After studying the Fitzsimmons case file I had made the private decision that it would be easier to steel myself against the grim reality than to allow myself much hope. I hadn't told Cosima that Jennifer's monitor, Greg, was found hanging in the DYAD stairwell a few hours after Jennifer finally succumbed. His hope had not been fake.
Hope is just another name for desire, and desire along with ignorance is the source of all suffering. At least, that's what the Buddhists teach. I normally don't lean on spiritual teachings, but I think there is wisdom there. Hope is dangerous.
The alternative was to accept the truth that Cosima's death was a process well underway, to accept that I would never get the chance to make everything up to her. That there would probably be no happily ever after, even if Cosima deserved one more than anyone ever had.
I resolved to try to memorize every smile and movement and laugh so that I would never have to let her go in my heart, even when the only record of 324B21 is a few data points in a spreadsheet.
Eschewing hope. That's why I'd made such stupid nervous jokes about growing extra limbs as Leekie reviewed the potential side effects of his experimental stem cell injection. I was afraid to take the treatment too seriously or let hope take hold. After seeing the documentation on Jennifer Fitzsimmons' rapid deterioration through several courses of treatment, the preliminary results of Leekie's stem cell trial seemed too good to be believed.
So even though I was supposed to be calming Cosima while Leekie gave her the test dose, really all I could do is share in her anxieties. I squeezed her hand during the procedure, as much for myself as for her. Nervous jokes seemed like a safe way to break the tension without betraying too much.
But whether I acknowledged it or not, whether I wanted it or not, hope was flooding into my thoughts and it was intoxicating. Cosima was intoxicating. I'd fallen for Cosima hard, and I wanted more than anything to be with her... if she would have me, if we got the chance. Though I'd ostensibly taken her hand into mine to distract and comfort her during the injection, I held onto Cosima's fingers for several moments after Aldous left, smiling like an idiot at the feel of her.
Once the procedure was finished and we were alone, the pretense for holding her hand began to wear thin. It took on a different meaning. It felt more intimate, more serious. That she let me keep holding seemed like a very good sign.
"Let me take you home," I offered timidly, hoping but not sure that she would say yes. Home visits were outside the scope of our new professional relationship at the DYAD.
She flashed a coy grin but hesitated for a moment before withdrawing her hand. She looked as if she were about to say no when she was overtaken by a wave of spluttering wet coughs. As the cough had subsided, I saw her quickly wipe away a tear with the bloody tissue in her hand.
She inhaled sharply while taking my hand again. "Yes," she said seriously. "Please take me home. I want to make crazy science with you."
I leaned against the apartment door as I closed it behind me. In that moment, I let the hope wash over me and was overcome with gratitude that Cosima, my Cosima, might have a real chance with this new treatment. Dieu merci. If you're there, God, thank you. Maybe we would get to be together, at least for a little while.
I started to reach for the lightswitch but stopped when I saw Cosima bathed in moonlight by the window across the room. She was so beautiful. From where I stood she appeared otherworldly, like a ghost or an angel. But as I approached her the corporeal details came back into focus: layered fabrics wrapping luscious curves, corded hair, powerful arms and shoulders. She was really there, waiting for me, wanting crazy science.
But for how long?
She turned and held me silently in her gaze. We hadn't spoken since leaving the DYAD. Even though it seemed like there was a tension that words should fill, I stayed silent. None seemed to fit.
I wanted her to say something, anything really, but she didn't. The silence was thick. I studied her eyes, trying to read her unspoken thoughts. I thought I saw: I want this. I want this to last forever. Or maybe I imagined those words were there because they were the ones echoing through my own mind, the ones I desperately wanted her to say.
The smallest corner of her mouth was quivering somewhere between a smile and a frown, betraying fear. I hoped the fear was of the illness, and not of me.
I looked at her, unblinking.
Oh, God, Cosima. I love you.
How did this happen?
I'm here, on your side now.
How did this happen?
I'll never leave.
Please trust me.
Please love me.
Please?
Could she see these things in my eyes? I wanted to say them, but they all seemed like too much, and not enough.
Without looking away, she reached forward and began to slowly unbutton my blouse. I stood there frozen as she unfixed each button. After the last one gave way, she pushed the shirt back and it fell away leaving her hands resting lightly on my shoulders. Her touch was electric, and I felt an ache already forming between my legs as she closed the distance between us.
We kissed tenderly, eyes open and full of understanding, as she steered me backwards toward the bed.
It's my biology, it's my decision.
We began to make love slowly, without words. Our first time had been fast and desperate, but this was nothing like that. We still had secrets, but now at least there were no lies between us, and no need of momentum to carry us through our guilt and doubts. Even if she didn't know everything, she knew the truth about who I was and what I wanted. She knew, and she was choosing this.
And for the first time since she'd told me of her illness it seemed like we had time to go slowly. In that moment, the treatment was giving us time.
I pulled off her clothes, and paused to take in the sight of her. How did I ever think I was straight? I didn't need to touch myself to know I was already embarrassingly wet. Nobody had ever looked at me the way she was looking at me then, and it was killing me.
I moved in for another kiss, which she reciprocated eagerly. Her mouth was slightly open, inviting me in. She brought my hands to her chest and moaned softly into my mouth as I gently massaged her breast.
I pushed her onto her back and broke our kiss to turn my full attention to her chest. Her nipples hardened under my tongue. When I felt her hips stir I began to slide my right hand towards her legs the way she'd shown me the first time we'd had sex. But this time she grabbed my wrist to stop me.
I met her eyes as if to say, Tell me what you want. She must have understood because, in silent response, she took my head in her hands and gently pushed me down towards her navel.
I knew what she wanted then, and the idea was both thrilling and scary. I'd never gone down on a woman before. What am I supposed to do down there, exactly? I wasn't sure at all. Cosima was squirming and still giving me pleading nudges, bolstering my courage. After a moments hesitation, I started kissing my way down slowly.
She stilled in anticipation. I kissed her inner thighs and felt her start to tremble as I paused millimeters away. Her breathing quickened and she knit her fingers into my curls when I finally reached her center. My anxieties melted away as I settled into her. Gingerly, I used my tongue to explore her most intimate parts, tasting every fold and crevice.
I wanted to bury myself in the most intimate part of her, to become a part of her the way she was a part of me. How could I ever be happy again without this? She sighed when I pushed my tongue inside of her. I thrust it in deep and slow, drinking in her taste and smell as she rocked her hips to reciprocate my movements.
Merde. All of my senses were full of Cosima, and I felt myself dangerously close to coming undone.
I withdrew, and moved into a steady rhythm massaging her clit with my tongue. I felt the tension building in her leg muscles with each stroke. I silently willed her to relax, but it wasn't long until I heard her moaning a muffled orgasm into the pillow. Her back arched and she clenched her fingers, pulling my hair and holding me there for a few seconds before sagging back into the down comforter.
I crawled up to eye level and her lips pulled into a smile. That perfect Cosima smile. I wanted to keep it forever.
"That was amazing," she whispered, quavering. I melted at the sound of her voice after so much silence.
"Delphine?" Slid her fingers between mine.
"Yes?" I wanted this moment to go on forever, or to have a thousand more just like it.
"Delphine," she began, "I love y-"
But she jerked silent in mid sentence as her eyes rolled back and her body began to convulse violently. I released her fingers to avoid hurting her and watched in horror as my beautiful Cosima, normally a living curve, contorted into a heartbreaking jumble of angles. She shook uncontrollably as I dove for my phone.
Merde! A seizure. Merde! merde! merde! A side effect of the treatment. Fuck!
My hands were shaking almost as badly as hers as I dialed frantically. A trickle of blood and a horrible gurgling sound emerged from Cosima's lips as the phone rang. After an eternity, the line crackled to life.
"Delphine?"
I shouted into the phone, blinking back tears. "Aldous! She's seizing, oh God, what do I do?! Tell me what to do!"
Hey everybody, thanks for reading. This is my first time ever trying to write a fanfic, so I'd appreciate your comments and feedback. If there's interest, I plan to continue another several chapters exploring the insane lengths Delphine will go to to save Cosima. I'm definitely a Cophine shipper and believe Delphine is good at heart, but I'm really interested in exploring the terrible things good people will do in the name of love. If that sounds like a familiar concept, it's because it's essentially the tragic arc of Darth Vader. But presented here with the 200% more science girlfriends.
