It's easy enough to find Claire where they dumped her in Rossum's files to make room for Clyde. It's easy enough to separate the data and put it onto a wedge.
Putting the wedge in the chair, having Whiskey sit down and tying her wrists and ankles in case it all goes wrong, hitting the switch to bring her back – that's a little harder.
He's pretty sure Adelle would rather he just bring back the original Claire Saunders from the Alpha aftermath, not this unpredictable update who knows too much.
She tells him, "We need a doctor, nothing more," but her expression is resigned. She already knows what Topher will do.
Echo hovers just outside the doors of the imprint room like she's the hired muscle, poised to intervene. Still reeling from the blow to her sense of trust that was Boyd, she's more become more cautious than ever.
Topher would joke that she's paranoid, but he knows that would be a pot-kettle situation.
Her wariness turns out to be misplaced, though, as Claire doesn't even struggle against the bonds once she's imprinted. She looks physically ill at the prospect of being stuck back in the Dollhouse and won't meet anyone's eye, but she doesn't struggle.
She manages to be subdued without actually being compliant. He questions her about her recent actions, her knowledge of Boyd's intentions, her role in all this, but her answers are all monosyllabic, noncommittal, or both. He asks about her memories, tries to piece together a timeline from when she left the Dollhouse. Out of desperation, he runs through a series of post-imprint questions, meant to test program stability, but she remains unhelpful.
Finally, Topher leans forward and urgently whispers, "They're gonna put you in the holding cell if you won't tell me anything." Her eyes remain downcast, and Topher explains, "We can't let you go until we find out whether or not you're still a danger to us."
She glances up and meets his eyes briefly, looking uneasy, but says nothing.
The holding cell is a brightly lit, square room with a small cot at one end, an obvious two-way mirror at the other, and a chair in the middle. Once or twice a day, someone comes in and sits in the chair while Claire sits on the cot, and they try to coax answers out of her.
It's not always Topher. Paul comes in often, trying to put his interrogation and profiling talents to good use. Echo, sometimes. (Never Adelle, though Claire is sure she's on the other side of the mirror during most of the sessions.) It's usually Topher, though.
It never lasts very long. He gets frustrated or upset quicker than the others. There's something slightly off-center about him, a weight to his shoulders, a neglect to his disheveled appearance that goes beyond simple laziness. She thinks if someone found the right thread, he would unravel. She thinks she may be that thread.
On the days when they actually need her to do her job, somebody escorts her down to her office, watches her like a hawk while she treats her patient, and then escorts her back to the holding cell.
Most of them are strangers, faces she's never seen before with cracked ribs, broken arms, gaping wounds. Claire fixes them all as best she can without a word. She doesn't question where they all come from or how they get such injuries. She doesn't dare ask what the world above looks like now. It's been at least a few years since she's seen it for herself.
The first time, on the walk downstairs, Echo says, "I've been doing what I can for them, but there's only so much the nurse can take care of." She taps the side of her head and offers a humorless smile. Her tone is almost conversational. "And Topher's not really up to building me a doctor skill set from scratch."
Claire nods numbly and keeps her head down.
Paul Ballard, when he speaks to her, reverts to bland professionalism. All "Dr. Saunders" and "What can you tell be about the time leading up to your return to the Dollhouse?" He seems at a loss for how to adapt his methods for a person who doesn't technically exist. From what Claire can remember of him, during those brief intervening months when her mind was too focused on tormenting Topher to pay much attention to anyone else, he hasn't quite grown past his discomfort with imprints. (She thinks of November and doesn't really question it.)
When Echo tries, she seems determined to see a friendship between them. "Claire, I want to be on your side for this one, but you've got to explain what happened." She must not know, then, how close Claire came to attacking her, how only the greatest restraint kept her from picking up that scalpel and slashing Echo's face wide open just to watch the blood ooze out over her expression of dull Active-shock and pain. Sometimes, between treating patients, Claire's fingers still twitch with the desire.
Topher is the most unpredictable. Some days he's bitterly sarcastic, pushing and pushing her until he's forced to give up. Some days he's quiet and melancholy, only offering the smallest pleas for a response. Some days he acts like nothing's changed in years, like they're still just coworkers who don't quite get along, putting on a grin and trying to trade playful jibes with her. But always so frustrated when he leaves.
A few of her patients are familiar. There's a handful of former Dolls in their group, and when she gets enough of them in a row, Claire can almost pretend this is back before the worst of the chaos.
It ruins her illusion some when Victor tries to engage her in casual conversation while she stitches up a cut in his side, talking about people he knew and sports he used to follow and not about how swimming laps helps to make him his best.
The illusion is utterly shattered when Claire has to tell Sierra that her recent complaints of nausea are due to her being several weeks into her pregnancy.
It's almost a month before Topher finally snaps.
They're sitting there, silent, after he's asked a question and she's refused to respond, when he suddenly lunges at her. His hand finds her arm, fingers digging in just below her shoulder, and the chair goes clattering to the ground behind him. "Why won't you just tell me what you remember?" he demands, shaking her. He says, "You're killing me!" and it sounds far too literal for such a common turn of phrase.
With him as her catalyst, Claire breaks, too. She grabs for his wrist and tries to pry herself out of his grip. "Isn't it better to blame me?" Her nails leave indentations in his skin as she spits, "If I did it, does it really matter why?"
There's no winning for her, here.
If Claire Saunders pulled the trigger, she's a murderer.
If something else did, she's just a lie.
"Isn't this better?"
It's silent again. Topher wearily sinks to his knees in front of her. His hand loosens its grip, slides down her arm and withdraws. Claire's nails scratch against his skin as she releases him.
"You can let her go." Topher wraps his arms around himself, shoulders hunched.
Adelle studies him carefully, reaches out to touch his face, then reconsiders. "You're certain?" she says instead.
He nods. "She won't do anything."