Ton rire résonne et puis s'enfuit
Je crois qu'il est trop tard
Pour te dire que ça fait mal

"La Petite Mort" - Coeur de Pirate

"I'm sick, Delphine." The words hit her like a truck, crushing her chest and lungs and ribs, breaking her bones. For a very long moment, as Cosima turns to her, on the verge of tears, she can't breathe. She wants to kiss her, right then in that moment, more than she's ever wanted anything in her entire life, but she can't, not after what she did. She feels like the devil for having lied and kept secrets, for spying and snooping and hurting the person she cared for most in the world in the process, for not trying harder to make Cosima believe that she really was on her side, that all she wanted, all she had ever wanted, to do was to protect her. The look of fear in Cosima's eyes stopped her heart, trampled across her body like a herd of elephants. She reaches out, offering comfort in the only way she can think of doing, hoping that it will be accepted, hoping that it will be enough.

It won't, she knows that. Not now.

She doesn't care when her cheek knocks against the corner of Cosima's glasses, though she sees the brunette's flinch out of the corner of her eye. She feels guilty over how good it feels to be so close to her again. The brunette had practically ended up in her lap while they were working on the code, but it wasn't the same as feeling her, warm and alive, wrapped up in her arms. She holds on as tight as she possibly can, as tight as she dares, not wanting to squeeze too hard, lest depriving Cosima's lungs of air for any amount of time causes a fit of coughing and she doesn't know if she can stand to see. Cosima clings to her, hands tugging, fingers digging into her flesh, trying to pull her closer, and she wants to be closer but she can't. There's hardly any space between them, but it feels like miles.

It was miles, not that long ago, and she never, ever wants that again.

Cosima's body shudders. Delphine tightens her grip, just marginally. Just enough. She strokes her fingers across Cosima's shoulder and along the back of her neck, pushing her face into the curve of her body and breathing in her scent. There's no hint of the perfume she'd worn that first night, that first... date, just the faint remnant of her soap. Just her. She feels the flesh of her neck grow damp, and her heart breaks. Cosima shuffles closer, holds her tighter, and digs her nails in so hard that it hurts, but she represses the wince that threatens to shake her body, not wanting Cosima to let go. She moves her hand up from where it had come to rest against the brunette's back and rubs the nape of her neck, hushing her softly, lips moving against Cosima's skin.

There's no wrenching sob this time, not like when Cosima had confronted her about everything, the last time she had seen her, the last thing she had heard, just before she had shut the door. It's almost worse, knowing that there's so much fear, so much pain, so much uncertainty that it can't be properly expressed, or maybe it's that Cosima is holding back, because Delphine kept those things from her, and despite what they had achieved that evening, there was still hesitance, still a stiffness to her body that hadn't been there before. She tries to coax her into relaxing, constantly muttering against her skin, but she knows her words won't mean anything. She needs to speak with actions, and she will. She swears it to herself, on what she thought she would never feel for the brunette.

All she can do, all she's allowed to do, is hold her, and it kills her.

Delphine's body hurts from staying so long in one position, but she can't bear to let go of Cosima, who's finally stopped crying, her tears soaked into the straps of Delphine's top and bra, and the hem of her shirt. She's still awake, Delphine can tell by her uneven breathing, but she hasn't said a word, not since those horrible three that turned her entire world upside down. Three simple, terrible words. Against her, Cosima stirs, minutely, shifting her form, but still holding on. Sweat and tears stick their flesh together. She shifts her hand, running it down Cosima's back, fingers pulling at her shirt. She lifts her head, brushing her lips and nose across Cosima's neck and sighs.

"Que vais-je faire de toi, ma chérie?" she whispers, her breath ghosting over Cosima's skin. Her throat and mouth are dry, her voice cracks, even as soft as it is.

"Stop talking French," Cosima says, voice muffled and not at all sounding like she normally does. Delphine doesn't want to attribute an emotion to it. "I can't understand it."

"I'm sorry," Delphine says. Cosima ignores it, like she did before, and starts to pull away. Delphine wants to hang on, wants to tighten her grip and keep Cosima safe in her arms forever, but she doesn't. She lets her arms fall, sits back, and watches as Cosima carefully stretches all the knots out of her back and shoulders. She winces when she stands, hands on her hips, then leaves for the bathroom without a word. Delphine listens to the tap run. She pauses outside the bathroom after she emerges, gazing steadily at Delphine, still sat on the sofa. Her eyes are softer than they were before, but the way she's carrying herself is different, like a huge weight as been laid on her shoulders. Delphine supposes it has been.

"Are you hungry?" Cosima finally asks, moving from her spot, past Delphine and into the kitchen. "I don't think there's much, though." Cabinets open and close, boxes and cans shift. "How's pot ramen sound?"

"I've never had it," Delphine admits, twisting her body around to watch Cosima move.

"It's pretty good," the brunette replies, without so much as a glance back. "College kid staple."

"Whatever you would like," Delphine says. Cosima pauses, holding a cup in one hand, as if weighing Delphine's words, considering how much they're worth, before putting water on the stove to boil.

They sit in silence on the couch, only a few inches, a few too many, between them. There's empty styrofoam cups on the table before them. Delphine's been listening as Cosima's breath starts to rattle slightly in her chest, like something is bubbling up inside her lungs. She knows that there is, and she knows that Cosima is holding back, trying to keep it down. She knows that each time a cough shakes her frame, no matter how small and innocent it may be, it's the start of something bigger, and she doesn't want Delphine to see just how scared she is, but Delphine knows that, too. With extreme hesitance, she lifts a hand, and lays it gently on Cosima's knee. When the brunette doesn't pull away, she squeezes, once, then strokes the side of it gently with her thumb. There's a tightness behind her eyes that matches the one in her chest. Cosima huffs out a faint cough, her face scrunched in discomfort. Another follows it, and then another. Delphine tightens her fingers around Cosima's knee again.

"Don't fight it," she says quietly. "It will only make it worse." Delphine doesn't know what exactly she had been expecting, but it certainly isn't the loud, thick, hacking cough that erupts from Cosima's throat, followed by another, and another. She holds a hand over her mouth, the other half gripping Delphine's thigh. Immediately, she lifts her hand from the brunette's knee, ghosting it up her arm and over her shoulder to massage the back of her neck. She can feel the concern plastered on her face. Cosima's fingertips dig into her leg.

It's not until the fit has subsided, and Cosima slumps back into the sofa, looking pale and drained and exhausted, and Delphine sees the red that stains her lips and palm, that the fear really sets in. It strikes suddenly, a cobra, runs through her entire body, filling up her veins like a vicious, deadly poison, painful and precise, designed to kill. With great effort, she keeps her breathing calm, though her heart is primed to burst from her chest. A final check that Cosima is, at least for the moment, okay, and she removes herself from the sofa to grab a paper hand towel from the messy kitchen, seating herself back by Cosima's side as soon as she can. She looks at Cosima's face before making any moves, checking her reactions, but the brunette just stares at her, eyes deep and dark and almost unreadable. Gently, so very gently, she reaches out, touching Cosima's wrist with her fingertips, experimenting with how much she's allowed, then carefully wraps her hand around and softly wipes the blood from where it's pooled in the creases of Cosima's palm, and the joints of her fingers.

She has to breathe before she lets go, long and low, controlled, her hand burning from touching. Cosima's eyes slide shut when Delphine cautiously lifts the towel to her face, a small line appearing between her eyebrows. She has to press harder than she likes to clean Cosima's lips, the blood having already begun to dry and cake.

"There," Delphine says when she's finished, forcing a small smile, like the removal of Cosima's blood has solved the problem. The brunette slides down the sofa, crossing her arm over her stomach and rubbing at her temples with her hand. She sighs. Delphine discards the paper towel, stuffing it into one of the cups on the table, and places her hand on Cosima's leg again. Cosima shifts, shuffles closer, touching Delphine's knees where she's pulled them up, and let her body fall, head colliding softly with Delphine's collarbone.

The door sliding open makes them both jump. Cosima is half asleep, still resting on her shoulder. Delphine's going to have a thousand cricks in her body after the night's over, but it's more than worth it to make sure Cosima continues to know that she's there for her, no matter what. Delphine looks before Cosima does. She associates a name with the face, remembering Cosima's files and charts. She squeezes her fingers, getting Cosima's attention. The brunette looks up, takes one glance at Sarah standing in the doorway, and splits away from Delphine's body, her expression laced with fear and concern.

"Sarah?" she asks, making to stand. "Sarah, what's happened?" Delphine lets her hand slide from Cosima's back, wrapping her arms around herself, watching Cosima cross the room to her sister. They embrace, and Sarah's pain radiates through the entire room. Delphine feels it, even though she knows nothing about the clone, except for the fact that she most definitely does not like her. Sarah doesn't make any noise when she cries, but Delphine knows that she is. She can tell by the shaking of her shoulders, how she clings to Cosima like Cosima was just clinging to her. Cosima glances behind her, meeting Delphine's gaze with a worried look, her brows turned up and her lips pouting.

Cosima repeats the question, strokes Sarah's hair, rubs her back. Delphine, feeling like an intruder, turns away, busying herself with fixing the mess of papers her and Cosima had strewn about the table into an organized pile. She hears Sarah's voice, but it's too soft for her to make out the rushed out words. Cosima's response is more audible, though, and Delphine whips her head back around so fast that she almost gives herself whiplash. Sarah is glaring at her, still sheltered in Cosima's arms, her chin in the dip of her clone's shoulder. Her eyes are red and raw, her face splotchy, bruised, cut, bleeding.

"Do you know where they've gone?" she asks, venom and contempt lacing her tone. Delphine resents the tone, but she knows the reasoning behind it, and knows the only thing keeping Sarah back is Cosima's firm hold. She knows what Sarah said to Cosima without having to ask. Delphine quickly shakes her head in answer.

"I don't know. I am so sorry." She can see the tension building in Sarah's body. She knows she'll lash out sooner or later, and it won't be at Cosima. "I should go," she says, and begins to gather her things, swiftly, her hands shaking.

"Where?" comes Cosima's voice, raspy and light.

"I have a hotel," Delphine replies distractedly, shoving her computer into her bag. A hand on her arm stills her movements, the touch familiar, the contact a surprise. Cosima stares down at her, frowning, questioning. "I think it's better if I leave," she says, her voice soft, apologetic.

"You can't just leave Sarah and I here alone," Cosima argues. She's still frowning, that little line back between her brows. "We can't reach Alison, Kira and Mrs. S are gone and we don't know where Felix is either. You have to stay."

"She's right," Sarah chimes in. Delphine leans back to look around Cosima at the other woman, who's standing awkwardly by the door, now closed, with her arms crossed over her torso, hands hidden under them. "There's no point in you leaving. We could probably use your help, anyway." Cosima gives her a look, one that Delphine knows she wouldn't be able to resist, and even though she knows that Cosima's purposefully staring at her like that, she can't refuse. She sets her bag back down, inhales deeply, and nods.

Sarah finds out that evening. The hacking coming from the bathroom wakes Delphine up in the middle of the night, stirs her from her place on the sofa. Sarah, nursing a bottle a bottle of wine, half-gone, jerks her head up, looking confused, and drunk, and follows Delphine. She lingers though, unsure. Delphine can feel her staring as she rubs Cosima's back until the coughing subsides. When she glances back, through the hanging beads, she catches Sarah's puzzled, worried look. Cosima looks embarrassed when she turns around, briefly resting her forehead against Delphine's shoulder.

"You all right, Cos?" Sarah asks. She takes a step closer, hesitant, almost not wanting to intrude. Delphine moves to the side, gently pushing on Cosima's shoulder to guide her towards her look-a-like. For the second time, Delphine watches them cling to each other. Cosima whispers in Sarah's ear, then clutches tight. Sarah looks at Delphine over Cosima's shoulder for the second time that night, brows furrowed in concern the same way that Cosima's do.

"I'm going to find a cure," Delphine says. Her mind's been made up since those three dreadful words. She would rather die than give up, than live the rest of her life having let Cosima slip away from her.

"Are you?" Sarah asks, and it's full of doubt and hesitation, mistrust.

"Yes," she replies. Firmly, resolutely.

Cosima finds her on the sofa in the dark. The alcohol had gotten the best of Sarah not long after her sister's last fit, and she'd tangled herself up in the bedsheets, Cosima next to her. Delphine can't sleep, as much as she tries to, as tired as she is. Her head is too loud, whirring too fast. She useless without a lab to experiment in, without a library to research in, and she didn't have any of those things now. She wouldn't leave Cosima's side to go back to Minnesota. The only other choice there was as Leekie, and that couldn't really be defined as a choice, not after everything he had done, to her, to the clones. She hears the rustling, but disregards it as nothing more than one of the women shifting in their sleep, but then she hears Cosima's familiar voice drifting through the air, whispering her name. Delphine opens her eyes, waits for her vision to adjust to the darkness, reaching out.

"Cosima?" she says softly. Her hand hits something soft and warm. She spreads her fingers, recognizing the plane of Cosima's stomach, the jut of her hips. The brunette's hand covers hers, slowly flips it over and uses it to guide her body towards the sofa. Delphine shifts sideways, pressing the side of her hip against the back of the sofa, her hand hovering above the brunette's back until she's settled next to her. Their hands stay clasped. Cosima pulls it over, resting it in her lap, and strokes her knuckles, pushing and pulling at her skin with her thumbs. She's silent for a long while. Delphine's vision adjusts enough to differentiate her outline from the rest of the indistinct blackness of the flat. It would be easy to mistake her for Sarah, without her glasses on, without the dreadlocks. The darkness shifts as Cosima lifts her hand up and rubs at her eyes. She leans back, body touching Delphine's legs. She feels a knot in her chest, in her stomach. With her fingertips she kneads the brunette's back through her shirt, waiting.

"I can't sleep," Cosima says. She sighs. Delphine feels her body move, holds her breath as she stretches out along the sofa. There's hardly any room for the both of them, but she tries to help, rotating herself onto her side. Cosima imitates, pressing fully against her front, pillowing her head on her arm, dragging Delphine's over her side and holding it there. She buries her nose at the nape of Cosima's neck.

"How bad is it?" she asks, a stupid question. Cosima will die if she doesn't find a solution.

She will find a solution.

"Every few hours," Cosima tells her. Her voice sounds small, weak. "It feels weird, though, like, all the time." A pause, a sigh. "So I can't sleep." Her heart forms a lump in her throat, pounding loudly and swiftly in her ears. A nervous churning starts in her stomach. Her hand rests against Cosima's stomach, fingertips wedging under her side. Cosima presses more firmly into her in response. She hears her sniff, just once.

"I will fix this," she whispers along Cosima's skin. There's hesitation, but then a nod, and fingers folding over her hand. She brushes her nose up the nape of Cosima's neck, affectionate, comforting, gauging how far she's allowed to go, how much she's allowed to give.

"I just need you to hold me tonight, okay?" Her voice sounds broken, defeated, like admitting to all of this, the sickness, what she needs, is weakness. She hates it. It makes her angry, frustrated. She should already be working on a cure, she should be finding a place to do research without being disturbed. She won't sleep or eat if that's what it takes to fix this faster, to help her, to save her, to prove she can be trusted, to prove that what she feels is true.

"Tes désirs sont des ordres." Cosima's voice echoes in her head, the same words, a different language. A smile, an endearing gaze. She'd felt too guilty after to enjoy the ice cream that Cosima had bought, that they had eaten in bed, trying to keep the last bits of it from dropping onto the sheets, while Cosima showed her an episode of her favourite TV show, and held her hand, and licked chocolate off the corner of her mouth.

"Stop talking French," Cosima mutters, thankfully sounding sleepy. Delphine says awake until she hears Cosima's breathing even, feels the steady rise and fall of her chest, moving her arm with it, until the grip on her fingers loosens, but doesn't drop.

When she does sleep, it's fitfully, and can hardly be called sleep at all. She dreams of red.

Cosima turned into her at some point, after Delphine had finally drifted off, snuggled tight against her body with their legs tangled and her arm curled around Delphine's waist, fingers twisted into her top, head nestled underneath hers, against her chest. Her breath is rattling again, the first thing she notices when she wakes up, blinking her eyes open, feeling more exhausted than she had before. The second thing is that, through sleep-blurred vision, she can make out Sarah sitting in the chair on the other side of the table, watching her sister. She can smell the coffee Sarah's holding, mug cradled between her hands. She doesn't look much better either. There are dark circles under her eyes, and the bruises look worse. She must notice Delphine looking, because her eyes shift, slowly moving from Cosima up, meeting hers. The silence is tense, but she doesn't look away, doesn't allow herself to lose. Sarah's lips twitch, tightening, then she sighs and takes a drink.

"Do you want some?" She nods, relaxes her body against Cosima while Sarah puts down her cup and gets to her feet with a wince, visibly sore. She doesn't speak again until she's handed Delphine a mug, which she's careful to not spill, balancing it on the arm of the sofa while she wiggles herself into a position better suited to drinking without waking up the woman with a vice grip on her waist. "I heard her get up," Sarah continues, holding her mug again. Delphine supports herself with an elbow on the couch arm, her free hand resting against the back of Cosima's neck, who nuzzles into her stomach, but otherwise doesn't move. "After the... She was coughing a bit, but, I guess she settled down."

"I will cure her, Sarah," Delphine says. Her fingers tighten around the ceramic of her mug, the heat from it burning the skin of her palm. "And we will find Kira, I swear it. I'll do whatever I can." Sarah considers her, nods, and closes her eyes, sinking into the chair. The number of similarities between her and Cosima are almost startling, she thinks, watching. She sips at her coffee, rubbing Cosima's neck. It's a bit burnt, but welcome, and after what Sarah's been though she's surprised she's having coffee at all, and didn't just open another of the copious bottles of wine that seem to be placed everywhere in the flat. Cosima stirs, pulls away from her with a groan and swings her leg to the floor so she can sit up, leaning back against Delphine.

"Hey, Cos," Sarah says. "All right?" Cosima breathes in, and Delphine can hear the gurgle in her chest. She swallows and clears her throat, hand splayed across her sternum, and nods.

"Feels like I have a chest cold," she replies. "Only worse."

"At least you can joke about it, that's a good sign." Delphine doesn't think any of it is in the least bit amusing, but American humour is so much different from what she knows.

"Is there any food here? I'm starving." She knows Cosima is trying to act like nothing is wrong. The brunette stands, and she sits up herself. There's no room for physical contact in the morning light, as much as she wants to offer it. She has a job to do, besides, and there's no point trying to tangle themselves back up if she's going to have to leave her behind to achieve it. "What the hell do you two eat?"

"Wine and crisps," Sarah responds, standing and joining her clone. "Wanna go out?"

"Yeah, screw it." Sarah says her name. Delphine looks over, questioning. Sarah's already got her jacket on, fixing the collar and pulling her hair out from under it.

"You comin' or what?" she asks, fingers yanking the zipper up. The question is an almost surprise.

"Yes," Delphine replies. Then repeats herself. Cosima hands her her coat, rewarding her with a smile.

"I'm feeling super fatty horrible diner food," she says. Her fingers linger, brushing ever so slightly against Delphine's knuckles before letting go of the jacket.

"I second that," comes Sarah's reply from the door. It slides open loudly with a metallic rattle. "Let's get a move on, then."

Cosima wolfs down food like it's her last night on earth, and it's mildly frightening. Sarah doesn't seem to pay much mind to it, but then again, she's eaten about the same amount, and about as fast. Delphine hopes it genetic, and the both of them aren't trying to compensate for a lack of energy. For her part, she's hardly touched her meal, although it's refreshing to have a cup of hot coffee that hasn't been burned. Cosima asks her how she can drink it black, and it's almost like the previous nights and the ones before didn't happen. She tries, though, but doesn't have a real answer, so just shrugs and says she likes it bitter.

"Same," Sarah replies, soaking up bits of egg with her toast.

"You two are weird," Cosima replies, shaking her head. "There's this place by my house, not Starbucks," she says, with a glare at Sarah, who presses her lips together and raises her hands in placation, "that does the best iced latte."

"Maybe when all this shit's over, Cos."

Cosima leaves to use the bathroom. Delphine resists the urge to follow. There's no need to coddle her, but she worries, especially when minutes have passed and she still hasn't returned. Sarah looks at her with concern, the same line that Cosima gets forming between her brows. Delphine bites her lip, frowning, worry building.

"Are you gonna go check, or what?" Sarah asks, her tone short.

"I thought.. maybe you..." She stops before she can make a complete fool of herself and stands so quickly that she bumps her hip against the table. Sarah directs a glare at her, catching her glass of juice before it topples over. She shuffles past the waitress, muttering an apology under her breath for being in the way, and pushes into the toilet. She can't see Cosima, but she hears loud breathing from the stall at the end. Softly, she calls Cosima's name. The response she receives is loud enough to hear, but sounds weak, choked. Afraid, she stops at the end of the room and tries the door. The lock jiggles as its moved, but the door doesn't budge.

"One sec," Cosima says. The room makes her voice echo the slightest amount. The lock clinks softly again. Delphine hesitates a second, then tries the door with her fingertips. It opens with a squeak, and she slips inside. Cosima looks up at her through watery eyes, her glasses held loosely in one hand. Her face is pale, lips flecked with red. "Hey," she says softly. Delphine feels her chest constrict. She locks the door behind her and crouches down, taking Cosima's free hand. Cosima's dark eyes meet hers, pained and afraid. She strokes her cheek once, cups it in her palm and brushes her thumb over the soft flesh. Cosima's lip trembles, parting in a shaky inhale. A small tug is all it takes, and then Cosima is in her arms again, digging her nails painfully into the back of Delphine's neck, crushing their lips together. Their teeth clack loudly in the silence of the room. Delphine's back presses into the wall, Cosima's body pushing forward, hands clutching. She tastes the coppery tang on her tongue, feels her own blood speed through her veins, pulse in her ears. Her body reacts, her hands tug and cradle and stroke, try to soothe the unease and the dread that plagues them both. There's the clatter of plastic on the ground as Cosima lets her glasses fall to the floor, draping her arm around Delphine as best as she can in the cramped space. She feels the brunette's tears wet her cheek, and strokes a hand down her back, holding her waist, trying to slow the frantic pace of the kiss. Her heart is a jittery flutter in her chest, her breath short, lungs calling out for oxygen she can't give them.

"Cosima," she whispers urgently against her lips, turning her head to the side. Cosima's lips hit her jaw and stay there. "Sarah will be looking. Come, I'll clean you up." Cosima shakes her head firmly, breathes in, and sits back.

"No, I can do it. Tell her I'm fine, I'll be out in a minute." Reluctant, Delphine nods and helps Cosima to her feet. She leaves her standing over the sink, splashing water on her face, and returns to Sarah's who's troubled expression hasn't wavered and inch. She sits quietly, lips tingling, body on fire. Sarah's face scrunches slightly.

"She's coming," Delphine tells her. Sarah relaxes slightly then, but she examines Delphine's face. She tries hard not to touch her mouth, but know that it must be very obvious, that her lips are probably the unique kind of red that comes from kissing. True to her word, Cosima slides back into her chair a moment later. Her eyes are red, but she smiles at Sarah. Sarah reaches across the table and lays a hand over Cosima's, eyes distressed.

"I'm okay," she says.

The bill comes, and Delphine snatches it before the other two can. It's the least she can do.