Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hello, Clint. How are you feeling?” Tony smiles down at the man in his chair, who gazes up at him, eyes innocent and guileless in a way that Tony just can’t consider natural. Clint’s a man of average height, which isn’t usually their sought-after type at the Dollhouse, but he has a few defining features that make him a more desirable addition to the business. His eyes are a unique greenish blue, and his biceps are about the same size around as Tony’s head, if he were to guess.

“Did I fall asleep?” Clint asks. He blinks long, soft-looking eyelashes up at Tony, full lips pulling into a soft, relaxed smile.

“For a little while,” Tony answers him, keeping his tone light and friendly. Truthfully, the tone of his words doesn’t matter – it’s only the words that matter. They have to be spoken so that the doll returns to that clean slate, that innocent, empty shell. Tony sort of hates when the Actives are in their doll state, but if he doesn’t follow the post-wipe script, they’ll get agitated and confused, and as much as he hates the Stepford-wife zombie-esque doll state, an agitated, confused doll is much, much worse.

“Shall I go now?” Clint asks, slowly sitting up from the imprinting chair.

Tony gestures toward the door, ignoring Coulson, Clint’s handler, leaning against the wall. “If you like,” he answers. Clint gives Coulson a nod in greeting and moves out of the room, heading toward the doll floor below; he’ll go down and one of the counsellors – Tony likes to call them wranglers in his head sometimes – will take him for a massage or a meal.

Tony turns to grin at Coulson. “So, did you have a good time?” he asks, smile turning sly.

“Everything went according to plan,” Coulson says, pushing away from the wall to leave the programming room.

“Oh, I’ll bet it did,” Tony snickers. “Come on, Coulson, don’t tell me you don’t get off a little watching him give it to some – wait, was it a girl or a guy? Nevermind, doesn’t matter – person who has such a hard time dating they had to literally buy someone to love them?”

“It’s not my favourite kind of engagement, and you know it,” Coulson replies, one eyebrow twitching in distaste. The truth is, Tony does know it, but Coulson is their most unflappable handler, and sometimes Tony just wants to just... flap.

Phil Coulson is the only handler who wears a three-piece suit to every engagement – and Tony’s been told, by other handlers who have worked with him on joint engagements, that he always manages to make the suit look natural in whatever environment the engagement is in. Sharon Carter’s favourite story is the time she and Coulson had taken Clint and Thor for a weekend engagement with several hunters – it had been some kind of elitist snob bowhunting weekend, Tony thinks – and hadn’t looked at all out of place in his navy suit, silver tie and shiny loafers. Sharon had said the wind hadn’t even ruffled Coulson’s perfectly neat hair – receding hairline or no.

“I’m just saying, what does it say about someone that this is the thing they want to spend their hard-earned money on?”

“The fact that our clients pay for the company of the Actives is less about the client, and more about the kinds of skills the Actives come with. It’s not very often you can find a romantic partner that’s exactly what you’re looking for in a person,” Coulson shrugs. He has that gentle smile on his face – the one that Tony recognizes as the look of a man who is toeing the company line, and not entirely sure he believes it himself.

“But doesn’t that seem a little, I don’t know, hollow to you?” Tony asks. “Where’s the spark?”

Coulson pushes himself away from the wall and heads toward the door. “Some people aren’t always looking for the spark,” he says. “Some people maybe just want to be loved unconditionally for a while.”

Tony watches him, pensively tapping a screwdriver against his goatee. Just as Coulson’s almost out the door, Tony grins. “Hey, are you available to tag in if Clint gets tired in the middle? Should we be charging extra for that?”

“I have a taser,” Coulson reminds him as he steps out of the room, not even bothering to look back over his shoulder. “I’m not afraid to use it.”

“Save it for the bedroom, Mr. Spark,” Tony calls. Coulson’s stride doesn’t falter as he walks down the hallway toward the handlers’ locker room. With a shrug, Tony rolls his chair back to his workstation. He’ll get a reaction from Coulson one of these days, he’s sure.

“Where’s Ms. Potts?” The voice coming from his doorway startles him a little – he’d already started to get into the groove of building the imprint he’d been working on – and he whirls his chair around to face his boss, the manager of the Dollhouse. Maria Hill is a tall, strong-jawed woman with soft, brown hair and glittering eyes. A tall, older black man is standing just slightly behind her, managing to look intimidating despite – or perhaps because of – the black eyepatch covering his left eye.

“I sent her down to the storage room to get me some blank wedges. Why?”

“I’ve brought our newest handler down to meet you, I thought it would save time if you were both here.”

“You could always come back later,” Tony shrugs, moving to turn back to his station. He has things to do, and the new handler will either make it or he won’t. Besides, the only Active who’s in need of a handler right now is Steve, and Tony’s not quite ready to think about that whole situation just yet.

“Tony, this is Nick Fury,” Maria says, ignoring Tony’s suggestion entirely. “Nick, this is Tony Carbonelli, our head programmer.”

Tony rolls his eyes and begrudgingly reaches out to shake Fury’s hand. He can feel Fury’s eyes boring into him, and he glares back defiantly. Squeezes his hand a little tighter, because Fury can be as looming and pirate-looking as he wants but he’s not going to make Tony, of all people, cower in his wake.

“Carbonelli, is it?” Fury asks, voice carefully neutral. Tony’s not sure why. “Italian?”

He ignores the question, and glances toward the doorway where Pepper is coming back with a box full of imprint drives.

“Pepper! Pep. Light of my life, it’s good that you’re back, the new guy is here, and I’m already bored.”

“New guy?” Pepper walks in and places the box on a desk. She moves toward Fury with all the grace Tony can never muster, and reaches a hand out to shake. She’s the picture of cordial hospitality, and Tony is both disgusted and impressed by it. Her strawberry blonde hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and her fine, elven features are soft and welcoming. Tony wonders if Fury can see the dangerous focus glittering in her eyes. Maybe he can – but he’s almost certainly not ready for it.

“You must be the new handler,” she says, greeting him with a genuine smile. Tony waits for her to tear him to pieces. “I’m Pepper Potts, assistant programmer.”

Tony continues to wait.

“Nick Fury,” Fury says, not smiling but somehow quirking the eyebrow not hidden by his eyepatch in an open greeting. Tony wonders how an eyebrow can be so expressive.

“I thought I’d introduce Nick around to the staff before you bring Steve up to program the handler script,” Maria tells them.

“Potts, you can handle the prep for that, can’t you?” Tony asks, turning toward Pepper. She arches a delicate eyebrow at him.

“Of course,” she responds, blinking rapidly at him. “Why, where are you going?”

“I’m gonna go along with Nicky, here, and show him all the cool stuff Maria isn’t going to mention.”

“That’s not necessary,” Maria starts, brow furrowed.

“I think you’ll find it invaluable to know which cafeteria items to avoid, which hallways have the most comprehensive security camera angles, and which corners are the best to jump out and scare the shit out of the dolls,” Tony says, grinning as he starts to head toward the door, ushering Fury ahead of him. Maria glares, but follows them out.

“Tony! That’s awful!” Pepper admonishes him, crossing her arms at him.

“What?” he salutes her and whirls on his way out the door. “It’s not like I do it. I just wanna see Nicky do it.”

“Don’t call me Nicky,” Fury growls.

Tony grins – he probably shouldn’t be antagonizing Fury. He needs to keep himself in Fury’s good graces if he’s going to be Steve’s handler – but he also knows the value of playing the lovable-but-irritating buffoon. The best thing he can do for himself is get Fury to a point where the man doesn’t want to be around him, and doesn’t look too closely at Tony. Maybe he’ll decide Tony’s too ridiculous for any kind of subterfuge.

“Where to next?” Tony asks, turning to Maria. “Have you gone to see Bruce yet?”

“That’s where we’re headed,” she tells him, moving a little faster to walk ahead of Tony and Fury. “He’s expecting us.”

“Oh, so Bruce gets the courtesy of a courtesy call?”

“Well, he might actually be busy,” Maria bites back, but there’s no real heat in the words. Tony knows full well that the house wouldn’t be able to run without him – Pepper is working on it, but she just doesn’t have the skill and finesse, yet, to build a coherent personality profile for the imprints. Plus, he hasn’t been allowed to teach her some of the more advanced procedures.

Tony rolls his eyes, skipping along behind them toward Bruce’s exam room.

There’s a chair not unlike the one in his own lab – similar to a dentist’s chair, if you don’t look too closely – and Bruce is puttering around the room, organizing tools and instruments. Tony lurches into the exam chair, grinning and propping his chin on his fist.

“Brucie! How’s your day going?”

“Good morning, Tony,” Bruce says, not turning around. “Has Maria been by with the new handler yet?”

“We’re right here, Dr. Banner,” she says, and Bruce whirls around in surprise, giving Tony a slightly annoyed glare. Tony smiles back and purses his lips in a mockery of a kiss.

“Ms. Hill,” he says, blinking his brown eyes owlishly. He reaches up to pull off his glasses as he moves forward to shake Fury’s hand.

“Nick Fury, here, is our newest handler,” Maria says, gesturing at the man in question. Fury nods as he reaches out to shake Bruce’s hand.

“Dr. Banner has been with us for about three years, now,” she explains. “Even longer than Tony has.”

“Doctor,” Fury greets him. Bruce runs a hand through his messy hair, then crosses his arms across his chest awkwardly.

Tony sighs. Bruce is terribly shy around most people. Not the Actives, not the dolls, because they’re his charges. With patients, Bruce is always at ease, always comfortable. The science is where his heart lies – a feeling Tony can identify with. So, when he’d noticed that about the doctor, he’d gone out of his way to beat down his emotional defences and essentially force Bruce to be comfortable enough around him that they’d become friends.

Tony sighs with exaggerated boredom as Bruce, Fury and Maria make small talk. Maria glares, then checks her watch.

“The Actives should be moving on to their next activity,” she says, turning toward Fury. “We can go observe your charge for a little while, then I’ll pair you up with Phil Coulson for an engagement. How does that sound?”

“Lead the way,” he says, gesturing toward the door. He nods at Bruce before they leave. “Dr. Banner.”

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Fury.”

Tony doesn’t say anything, but he does concede a quick wave as they go by. Once the room is clear, Bruce’s whole posture relaxes, and he turns toward Tony.

“So, what’s your impression?” Bruce asks him, gesturing toward the door with his chin. “Of Fury.”

Tony shrugs one shoulder, splaying out on the exam chair. “I don’t trust him.”

“You just met him.”

“And he doesn’t seem trustworthy.”

“Is anybody, around here?” Bruce asks, voice quiet, as he turns back to organizing his cupboard.

Tony eyes him for a moment, then lurches up from his chair and heads toward the door. “Not a one,” he says, on his way out.

Tony starts heading toward his lab, to get ready for the handler script – and prep whatever engagement Hill has planned for Coulson and Fury – but he slows on his way along the landing, his eye drawn to the floor below. The Actives are milling around, each headed toward a new activity to pass the time. A few are out on engagements – he’d sent Daisy out with Mack, and Wanda out with Melinda earlier today. Pietro is due back this evening with his handler, Luke.

But still, there are a few Actives moving around the floor. Tony can see Jessica and Janet on their way to massages, while Sam and Thor are headed toward the art corner. He can’t see Clint or James at the moment, but, then again, he can’t see the entire floor from this vantage point. They could have moved toward the eating area, or could be in the showers, since they’d both had engagements recently. Or swimming, or in the sauna, or in the zen garden doing yoga. Any number of things.

Tony glances toward the art corner, and sees broad shoulders, a strong jawline, and gorgeous, innocent blue eyes. Steve, the Active he can’t seem to stop staring at, gives him a gentle, distant smile, then goes back to his art project.

The dolls paint. Scott, the art ‘instructor’ (Tony uses the term loosely because honestly he thinks Scott’s full of shit) says it keeps them from getting unruly and confused. Tony thinks he just wants to keep his job.

Tony hates the dolls. When they’re in their ‘clean slate’ doll state, devoid of any feeling deeper than the desire to rest and do as they’re told, he gets creeped out being around them. He hates wiping them of their personalities, and he really, really hates getting new Actives into the house, when he has to map their beautiful, intricate personalities, and then essentially delete them. They are, of course, on a back-up wedge, but that doesn’t ease the distaste in his mouth any.

But Steve is different. The dolls, while comfortable with their existence in the house, don’t really form any memories. There is an awareness, a routine – where they sleep, when they eat, how they wash themselves; but there isn’t a mechanism for them to form memories. They recognize other dolls as friends, and they know the staff. Otherwise, each day is the same as the last, but as they have no memory of it, it’s both new and familiar at the same time.

Steve, though. Steve always notices Tony watching him, and he always looks up and smiles at him. Tony knows that’s dangerous. He knows his own infatuation with the doll is dangerous, nevermind enjoying – encouraging – Steve’s acknowledgement of him.

But he can’t help it. Steve is somewhat new to the Dollhouse. He’d signed his contract only a year ago, and Tony had marvelled at his brain scan when he was doing his initial brain map before beginning the wiping process. He’d seen thousands of brain scans, created tens of thousands of personalities based on those scans, based on combinations of hundreds of different brain maps.

Yet, Steve’s had stood out. There had been poetry in the images, in the wash of yellows and greens and blues in the neural infrared scan. It had been beautiful – even more beautiful than Steve’s appearance.

Tony shakes his head a little at himself and glances at Steve’s art project. He hasn’t figured that one out yet, actually.

All the dolls, without fail, paint variations on the same scene. It’s the only scene Scott works with them on. A grassy hill, a bright yellow sun, and a tall tree covered in red apples. It’s simple, primary colours. Easy for the dolls, who don’t have memories of experience or landscapes.

But Steve’s art is always different. Today, it’s an abstract of white stars over blue and red circles. Steve may be as pliant as any other of the dolls, but if not given a direct order, if not given the specifics of a task from start to finish, he tends to do his own thing, to figure out a path on his own. Tony loves it, as much as he knows it could get him sent to the Attic.

Tony watches him for a few moments, wondering what sorts of thoughts Steve has – more than he wonders about the other dolls. He knows it’s dangerous, that he shouldn’t.

But Tony can’t help it. He’d fallen in love with that initial personality profile, that first brain scan. The Steve who had walked through the doors and signed the next five years of his life away, as far as Tony is concerned, is the most amazing man he’s ever met. And the empty shell down there, while a mere echo of that man, never fails to hold Tony’s interest. He can’t help but be fascinated.

Fury is dangerous. Tony worries that Fury’s sharp eye will notice the little smiles, will notice Tony watching Steve for too long and a little too often. He also worries that Fury might figure out how Tony spends his three days off a month – an endeavour that, so far, not even Maria has managed to discover.

It’s almost enough for him to change his plans, to skip it this month.

But he can’t. His days off are in only a few more days. He can’t quite bring himself to give it up.