fic: Dollhouse, Topher/Claire
Title: Possessed
Fandom/pairing: Dollhouse ; Topher/Claire
Word count: 519
Notes: Spoilers for "Omega". Written for a whedonland challenge. One of very few attempts to write a pairing that I do not ship, which was a challenge, and a fun one. Feedback appreciated.
All night long, back and forth, back and forth, Claire ran her fingers over her scars. In the morning, she was galvanized.
The manhunt for Alpha and the sudden and strange presence of Ballard had everyone up in arms. No one spared a thought for the manufactured M.D. By the time anyone knew they had to, it would no longer matter.
She strode into Topher’s control room and shut the door. On the table in front of him, she placed her list.
Topher looked down, then up. “What is this?”
“What I want. Passport, credentials, birth certificate, everything in that vein. You’re going to make them for me.”
“Why?”
“I’m leaving, Topher.” Claire could hear her own voice reverberating inside her head, as calm as it had ever been. “I’m taking this body and I’m running, far, and fast. I have nothing left but the person you made me, and I’m fighting for her.”
(What she did not say was that, for all Alpha’s destruction, he had branded this body hers. Her scars scrawled her story across her face, her own story, never the one they had planned for her. She was more than what they had pieced together. She was more than their doll.)
Topher blinked at a point slightly to her right. “I could take this to DeWitt.”
“But you won’t.”
“Oh, yeah? How can you be so sure?”
“You won’t, for the same reason you programmed me to hate you.”
“I don’t… know what you’re - ”
“Yes, you do, and you’re going to help me.”
Topher appeared to struggle for a moment, lost for words. Finally, he came up with one: “Okay.”
Claire read the name aloud. “Sarah Zusy. Was that…” For a moment she had to bite back the ‘me’. “Her?”
Topher shot her a withering glance. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Really?”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” She glanced up at him through her eyelashes. “Topher?”
He looked at his hands. “I know.”
“Thank you.”
“I know.”
“I’ll…” Visit? Write? “I’ll remember this.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”
She didn’t get far.
They left her with Topher while they conferred. Normally, she thought, it would be easy. With Mr. Dominic, it had been easy: he was a traitor. She wasn’t. She was the person they had wanted her to be, utterly. She was her best. It wasn’t easy, but it would happen all the same.
“So,” she said (almost conversational, but her hands were shaking), “The Attic or the chair. It has to be one or the other.”
Topher didn’t look at her as he said, “They’re short operatives.”
Claire nodded.
She said, “I don’t hate you.”
And, “Don’t smile. I just insulted your intellect.”
Topher almost laughed.
Claire said, Please.
Topher said, Forgive me.
No one in the room heard a word.
(The next day, a man in a lab coat would say, “Good morning, Whiskey. I’m Dr. Saunders. Let’s see what we can do about those scars, shall we?”)
Shhhhh.
“Did I fall asleep?”
“For a little while.” (If his voice caught, there was no one to hear it.)
Fandom/pairing: Dollhouse ; Topher/Claire
Word count: 519
Notes: Spoilers for "Omega". Written for a whedonland challenge. One of very few attempts to write a pairing that I do not ship, which was a challenge, and a fun one. Feedback appreciated.
All night long, back and forth, back and forth, Claire ran her fingers over her scars. In the morning, she was galvanized.
The manhunt for Alpha and the sudden and strange presence of Ballard had everyone up in arms. No one spared a thought for the manufactured M.D. By the time anyone knew they had to, it would no longer matter.
She strode into Topher’s control room and shut the door. On the table in front of him, she placed her list.
Topher looked down, then up. “What is this?”
“What I want. Passport, credentials, birth certificate, everything in that vein. You’re going to make them for me.”
“Why?”
“I’m leaving, Topher.” Claire could hear her own voice reverberating inside her head, as calm as it had ever been. “I’m taking this body and I’m running, far, and fast. I have nothing left but the person you made me, and I’m fighting for her.”
(What she did not say was that, for all Alpha’s destruction, he had branded this body hers. Her scars scrawled her story across her face, her own story, never the one they had planned for her. She was more than what they had pieced together. She was more than their doll.)
Topher blinked at a point slightly to her right. “I could take this to DeWitt.”
“But you won’t.”
“Oh, yeah? How can you be so sure?”
“You won’t, for the same reason you programmed me to hate you.”
“I don’t… know what you’re - ”
“Yes, you do, and you’re going to help me.”
Topher appeared to struggle for a moment, lost for words. Finally, he came up with one: “Okay.”
Claire read the name aloud. “Sarah Zusy. Was that…” For a moment she had to bite back the ‘me’. “Her?”
Topher shot her a withering glance. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Really?”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” She glanced up at him through her eyelashes. “Topher?”
He looked at his hands. “I know.”
“Thank you.”
“I know.”
“I’ll…” Visit? Write? “I’ll remember this.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”
She didn’t get far.
They left her with Topher while they conferred. Normally, she thought, it would be easy. With Mr. Dominic, it had been easy: he was a traitor. She wasn’t. She was the person they had wanted her to be, utterly. She was her best. It wasn’t easy, but it would happen all the same.
“So,” she said (almost conversational, but her hands were shaking), “The Attic or the chair. It has to be one or the other.”
Topher didn’t look at her as he said, “They’re short operatives.”
Claire nodded.
She said, “I don’t hate you.”
And, “Don’t smile. I just insulted your intellect.”
Topher almost laughed.
Claire said, Please.
Topher said, Forgive me.
No one in the room heard a word.
(The next day, a man in a lab coat would say, “Good morning, Whiskey. I’m Dr. Saunders. Let’s see what we can do about those scars, shall we?”)
Shhhhh.
“Did I fall asleep?”
“For a little while.” (If his voice caught, there was no one to hear it.)