133 fic--Lemon Tart
Title Lemon Tart
Author Ersatz Fiction (
duh_i_read )
Rating PG
Word Count 585
Prompt133 (surprised, confused, sweet,)
Characters/Pairing Claire/Boyd implied, Topher/Claire UST
A/N: Spoilers for Omega.
It is not jealousy Topher feels that one odd day, wandering into the handlers dinning room to see Dr. Saunders and Boyd eating together. No. Simply surprise: agoraphobia was a necessary part of her imprint, he wasn't sure she even left the main floor except for the staff meetings.
So to see Dr. Saunders here, where the handlers ate, laughing with Boyd- the same Boyd who smiled less then she did-was unnerving.
He slid in line, watching as she stole bites of tart from a plate between them. Topher had seen that shy flirty look before in numerous Whiskey engagements, never this one. It’s a look he had always been found of, one the clients found irresistible, but never for his sake.
It is not jealousy he feels, twirling his yo-yo tight. No. Only lingering frustration: his newest imprint for Echo is giving him trouble and after snapping at Ivy for the trillionth time, had to get out. Instead of pacing his office, he’s been prowling the Dollhouse for the better part of two hours with a yo-yo, practicing all the tricks he and Marty Lin spent a summer doing instead of their thesis research.
After tugging his yo-yo in a Skin-the-Gerbil, the Thai Chi instructor in front of him turns, giving him a dirty look, but the doctor spots him, her look folding into a scowl. Boyd turns his head a little, catching Topher’s gaze.
Boyd’s eyebrow curves up like a question mark and Topher is struck with a sudden urge to confess-something, anything. A curse from the Thai Chi instructor saves him; he apologizes hurriedly and without sincerity for hitting the man in the chin with his toy.
It is not jealousy he feels, after whipping his head around and sees the cream of her lab coat as she leaves, Boyd’s hand on the small of her back. No, just confusion: such casual touching he’s observed her shying away from before. Ok, and maybe a trickle of doubt as she’s acting outside of her parameters-
Agoraphobia, check. Selflessness, check. Mistrust of authority figures, check. Attraction to cool and classically handsome older men, no check. Not even one of the little boxes to place a check in.
He considers leaving, stomping around another part of the Dollhouse, but he is next in line, and though no longer hungry, orders a slice of lemon tart. He sits at their same table, dropping his toy next to the plate. She was suppose to be his foil, someone to tease and snark with, but under it all there was to be affection.
There is no affection. There should be, his clever mind and clever fingers made it so. He pokes the tart with his fingertip. Before sticking it in his mouth, he stares at the lemon goo, wondering about what made the doctor choose such a thing.
Every imprint is full of inconsequential details like preferred colors and childhood memories, all chosen by him. He doesn’t remember if he made her prefer salty to sweet or bitter over sour.
The tart is sour and sweet and a little creamy on his tongue. Topher wants to ask why-why this why him-but cannot. He has a feeling his files are no longer accurate. There are parts of her somehow beyond his knowing. But not to Boyd.
He pushes the plate away, done. Flicking his fingers into a flawless Kamikaze, Topher shoulders past Alvarez on the way out, reminding himself it is not jealousy he feels.
Author Ersatz Fiction (
duh_i_read )
Rating PG
Word Count 585
Prompt133 (surprised, confused, sweet,)
Characters/Pairing Claire/Boyd implied, Topher/Claire UST
A/N: Spoilers for Omega.
It is not jealousy Topher feels that one odd day, wandering into the handlers dinning room to see Dr. Saunders and Boyd eating together. No. Simply surprise: agoraphobia was a necessary part of her imprint, he wasn't sure she even left the main floor except for the staff meetings.
So to see Dr. Saunders here, where the handlers ate, laughing with Boyd- the same Boyd who smiled less then she did-was unnerving.
He slid in line, watching as she stole bites of tart from a plate between them. Topher had seen that shy flirty look before in numerous Whiskey engagements, never this one. It’s a look he had always been found of, one the clients found irresistible, but never for his sake.
It is not jealousy he feels, twirling his yo-yo tight. No. Only lingering frustration: his newest imprint for Echo is giving him trouble and after snapping at Ivy for the trillionth time, had to get out. Instead of pacing his office, he’s been prowling the Dollhouse for the better part of two hours with a yo-yo, practicing all the tricks he and Marty Lin spent a summer doing instead of their thesis research.
After tugging his yo-yo in a Skin-the-Gerbil, the Thai Chi instructor in front of him turns, giving him a dirty look, but the doctor spots him, her look folding into a scowl. Boyd turns his head a little, catching Topher’s gaze.
Boyd’s eyebrow curves up like a question mark and Topher is struck with a sudden urge to confess-something, anything. A curse from the Thai Chi instructor saves him; he apologizes hurriedly and without sincerity for hitting the man in the chin with his toy.
It is not jealousy he feels, after whipping his head around and sees the cream of her lab coat as she leaves, Boyd’s hand on the small of her back. No, just confusion: such casual touching he’s observed her shying away from before. Ok, and maybe a trickle of doubt as she’s acting outside of her parameters-
Agoraphobia, check. Selflessness, check. Mistrust of authority figures, check. Attraction to cool and classically handsome older men, no check. Not even one of the little boxes to place a check in.
He considers leaving, stomping around another part of the Dollhouse, but he is next in line, and though no longer hungry, orders a slice of lemon tart. He sits at their same table, dropping his toy next to the plate. She was suppose to be his foil, someone to tease and snark with, but under it all there was to be affection.
There is no affection. There should be, his clever mind and clever fingers made it so. He pokes the tart with his fingertip. Before sticking it in his mouth, he stares at the lemon goo, wondering about what made the doctor choose such a thing.
Every imprint is full of inconsequential details like preferred colors and childhood memories, all chosen by him. He doesn’t remember if he made her prefer salty to sweet or bitter over sour.
The tart is sour and sweet and a little creamy on his tongue. Topher wants to ask why-why this why him-but cannot. He has a feeling his files are no longer accurate. There are parts of her somehow beyond his knowing. But not to Boyd.
He pushes the plate away, done. Flicking his fingers into a flawless Kamikaze, Topher shoulders past Alvarez on the way out, reminding himself it is not jealousy he feels.