AU: I do not own any of the following characters and though I bend them to my writing, all character credit goes to the writers of Orphan Black.
Chapter One
I've heard that the eyes are the window to someone's soul, and if that's the case, then I'm sure that she's dead. The way her deep hazel eyes are scanning over the pages of her book, it doesn't seem likely that she's alive. She seems so...empty. How heart wrenching. A beautiful woman, alone in a coffee shop, completely dead inside. Her hair that brakes around her shoulders in giant curls seems to give her more life than her eyes would even dare to try. What could have happened to make her like this? I wish I could touch her, reach out and brush the hair from her shoulder, ask her how she got like this. Dead. I know it's pointless, my hand leaves nothing more than a brush of cold now. An empty breeze and the whisper of a past no one can remember. I wish I could remember. If only it was as easy as looking in a mirror. I don't remember before this moment, before those empty eyes. I wonder if I'm dead, but I know that I'm not, I can't be. Everything about this moment is scientifically impossible. Everything about me is scientifically impossible. I don't know why I know that, I just know that it's true. Is it wrong for me to sit across from her? She wont notice, there's nothing to notice. I wish she would. I wish her cold empty eyes would look into mine and for the first time maybe I could see a light into the world that I used to know. Her world. She feels different, important. Like I need her for something. Am I crying? I can do that? Why? I wish I could scream, I could yell loud enough for her to hear me through those lifeless eyes. I can see them though, with life again, like I've known them before. I know those eyes, just not as they are. I can remember the light they held and a gentle laugh floating through the air like a golden dust brushing along my skin. I know her. I know her. What's her name? This feels so wrong, to not know. I wish she could hear me. Hear my thoughts, feel my hand, anything. She knows me, even though I don't. She knows my name, my life, my story. I can feel it.
It's been three hours since Cosima fell into her coma, and already I feel like I've lost my world. Her smile, it is drawn in my eyelids and every time I close my eyes I see it. We were good, we were, amazing. I don't know when it happened. I should have been more attentive. Her coughing was rampant but I was working nonstop to find a cure. Then, one night, she started coughing, and wouldn't stop. I called an ambulance, I got her to the hospital. She was awake. I know she was. When they let me into her room she was smiling. Not her normal smile. Non, not her heart stopping mind numbing giant Cosima grin. It was different. So different. She knew, in that smile, she told me that she knew. I crawled into the bed with her and she kissed my cheek. She was comforting me, as she lay hooked up to machines, she was comforting me. Maybe that was what she needed. To take care of someone. When I sat up, she was still smiling, but her eyes were closed. "She might never wake up" they warned me. "Her body is dying" they echoed through the hallways. I had to leave, to come here, our coffee shop. She always got a coffee with a packet of hot chocolate. I almost felt obligated to get her one, maybe coffee would wake her up. I knew that didn't make any sense, not even a little. That's what she always did to me, make me forget my science. Number, equations, yes and no, black and white, she made my life color. A spectrum. It's been three and a half hours since ma cherie fell asleep, and maybe, it'll be three and half until she wakes. Even though I know that's not true. I swear, if I closed my eyes, she'd be sitting across from me right now, rambling on about figures and hypotheses, giving me all her theories. If I listened hard enough, I could hear her voice, hear her thoughts. I close my eyes long enough, and she's here. I can feel it.