Not mine, not mine, la la la. And Fentonol is a real drug. I've been on it. XD


Bennett's fairly heavily drugged for the first few days, in and out of surgery and doctor visits. It passes as a blur; one of the drugs, Fentonol, is an amnesiac, the nurse tells her. As such it's normal for her recollections of, well, the preceding couple of weeks, really, to be spotty. The pretty blonde nurse tells her that it's normal, not to worry, the stern-faced redhead's expression melts into concern as what of her memory remains makes her dig fingernails into her palm (the only one that'll be marred by those sorts of half-moon indentations again – the soap opera-looking doctor tells her the nerves were severed, that apart from amputation and a prosthesis there's nothing that could be done) and frowns, calculating how many minutes she has until she takes her next dose of pills. (It's not because she's growing addicted; rather, it's the one thing that happens with some regularity in her days.)

The blonde nurse tries to play therapist one evening. Bennett is having none of it, shaking her head and using one-word answers to every question. When she leaves, Bennett lets herself indulge in tears for a few moments. It wouldn't be like her to do that in the nurse's presence, of course, but she can't hold herself back any longer. There's a bitter taste in her mouth, one that she wishes would go away. It's worse than just betrayal: she knows that she herself was stupid, and that has never sat well with her. Besides that, she has to come to terms with the shallow fact that she has essentially become damaged goods. Her other nurse peeks her head in to see what's wrong, but Bennett's switched on the television, not even paying attention save for to find an appropriately sappy movie to leave it on. She has never cried at movies. But the nurse doesn't know that.

When a few more days have passed and she's a bit more cognizant, a man she dimly thinks that she's seen at a distance before visits her. He tells her he's responsible for not only the scholarship she'd been on, but the hospital bills she's racking up. Well, his company, anyway; the one she'd worked for. The one she'd been accomplice in trying to destroy. Rossum.

She isn't sure why they'd pay her hospital bills; after all, it was her key card that set this whole mess in motion. Anyhow, her parents are still around – well, alive, at least, they haven't spoken to Bennett in she doesn't know how long, but surely they know of this happening, their oldest meeting with tragedy and being, now, for all intents handicapped. (She finds the word ironic.) But no signs of such an awareness surface. This man – Mr. Randolph, he says – tells Bennett that she's been one of their rising stars, whether she knew it or not, and Rossum protects its investments, no matter their indiscretions.

Mr. Randolph offers Bennett security. Even after all of this. In Washington, D.C., he tells her, there's a position with her name on it. Chief programmer of the D.C. Dollhouse. It will be a perfect fit given her studies and aptitudes (and, she thinks bitterly, she'll be able to isolate herself to her liking, it seems). If she accepts, they'll also be more inclined to forgive her her mistakes. (It isn't quite blackmail.)

That's how Bennett thinks of it now, a mistake. She's positive that Caroline was just using her, that denying such a thing was just a further manipulation. She's done just fine until now shutting people out; she might not pass every psychoanalyst's quizzing, but her brain still holds more power than most. She accepts the offer almost instantly.

Take that, Caroline, she thinks defiantly. Really, the courageous, gorgeous girl was nothing more than a distraction. A weakness. Bennett can't afford any more of those. And she figures she does rather owe it to them, in addition to which she'll be able to excel and continually be challenged by her job. Something she longs for; nothing drives her to insanity faster than predictably easy work. That's how it's always been. Even though she can hear a voice in the back of her mind (admittedly, one that sounds suspiciously like Caroline, but she tries to ignore that) telling her they're just using her, she can't object to that. She's been used before. At least they look out for their people, Mr. Randolph has said; that's more than she could attribute to Caroline.

Granted, there's a small – well, not exactly small, larger than she's willing to admit right now – part of her who fantasizes that someday she'll hurt Caroline like Caroline hurt her. She wants more than just an apology; she wants Caroline to understand the agony she's been through. But, but it's only a motivator. She's always done well with those.