"Topher, did you sleep in one of the pods last night?"
Topher jerks to a stop, skittish, guilty. His eyes range about, landing anywhere but her face. "No, no. I didn't sleep anywhere," he says. "Just sat. No sleeping took place." His arms are full of books, papers, files, the results of his nighttime raid on his own office. The sleeping chamber he's claimed is looking more and more his.
Claire sighs, looking pained. "You should sleep out on the main floor with the others. Nobody's supposed to wander off alone."
He shakes his head emphatically. "I don't want to be around them. They hate me. They'll kill me. It's my fault they're here." Three books slip from his shaking hands, and he makes no move to grab them.
Claire reaches out a gentle hand and makes a slow move toward Topher, like he's an animal likely to start and run off. "No one wants to kill you. We're all protecting each other in here."
He steps away from her until his back hits the glass wall behind him, the barrier to the sleeping chamber. "And they're always talking and praying and hoping. I can't stand it. I can't sleep with the noise."
It very nearly kills her to see him like this, paranoid and barely holding on. He never talks to anyone but Adelle and herself, and if he starts cutting them off she just knows they'll lose him for good. She never thought she'd be his ally in here. "Please don't sleep in the pod, Topher," she whispers.
He's still trying to back away with nowhere to go. "Why not? They were good enough for the Dolls, they're good enough for me. Quiet. Alone. Where else can I get that?"
"You could sleep with me," Claire says suddenly.
Topher stops moving and gives her a funny look.
She clarifies, "My cot is in my office. I'm the only one who sleeps there, and it's very quiet."
He still looks uneasy, but he's stopped squirming. She closes the bit of distance between them, and he lifts his books and things protectively in front of his chest. He flinches when her fingers brush his arm, but then instantly and unconsciously leans toward that touch. "You would…I could…I guess that would be okay," he stutters out.
Claire eases the books from his hands, and Topher reluctantly lets her. She takes his arm and gently pulls him toward her office, far away from the sleeping chambers and the pods.
Topher is still fidgety and shaky. Claire forces him to lie down on her cot, pulls the blanket over him, and tells him to sleep. She settles down with her back to him, feeling his body heat and hearing his quick breathing. He keeps moving, twitches and jerks, and it's not like she sleeps much anyway these days, but she had held some vague hope this arrangement would offer both of them some degree of peace.
Her mind runs through ways of calming him down, but most of them involve medications she just doesn't have anymore. There's too much already running through his system, anyway. "Topher, please," she tries in her most soothing voice. "Please sleep. You need to."
He tries to be still, she can feel it in the way he tenses up beside her. For her sake, not his. Her mind is forming bad plans and she's desperate and maybe she's convincing herself a bit too easily, but it is the end of the world. He's so close and the heat is radiating off of him and he won't settle down.
Claire rolls over and reaches for him, placing her hands on his chest, and he tenses up even further. His face registers a mix of surprise and suspicion. "You're trying to mess with me again," he accuses quietly. He still looks like he might bolt at any moment.
"I'm trying to help."
He laughs, a hollow, fragile sound. "Help me or you?" A moment's pause and the dark amusement fades. "Aren't you waiting for somebody?" he asks in a low tone.
Claire glances away, hiding the flash of emotion, of memory, that rises in her eyes. "He's not coming back," she confesses. It's the first time she's admitted that, even to herself.
Topher's hand curls over her waist and crawls slowly up her back. He lifts his head from the mattress and rises to meet her.
It's okay, she thinks, closing her eyes. This is what people do in tragedies, reach out to someone unexpected. A bit of shared comfort derived from old hatred is nothing notable.
She doesn't fall asleep yet, instead reaches out to press her palm against his side and feel the steady resting rhythm of his breath.
Her fingers slide up past his shoulder and dip toward his neck. The pulse she finds there is strong and even.
The space beside her is cold and empty, and Claire sits up quickly and frantically scans the room. She relaxes when she finds Topher near the far wall, peering through one of the clear glass windows of her office out into the rest of the Dollhouse.
He's mumbling to himself. "One phone call. No analog cables, no lights. Two seconds, tops. Took it from Alpha, and they took it from me." He leans forward, lets his forehead rest against the glass. "Maybe Alpha could take it back?" A nervous, jittery chuckle. "Or maybe Alpha could slice your face off, how about that?"
Claire frowns. What he's saying is too coherent to be considered babbling, but it's still disheartening. He's been doing so well lately, staying close to her and not going anywhere near the sleeping chambers. Relatively lucid, as much as any of them are. "Topher?" she calls out.
He jumps and twists around, relaxes only slightly when he realizes who it is. "Do you think this is the Ark?" he asks.
"What?"
"The Ark. A safe haven while the tide comes in and cleanses the world."
"Are you making a Biblical reference?" Claire asks, concerned. Science, literature, and obscure pop culture she's all heard come out of his mouth, but religion was something he'd go to great lengths to avoid. "I don't think the Ark was underground," she offers.
He turns back around, rests his arm against the window and his head against his arm. "Can't keep ourselves afloat," he sighs.
Claire gets up and walks over to stand beside him. Looking out onto the main floor, she can see where the comparison came from. Most of the people have managed to pair up, people who were probably never even meant to meet each other.
Two by two with the storm all around them.
As a doctor, Claire knows enough to add up the symptoms and make her own diagnosis, knows the point where reasonable doubt becomes foolish denial, knows how to hide it from the others long enough to be sure.
Not that anyone's paying much attention.
She rests a hand idly over her still-flat stomach and runs a mental list of who she should tell and who she can afford to keep in the dark. Adelle, obviously. She knows everything that goes on in the House. It would probably be wise to inform Davidson, too. He's a doctor who signed up with them a few years back to escape the fallout from a malpractice suit. That's not particularly reassuring, but he's the best they have besides Claire, and he does have some experience in this area.
One of the former Actives is due to deliver in a month or so and could probably offer some perspective, but the idea of sharing this with anyone when it isn't strictly necessary makes Claire feel a bit ill (nausea associated with increased levels of circulating hormones and other bodily changes).
She hesitates when she reaches Topher on her mental list. Boyd has been gone nearly two years now, so the question of paternity really isn't a question at all. He ought to know, but she's not certain adding to his stress level is wise at this point. And there's an old, bitter part of herself (he says it wasn't programmed, but it's still hard to wipe away) that just doesn't want to tell him out of spite.
It's a stupid thought. Topher would figure it out within a week or two. He's not that far gone, and after all, he knows her better than anyone (that's not hyperbole).
There's really nothing to be done about it down here besides wait it out.
Topher is shockingly, childishly eager, and Claire is sure he doesn't understand the full extent of the situation.
Still, it's an outcome she hadn't predicted. The haziness behind his eyes has receded a little. He has one more reason to hang on to himself, one more reason to keep from curling up in one of the sleeping pods and fading away.
"Did you know the neural tube begins to form about five weeks into fetal development? It's an early precursor, but it'll eventually differentiate into the brain and the spinal cord."
"I did know that. I'm a doctor."
"People like to point out the heartbeat and the tiny little fingernails, but it's the brain that's really interesting."
Topher sitting on the floor in front of her, resting his chin on her knee. His fingertips brush across her stomach, where she is just beginning to show a slight swell.
He leans forward, whispers through her skin, "Never answer the phone, okay?"
The Dollhouse has been amazingly quiet for some months now, and no one expected it to last much longer. The watch sounding the alarm is almost comforting.
The security breach happens in the early morning, and Claire is awake, dressed, and picking up a gun on her way to the door within minutes. Everyone who can hold a weapon has been taught to use one. Soon Adelle will probably insist she join the ranks of those who can't hold one, but they'll both put that off as long as possible. Claire is a hell of a shot (she wonders if she's retaining something from an old imprint).
The intruders are small time, mindless killing drones who stumbled upon them by chance. It's a relief. There's worse out there actually looking for them. Claire winds up on one of the back lines, charged with stopping anyone who slips past the main onslaught.
One of these invaders is particularly evasive, forcing his way past the front line and turning sharply to escape the others. Claire gives the entry point an uneasy glance, but she realizes nobody else is going to break away to stop him. She ducks behind one of their own gunmen and gives chase.
She's nearly got him, catching him before he reaches anyone unarmed. He's slowing, and she just needs a clear shot.
Then he turns around, faster than an ordinary, un-imprinted human could, and a gun goes off but it isn't hers. There's a sharp pain in her leg and she stumbles, and then the butt of a gun is shoved roughly into her gut and she's off-balance.
Claire crumples to the floor cringing. There are tears in her eyes, and pain is clouding her vision. She looks up and sees her attacker moving away, bored with her now that she's down. She picks up her weapon again without stopping to think, steadies it in her shaking hands, and fires off a bullet through his chest.
He goes down, and she lets the gun slip from her grasp. No one else has gotten through. The defense is working.
Claire looks down at herself. There's blood, a lot of it, and it's not all coming from the gunshot wound.
This isn't a good thing, she thinks numbly. She can't quite think of why, though.
They don't let Topher have a gun. He's gotten too twitchy, and his grip on reality isn't certain enough to be trusted. He's supposed to stay hidden with the others when there's a breach.
He doesn't.
He's panicking and trying to pick Claire up, and she's bleeding and looking up at him in a dazed way. "You're not supposed to be out here," she says, voice faint.
"You're not supposed to be shot," he responds. He gets a good grip on her and lifts.
Blood is dripping down her legs, onto him, onto the floor.
"The gunshot wound wouldn't have been a big deal, but the blood loss and the trauma to the abdominal region induced a miscarriage. Couldn't do anything about that. Saunders will recover, though. You got her here quickly enough."
Topher is gazing past him into the infirmary, looking entirely blank. Davidson tilts his head. "Do you understand?" he asks. He's never quite sure what's going on with this kid.
Topher's gaze flicks briefly to the doctor's face. "Yes," he replies simply, and he edges around him to enter the room. Claire is staring at him from the exam table, awake but not saying a word.
Davidson turns and follows him. "Hey. She needs to rest. And you need to get yourself cleaned up."
The front of Topher's shirt is drenched in blood. He can feel it seeping through and clinging to his skin, and he's been covered in blood more than once and it's never been good. "I'm fine. Perfect," he lies. He reaches out but lets his hand hover above Claire's shoulder, afraid to touch her.
Claire shakes her head sharply. "Go clean up, Topher," she mumbles, "before you start having a panic attack."
He jerks his hand away and takes a step back, nodding dumbly.
Topher stands in the shower area fully dressed for a long time, letting the water run down his face and soak through his clothes. Staring at the floor, he can see a pink stream flowing toward the drain, but most of the blood is still on him. He slowly peels his shirt away, pulling it over his head and letting it dangle from his fingertips.
He hears footsteps, turns around sharply to train a terrified eye on the direction they're coming from.
"What are you doing here?" He recognizes the commanding tone and slight New York accent before the owner of the voice comes into view. Victor (who has another name now, but he can't remember it, can't remember much of anything, and Victor works well enough for now).
Topher blinks water out of his eyes. "Cleaning up," he replies.
"Well, you chose a hell of a time. You know we do a count after every breach, right? DeWitt flipped when no one could find you." Victor stops and takes in Topher's bloodied state. "Did you get shot?"
Topher shakes his head. "No," he says, voice cracking. "Claire did. And she miscarried. It's her blood."
Victor's eyebrows shoot up. "She's pregnant?"
"Was," Topher corrects. "Not so much anymore. It's just blood now." He wrings out his shirt, and the water runs red for a moment. "Consequences. Bodies going down the drain."
Victor watches the blood wash away and gives Topher an uneasy look. "Did you take your meds today?" he asks.
Topher laughs to himself. "How could I? The doctor is out."
It's not a place or time for anyone to grow up, certainly not with a madman and a broken doll to raise them.
Claire tells herself that a few more times, pressing her fingers gingerly against her abdomen and testing the pain. The gunshot feels worse, really. She's healing well, will back on her feet soon. That's months less time that she'll be forced to neglect her work.
Her hand falls to rest just below her navel.
She would have resented it anyway.
"You're recovering well, Dr. Saunders. I'm glad to see that."
"Thank you."
Adelle continues to stand in the doorway, though she doesn't speak. Her businesslike expression is fading in favor of a more conflicted one, like she's weighing several difficult options in her head. Finally, she seems to come to a decision, sighing in painful resignation and saying, "Claire, the last thing I want to do is push you so soon after this unfortunate experience, but there's a patient that you need to see to as quickly as possible."
Claire looks down and takes a deep breath. "I know. I've been told."
"I wish I could ask it of someone else, but he doesn't trust Davidson and I don't have the expertise to help him." Adelle takes a step into the room, letting her voice drop. "I am sorry."
Claire shakes her head and gently shifts on the bed, sliding her feet to the floor. "No. It's fine." She's the one who needs to take care of him anyway. She gropes for her lab coat and shrugs it on.
Adelle strides forward and offers her hand to keep Claire steady while she stands. "Thank you for your understanding," she whispers.
He looks worse than she's ever seen him, even when including the day of his first real breakdown. There are no hysterics this time, but the end result…
Someone had helped her walk this far. Claire sends them away and limps the last few feet toward the pods. "Topher?" she says quietly.
Topher jerks his head up to look at her over the rim, and his eyes go wide. That's all the warning she gets before the frantic speech begins. "You. You're okay. They told me…wouldn't let me see…when they sent me away, they wouldn't. I thought. You're here, and they wouldn't tell me - !"
"Shhh." Claire kneels down as quickly as she can manage without wincing and reaches out, cupping the side of his face with her hand. "It's okay. I'm here, and I'm alright."
The touch cuts him off for a moment, makes him look up and meet her eyes, but his silence is short-lived. "Oh God," he whispers, gaze dropping away, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Topher. Topher," Claire raises her voice, a little frantic. How could he possibly get this bad so quickly? She brings her other hand over and cradles his face between her palms, tries to stay calm so she can calm him down. She trains her voice back into a soothing murmur. "Nothing that happened is your fault." And that's not nearly as true as she wishes it was, but it's all she can think to say.
He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, curling his fingers around both her wrists. "Ruined," he mumbles. "Sorry…"
Claire sighs. Just talking to him clearly isn't going to work, but maybe he's settled down enough to leave him for a few minutes. She leans back and gently tries to pull away from him. "I'll be right back, okay?"
Topher panics. He lets go of her wrists and grabs higher up on her left arm with both hands. He pulls her back down toward him and presses his mouth roughly against hers. It's desperate and confused, not the tentative, delicate gesture he usually makes it into.
Claire suddenly feels sick, like she's violating an innocent. Topher doesn't fully know what he's doing. He can't possibly in this state. She doesn't respond, pushes back on his shoulders to pull away. "Don't," she breathes weakly. "Please."
He looks lost and hurt, and his hands are still gripping her sleeve. She gently pries his fingers loose, and he clings to her hand as she slowly stands, only letting go once she's too far away to reach. Claire runs a shaky hand across her face, drags it nervously through her hair. "I'll," she begins, but her voice cracks and she has to start again, "I promise I'll be right back. I'll bring you something that'll help. It'll make you feel better."
"Everything's broken," he says softly. He's staring at her, puzzled and pleading.
She turns around.
"No. No no no no. Can't be in here. You can't. Keep on breaking you again and again. I won't do it anymore. I won't."
"Topher, I just want you to take your medicine, and then I'll leave. It'll help you. Please trust me."
"Can't be here. I just have to work it out…"
She takes a deep, bracing breath before approaching Adelle. By the time she rounds the corner, the emotion is nearly all gone from her face.
"I tried to give him haloperidol, but he won't take anything without you."