but it could have been right {OPEN

[CLAIRE SAUNDERS !]

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“How does a massage sound?” Claire asked the active – Tango – her mind already on something else; the words were a familiar routine, said to make the actives feel at home, and she already knew that the answer would be, ‘a massage sounds nice’. Claire liked that routine; you knew what to expect from the actives, and they were always happily compliant, even when she was prodding them about to make sure that they weren’t hurt; she gave them a lollipop to make up for it, though. She’d not done that for a long time, but then Claire remembered how much she’d like it when the old Dr. Saunders had handed out lollipops – and indeed, how much she liked the sugary treats herself – and so she’d mentioned it to Boyd, and lo and behold, a pot of sweets appeared on her desk. It was always full, even when she didn’t have anything to refill it with, but Claire didn’t ask. She was just grateful for it; it had been a whim, and could so easily have been passed off as part of her recollections of being a doll herself, disregarded along with the fact that she might actually have feelings about the revelation. Nobody had asked her how she’d felt about it; they’d just talked about wiping her, or at least these memories, and she’d just got on with her job, ready to fight against being wiped. Claire didn’t want to die, even if she’d never really existed. Fortunately, she’d not had to fight; they’d just left her to it, and nobody mentioned her breakdown or even her absence from the Dollhouse, except in passing. She’d slipped back into her routine here as though she’d never been away. That was good; Claire had always felt that this was where she belonged.

After Tango, there was another active to look at; there might not have been any assignments anymore, but they were still being imprinted with various skills and there were the day-to-day injuries that occurred in the gym or swimming pool to check out. It wasn’t the most exciting work now, but Claire had never been one for excitement; her job at the Dollhouse suited her perfectly, and there were always more people to patch up if Echo or Paul took some people to scout around above ground. They’d not done that for a while now; signals had got stronger, and it wasn’t safe. Anyone who ventured outside risked being wiped – and it was a good thing, then, that Claire was rather agoraphobic and the actives knew no different, because she rather thought that some of the other staff were becoming a little stir crazy. She couldn’t see why they would be, though; the Dollhouse had everything anyone could ever want, and it was safe. There were no signals here – with the rumours flying around about what it was like on the surface now, Claire would be perfectly happy to spend the rest of her life in the Dollhouse. It was home, after all, wasn’t it? Both for her, and for Whiskey, and since she was both of them, it definitely seemed right that she should be here. Claire wasn’t particularly fussed by the idea of fighting a resistance, but she did want to find a cure; nobody should be imprinted without their say-so.

After suggesting to the second active that he, too, might enjoy a massage, Claire turned to her desk, picking up a lolly from the pot and pulling it out of the wrapper, popping it into her mouth as she picked up a report from the top of one of the piles on the desk. It was organised neatly, just like everything else in her life; Claire loathed chaos, and as such she had a pile for reports that she needed to read and sign off, and another for those that she had yet to write, along with a separate piles for supplies requests and anything else that she might need to do. The books in her office were all ordered by Dewey decimal system, as Claire had had a part-time job in the university’s library while studying, while the files that took up several walls were in alphabetical order. Medications were also ordered logically, but they were kept under lock and key in case an active decided that pills looked like sweets, just as children did. Everything had its place, and she liked it that way; she could find things easily when she needed to, and it gave her control. In this little room, Claire was the boss, and nobody could tell her what to do.

[TOPHER BRINK]

A sudden conscience overload was not good for someone who previously had none. The first blip had been the year before with Echo but the second, much bigger had been with Sierra, or rather her true self Pirya, hoping she'd get away from that creep Nolan. Why on earth had he all of a sudden developed a conscience? Topher had never been that reliable on a personal level but Saunders decision that it was Topher causing Sierra's anxiety had sure struck a rather disturbed and guilty chord with him. It couldn't be him right? Something from her past? Topher had to find out. It was the way he worked. But after Sierra and Victor, there came Echo, and then Sierra and Victor again. The dolls were Actives, they were poeple. The last thing he did before his break down started was programme some self awareness into the imprints. It ws happening anyway with the top five and they were the only ones excluded. They were thinking for themselves, helping as friends would but the lesser used required a little boost.

Topher stepped out into the walkway. It was dark and it was open, a combination of two things he hated very much. It made his edgy, flighty, not so good in the head area. But Topher was bored and he was lonely and the last time he tried to talk to an active they told him he wasn't well and took him to Saunders so he may as well beat the punchline and go straight there. Right? She'd be mad though wouldn't she? If Topher's brain was working better hed' remember why but at the moment he was quite like the way Echo had been with her imprints laying low in her head while the Caroline in her pushed everyone to think and see differently. She had been docile though and so was Topher.

His own functional reliability wasn't so...reliable. he swung between useful, to crypticly useful to nothing more than a confused yet excitable child which evidently was both endearing and rather irritating. At least as a child Saunders could repress the repulsion and push herself to help him but Topher wasn't realy in a state to make complicated analogies - at least not ones that made sense to adults and especially not ones of intelligence. It was rather sad that Topher was being destroyed from the inside out but Bennett's betrayal and his own drive cost him his sanity. It cost him everythign. His work ws his life, his comfort. At least he could remain in the dollhouse. It was the only safe place left. For now.

Even when the breakdown was at its worse Topher knew that the outside wasn't safe. He never had liked open spaces, always found someplace where four walls and corners were nearby, easy to huddle into, easy to hide, easy, so easy. Disappear. Safe, not a target, not open, wouldn't see, couldn't see, hidden. Topher shook his head, as he crept towards the medical room, opening the door and slipping inside. he didn't want to be alone, but Saunders didn't like him very much but she was the only one available. Topher sensed that she didn't. It was obvious. Kilo had mentioned it last week as well, before apologizing. She had thought it had been rude.

[CLAIRE SAUNDERS !]

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Sucking on the lollipop, Claire shifted the file from her left hand to her right, trailing her fingers along the spines of her books as she wandered through the stacks in her office. She was intent on what she was reading, but it didn’t mean she had to keep still while doing it; she was perfectly capable of multi-tasking, and she’d had a little twinge in her back recently from spending so many hours hunched over her desk. At least she didn’t have a computer to peer at anymore, although Claire missed it more than she would have thought. It was rather painstaking, having to write everything by hand; there wouldn’t even be any typewriters in this place, because it was so shiny and modern. It was a wonder she didn’t have permanent cramp, but then she supposed her job was diverse enough that she wasn’t writing all the time. It just felt like it, some days. It was why she’d taken to reading files while wandering between her shelves; it broke up the monotony, and while once she’d been perfectly fine with the same routine day in, day out, now she had other desires she needed to satisfy. She still loved her routine, there was no denying that, and she’d snap at the first person who tried to break her out of it, but Whiskey liked doing different things. Sometimes Claire had to indulge that side of her, even if it was simply by working at somewhere other than her desk while eating a sweet. She’d have to cut back on those soon, though, because her teeth would rot and she didn’t think there was a dentist on site – whether Topher could build an imprint that fit the bill was doubtful now. It would depend on what sort of day he was having.

Stopping at a particular shelf, Claire ran her fingers over the spines with intent now, seeking out a book in particular and pulling it off the shelf, flipping it open; she’d used it many times and knew where to look. It had been written by one of the doctors in another Dollhouse, many years ago, and published completely underground; you only had a copy of this if you were a doctor for Rossum’s Dollhouses. Dr E. J. Matthews (Claire had no idea if they were male or female) talked about self-aware actives in some detail, although she was pretty sure that the book wouldn’t be much help anymore. Since Alpha and Echo, the LA branch had become pretty unique in its experience of active self-awareness, and now things were even more different – disregarding, of course, that they were the only Dollhouse left that hadn’t had everyone inside turned into killers. All the actives were becoming self-aware now, those who hadn’t been reimprinted with their original personalities, that was, and this report highlighted areas for concern. Perhaps she should write a book about it; Claire snorted softly. Nobody would read it; these people were the only true actives left in the world. After this—this apocalypse, if there was an afterwards, she doubted that they’d be anymore Dollhouses. Nobody would want to go anywhere near the word ‘imprint’. Claire couldn’t say that she blamed them – and she had unique experience of the word herself.

The book under her arm and the report read, Claire headed back towards her desk so she could make some preliminary notes on it. She put the things down (neatly, of course, because even when she was about to work, she wasn’t messy) and turned to pick up her pen from where she’d left it by the side of the examining table…and stopped. “Topher,” she said, taking the lollipop out of her mouth. She stared at him for a few moments, hoping that he’d just decide to go away or something. When that didn’t seem likely, she busied herself with retrieving her pen and then fussed around with the things on her desk – anything to avoid having to talk to him. But him just being in the room was irritation enough; hadn’t he appreciated that, through some fault of his programming, she really, really hated him? Sure, he wasn’t exactly the most mentally stable person she knew now, and she looked after him when she had to because she was a doctor and he was her patient, but she didn’t want to spend time in his company just for the sake of it. “Can I help you?” she asked, twirling the stick of her sweet in the fingers of one hand while the other drummed a rhythm of irritation on the desk. “Did you misplace your medication again?”

[TOPHER BRINK]

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Things were covered between Claire Saunders and Adelle DeWitt. Once upon a time Topher was in the mix helping out, doing that and that, the main man to go to if something went wrong. He was still the best person for an imprinting job since Ivy hadn't been taught complicated blends but he was less than coherent half the time. Luckily if you did get him on a good day he was just happy he could focus on it long enough to get the job done efficiently and well. It was also lucky that they had quite an Archive. Topher had insisted, more so than his predecesor that imprints were cross-catalogued in terms of usage, frequency and the active and occasioanlly actives invovled with a minor reference to success of the imprint, since, lets be fair, the imprints always took exceedingly well even if Echo did go haywire during the mission. TOpher had always liked being clever, more so than anyone else and liked to rremind people of it in a round about, passing fasion since he usually got himself into a mess despite his intelligence. He had no idea how that occurred since theoretically everything should have gone just so during each unusual incident but you did have to factor in whether the Active was Echo and the fact that while brilliant Topher was not infalliable. Even so, every single time there was never anything wrong with the imprint, yet, he still got the blame for it. Always amazed him.

Topher stood huddled in the corner by the door. He hadn't been very comfortable travelling all the (short) way from his Imprint Room. Part of his breakdown strengthened his love of the static and dislike for change and being forced out of said comfort zone. His hesitant manner amplied whilst the tendency to babble without any train was reminiscent of the sane Topher who at least had a point to reach. Whilst broken Topher's points were far less obvious and to the point though if one were to actually consider them - which no one did - they'd probably find they made a kind of sense. Sometimes the actives understood. He found Sierra more responsive than Zulu but when was the last time Zulu had been used? After being alone for so long, no used, not abused, not really imprinted with a fully fledged personality just random skills to occupy them by Ivy even the lesser actives had developed an awareness of themselves. The recently peaked moral centre within Topher was dancing a wibbly wobbly dance adn the rest of him, the scientist part was fascinated and longed to run a brain scan but he was going to have to wait a while. His scientist side although excited was rather dead in the use department.

“Did you misplace your medication again?”

Mad. Mad. Why was she mad? Why was she always mad? What did he do? Topher frowned trying to remember but all he was confronted with was the time Claire had jumped him which caused his fragile self to attempt to back through the wall. Eyes squeezed shut, heels of his hands shoved in his eyes, fingers flexing, Topher made serious considerations over taking his eyes out. Why? Why why why? Whyyyyy? Was there something wrong? With him? A small still sane part laughed hsyterically, before deciding if it was laughing in such a way, then no, it wasn't sane at all now was it?

"Dark. Outside it's very dark. And alone. Wandering. Not safe outside, dark, dangerous. Company. Wind flows through the trees, work out velocity, wind direction, work out potential damage, to vegetation and climactic effect but not easy in the dark. No visiblity. Need light. Can't work without light, can't see. Live. Life living, living life in the dark..." Topher rambled actually conveying, cryptically, guilt, shame, fear. His mind tried to process what a functional one would be able to without a problem. It would manifest as obssessive behaviour in Topher, driven to solve, rectify, manipulate a single solitary subject or event along whatever his fledging conscience - or in most cases Echo - was pointing him along.

Topher essentially jsut didn't want to be alone. But Saunders was mad. Always mad at Topher.

[CLAIRE SAUNDERS !]

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Claire had absolutely no idea why she hated Topher so much; other than be generally irritating and too full of himself, he’d never done anything that should have made him more than just an annoyance. It was a fault in her programming, she was certain of that; his very smell repulsed her, and Claire was left wondering what had happened to make it so that he’d make her hate him. Had Whiskey really been that terrible? She’d been the number one active, Claire knew that, but she remembered being Whiskey; as far as she could work out, she’d been like all the others. She’d certainly not been self-aware, like Echo was, and she didn’t remember any incidents with Topher beyond the normal treatment routines. But there had to be a reason; he’d always said that he’d never programmed her to hate him, but surely one couldn’t develop this much loathing for someone without an apparent reason? Claire liked logical things that made sense; medical problems she could fix or – before they were all but banned from the Dollhouse – anything to do with computers. But this—she couldn’t figure it out. Topher had also said that he’d made her to be the complete opposite of him…so did that mean that he subconsciously hated himself? It didn’t make sense, and it wasn’t as though she could ask him anymore. There were days when Topher was perfectly lucid – and she avoided him like the plague – and others where you could barely get a straight answer out of him. Today looked to be one of the latter days; he wouldn’t be here otherwise. He knew to keep out of her way just as much as she kept out of his.

She wasn’t a psychiatrist; Claire didn’t pretend to be. Sure, she’d done some basic training in it, but when it came down to it, she was a medical doctor; she could analyse what was happening in the actives’ minds as a result of their engagements, but that was it. Perhaps, if she’d not got recruited by the Dollhouse – or, indeed, if she’d not been designed purely to work for the Dollhouse – she might have specialised in it further, because she’d definitely found psychiatry interesting. But Topher…he’d always been an enigma. Most of the time, Claire just wished he’d stay out of her way. But then there were times when he appeared to have retreated inside the deepest depths of his mind and he was nothing but a child; little more than an active, really. Less compliant than one, more talkative, but he needed the same amount of attention. And when Ms Dewitt wasn’t around to take care of him, it seemed to have fallen to Claire to look after him. She didn’t want that task; just being around him made her very uncomfortable, and she had an uncontrollable urge to hit him and/or slam a door in his face – and Claire controlled everything in her life. She had to, or her phobias would take over. But she was a doctor, and doctors looked after their patients; she might hate him, but Topher was Claire’s patient.

"Not safe outside, dark, dangerous. Company. No visiblity. Need light. Can't work without light, can't see. Live. Life living, living life in the dark..."

“That’s why we’re inside,” Claire said slowly, watching Topher but avoiding looking him in the eyes – which was pretty easy, given that his hands were currently covering his face. Was this what she’d been like, when she’d gone through her identity crisis and been all but mad, trying to torment him and sleep with him? Claire shuddered; there was a reason that she didn’t think about those times, and a reason that she’d left the Dollhouse. She’d had no more excuses for staying. But now she was back, and here she was probably going to die; it wasn’t safe outside. Claire didn’t know how much Topher was aware of what it was like – what his beloved technology had done – but he was right about that. “It’s safe here. No signals can get in. And we have light. See?” She flicked on the main light, the room becoming illuminated where it had previously been lit only by lamps; Claire didn’t like bright light. It was part of the reason she spent little time outside of this office; the Dollhouse was all so bright. She turned back to her desk, trying to get on with some work, but Topher’s presence was distracting; he was annoying, even when he wasn’t right in the head. “Did you take your pills today?” she asked; it wouldn’t surprise her to learn that he hadn’t. Again. One of these days, she was going to have to stand over him twice a day and watch him take them. Claire grimaced, but decided that if she was going to get rid of him sooner rather than later, she needed to entice him to talk to her – more was the pity. She picked up a lollipop from the pot on her desk and held it out of arm’s reach; Topher didn’t like talking about his medication, from what she’d deduced from the little time she’d spent with him, but he’d always liked inappropriate foods. “You can have a sweet when you’ve told me if you’ve had your pills.”

[TOPHER BRINK]

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Claire had once accused him of stealing what he had perfect right to take. Even then he had been avoiding her. It had been too painful. Plus the scars made him edgy too. her office was dark, she lurked about - ninja skills. Seriously. What was up with that? Ninja skills with the Actives!? Even when they were permanently imprinted they seemed to just float by. Topher knew he didn't put any nina kills into the Saunders imprint. That he would have remembered. Would have ahd a laugh with that all by himself in his rather cool office because it was cool. It was very nice with a fridge and a drawer of inappropriate starches which was full of the yummy stuff in life. Topher wasn't out of shape, he did occasionally excercise but he did love all the food in life that wasn't healthy in any shape or form. It had been revealed to Adelle during the high school incident which would have been weird and awkward afterwards if Adelle wasn't British and Topher wasn't..well...Topher.

“It’s safe here. No signals can get in. And we have light. See?”

Topher didn't move around a lot when he was like this. he didn't like to. He liked his comfort zone and it currently wasn't anywhere near anything technical so while that light was welcomed he stuck by the door. He never had been good at making friends, even, especially now that he tended to curl into his own head to the point where sanity was definately questionable but the knowledge was all still there. It was a strange thing. Topher knew what he knew, a fact he told himself regularly but he also didn't know. He forgot things, little things, sometimes important things. He forgot that the signals weren't strong enough, yet. That the measures he put in place were good, that no one could get in and out so far and it was safe. Safe was good. Necessary. nice. Good. Very very good. Inside the dollhouse was safe, wasn't it? wasn't it?

Outside was bad. Very bad. The world burned outisde. he had a drawing of that. It was hideously pretty. Burning, always burning, with noise and screaming and crying and more screaming and more death. Death death death and pain and sorrow and grief and fear. It was all very bed. Tech too there was tech that wiped you. You didn't need translators why didn't you need translators? Or Architecture. You just ddin't need it. You speak directly to the brain you do just that. No fancy equipment, no architecture. Nothing. Ballard had once cmmented that no one lef the dollhouse. No not really. But once the frame was installed how did you get it out? To reimprint with their old personalities you required the architecture...or so he had thought. Damn Alpha and his crazy geniusness. Bad Alpha! Alpha was veryr scary. Topher didn't know why Alpha never really hurt him. Everyone else got sliced and diced but he only ever got knocked out. Why was that?

“You can have a sweet when you’ve told me if you’ve had your pills.”

See? She was mad again. Always irritated with Topher who..oh he hadn't knocked. Perhaps he should have knocked. Was that what was missing? He just entered, how rude. Yes it was rude wasn't it? He was taught not to be rude, though that generally never worked out. Supposed to be polite. Not rude. Never rude.

Topher whined. "Noooooooooo," He didn't like his pills. They were horrible. If he was devious enough he'd lose them on purpose but he wasn't. When sane he knew that he had to take them, didn't like it but accepted that fact and like this he really wasn't capable of hiding them in a place. Unless he was. And he couldn't remember? Why didn't think of hiding them? Did he? Did he think of hiding them? Did he hide something else? What ddi he hide? "It's not important. Can't see in the dark, so its better to move then, but if you move in the dark you odn't know what sneaks up on you. The relay loop keeps it going far longer than it should when the energy source becomes depleted, and then they resort to calls again. In a single instant. One phone, one city, everyone on the phone. Relay loops and phone calls," Topher sank to the ground and rocked backwards and forwards silently, clutching hard at his hair.

[CLAIRE SAUNDERS !]

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A part of Claire was still waiting for the moment when the powers that be – Dewitt, probably – decided that she was no longer of use as a doctor, that she was too broken even to be imprinted, that she had too many of her own views and opinions, whatever it was, and sent her to the chair to be wiped. Did she still have the same automatic responses built into her? If someone offered her a treatment, would she acquiesce without thinking, or would she be able to fight it? Even with Topher being here, she wanted to confront him, ask why he’d made her how she was and if he had any plans to make her even more paranoid, even more isolated and alone, but she wouldn’t. It made no sense, but this was who she was, phobias and all. They made her her, and Claire was not going to die because she’d questioned that. And they needed her, anyway; the Dollhouse needed her, and she even thought that Dewitt was seeing her as a person, rather than a broken doll who’d been put to good use until the end of her contract. When did her contract end, anywhere? Claire didn’t know, and she didn’t want to know; the Dollhouse was her life. She didn’t want to die for whomever she’d been before she signed up – her life had obviously not been good for her to end up in here, and she didn’t want to go back to that. If she did, it would be at her choice, anyway; nobody was going to wipe her without her permission. Not Adelle Dewitt, and certainly not Topher Brink.

Claire tapped the lollipop impatiently on the side of her desk, the tap-tap-tap showing her irritation more than her expression did. She was a master of the blank expression, after all; she’d spent years hiding away in this office, talking to as few people as possible and never really getting to know them. She knew them better now – now, when she knew what she was; now, when they were in the throes of an apocalypse; now, when they might be the only people left properly alive – than she’d ever done, and she still chose to shut herself away with her books and reports and sweets. She was safe in here; she was safe in the whole Dollhouse, Claire knew that (it was the only place that had felt anything like home for the longest time), but it was too bright out there. In here, she could have the lights low and shut the doors against the sounds, and it would all be quiet. Even the thoughts whirling round her head would be quiet, and she could get on with her job without the constant reminder that she was really Whiskey, who was really someone else entirely, and that everybody in this place had lied to her for years. Months. Maybe it had only been months that she’d been Claire before she’d found out who she really was. She was a little fuzzy on the details, and she wasn’t going to read the report; the details didn’t matter. Hell, the big picture didn’t matter. She was Doctor Claire Elizabeth Saunders, medical examiner for the Los Angeles Dollhouse, and if she wanted to hide from people, she damn well would. She ceased tapping, and strode over to the light switch, flicking it off again determinedly. Topher would just have to survive in the warmer glow of the lamps rather than the harsh fluorescents. If he really hated it, he could go and leave her in peace. The corner of Claire’s mouth lifted in what might have been construed as a smile; Topher never left anyone in peace, but she liked the idea of chasing him away from her hidey-hole with the threat of darkness. For some reason, it seemed to scare him.

"Noooooooooo. It's not important. In a single instant. One phone, one city, everyone on the phone. Relay loops and phone calls.”

“It’s very important,” Claire replied, leaning against her desk as she assessed Topher, putting the sweet back in the pot decisively (she could have eaten it herself, but then they’d have had to imprint one of the actives as a dentist and she could do without that, really) and walking over to the cabinet where she stored the medications, unlocking it – it was always kept locked, even though it would never cross most of the actives’ minds to even try to take something from it – and running her fingers across the bottom of the shelves to find what she was looking for. “So don’t answer the phone,” she said, perhaps a little snappishly; he wouldn’t be this bad if he had just taken his meds like he was supposed to, but then Topher had never done anything that he was supposed to. Breaking the rules, that was always him; he thought he was God, or at least a god-like figure, and if he just followed protocol every once in a while, things would have been so much better. Finding the bottle that she was looking for, Claire shut the cupboard door and locked it again, stowing the key in her pocket and tipping two pills into the palm of her hand. She went over to where Topher was, crouching down in front of him and prying his fingers from where he was essentially tearing his hair out with surprising gentleness, given how much she loathed him. “Now, are you going to take these, or do I have to call Adelle in here?”

[TOPHER BRINK]

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Topher didn't like Saunders. Part of it was becuase Saunder's didn't like him but he had never really gotten on with the real doctor either. He hadn't gotten on with Dominic, or Hearn - but he was sick and deserved to be beaten up by November AKA Melllie AKA Madeline, or Ivy and to be honest Topher wasn't sure whetehr given the choice to throw him off a bridge that Ivy wouldn't do it. He hadn't been very nice to Ivy. The tiniest part was because he didn't want her to know, to get invovled to have to put up with all of this and the pressure and being blamed. he didn't want Ivy to be sent to the Attic. More imporantly he didn't want to be sent to the Attic. What if Ivy, somehow turned out to be better? Topher was paranoid. He was paranoid, goofy, nervous, hesitant yet strangely over confident and he sure as hell wasn't going to be beaten by some fresh out of University kid who struck gold. What if they decided she was better, cheaper and OH God, more compliant and less bother and just chucked Topher away? Made Topher disappear or threw him in the Attic. He had performed that preparation himself and it wasn't pretty even from an outside view.

Saunders...she was everythign he wasn't. Moral, ethical, kind, compassionate, caring, the picture of good and protectiveness, calm serenity, focus, extreme concentration, calm did he mention lurking? she was wearing his best friend's body and he didn't particularly like it but he couldn't hate her for it. It was strange, still loving her yet, not particularly liking her. He needed that hate, the moral opposite, getting in his face and forcing him to see what he couldn't, seeing what no one else could. Topher cared about the Actives in the sense that when imprinted they were people and his things should never be damanged or distressed or abused in any way but he had wanted her to truly care for them. They needed that. It was a secret of his. No one knew that that was what he wanted. They just thought he was twisted making Claire the way she was, someone inclined to hate him, to want to torture him at all and any hours of the day. Perhaps it was a subconscious self hatred but no one would ever know. Topher would enver tell and he'd never admit it to himself.

He eitehr didn't take his meds or forgot. And when he forgot he never remembered how many he was supposed to take which lead to him not telling anyone that he hadn't taken them and then they were forced, or coerced down his throat. Who knew that guilt could do this to someone. Topher knew he was a coward but he didn't think himself weak until now. An entire army, in a single instant. It was too difficult to comprehend sometimes. Too difficult. He hated to think it, but he wasn't sure he could figure anything about at all. Alpha perhaps was the person they needed though it was dangerous to have him around. he was far less stable than Echo, with more homicidal tendencies but the fact he never attempted to kill Topher went in his favour. Alpha figured out the remote wipes before anyone. Anyone. Alpha was scary.

“Now, are you going to take these, or do I have to call Adelle in here?”

Saunders thought Alpha was scary too. Scary. Terrifying. A tiny bit petrifying. Alpha was immense, big big presence with a deep voice and insane expresion. Insane. Perhaps that was how they related. Insane to someone who had been on the brink of madness his entire life. Perhaps it was always going to end like this, be like this. Perhaps this was Topher's destiny and the imprint war, the guilt, the mass phone call, was the catalyst as the doctor infront of him would say. He still preferred man reaction to be honest.

Topher looked at her confused at her gentleness. He hadn't expected that. She had been harsh and forceful a minute a go and now she was being nice? Was that a tactic? It had to be a tactic. Oh the medication. Topher didn't like medication. He shook his head though that could have meant anything. No I'm not taking the meds? No don't get Adelle? No stuff you? Topher didn't know at the time. It seemed like a reasonable reaction. It was almost automatic if he was honest. Slowly Topher held out one long fingered hand as he other curled around Claire's indicating he wasn't going to be difficult but wasn't sure which hand had the pills.

[CLAIRE SAUNDERS !]

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Treating Topher like the other actives was difficult for Claire. Not because he was Topher, because she felt sick just being in his presence and would really have rather preferred it if he hadn’t needed her medical attention because she couldn’t stand to be around him—well, maybe it was a contributing factor, but it wasn’t the only reason. Topher wasn’t compliant like they were; he fought everything he suggested, with mad genius ramblings when he was lucid and simply with mad ramblings when he wasn’t. He had to fight against everything, because he always believed that he was right and there was no way that she could be in the know about the thing that was her specialist subject (which he should have remembered, since he’d been the one to make her) – really, he was just a big, egotistical know-it-all and Claire would have been very happy if she never had to see him again. However, things didn’t work that way; she had to treat him, because he was what was generically classed as insane (one didn’t need to be a doctor to work that out, and even she, without huge training in psychology, could work out why), and she had to treat him like an active, or a child, because he didn’t seem to respond to anything else. And he had to take the pills; coercion was the only method she had to do that without making him take them intravenously. He had to take them, because without them, he wouldn’t be sane enough to find a cure to the imprints being sent by signals. Claire hated to admit that Topher was the best at something, but he was the only one who really stood a chance of doing that. Her attempts so far had got nowhere.

To be fair, Claire did have a lot of other things on her plate. She wasn’t swamped like she might once have been, with a never-ending streaming of actives coming in after assignments, and reports to be filed on each one as well as assessments of how they were doing in the house environments, to make sure that they were all wiped properly and weren’t suffering any lingering trauma, and analysis of data sent to her and god knew what else—but she still had a lot to do. Finding a cure was important, but it wasn’t Claire’s area of expertise. She looked after people, and she could cure them from a physical illness, but when they’d had their entire minds wiped with technology she couldn’t even begin to understand? It wasn’t her department. But she was trying, she really was; she always tried her best. She couldn’t help it; she was Whiskey, and Whiskey had been the best at everything. But Whiskey didn’t magically have the skills of someone who understood neuroscience – she wasn’t like Echo, she didn’t remember her imprints – and so Claire was pretty stuck, really. Until such time as Topher took his meds regularly and was stable, there wasn’t much more she thought she could do. She was already in way over her head.

“Good,” Claire said, dropping the pills into Topher’s hand and disengaging herself from him, putting a bottle of water from the table in front of him before standing up and watching, her arms folded across her chest. “I don’t suppose you like needles either, but I’m going to have no option if you don’t start taking those pills regularly,” she warned, the gentleness gone from her voice. She made sure that Topher swallowed the medication, and then went over to her desk, picking up a lollipop for him – she had promised, and as much as she disliked him, he was like a child. An irritating, arrogant, pig of a child, but one nonetheless. She dropped it somewhat unceremoniously in his lap, and then returned to her desk, hoping that now that she’d achieved her objective, if she ignored him, he’d leave her alone.

[TOPHER BRINK]

Silence please because I've got something to say

And I'm going around in circles every day

(note: lyrics by Gary Barlow: Take That...either way Take That XD)

Claire thought she knew Topher. Topher was a little resentful of this when he was aware enought to consider it. Many things were immediately obvious about Topher but he was pretty easy to read. He wasn't manipulative, or evil, or that good a liar or a cheat...well OK occasionally he cheated but that was neither here nor there. He was cocky, arrogant, quirky, gesticulated a lot, tended to behave like a child and thought himself better than everyone. At least it appeared that way. Truth was, Topher knew he was smarter. There was no doubt about it. How many people in the world understood neuroscience? He just tended to flaunt it. That wasn't all Topher. It was a strong solid basis for Topher, a solid side of his personality. It was all true but to say that was all there was would be to narrowing.

Claire coudln't see beyond the arrogant demeanor. She didn't see anything but a cocky, slimeball that played God. It was true Topher didn't like her very much. But it was difficult to like someone who was a permanent resident in a body you associated with someone else. Only Adelle knew. Topher had later burried the evidence, hidden it from prying eyes - from those like Dominic using his genius mind. Topher wasn't sure if Claire could access it using her computer skills. He wasn't sure if they were advanced enough. She did get through his security with alarming ease. She wasn't supposed to know those things. She didn't know him yet she got through all the security checks without being flagged. How? Topher could only guess residual memory, or neurons still made connections. Topher just burried it. He never told Adelle she had hacked the system just that Alpha had told her which was technically true. The profile only confirmed her suspicions. It was difficult to like Saunders but Topher would remember eventually that he wasn't supposed to.

Topher thought she was too wrapped up in her phsyical appearance. He couldn't recall vanity though a preference towards looking professional and dignified was strong. he had found in his years of experience that things didn't map exactly so when Actives were aware. Perhaps her knowledge had changed things, allowed her to alter and evolve beyond the imprint. The Imprint would still be the primary basis for reality but the subconsious desire to be her own person, to be real would lead to knew aspects or strengthening aspects of her personality. Claire hated her scars, yet had kept them until forced to remove them anyway. She was so mad at him. So mad at Topher because she was a doll. He didn't need her blaming him! He felt guilty enough. So much had gone wrong, so much just wasn't right. Things were never going to be right and no matter how hard he worked or thought things through they were never giong to be right. Some things you just can't change and that broke his heart every day.

“I don’t suppose you like needles either, but I’m going to have no option if you don’t start taking those pills regularly,”

Actually that was one fear Topher didn't have. Needles. He ddin't like blood so he didn't donate any and piercing skin which should be otherwise intact was icky but needles? No. He didn't mind getting jabs if he was honest. "Truth is not always appearance." Topher replied. He swallowed the pills with a grimace. "Thank you," he said quietly in response to being handed a lollypop.

The more I shout the more I hesitate

Now that you're gone, now that you're gone,

[CLAIRE SAUNDERS !]

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Claire had never quite understood what she had done to Topher to make him make her the way that he had. She remembered almost everything about being Whiskey, and she couldn’t remember anything that she’d done to get on his wrong side; she’d just been a normal doll, compliant as ever and never having any self-awareness. Maybe, then, she’d angered him before she even became a doll, or perhaps as one of her imprints; either way, there had to have been some reason for him to play God in such an overwhelming fashion. He’d not just made her a person, or an imprint of the old Dr Saunders, he’d given her innumerable phobias, so that she could never leave the Dollhouse (not that that had worked too well) and he’d done something to her mind to make her hate him, even if he swore that he’d not intended to. Claire didn’t understand it; he could have made her anything, but instead he made her this. She knew that she was a broken doll, but…it made no sense. Nothing with Topher made any sense; she’d given up trying to understand how his mind worked years ago. Now that his mind seemed to be pieced together only by luck, it was even less likely that she’d ever manage to get an answer out of him about why he liked her so little. It wasn’t that she needed to know, but she wanted to; she wanted to know why the person who had created her whole life had made her this way. She wanted to understand what made her her, because it clearly wasn’t genetics and environment, like everyone else. It was Topher freaking Brink, using dolls as his personal playthings so he could be God. Again.

She probably could have found out, if she’d wanted to; there were still computers up in the imprint room, and it wouldn’t be difficult for Claire to hack into them while she was up there monitoring the chair. She could have read the part of her report that said who she’d once been, and what circumstances had led to her being wiped the first time; she knew what had led to her becoming Claire Saunders – Alpha’s attack – but perhaps it would mention an incident where she’d done something to Topher to make him dislike her so forcefully. But she wasn’t going to look. The idea of reading a name on that screen, of knowing that had been her, once, and that she no longer remembered her…she didn’t want that. She already had the knowledge that she was Whiskey floating round inside her head, and Claire thought that that was enough for her to deal with. If she found out who she was, maybe they’d return her old personality to her, and Claire didn’t want to be that person; she didn’t want to die. She knew that this body had belonged to someone else, once, and that was all that mattered; she wasn’t entirely in the dark, but she wasn’t going to actively seek out more information, either. She stared at Topher, watching him take the pills. Maybe she’d never know what had happened. Or maybe…maybe she should just ask.

"Truth is not always appearance. Thank you,"

“Why do you hate me?” she said, doing just that; she didn’t expect a straight answer, given his mad ramblings before she’d given him the pills, but perhaps there would be something cryptic in what he spouted that she could try and decipher. She just wanted a reason—that was all. She nodded at his thanks, staring at him for several long moments before turning her attention to the pages in front of her. Maybe she’d never know…and maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. What was in the past should probably be kept there.

[TOPHER BRINK]

Silence please because I've got something to say

And I'm going around in circles every day

It was true that Topher didn't like Claire. But he didn't like her for a specific reason. It wasn't just a random dislike that randomly cropped up and blossomed out of nowhere, like a tropical flower in a desert after a flash flood or storm. She was just too dark for him but that was not the main issue here. She disproved of everything and thought she knew the truth when the truth was hiding more. The truth could be used to hide, not lies. The most effective lies were truth why didn't anyone know or see that? Lies could not hide lies as effectively as truth. Truth was not always appearance...appearance was not always truth but both were infinately connected. Both had a place in the world that no one could deny. They were interlinked, interlocked in an epic battle for supremacy. But would either ever win?

No Topher didn't like Claire because she wasn't her. It was hard looking in her eyes and knowing what they made her do. What they made him do. What they all had to live with everyday and how some of them did so, so easily. But Topher couldn't forget. No matter how much he pretended everything was OK, and Actives were Dolls and Dolls were toys and he really hated it when his things were broken! Damage was not good. Damage required fixing and some things you just couldn't fix you couldn't fix this no it wasn't possible it would never be fixed. It wouldn't be alright. It couldn't be waved away with a magic wand just becausethere was technology why did everyone think technology could wave it away? Of course that was before people ditced the tech and started running for their lives, fearful of others, others who wanted to kill them, slice and dice them chop then into tiny slippery slivers, or large ones. chucks of flesh flying about the place? Was the ground littered with it? It made Topher feel very nauseous. He dropped several shades of pale to reach something alarmingly papery.

Topher wouldn't have done well outside not even as a fully functional ,sane, rationtional human being. Topher never liked violence even if he did ask for a gun. Had Dominic complied with that request he wasn't even sure if he'd fire it, and was almost certain that if he did he'd miss. He was the technical wizz with sharp eyes and could work with the most fiddly of equipment, with a gentle touch but his aim wasn't so good when it came to fire arms. Give him a football any day and he'd do fine. Completely fine. No. Topher didn't like violence. He wasn't a violent person or inclined to randomly hit people. He didn't even get angry. It took a lot to anger Topher. HIs first instinctual reaction was fear and a nervous hesitance that was difficult to fake and replicate. He may be a mastermind but he was also a bit of a coward. OK a complete one.

"Appearance is not always truth. Lies are deceptive as they are intended but lies are based in facts. Facts cover facts but lies do not cover lies. At least not the ones that work best. The best lies are twisted truths, a spin on reality. To find the truth you must first look in the mirror, around the corner, start backwards to go forwards," Topher said. No he didn't hate Claire. But he didn't like her.

The more I shout the more I hesitate

Now that you're gone, now that you're gone,

(lyrics: Take That. I have no ownership! They is borroweeeed!)

[CLAIRE SAUNDERS !]

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Claire didn’t know why she wanted to know; it wasn’t like Topher’s opinion had ever mattered to her – he was a genius, she’d give him that, and he knew what he was talking about when it came to brain stuff – and in fact, his stamp of approval on something was likely to make her dislike it even if there was no other logical reason for her to do so, and besides, she hated him anyway, so was it really an issue if he disliked her back? She could only stand to be around him when he was out of his mind, and even then, it was a huge effort; she was already occupying herself with as many stupid tasks she could do that didn’t require a huge amount of thinking (given that that would be difficult, what with the rambling loony sitting by her door), just so that she didn’t have to look at him. But she knew that there was something programmed into her to make her dislike Topher, even if he’d denied it and said that it was something that had evolved on its own; Topher didn’t have that. He was a real person; Claire had checked. His file was interesting too – and had been doctored, from what she could work out, although she hadn’t been able to hack in deep enough to find the original. Not that she was interested in him or anything, because he was Topher but…she’d just wanted to make sure that he wasn’t a doll too. Although why someone would be programmed to be like him was something that Claire hadn’t been able to work out, so it probably made sense that he wasn’t; he was just a guy that Claire hated, and who hated her back. Maybe she didn’t need to know the reasoning of that after all; sometimes there were just people that you didn’t get along with in life. Claire didn’t get along with Topher. She could live with that, as long as she didn’t have to spend much longer with him. Much more of his ramblings, and she’d be going crazy herself.

"The best lies are twisted truths, a spin on reality. To find the truth you must first look in the mirror, around the corner, start backwards to go forwards,"

Claire tapped her pen against her teeth, trying to interpret Topher’s words without seeming like she actually cared; she didn’t, but she wouldn’t want to accidentally give him the wrong impression, not when he was like this. “You don’t hate me because of a lie, you hate me because of a twisted truth?” she hazarded, although there was a twisting feeling in her gut as she asked; she was curious, as any scientist would be, but Claire wasn’t sure that she should be going down this path. Not with Topher, anyway, who had never known when it was best to stop, even when he was completely sane. “I’m a doll,” she said, and she could almost say the words without it hurting, now. Almost; knowing that her life had been pretty much a lie was still something she was getting used to, even with her months of living outside the Dollhouse. She thought she’d been there, and then she’d come back here and all the feelings had been stirred up again…she should have stayed away, but at least here, she was alive. Knowing what little she did about the outside world, Claire didn’t think that there would have been such a good possibility of that if she’d stayed outside. “Everything is a twisted truth.”

She frowned, trying to distract herself with organising her pens, but Topher was still talking. “Backwards? As in, who I was before?” Claire stood up, wishing that he’d stop being cryptic and just say whatever it was he was trying to say so that she didn’t have to puzzle things out. “I don’t want to know who I was,” she reminded him, folding her arms and biting her lip, although whether that was in anger or because she was trying not to cry, even Claire didn’t know. “I know who I am now. That’s what matters. Not the past. Not who I was. Now.”

[TOPHER BRINK]

Topher had once been asked - by Boyd probably how he knew he wasn't a doll. Topher wasn't an idiot. Ivy was far more likely to be a doll than he was. He knew he wasn't a doll. He just couldn't be, even before he had proof in the first remote wipe device. If he was a doll he'd be less irittating and more compliant. That was his answer. No one could aruge with that logic. Who'd actually want a guy around that didn't dress professionally, didn't care for status and was generally a pain? No one! He'd be less akward, more compliant, less loud, more slow moving like Saunders. He'd be all elegance and grace than bounding bubbling energy and the need to tell people how intelligent he was intermittently. But what else did he have? Topher had brains and his computers and his imprint chair...what else? He had his nice large fridge that held the beer and the juice boxes and all manner of refreshments. He had computer games and board games and an overlord view of the Dollhouse. He had intermittent conversation with technical staff and Handlers and Actives and occasionally Echo would say something that beffuddled him - he was telling no one he lost an argument to an Active! That was just too embarrassing even if her logic was sound for someone who didn't really know anything about anything. Echo always had good instincts. Special case. Very special very odd case. Like Alpha. Only more pleasant and less with the Serial Killings and the slashing of the knives in people's perfectly pleasant faces and making them into jigsaw puzzles (Sauders - the original - still haunted him. The nightmares weren't pleasant. Often he'd have to check his own pretty little face in the mirror incase his hands were decieving him). Topher often rubbed his eyes now too...just to make sure he still had them. Samuleson hadn't been pretty either. Though less jolly than their original GP who had a keen liking for lollipops. It seemed to be key to his personality. So Topher wasn't a doll. He was a Doll and he wasn't really anything other than a Technical Overseer. He was pretty sure that while he had friends, he was no one's friends because poeple had a general dislike of him though he was just trying to maintain a positive attitude whilst wanting to rip the furniture apart and scream in a lot of people's faces. No that wasn't Topher's style. He was more running and hiding.

And so he did. His cryptic little clues just annoyed Claire, who used to be whiskey which, broke his dusty little heart. Topher had a big one too if just a little unused. It had to be. He learned that pretty early on that you sat down, shut up and did your job. He didn't see because he didn't want to see. The Actives were toys,they were dolls, they weren't sad cases of empty little shells, they weren't gaping holes where fully complex personalities lay. People thought you were the sum of your memories. More like the complex and well used path of neurons and electrons zapping about your brain. You could still be you without your memories but could you be you when you're not?

“Everything is a twisted truth.”

"Nothing is real, yet everything is real. What if the truth is not as twisted as you think? You look too hard you miss the point. You miss the details because you are trying to see someone that's either already there or isn't. You skip by the really important stuff trying to see the bigger whole when you should be looking at the tiny details. The little ones count more than the big ones. Count...more...always significant...more...oohhh..paper and a pen?" Topher said and asked. "paper, pen would be nice please please pen, need to write...idea...popped up...could be important," Topher said. Perhaps he was concentrating too much on what had happened, too much on the now than what was. He modified the imprint chair in minutes - to execute took longer but you understand the implication - and fixed what was wrong with the universal impring and wipe device in ten. He needed to look at the details again. He had been skipping things, things he assumed, things he thought he knew. But to look at them from another angle...that was key. That was important he couldn't forge that it was very very important. "It's important, pen and paper, need to write some things down or it will vanish and that will not be good,"

Claire kept looking past things. Topher imprinted people. He made them someone else. He took away their will. That made him bad. He treated them like toys but why was she so different? She shouldn't be looking at herself but him. Topher didn't know why she didn't figure it out; that he was the key to all of this. Hatred was born out of extreme emotions and his had been adoring love. No he didn't hate Saunders. No matter how much she took the hate parameter to new levels he couldn't and wouldn't. that didn't mean he had to like her much though.

“I know who I am now. That’s what matters. Not the past. Not who I was. Now.”

"Uhhh Topher said in a high pitched voice. "So absorbed. So assuming. Backwards to the truth, the reason behind the lies, the reason for the twist, if the twist even exists. Is the twist real Claire Saunders or is it in your head. Backwards to the source, to the reason and to ignore the present. It gets in the way, distracts you for the scent," Topher rambled. Claire was like Ellie in many ways. He had made her as close to Ellie as he possibly could without arousing suspisions. Of course he had to trhough some Saunders in and make her compliant otherwise he'd have opened a whole messy can of wriggling wriggling worms...oh he didn't like worms. Wriggly. Too wriggly. Moved too much and were rather creeepy. He hated that little song too. why would anyone want to eat worms. Always did freak him out even as a kid. wiggy wiggy worms. Yuck. Slimy, cold, bird food that split in half and still survived! Eewwww.

[CLAIRE SAUNDERS !]

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He wasn’t making any sense; Claire wasn’t sure whether he was intentionally being cryptic or if this was simply how his brain worked now. Either way, she didn’t have a clue what he was saying, and the constant stream of senseless words was getting on her nerves. Well, it had got on her nerves a long time ago; Topher didn’t need to say much to get Claire’s back up entirely, but with him sitting here, breaking into her silence and disenabling her to concentrate…it wasn’t a good thing. Why was he here, anyway? If he hadn’t wanted to take his pills, she was the last person he should have come to see, since he could guarantee that the first thing she asked him was whether he was up to date with his medication; she was a doctor, and that came above any personal vendettas she had, even if the idea of Topher being a complete nut-job was kind of funny. In this place, though, you couldn’t guarantee that ‘mad’ wouldn’t translate into ‘psychopathic killer’, and one of those in her life was one more than Claire needed, thank you very much. She knew why Alpha went against her – well, she knew why he’d gone against Whiskey; as Dr Saunders, she’d just happened to be in the way (which didn’t explain why he seemed to enjoy tormenting her, but she guessed it was because Alpha was a sociopath) – but she still had no idea why Topher disliked her so much, or even why she hated him right back. She just did, and here he was, in her office, making far too much noise for her to concentrate, and it was annoying. Perhaps he had nothing else to do but be crazy and ramble all day, but she actually had work that needed to be done. “Get to the point, Topher,” she said coolly, wondering if there was anything she had in here that she could throw at him—or was that just too childish? “Or shut up. I’m trying to work.” Not that the word ‘work’ had ever had much connotation for him.

"It's important, pen and paper, need to write some things down or it will vanish and that will not be good,"

If he’d been a child, Claire would have been telling Topher to lay off the sugar; he’d gone from depressed and scared to hyper in the space of minutes, and it was giving her a headache. He was a grown adult though, if extremely immature, and she supposed that whatever his faults, this was something that Topher couldn’t help. It would have been better controlled if he’d taken his meds when he was supposed to – Claire hadn’t checked up on him for the last few days so she didn’t think she’d be far wrong in suspecting that this wasn’t the first time he’d gone without them recently – but Claire couldn’t control his life. Nor did she wish to; every minute she had to spend in Topher’s presence was a minute too many, but she couldn’t just walk out of here and leave him until he went away: this was her office, and she had work to do in it. Knowing when enough was enough had never been one of Topher’s strong points, though, from what she’d known of him – which had been as little as possible, given that she hated him and all. “Have fun with your scribbles,” she muttered, handing him a pad of lined paper and a pen; she knew, though, that there was the possibility that he was going to come up with the one thing that would save them all. If anybody in this place had the genius skills to do it, it was Mr Brink; Claire just wished he didn’t have to use her office as a base for his plans. Didn’t he have his own one, with toys and terribly unhealthy foods and whatnot? Why did he have to do it here?

“Backwards to the truth, the reason behind the lies, the reason for the twist, if the twist even exists. Is the twist real Claire Saunders or is it in your head.”

Claire liked to think that she was a woman of above-average intelligence – she wasn’t on the genius level of Topher, for example, but she was clever enough to be a doctor and be able to hack computers and more besides. This, however, was something that she couldn’t understand. “You are not making sense,” she said slowly, trying to bury herself in her work but not quite succeeding; she needed to be alone to work well, and having Topher, of all people, in her office was most certainly not alone. She sighed and picked up another lollipop, pulling the wrapper off as noisily as she could; she’d just make sure to clean her teeth extra well tonight, and she wouldn’t have to worry about cavities. She thought she deserved the treat for putting up with this—and there was the little thing where she thought she might be addicted, but she completely blamed Whiskey for that; Claire hadn’t even liked sweets until the truth had come out. There had been a lot of little things that had changed since then. “Sometimes the lies are better than the truth,” she said quietly; if she didn’t know that she was a doll, then everything would be different. She would be different. Claire couldn’t judge whether it was better this way or not; this was all she knew. The peaceful ignorance had gone, but she’d gained another facet to her personality. Whiskey was her; this was one lie she thought it better to know, even if coming back to the Dollhouse had awakened the uncertainties about her status that she’d hidden away when she’d left. “Sometimes it’s better to remain in ignorance than have your whole world crash down around your ears.”