Written by tatarrific and OTP324B21
I've got a lack of inhibition
I've got a loss of perspective
I've had a little bit to drink
and it's making me think
that I can jump ship and swim
that the ocean will hold me
that there's got to be more
than this boat I'm in
-Swandive by Ani Difranco
The setting is classically opulent, Delphine thinks, the Bowles mansion a strange mix of sleek luxury and bunker-like fortification. The grand sitting room, which they currently occupy, is drawn in larger than life lines – ceiling to floor windows, tasteful colors, and large, stuffy furniture arranged at precise angles. Even the woman sitting with quiet authority across from her seems to fit the same aesthetic – sleek, sharp lines and angular planes only somewhat offset by the soft billow of the expensive clothes and a cascade of perfectly arranged locks.
The dark eyes gazing at her are predictably inscrutable, Marion's face a placid mask. Delphine raises the tumbler to her lips, delaying her answer for a moment, and welcomes the burn of whisky. The alcohol leaves a bloom of heat in her chest and an answering haziness in her head and she closes her eyes, savoring the sharp bite. She knows she should focus, sharpen her attention and maintain the veneer of professionalism in front of this woman, but it has been a long, hard month since she returned from Frankfurt, and her composure is brittle. She feels brittle. She has been drawn deeper into Topside's machinations, has been tasked with orchestrating them, and been disconnected from all that was familiar in Toronto: Aldous, dead; Rachel, 'neutralized', in the parlance of corporate intrigue and Cosima.. Her jaw twitches as an image flashes before her closed eyes, the black and white photo grainy but the scene captured clearly – Cosima, eyes crinkling at the corners with mirth and tenderness, with barely repressed excitement, a petite blonde sitting across from her returning the smile, her hand on Cosima's knee.
"Delphine?"
She swallows, then opens her eyes, meeting Marion's gaze.
"Your thoughts on the Sarah situation?"
There it is again, the same undercurrent of cool disregard tinting the inquiry despite the civility of the tone. Marion is better at masking it than Rachel ever was, or ever cared to be, but Delphine recognizes the attitude with ease – still just Leekie's pet, the pretty girl scientist who foolishly absconded with her subject. An airhead at worst, a useful, malleable pawn at best. Even now, even after all she's done - Rachel, Ferdinand.. Cosima.
Heat tinges her cheeks as she leans forward, fingers whitening around the heavy crystal glass. She is done being coy and diplomatic. She is tired, tired to the very bones of her.
"Frankly, Marion, my opinion on the Sarah situation doesn't matter." An elegant dark brow rises cooly, whether at her tone or the words, Delphine is not sure. "Since you decided to trade her sister to the Castor faction she has been a loose cannon and the repercussions are just beginning."
Delphine tilts her head, returning the look. "I have been with the project for five years now, and every time I think I have a grasp on what the goals are, I am inevitably wrong. Aldous," she pauses, mouth set in a straight line, defiant, but Marion meets her gaze dispassionately, "didn't trust me with the full scope of the project, but he respected my work. Rachel," the sneer in her voice is audible, "didn't respect me at all, but found me a useful tool at times. So maybe, for once," she leans back, sweeping her arm out in invitation, "we can get this one thing out in the open. What do you want from me?"
The interplay of emotions on Marion's face is subtle and quick, but Delphine is an adept study. The flash of respect is brief but it is a look, always preceded by surprise, that Delphine has come to know well over the years. It is almost as familiar as the look of interest that flares and never fully fades from Marion's eyes, the frank bite of desire.
Delphine runs her tongue across her lips unconsciously, nonplussed, uncertain. The men were always easy to read and manipulate, a simplest of puzzles. When they desired her it was usually transmitted freely, expectantly. Marion is subtle, self-contained and Delphine would have written off the minute flaring of the nostrils, the downward sweep of her eyes as an aberration were it not confirmed, moments later, when the dark eyes focus on her lips.
She leans back in the chair, bringing the tumbler to her lips in an effort to hide her surprise. The ice clinks against the glass, betraying her shaking hand, Marion watching her silently save a faint smile gracing the edges of her mouth.
"Delphine-" Marion pauses, as though rethinking what she is about to say, eyes slightly narrowing. She reaches out, placing her own glass down onto the coffee table between them with a clink, the movement serving to emphasize the strong lines of her neck, reveal the swell of her breasts above the V of her shirt to Delphine's gaze. When she sits back, legs recrossing languorously, Delphine makes a point of keeping her eyes locked to Marion's, her features studiously blank.
"I appreciate your candor, Delphine," the smile tugging at the edge of Marion's lips is touched with slyness, and Delphine feels her heartbeat trip under the dark gaze.
"I'm sure we can come, " the pause is minute, barely perceptible but speaks volumes, "to a mutually satisfactory arrangement."
Delphine takes a breath. This, then. It takes a moment to register, but the low trill she feels in her chest is unmistakable: arousal. She tips the tumbler back, exposing her pulse point to Marion's gaze, finishes her drink with a final, slow run of her tongue across her lips. The burn is sharp, familiar and this time when she smiles, she shows her teeth.
"Yes, Marion, I believe we will."
Cosima runs her hands down the front of her lab coat surreptitiously, glancing at the elevator numbers. She is anxious, more than she expected to be, palms slick with sweat, and when the door opens at the top floor, she exhales loudly and steps out.
It has been days since they lost contact with Sarah, and Siobhan's efforts to locate her have run dry. With Sarah disappeared their direct line of contact to Marion as well, but Topside is their best hope now, though that doesn't make what she has to do next any easier. She pauses at the end of the gleaming hallway, unwilling to turn the corner to Delphine's office yet. She takes another deep inhale, cheeks puffing up with withheld breath.
This is business at its purest, she knows, since both Dyad and Topside will want to know, if they don't already, what happened with Sarah, and they - Sarah - need the corporation's help. They need all the help they can get. And yet, here she is, stalling.
It feels like forever now, if she casts her mind back to it, since she saw Delphine last - the hallway, the heartbreak - but it has been mere weeks since that day. So much has happened in the meantime, the Castor complications, Duncan's cypher… Shay. Shay, most of all.
So why, then, is she hugging the wall in front of the Dyad Director's office instead of going in?
Sound of laughter tinkles down the hall and Cosima straightens up, alert. She recognizes it immediately, the low, throaty chuckle, the unintelligible murmur of conversation that follows it. Delphine. She swallows compulsively, affected by the familiar timbre, the undertone of flirtatious intimacy betrayed by Delphine's voice. Who…?
She peers around the corner, eyes scanning the clear glass of the Director's office. Delphine and.. Marion. The new director is leaning against her desk, arms braced against the shiny glass, legs crossed at the ankle. Blonde head is tilted toward Marion, standing attentively beside her, dark head bent toward Delphine in response. They are standing close, Marion's finger slowly tracing a repeating pattern across the tabletop inches away from Delphine's hand, and Cosima can see her lips move, the low susurrus of her voice barely reaching her ears.
Cosima stares unblinking at the tableau, unbelieving, and then sees Delphine cant her head in response and laugh again, the same low, suggestive response Cosima had reveled drawing out of the blonde herself. She takes in the splay of Delphine's body toward Marion, the subtle opening of hip and shoulder meant to draw in, to welcome, recognizes the appreciative gaze the older woman anoints Delphine with in response. The realization of what she is witnessing is swift, and so is the bitter bite of jealousy that follows it.
Her hands fist at her sides and she takes a step forward without thought, eyes locked on Delphine. She lifts her head fully toward Marion, hair sliding away from her face in a shiny wave and Cosima can now see her face fully, the sensual curl of her lips. The tension between the two women is obvious even from her vantage point, their bodies angled toward each other sharply, with intent.
A soft beep issues from Delphine's desk phone, followed by a disembodied voice.
"Dr. Cormier, they are ready for you in the large conference room."
Marion chuckles, straightening. "Saved by the bell, then."
Cosima sees Delphine pause briefly before hitting the response button, smile soft. "Not for long, I hope. Martin, we will be there shortly, thank you."
Cosima steps back, her back meeting the wall. She sees Delphine stand up, straighten out her skirt, nod to Marion once before turning toward the door. It is only when Marion follows Delphine closely, hand nestled against the small of her back, says, "Dinner tonight? I can stop by," hears Delphine respond, "That would be lovely," that Cosima realizes she had held on to a sliver of hope that she was wrong about the situation, was reading into things, feels it dissipate under the flirtatiousness of Delphine's smile.
She turns and rounds the corner toward the elevator, not bothering to mute the hollow echo of her footsteps.