Hey Clone Club! Hope you enjoyed the season finale as much as I did.

This fic will be much shorter than my others, only four chapters, but I'm planning on this being the first installment in a series, so please comment and favourite if you like this story and want me to continue it.

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy the first chapter!

Four years and I still cry sometimes,
First love never die

'Delphine?'

A voice calls out my name from behind me.

London accent. Female. Familiar. Takes me back the moment I hear it, and suddenly I'm seventeen again and my best friend is shouting my name from down the street.

I turn around.

'Sarah'.

Her hair is shorter, and still as messy, like you wouldn't be able to drag a hairbrush through it. It blows across her face in the breeze, where the same smokey make-up lines her eyes and grey circles lie beneath them. Black jeans, black leather jacket, old combat boots. Vintage band shirt. Sex Pistols, this time. Same old Sarah.

Four years spent on the other side of the world, and here she is, standing ten feet away from me.

I breathe out in a mixture of relief, at seeing a familiar face, and terror, my stomach dropping like I'm on a rollercoaster as it comes plummeting down the track.

'I thought it was you'. Sarah smiles, but it's nervous, like she's not sure how to act around me.

I don't blame her. We're not friends any more. We don't even know each other.

'So . . . how've you been?'

I don't know why I agreed to get coffee with Sarah Manning.

She didn't question me out on the street, just asked me if we could talk. It was as if she was too afraid to let me go, as if once I walked away she'd never get me back again. I'd cut her off, like I did last time. I can be notoriously hard to contact when I don't want to be found. Sarah knows that better than anybody.

Sarah never did anything that made me hate her, or not want to be friends with her anymore. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't even her sister's fault, not really. To this day, I'm still trying to find who to pin the blame on. Sometimes it's my parents' fault, for tearing me away when, for the first time in my life, I was truly happy. Sometimes I blame myself, for isolating myself instead of facing up to what was hurting me the most.

I regret agreeing to come here every time Sarah's eyes flicker up and down, watching me so closely, though I know I'm doing to same thing to her. We're searching for familiarity, something to remind us that once we loved the other like a sister. But I couldn't say no to her. I miss her so badly, no matter how much I pretend that I don't, no matter how much I keep lying to myself.

It's not like I was doing anything else anyway. I have nowhere to go, no one to see. Not yet. So I've devoted the past few days to wandering the streets of San Francisco, trying to determine if I still know the place or if I have returned a stranger.

We found an empty booth at Coady's Diner. It's still as run-down and depressing as it was back then, but it's a block away from our old high school, so all the kids we used to know hung out here.

I shift uncomfortably, bare legs against cracked leather, sunlight filtering through grimy windows and slanting across the table, where my hands are wrapped around a mug of black coffee.

'So, how long have you been back in town?' Sarah asks, leaning back into her seat, folding her arms across her chest.

'Only a week', I reply.

'You just visiting?'

'Non, I'm here to stay. I'm starting my Masters degree at Berkeley'.

'Berkeley?' Sarah raises a dark eyebrow. 'Cosima's at Berkeley'.

My mouth dries at her name, my stomach drops. I look down quickly, avoiding Sarah's eyes. 'I thought maybe she would be'.

Berkeley was Cosima's dream too, as much as it was mine. We were going to go there together, work at our undergraduate degrees and our masters, do something amazing. In those last days, it became OUR dream.

But things didn't work out like that. A month after high school graduation, I was on a plane back to France with a broken heart and a story left unfinished.

Because something strange happened, during my short time in San Francisco. Something I never expected.

I fell in love with my best friend, and I was never the same again.

When I was sixteen, my father's company announced they were transferring him from Paris to San Francisco, and my family moved to California three weeks later. Just Maman, Papa and me. We're a small family; I have no cousins, no uncles and aunts. We're not close with my grandparents on Papa's side, and my grand-mère, my mother's mother and my favourite person in the world, had died the previous year. I'd been attending boarding school for years, but I never fit in there, and I was lonely, with very few friends. So I would be leaving nothing behind in Paris, and the idea of a new start in a new country excited me more than it frightened me.

I was nervous, still, because I would be going into junior year as the new, foreign girl with little knowledge of American culture or the high school experience.

But I was only nervous about how my cluelessness would affect my studies and my dreams of becoming a great scientist. I didn't care if people didn't understand me. I was used to being alone.

My parents bought me a beat up old motorcycle when we arrived in San Francisco. It was a reward of sorts, for being so mature about the move. The truth was that I was indifferent. My parents never noticed that, though. All the focus of our household was placed entirely on my parents' careers. They'd have dragged me to America kicking and screaming even if I didn't want to leave Paris.

I was always grateful for that motorcycle though. Because that was the thing that led me to Sarah, on that first day of school. Or rather, brought Sarah to me. And, through Sarah, Beth, Felix, Alison, Art, Scott and Cosima.

I remember it still. Me, pulling into the parking lot and swinging my leg over the back of the bike to dismount. Sarah, stood leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. She was dressed all in black; oversized black t-shirt, huge tears in her dark jeans with fishnets visible on the skin beneath, heavy combat boots. Hair braided on one side, dark chocolate waves hanging loosely down the other.

The brunette girl stubs out her cigarette on the bricks.

'Is that your bike? Like, really yours?' she asks, approaching as I take off my helmet. It's smaller, less powerful than a 'real' bike, on account of me being too young to have a full license, but still, she eyes it with awe, as if it's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

'Yes', I reply nervously.

'Mate, that's so cool', she grins at me. 'Hey, I haven't seen you round here before. You new?'

I nod. 'My name is Delphine. I just moved here'.

'You're French?' she raises an eyebrow.

'Oui', I smirk.

'Yeah, your accent's even more obviously un-American than mine', she laughs, turning to walk away. After a few steps, she turns back to me again. 'You coming, or not?'

I nod, and follow her towards the main building.

'I'm Sarah, by the way', she introduces herself. 'What year you in?'

'Junior', I reply.

'Same as me then. Who d'ya have for homeroom, d'ya know yet?'

'Yes, I have Dr Leekie', I say, remembering the information I was given about my class schedule and my homeroom group.

'Okay, cool. Some of our lot have Leekie. Cosima'll look after you'.

'Cosima?'

'My sister'.

I follow Sarah down the main corridor, taking a right, then a left. Kids hang out around their lockers, chatting excitedly, hugging each other and squealing, catching up with their classmates after a summer apart. Sarah barges carelessly through the crowds. I'm glad I have her to guide me.

She stops outside a door labelled 114.

'Okay, this is me', she gestures towards the door, a sign it's time for me to find my own way now. 'Leekie's room is down there, take a left at the end of this corridor and it's the first door on the right, number 127. When you get in there, find my sister. Tell her Sarah sent you, and she has to look after you this morning'.

I nod gratefully. 'Thank you, Sarah'.

'No worries', she smiles, and reaches her hand out for the door handle.

'Wait'. A thought has just crossed my mind. 'How will I know which girl is your sister?'

Sarah chuckles, eyes sparkling. 'Easy. Just sit next to the girl who looks exactly like me. Catch you later, Frenchie'.

I find Dr Leekie's room easily enough, but finding it wasn't the hardest part. I take a deep breath as I reach for the handle, and open the door slowly, slipping inside and closing it behind me.

The room is half full already, and all eyes turn to me, the new girl, as I stand nervously in the doorway. I keep my head low, letting golden waves of hair fall in front of my face, shielding me from curious stares. I scan the room quickly, and it doesn't take long for me to find her.

Sarah was right. Her sister is identical to her, but only in the face. This sister has long, dark dreadlocks tied up in a high ponytail and thick black glasses. Her clothes are nothing like Sarah's either. She wears a dark red tank top, the colour of wine, and denim shorts, with worn white converse on feet that swing under the table. She's doodling on a notepad when I approach her.

'Are you Cosima?' I ask hesitantly.

She looks up at me, wide eyes framed with winged black liner staring out from behind her glasses.

'Yeah', she replies, confused.

'My name is Delphine', I introduce myself. 'I'm new here this year, and I just met Sarah out in the parking lot. She said I could sit with you?'

Cosima's face breaks into a grin. 'Sure, you can sit here', she gestures to the empty desk next to her.

I smile back gratefully and go to sit down.

I've noticed the girl's American accent, so different to her sister's British slang. But I don't question it, thinking it would be rude to interrogate her after knowing each other for all of thirty seconds .

'So, you're French?' Cosima asks brightly.

'Yes'.

'Which city?'

'Paris'.

'Wow, dude, that's awesome. I'd love to go to France. I've never even been out of America'.

'Well, I have only been here for a month, but I like San Francisco very much'.

'Yeah, I like it here too', Cosima agrees, obviously proud of her hometown. She taps her pen against the side of the desk. 'It must be so scary, moving to a new country', she muses. 'But don't worry, we'll take care of you. Art and Scott are in this group, and Sarah and the others are in Ms Cho's. You can hang out with us today, if you want to'.

'That's very kind of you, Cosima. Thank you', I smile gratefully.

True to her word, Cosima and Sarah took me under their wings that day. They showed me around campus, introduced me to their group of friends, made sure there was someone to take me to my next class if they had to be somewhere else.

When I got home that night, I just lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, retracing my steps throughout the day, desperately trying to make sense of the million different things that were thrown at me, trying to remember everything they'd told me. I was ovewhelmed, but I wasn't afraid. Because that group of people had shown me more kindness and caring in one day than anyone had in years.

Sarah's eyeing me across the table, watching me.

'What are you thinking?' she asks, head tilting to one side.

I look down again. Sarah used to be able to tell what I was thinking. She could read people like a book, it was one of her greatest talents. Guess it wore out on me.

'Nothing', I reply quietly.

Sarah smirks humourlessly. 'You came back, without telling anyone, knowing Cosima would be going to the same school as you. What, did you think you could just avoid her forever?'

'No. Of course not'.

'Then why?'

'Berkeley was my dream too'.

'I know. I just never thought you'd come back. I thought you'd get freaked out at the idea of being around Cosima again'.

'Cosima never meant more to me than my goals', I snap, more harshly than I'd intended.

Sarah holds her hands up in defence. 'Okay, okay. I'm wrong'.

She runs a hand through her hair, head turning to stare out of the window. She looks tired. I wonder why. I don't know anything about her anymore. Her life is as mysterious to me as it was the day I met her, smoking by the wall.

Sarah breaks the silence again, sensing I'm still reluctant to talk.

'I have an idea, but you're probably not gonna like it'.

'Okay', I respond, anticipating her next move. 'What is it?'

She leans her elbows on the table, drumming on the surface with her fingers, nails clicking against it. 'My daughter's turning three on Saturday. We're having a party with the family at Alison's place. Maybe you could come'.

'You have a daughter', I repeat, overwhelmed at the thought. I laugh hunourlessly. 'I really have missed a lot, haven't I?'

Sarah shrugs. 'It's not too late to come back. Everyone would be really happy to see you'.

'Oh, I'm not sure that's such a good idea-'

'If you're worried about seeing Cosima, don't be', she assures me. 'There are no hard feelings, I promise'.

'I don't know, Sarah', I say doubtfully, still wanting to decline the offer but too hesitant to do it

'Just consider it, okay? Please. For me'.

'Okay, okay', I concede. 'Fine. I'll think about it'.

Sarah nods, satisfied. Smug. She leans back again.

Nobody ever wins against Sarah. She'll find a way to guilt-trip me. I'll end up going to that stupid party, even though the idea terrifies me.

After a moment of silence, she looks back to me earnestly.

'She misses you, you know'.

My eyes drop to the floor again.

I sprinkle a few drops of Chanel No. 5 across my collarbone, drape my silver necklace around my neck, gathering my straightened hair over one shoulder so I can fasten the clasp. It takes me a moment, but when it's done, I let the delicate crescent moon pendant fall to my chest. I run my fingers across the smooth lines of it. Something I do when I'm anxious. Follow the curve of the crescent, then stab my fingertip into the sharp point. It's enough release, the sharp jolt of pain that shoots through me.

I live alone now, something I have never done before. No one to help me fasten my necklace. There was always Maman, or my college roommate Danielle back in Paris. My parents were never around much when we lived in San Francisco, they were always working. But I never spent time in an empty house. Sometimes the group would come over to my place. I had a drum kit in the basement, and Sarah and Felix used to bring their guitars over and we would spend all afternoon playing. They taught me to play British punk, like Siouxsie and the Banshees, Buzzcocks and The Clash.

But most of the time, we'd be at the Sadler house, all eight of us in the basement. That was where Sarah and Cosima slept. They bickered and complained about having to share a bedroom, but there just wasn't enough room in the house for Mrs S and her four foster kids, so they didn't have another choice. But it was big enough; they had a couch and a television down there, and a speaker system so loud the whole house would shake, and Mrs S came banging on the door, yelling at us to turn it down.

Those were the best times, just hanging out in the sisters' basement on a Saturday night, drinking vodka Felix stole from Mrs S, dancing around.

Dancing with Cosima. I loved it when she danced.

I stab my finger on the moon pendant again.

Come on. Let's get this party over with.