[Disclaimer: The dollhouse belongs to Joss Whedon and Fox...I'm just visiting.]
White Roses
He can blame the entire thing on Adelle, Topher realizes. Thank God.
Adelle was away, and Boyd isn't nearly as intimidating, and that s why Topher googled his name instead of designing Sierra's new figure skating imprint.
When one's work is tippy-top secret as Topher s, googling reveals less. Links to (completely brilliant) college papers; photos from conferences. But skimming page twenty of the results, something weird caught his eye.
"The White Rose," the page was titled.
It was a story; like a fanfiction. But about him, and Dr. Saunders.
In love.
It was a tiny bit creepy.
"Claire Saunders leads a normal life," he read, "Or as normal as any other brilliant, sequestered doctor leads-except for her dreams. At night she's caught in Wonderland; always falling, or changing in height, or very kindly asking door knobs to open. And white roses. Fields and fields of white roses. That's what she sees once she opens each door.
"In the middle of the roses is a single man. A fellow genius, her age though he doesn t act it. Topher Brink is sitting in the middle of the field, and when he kisses her she always wakes up."
This is weird, he thought. I should report this. Someone else knows about the Dollhouse. Plus, Adelle would freak; that might be funny. (Or, you know, terrifying.)
But then he thought about Dr. Saunders, and how she would react when she heard. She was shy. It had been weeks after he created her before their first conversation- and after this he doubted she would look him in the eye ever again.
Maybe if he showed it to her privately; didn't update Adelle unless Claire wanted. But then, showing this to Saunders? Again, weird.
There didn't seem to be a way out, so Topher did what any desperate genius would do. He crashed the webpage, set a google alert for any similar posts, and vowed to forget it ever happened.
He couldn't forget it happened.
Every minute with Dr. Saunders was different now. Now there was this possibility, or something, and he was very aware of his own sweat and, well, the awkward. She ignored that as best she could, which was nice of her. She had lots of practice, too, since he suddenly seemed to run into her all the time.
The whole thing could be blamed on Adelle, Topher knew, but the knowledge didn't help like Topher though it would.
He stood next to Claire as they cleared another November, and, desperate to distract her from the image of a girl in pain (which so clearly upset her, why hadn't he ever noticed?), he finally, unwittingly, asked it.
"Dr. Saunders...do you ever dream about roses?"