Grand Minister of Physical Health
Strike one is a cough. Cosima tries to pass it off as an intentional, but she can feel Delphine's gaze burning into the back of her neck. She warily peeks over her shoulder at the woman and is greeted by a sternly raised eyebrow.
Strike two is a sneeze. When she catches Delphine's eye reluctantly, the woman's brow is furrowed. She tosses a box of tissues towards Cosima – a warning shot.
Strike three is an ugly cough-sneeze combination. Cosima reaches for a tissue but finds a pair of thighs blocking the path. She looks up from her journal articles to find Delphine standing over.
When her respiratory illness resolved completely six months ago, Cosima figured she was in the clear. However, a certain willowy blonde was not ready to relinquish her position as Grand Minister of Cosima's Physical Health. From the flu, to colds, to nosebleeds, Delphine had been relentless. Cosima had a papercut last week could swear Delphine nearly amputated the entire finger, just to be thorough. It was sweet…and very annoying.
"Three strikes and I'm out, huh?" She gives a sigh of defeat, and reaches around those (very attractive) legs for a tissue.
Delphine responds only with a curt nod towards the bedroom. She stands in front of Cosima, arms crossed and face stern, looking uncannily like Cosima's grandmother that first night Cosima came home stoned.
"Delphine," she says in a low smooth voice, as one might use to calm a wild beast. Rising, she finds herself being slowly herded across the room.
"Hey," Cosima tries to joke, "Isn't my deep voice sexy? One of the many benefits of a cold, huh?"
Delphine doesn't even crack a smile, looking uncharacteristically menacing, advancing forward.
"Dude, it's just a cold," Cosima says, raising her hands as she walks backwards, matching Delphine step for step. "No big deal."
"Yes, of course," Delphine says with mock nonchalance, shrugging, "No big deal."
"It's just a cold," Cosima repeats, trying again to reason with her crazy scientist as she passes through the bedroom door, with no affect. "You're an immunologist! This is totally irrational."
Delphine points threateningly over Cosima's shoulder towards the bed.
"Delphine." She tries to sound firm, tries to match the look of deadly determination in her girlfriend's eyes. It's of no use though, as her calves hit the bed and she topples backwards.
Arms crossed, the tall woman blocks the doorway, clearly satisfied.
"I thought we talked about this after the Great Flu Imprisonment of 2014," Cosima pleads, as she scoots up the mattress.
"You talked." Delphine tosses a highlighter and the stack of journal articles onto the bed. "I did not listen." With this she spins on her heel and leaves, but not before Cosima catches a glimpse of the triumphant smirk on her face.
Cosima sighs and flops back against the headboard. From the kitchen come the faint tick of the stove pilot light and the clink of tin cans shifting in the cabinet.
"I'm not eating soup!" Cosima shouts, sounding quite like a four-year-old. "You can't make me!"
"The noodles are shaped like rabbits," Delphine hollers back, matter-of-factly, as though this nullifies the protest altogether.
"Bunnies," Cosima grumbles quietly as she uncaps the highlighter with her teeth and settles the journal articles on her bent knees. "They're bunnies. No self-respecting rabbit noodle would be in canned soup."