Cosima shifts and turns in a fitful sleep while Delphine sits by her bedside. She glances up at the movement and then looks down again.
Delphine sighs, raking her fingers through her hair in frustration as she taps at the computer in her lap. "Merde," she mutters softly.
Setting the laptop aside, she goes to the window, opening it a crack to let some fresh air in and paces the floor, lost in thought. She turns the volume on her headphones up a touch when a horn blares from the traffic outside, throwing a cautionary glance at Cosima who seems undisturbed by it.
"Merde, merde, merde," she chants in a muttering crescendo, heading back over to Cosima's bedside. She checks her laptop again and furiously types away at it.
All that research, all those efforts. Delphine buries her face in her hands, sinking down on the side of Cosima's bed.
"Merde," she says into her palms, not realising that she's speaking loudly now.
The door slides open with a panicked Felix, holding a case of beer and a brown paper bag full of refreshments.
"What's wrong? Is it Cosima? What happened?" he demands, hastily throwing the items onto the counter and hurrying over.
Delphine jerks upright, staring wide-eyed at Felix's rushed reaction. "Cosima?" Her voice cracks in her panic as she grasps Cosima's hand.
"Relax, dude, I'm totally fine," Cosima says, waving her free hand and sitting up. She gently tugs the earphones from Delphine's ears with an impish grin.
"France is just losing the World Cup, that's all."