Work Text:
Topher dreams. Hell, who doesn't? Spring cleaning for the brain. In his dreams he's, well, like himself, but happier, a thousand versions of happy.
He only has one nightmare.
It's not true, of course.
He's not a --
Because he'd know if he was…that and he knows that he isn't. He has memories, good memories, real ones, that go all the way back, solid and his.
Then a Doll gets up out of the chair, a lifetime of implanted memories gleaming bright behind eager eyes and he thinks of Claire, so certain she was real, and knows he'll wake screaming.
