005. Dollhouse: Distillation, 6 drabbles, femslash, Kilo/Mag, PG.
Title: Distillation
Fandom: Dollhouse
Author:
hkath
Summary: Kilo has some trouble finding herself.
Notes: Last-minute drabbles for points in the My Favourite Things challenge at
whedonland, for nowgold who wanted Kilo-related things.
Simple
For a long time after the dumbshows are herded out, no one says anything. Every footstep echoes, so clear you can hear the grit on the soles of shoes two rooms away. Kilo stares at the ceiling, acutely aware of the other person in the room - the choppy, pained breaths that mean the meds are wearing off.
"Heyyy," Kilo says. Her head droops to the side and there's that redhead again - or is it still? She's in the same place as last time. "Shortcake."
"Figures," the redhead says, voice strained but wry. "Tech-head got all the good drugs."
Steam
There’s a curtain on a rail around the cot where Mag spends her days and nights. After Kilo’s arm heals up, she gets better at inventing excuses to duck inside.
“I was just thinking about your face,” Mag will say, and smile while Kilo coldly delivers her morsel of information.
One day, with a knowing smirk, she says, “It’s my sheer magnetism, right?”
When Kilo comes closer, Mag traces all the edges of the hardware on her right cheek with a finger, the cold metal plates growing warm under her touch.
“It’s really not,” Kilo says, uncertain. Mag’s smile grows.
Fractional
The more pieces of her freak self she removes, the more Kilo remembers about the Dollhouse. It still feels like home, the way no other place has, but that sense of belonging is tempered now with the knowledge that it’s a program.
Mag never asks about her original personality. Mostly, Kilo’s grateful.
There are some nights, though, when it would be nice to tell someone about the choice she was given. How she learned from articles, profiles and databases what she should have remembered about her own life. The picking and choosing they all did, then. Discarding the ugly bits.
Industrial
Kilo turns, tuned into the slight squeak of Mag’s right wheel as the brakes take effect.
“You okay?”
Thing is, this isn’t the version of her that falls for Mag. She doesn’t have what she needs, the components most likely to produce the desired result from this sweet, stubborn girl.
Compassion. Irony. A handful of childhood memories to share. Weapons training and a PhD in Applied Physics can’t quite compensate for Kilo’s lack of those. All she’s got is what she came in with. Same as everyone.
Kilo shrugs.
“Just trapped.”
“Me too,” Mag says softly, hand on the wheel.
Vacuum
She’s used to being the best at something, used to knowing in seconds what it takes other people decades to learn. Back in the field, it was Kilo’s job to determine exactly the right combination of skills and know-how a particular operation required. Back then, she was always on the hunt for new mods, better ones.
There are no upgrades anymore. There’s only her, just a girl, with some chunks missing and a little extra added here and there.
Now if she wants to change, she has to do it the old fashioned way: slowly, with her eyes wide open.
Distillation
You used to need a machine to take Kilo apart. Now it just takes a woman. One with the right skill set, of course. Mag could give lessons on disarming, with those ridiculous eyes. It's a wonder Kilo hasn't disintegrated.
Mag's well enough by September to help with the latest round of smash-the-tech (there's always another hidey-hole full of records and plans to destroy) and afterwards she's well enough to take to bed - well and willing.
Kilo knows it's love; when Mag touches her, it's like she's growing a whole new heart to replace the one she once discarded.
Fandom: Dollhouse
Author:
hkathSummary: Kilo has some trouble finding herself.
Notes: Last-minute drabbles for points in the My Favourite Things challenge at
whedonland, for nowgold who wanted Kilo-related things.Simple
For a long time after the dumbshows are herded out, no one says anything. Every footstep echoes, so clear you can hear the grit on the soles of shoes two rooms away. Kilo stares at the ceiling, acutely aware of the other person in the room - the choppy, pained breaths that mean the meds are wearing off.
"Heyyy," Kilo says. Her head droops to the side and there's that redhead again - or is it still? She's in the same place as last time. "Shortcake."
"Figures," the redhead says, voice strained but wry. "Tech-head got all the good drugs."
Steam
There’s a curtain on a rail around the cot where Mag spends her days and nights. After Kilo’s arm heals up, she gets better at inventing excuses to duck inside.
“I was just thinking about your face,” Mag will say, and smile while Kilo coldly delivers her morsel of information.
One day, with a knowing smirk, she says, “It’s my sheer magnetism, right?”
When Kilo comes closer, Mag traces all the edges of the hardware on her right cheek with a finger, the cold metal plates growing warm under her touch.
“It’s really not,” Kilo says, uncertain. Mag’s smile grows.
Fractional
The more pieces of her freak self she removes, the more Kilo remembers about the Dollhouse. It still feels like home, the way no other place has, but that sense of belonging is tempered now with the knowledge that it’s a program.
Mag never asks about her original personality. Mostly, Kilo’s grateful.
There are some nights, though, when it would be nice to tell someone about the choice she was given. How she learned from articles, profiles and databases what she should have remembered about her own life. The picking and choosing they all did, then. Discarding the ugly bits.
Industrial
Kilo turns, tuned into the slight squeak of Mag’s right wheel as the brakes take effect.
“You okay?”
Thing is, this isn’t the version of her that falls for Mag. She doesn’t have what she needs, the components most likely to produce the desired result from this sweet, stubborn girl.
Compassion. Irony. A handful of childhood memories to share. Weapons training and a PhD in Applied Physics can’t quite compensate for Kilo’s lack of those. All she’s got is what she came in with. Same as everyone.
Kilo shrugs.
“Just trapped.”
“Me too,” Mag says softly, hand on the wheel.
Vacuum
She’s used to being the best at something, used to knowing in seconds what it takes other people decades to learn. Back in the field, it was Kilo’s job to determine exactly the right combination of skills and know-how a particular operation required. Back then, she was always on the hunt for new mods, better ones.
There are no upgrades anymore. There’s only her, just a girl, with some chunks missing and a little extra added here and there.
Now if she wants to change, she has to do it the old fashioned way: slowly, with her eyes wide open.
Distillation
You used to need a machine to take Kilo apart. Now it just takes a woman. One with the right skill set, of course. Mag could give lessons on disarming, with those ridiculous eyes. It's a wonder Kilo hasn't disintegrated.
Mag's well enough by September to help with the latest round of smash-the-tech (there's always another hidey-hole full of records and plans to destroy) and afterwards she's well enough to take to bed - well and willing.
Kilo knows it's love; when Mag touches her, it's like she's growing a whole new heart to replace the one she once discarded.
