Title: The Times We Had Before
Rating: PG
Warnings: Nada
Word Count: 2,165
Spoilers: Through 1.12, Omega.
Characters/Pairing: Topher, Dr. Claire Saunders/Whiskey, Adelle
Disclaimer: I don't own, that privelege belongs to Joss Whedon and (unfortunately) FOX.
Author's Notes: With all the speculation that's been going around thanks to their scene at the end of the finale, I couldn't really help myself. So, yeah, this is pure speculation on my part, but once it got into my head it just wouldn't leave. And also--FINALLY! Dollhouse fanfic! It's about time, self. Also, unbeta'd, as a warning. Any mistakes, please tell me. =)
Summary: He almost wished he could tell her that 'Claire' was more real for her than 'Dr. Saunders' ever was.

Topher Brink swiveled in his chair, expression dark and heart heavy as he rested his chin in his hand. His gaze drifted over to the imprinting chair as it mocked him in its silent inactivity, and he narrowed his eyes at it, briefly, before he pushed himself up and stalked towards his fridge. He tugged the door open, hand instinctually reaching for a soda before he paused, hovering over it a second until he changed his trajectory and snagged the single can of beer he had been saving for months instead.

He popped it open in an instant, taking a long, deep swig as if it alone could burn the question out of his memory.

"Why did you decide that it was so important for me to hate you?"

For the first time in nearly seven years, Topher let himself cry.

January 27th, 1999, 8:39 a.m.

The sound of clear, ringing laughter resounded through the park, interrupting the early-morning silence with its carefree sound.

"I can't believe it!" The voice was distinctly female. "My little brother--little Christopher Brink--making a scientific breakthrough just in time for his eighteenth birthday."

"I know, right?" Topher grinned at his sister, eyes shining as he shoved his hands awkwardly into his pockets. "Dr. Rose and I have been working on this thing since I was thirteen. I can't believe we've figured it out."

"You're a genius, Chris." she wrapped an arm affectionately around his shoulders, giving it a short squeeze before releasing him again. "I knew you'd figure it out eventually."

"Thanks, Claire," Topher said, smile alighting his face for a second more before it faltered, his expression becoming serious. "Look, you can't tell anyone about this, okay? Dr. Rose says the world isn't ready to know that this kind of technology exists. We could lose everything if the word got out even a little bit." Claire laughed.

"I know, Chris. You tell me every time you talk about it that it's 'super-top-secret'--" she air-quoted it, nudging him with her elbow. "--you don't have to worry about me spilling the beans. When have I ever let you down?"

"You never have, Claire," he responded honestly. Claire smiled, hoisting her nerf gun up and pointing it at him, smirking devilishly.

"Happy birthday, Dr. Brink."

"Aren't you curious to see who you really are?"
"I know who I am."

"Dr. Saunders?" Topher's voice was hoarse, slurring just a little even though he knew he wasn't drunk. He may be a lightweight, but it took more than one can of beer to render his judgement foggy. "Dr. Saunders, you in here?"

"What do you want, Topher?" Her voice broke through from the back room and she appeared a second later, her expression still as steeled as it had been just a few hours ago.

Topher opened his mouth to speak, and it opened and closed a few times before he finally said, "DeWitt told me t' tell you Victor still needs to be looked at." Dr. Saunders--Claire--Whiskey--he wasn't sure what to call her anymore--nodded resolutely, moving quickly past him, and Topher swallowed hard before starting, "Claire--"

She paused momentarily, shoulders tensing. "You will address me as Dr. Saunders, Dr. Brink. That's the only thing that I'm going to believe is real from now on."

She disappeared around the corner, and Topher let out a slow breath. He almost wished he could tell her thatClaire was more real for her than Dr. Saunders ever was.

August 28th, 2002, 1:04 a.m.

The call came to him in the middle of the night, when he had been cataloguing Alpha's imprints. DeWitt delivered the message herself, and the moment she stepped into his imprinting room Topher knew something must have gone seriously, completely wrong.

She told him there had been an accident--a car crash on the highway that had resulted in a cataclysmic chain of cars and bodies and injuries. His parents had been killed on impact.

His sister, however, had emerged seemingly unharmed. A miracle, DeWitt had said they called it, that the car they had crashed into had turned at such an angle that it had entirely missed the driver's seat, even as the entire right half had been crushed.

Topher knew his sister. To Claire it would have been the exact opposite of a miracle. He gave a stumbling speech to DeWitt, and the next thing he knew he was being chauffeured in a police car, by an imprinted Oscar, towards the hospital. They were there within five minutes, and Topher clumsily unbuckled his seatbelt and rushed inside.

"Claire Brink," he breathed to the receptionist as soon as he could, and she glanced through her papers before motioning briefly down a hall and giving a room number.

When Topher cracked the door open Claire didn't give any recognition to his presence; she just sat there, staring blankly out the small window in her room.

"Claire?" His voice wavered slightly as he stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. "Claire-Bear? It's me."

"They're dead," Claire whispered, tone hollow as her gaze remained fixed on the buildings outside. "They're both dead."

Topher swallowed thickly, tears stinging at his eyes as he sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. His sister still wouldn't look at him. "I know. I know."

"It's my fault," Claire laughed tonelessly, and Topher gripped her by the shoulder and turned her to look at him. The distant expression in her eyes broke his heart.

"Claire, this isn't your fault," he told her firmly, pleadingly.

"I was driving," she murmured, blinking slowly. "I hit the other car. They didn't hit us, I hit them, and then everyone hit each other."

"That doesn't mean it's your fault," Topher argued weakly. "It's not, okay? I don't blame you. Please don't do this to yourself."

"Why not?" She snapped at him, and Topher blinked at the sudden display of emotion as the tears started building up in her eyes. "I deserve it, Chris! God, why didn't I die too!?"

He drew her to her into a hug immediately, and Claire sobbed the most heart-wrenching sobs he had ever heard into his shoulder. He held her lightly, comfortingly, and he managed to keep his own sadness at bay until she murmured brokenly, "You have to make me forget."

The tears spilled out of his eyes.

Whiskey had been an excellent addition to the Dollhouse. She was beautiful, soft and lovely in a way that not many of the other Actives could measure up to. Sure, they were elegantly attractive as well, but none of them had the aura of it that Whiskey seemed to hold.

Everyone knew that Whiskey was Topher's favourite. He was extra gentle with her, always insisting on being the one to lead her to the chair when the time came and helping her settle into it. She smiled at him, innocent and carefree as she thanked him for his help. He always smiled tenderly back, brushing her hair out of her face before heading towards his computers and sifting through her different personas for the particular one they needed.

If anybody noticed how much his shoulders seemed to sag at those times, as if with extra weight, they never said anything.

August 28th, 2002, 2:37 p.m.

Topher shuffled the cell phone awkwardly from hand to hand, glancing from it to his sister in a rapid succession.

"You do realize--you realize what you're asking me to do, don't you?" He pleaded, but that argument had been gone for well over three hours by then. Claire held his gaze steadfastly, and Topher let out a shuddering sigh. "I hate this. Why are you asking me to do this?"

"You don't have problems doing it to other people, Chris," Claire reminded him. "I'm just another person who's going to sign a contract." Topher barked out a laugh, pacing quickly through the room as he waved his free hand through the air.

"No, no you're not just 'another person,' Claire, you're my sister! You're my best friend! You're asking me to erase my best friend from existence!"

"You'll still see me everyday." Topher glared at her for a second before breaking her gaze.

"No, I'll be seeing a shell of you being imprinted again and again to be somebody else's fantasy," he bit out, and he glanced back at her, taking a few steps closer. "You realize that, right? That people are going to be using you for their own gain and pleasure?"

"Make the call, Chris," Claire snapped at him, and Topher's shoulders sagged in defeat. He slid the phone open, pressing a speed dial button before holding it up to his ear.

"Adelle," his voice cracked slightly, "It's Topher. Can I call on that personal favour you owe me now?"

The chaos Alpha had left in his midst was brutal, masses of bodies just strewn carelessly through the entire facility. But Topher didn't really care about that--well, he did, but it was in the back of his mind. He breathed slowly as he picked up a cotton swab, dabbing at Whiskey's face lightly with it. She flinched.

"Why did he hurt me?" She asked him, and Topher bit his lip as he cleaned the blood off. He wished Dr. Saunders hadn't been attacked.

"I don't know, Whiskey," he told her gently, tracing the air above the cuts that were definitely going to be forming irremovable scars with his fingers. "I... I must have made a mistake during his treatment."

"I like treatments," Whiskey mentioned, flinching as Topher pressed the swab back against the cut at her lip. "Am I... not at my best anymore?"

"You're always at your best," he murmured to her, taking her chin in his hand as he studied her face. "You're going to need stitches, but hopefully that's good for now."

"Where is Dr. Saunders?" Whiskey asked, glancing around the room. "I like Dr. Saunders."

"Dr. Saunders isn't coming back," he whispered, tearing his gaze away from her face and squeezing his eyes shut. "At least--" There was a cough in the doorway, and Topher opened his eyes to look at DeWitt. He let out a shaky breath, his eyes sad as he gazed back towards Whiskey. "Whiskey, would you like your treatment now?"

Her eyes glowed. "Yes, please." Topher offered her his hand, and she took it without hesitation.

"Who is she going to be?" DeWitt asked him in a low voice, and Topher swallowed lightly.

"Dr. Claire Saunders; she's been working here for three years as the physician. Alpha attacked her in his rampage but didn't kill her because of the kindness she's always shown the Actives."

DeWitt raised an eyebrow. "Claire? Are you sure that is--"

"Don't worry," Topher cut her off, "she's not going to like me." He smiled bitterly. "Besides, Claire always wanted to be a doctor."

August 30th, 2002, 5:43 p.m.

Topher led Claire silently through the Dollhouse and into the room, a wedge firmly locked in his arm. DeWitt was already waiting, with a man Topher assumed would be her handler.

"Hello, Miss Brink," DeWitt greeted, tone professional as it always was. "I assume you remember all the conditions of the contract?"

"Yes," Claire whispered, heading directly for the chair and settling into it. "I do. Just... get this over with." Her gaze flitted over to her brother. "Chris?"

Topher smiled weakly at her. "They call me Topher here, sis." She laughed weakly.

"Topher, then," she corrected herself. "I... I'll miss you."

"Me, too," he murmured back, placing the wedge in the slot.

"Is it going to hurt?" Claire asked, and Topher nodded sadly.

"A little, but you... you won't remember." He took her hand in his, squeezing it affectionately. "I swear, Claire, as long as you're here I will never let anything happen to you."

"Promise?" She held out her pinky, and Topher laced his own with it without a second thought.

"Promise," he told her, and then he was back at his computers, clacking away on the keyboards. He gazed back at her after a few minutes, and she nodded in understanding and let her head fall into place. Topher's finger hovered above the button for a moment before pressing down, and he shut his eyes as his sister's memories transferred from her mind to the wedge. When it finally died down DeWitt was the one that switched it out, setting her wedge gently on Topher's desk and setting the Active's in. He pressed the button again, and turned around slowly as the machine whirred to a stop. Claire's face blinked back at him for a moment before a lazy smile stretched over her face.

"Hello, Whiskey," he greeted, "How are you feeling?"

"Did I fall asleep?" She asked, and Topher nodded slowly.

"For a little while, yes."

END.

Comments would be loved and adored. Seriously. :)

-WS