little things that bug me about this job. You know, this morning Dominic was biting my ass about one set of clothing missing from Laundry. Watch out, you’re spilling.”
Ivy hastily righted her coffee cup and mopped up the spill on the counter with paper towels. “Did-did you ever find the missing clothing?”
“No, nothing was missing. I made sure it was just a mix up in the inventory.”
“That’s good.” Ivy relaxed a little.
“So, how’re you settling in?” Sophie asked. They chatted a bit, as if they worked in an insurance office instead of a place that made programmable people.
When coffee break was over, they took the elevator down to the Actives’ floor, and stepped out onto the polished hardwood.
Without warning, Sophie asked, “If you had the money, would you hire an Active?”
Ivy thought a moment. “I can see why people would. Who wouldn’t want somebody who’s the perfect lover, who has no other life, who you can trust absolutely because they vanish at the end of the engagement? Nobody knows what happened except you. It’s like that line in Barbarella: ‘An angel has no memory.’”
“But who would you pick if you could?”
Ivy would pick Sierra in a black suit with silver pinstripes, butched up to just the right degree. They’d take one of the black sedans from the motor pool, drive up the highway until they were far away from everything, and the other woman would strip her bare and hold her naked body up to the warm wind and the blue sky.... “Haven’t really thought about it. What about you?”
“I don’t think I would, even if I had the money,” Sophie said. “It’d be like going to a magic show when you know how the tricks are done. No mystery, no surprise.”
“I’ve had enough surprises in my life.” Ivy said.
“You know what I’d do?” Sophie looked over to where Dr. Saunders was connecting a heart monitor to Whiskey on one of the treadmills. “I’d take Whiskey outside, without an imprint. Go to the zoo or the beach, something like that. Five years is a long time to look at the same walls.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Ivy could imagine taking Sophie taking Whiskey out somewhere, holding her hand, applying sunblock to that pale skin, giving her ice cream, even showing her how to kiss....
“Then again, she’s probably freak out after five minutes outside this place,” Sophie said wistfully. “Talk to you later.”
Ivy watched the other woman walk over to the treadmill and talk with the doctor as Whiskey ran in place. She bit her lip, fighting down what she reluctantly admitted was jealousy. Sophie’s devotion to Whiskey, unlike some of the other handlers, was one reason why Ivy was drawn to her, but it also meant there’d be no time for anyone else.
***
That night, she pushed her bed back against the wall, and put on her usual night shirt, leaving the Active outfit in the back of her closet. Funtime was over. No more bringing her work home with her, and any masturbation would be with her dog-eared copy of The Story of O.
When the red numbers on her clock said 2:13, and she hadn’t slept for a second, she gave up and pulled her bed away from the wall. The moment she lay down in her improvised pod, she fell asleep.
***
Ivy slouched in her chair, lackadaisically clicking through her third game of computer solitaire that day. Two weeks here and Topher hadn’t even given her a password for the imprint system.
Behind her, Topher rambled into his Bluetooth headset as he paced in front of the monitors. “...the squigglies say she’s eating something salty.... Sheesh, get your mind out of the gutter, Boyd. Echo’s at a restaurant, it’s probably caviar....”
The red seven clicked onto the black eight, and the cards bounced around the screen. “Yippee,” she muttered.
Now she could hear the springs squeak as Topher bounced on his mini-trampoline. “You wanted updates, man-friend, and I’m here all by my lonesome....”
Ivy’s eyes widened. That does it! She sat up straight, alt-tabbed to company email and sent a request to speak with Adelle DeWitt. She was getting out of here, away from this place, away from this autistic dork of a boss, and she didn’t care if the company sent her off to a branch in the middle of a war zone.
The moment she clicked “send”, the anger faded, and she felt a cold shot of fear. She slumped back again, covering her face with her hands.
She heard someone step into Imprint, and Sophie’s voice said, “Topher, DeWitt wants to see you upstairs. Something about Foxtrot speaking the wrong language.”
Topher ranted about the incompetence, treachery and ignorance of every other person in the organization on the way out.
A moment later, Ivy could feel Sophie standing next to her chair. “Ivy? You all right?”
“I’m going to tell DeWitt I can’t take this anymore. Topher’s driving me crazy. This place is driving me crazy. Being around you is driving me crazy.”
“Ivy, you don’t have to be so hard on yourself.” Sophie reached out for her shoulder.
“Don’t.” Ivy scooted her chair away on rollers. “People are watching.” She glanced up at one of those damned security cameras, then looked down again, wishing she could disappear.
“You don’t have to hide, not from me.”
“I don’t have that in me. I’m sorry.”
The other woman’s hand, small but strong, grasped hers. Sophie stood where the camera couldn’t see them touching, where it would just look like two people talking.
“Everything’s going to be all right.”
“Now--” Ivy coughed and cleared her throat, repeating the words she had heard in handler bonding. “Now that you’re here.”
“Do you trust me?”
“With my life. Oh, god, yes.”
Sophie’s thumb stroked Ivy’s palm, making her heart race like she had been touched far more intimately. In this place, where everything was watched and controlled, the tiniest gestures meant the world. “Tomorrow night, all the Actives will be in their pods. Topher is making a report to management. The internal security cameras will be down for maintenance. Bring your outfit. Wait in the north-side women’s washroom until the cleaning staff leaves. I’ll meet you there.”
“Yes, I’ll be there. How can you do all this?”
Sophie smiled that crooked smile of hers. “Let’s just say Miss Lonelyhearts owes me a favor.”