[Fic] I wonder when the light of the last honest man passed from this weary world...
"So you understand the idea. Congratulations, Bill. Now multiply that by infinity, take that to the depth of forever, and you still will barely have a glimpse of what I'm talking about."
-Meet Joe Black
The world doesn't end with a bang or a whimper.
It ends in the sound of a phone ringing.
Topher doesn't acknowledge it, at first, but it's a slow dread that creeps up behind him, practically breathing down his neck, but invisible. He laughs off the rumors of virtual apocalypse with all the brash arrogance that people have come to associate with him, unaware of the shadow that eats its way into the back of his mind.
The Dollhouse will not fall. (The Titanic will not sink.)
When the actual reality sets in, overtaking him seemingly at random, he crumples to the ground of the imprint room and curls in on himself like someone taking cover from an explosion, and wills it not to be true. He didn't do this. He didn't cause this. He was only trying to help.
I was only trying to help her.
~*~
He gets himself together enough to aide in Laurence Dominic's return from the Attic on De Witt's orders. Topher's glad there aren't any mirrors in the Imprint room or he'd have to see what it was about the look on his face that made Dominic so happy. As soon as the room is cleared, he falls bonelessly against the nearest wall, trying to make himself small enough to slip into the cracks between the machines and lose himself in their comforting hum, but Boyd's there to drag him back out again.
"You need to keep it together, Topher," he says, gripping Topher's wrist hard enough to be painful, like pain will actually make the bleary look in his eyes go away and bring him back to what he was before the weight of this realization hit him.
"Why... Would I do that?" Is Topher's dazed reply, tilting his head to the side. It's almost a perfect imitation of something Dr. Saunders used to do and he doesn't even realize he's doing it. "Why would I want to keep it together when I'm the one who... Tore it all apart."
He takes advantage of Boyd loosening his grip in surprise to slip away, "I get it now. There are consequences," he says, as he wanders off, still vaguely in a daze.
~*~
Can you keep it?
He can keep a secret and he keeps a promise. Priya never has to remember what happened that night with Nolan, but now they have bigger things to deal with and something as inconsequential as covering up the murder of one man seems like such a ridiculous thing to be scared of living with now.
He wishes he could go back to a time when dissecting Nolan in the man's own bathtub was the worst of his sins. He may well be the man who singlehandedly destroyed the human race and he can't get rid of it, nor can he live with it. Eventually, the mere sight of the chair and the buzz and hum of the machines is like someone passing a sentence on him and the mere thought of going back to his office sends him into violent fits.
Eventually, he never goes back up there again.
I can keep it.
~*~
Logically, he knows he's going mad. But crazy people don't think they're going crazy, they think they're getting saner... But if I assumed I was getting saner by that logic, then I must be going crazy. ...Fascinating paradox.
Logically, he knows that if he wasn't, he might be able to fix what he destroyed. Or just break it more. You keep pulling the pieces out, and pulling them, and pulling them, and pulling them.... And then, all you have is a pile of rubble. Down comes the house. Boom.
(If I think I can figure things out is that curiosity or arrogance?)
Logically, he knows that logic really, really has nothing to do with this. I know what I know.
~*~
People used to joke that you couldn't so much as sneeze in the Dollhouse without Topher knowing about it, both because of his office boasting such a grand view of the house and his odd attention to details. Simpler times, those, but in these darker times, the truth of the matter remains.
Caroline cocks a gun and Topher wanders into the room as if summoned, tugging on the hems of his long sleeves like an awkward child. "That... Not helping," he says, falling back into the nervous habit of abbreviating sentences, his eyes hidden by messy bangs. Caroline looks at him with a mixture of cold indifference and mild sympathy (an odd mix, but one she pulls off somehow), Adelle just looks horrified, and the gun hasn't quite found a target yet.
Topher wraps his arms around himself. "'It's not her fault," he finally chokes out. Nothing has reason anymore, everything has broken down, and everything is falling apart, but if there's one thing he does know, it's that Adelle doesn't deserve that gun pointed at her head. If there's one lucid thought left in his head, it's that one.
He's the one that brought the house down.
"I can keep it," he murmurs, digging the heel of a palm into his forehead with a slight whimper, sounding half like he's reciting something from memory, because he's no longer lucid enough to say anything that actually makes sense. "But I can't live with it."
Muse: Topher Brink
Word Count: 881
-Meet Joe Black
The world doesn't end with a bang or a whimper.
It ends in the sound of a phone ringing.
Topher doesn't acknowledge it, at first, but it's a slow dread that creeps up behind him, practically breathing down his neck, but invisible. He laughs off the rumors of virtual apocalypse with all the brash arrogance that people have come to associate with him, unaware of the shadow that eats its way into the back of his mind.
The Dollhouse will not fall. (The Titanic will not sink.)
When the actual reality sets in, overtaking him seemingly at random, he crumples to the ground of the imprint room and curls in on himself like someone taking cover from an explosion, and wills it not to be true. He didn't do this. He didn't cause this. He was only trying to help.
I was only trying to help her.
~*~
He gets himself together enough to aide in Laurence Dominic's return from the Attic on De Witt's orders. Topher's glad there aren't any mirrors in the Imprint room or he'd have to see what it was about the look on his face that made Dominic so happy. As soon as the room is cleared, he falls bonelessly against the nearest wall, trying to make himself small enough to slip into the cracks between the machines and lose himself in their comforting hum, but Boyd's there to drag him back out again.
"You need to keep it together, Topher," he says, gripping Topher's wrist hard enough to be painful, like pain will actually make the bleary look in his eyes go away and bring him back to what he was before the weight of this realization hit him.
"Why... Would I do that?" Is Topher's dazed reply, tilting his head to the side. It's almost a perfect imitation of something Dr. Saunders used to do and he doesn't even realize he's doing it. "Why would I want to keep it together when I'm the one who... Tore it all apart."
He takes advantage of Boyd loosening his grip in surprise to slip away, "I get it now. There are consequences," he says, as he wanders off, still vaguely in a daze.
~*~
Can you keep it?
He can keep a secret and he keeps a promise. Priya never has to remember what happened that night with Nolan, but now they have bigger things to deal with and something as inconsequential as covering up the murder of one man seems like such a ridiculous thing to be scared of living with now.
He wishes he could go back to a time when dissecting Nolan in the man's own bathtub was the worst of his sins. He may well be the man who singlehandedly destroyed the human race and he can't get rid of it, nor can he live with it. Eventually, the mere sight of the chair and the buzz and hum of the machines is like someone passing a sentence on him and the mere thought of going back to his office sends him into violent fits.
Eventually, he never goes back up there again.
I can keep it.
~*~
Logically, he knows he's going mad. But crazy people don't think they're going crazy, they think they're getting saner... But if I assumed I was getting saner by that logic, then I must be going crazy. ...Fascinating paradox.
Logically, he knows that if he wasn't, he might be able to fix what he destroyed. Or just break it more. You keep pulling the pieces out, and pulling them, and pulling them, and pulling them.... And then, all you have is a pile of rubble. Down comes the house. Boom.
(If I think I can figure things out is that curiosity or arrogance?)
Logically, he knows that logic really, really has nothing to do with this. I know what I know.
~*~
People used to joke that you couldn't so much as sneeze in the Dollhouse without Topher knowing about it, both because of his office boasting such a grand view of the house and his odd attention to details. Simpler times, those, but in these darker times, the truth of the matter remains.
Caroline cocks a gun and Topher wanders into the room as if summoned, tugging on the hems of his long sleeves like an awkward child. "That... Not helping," he says, falling back into the nervous habit of abbreviating sentences, his eyes hidden by messy bangs. Caroline looks at him with a mixture of cold indifference and mild sympathy (an odd mix, but one she pulls off somehow), Adelle just looks horrified, and the gun hasn't quite found a target yet.
Topher wraps his arms around himself. "'It's not her fault," he finally chokes out. Nothing has reason anymore, everything has broken down, and everything is falling apart, but if there's one thing he does know, it's that Adelle doesn't deserve that gun pointed at her head. If there's one lucid thought left in his head, it's that one.
He's the one that brought the house down.
"I can keep it," he murmurs, digging the heel of a palm into his forehead with a slight whimper, sounding half like he's reciting something from memory, because he's no longer lucid enough to say anything that actually makes sense. "But I can't live with it."
Muse: Topher Brink
Word Count: 881