Working under Rachel is everything and nothing like working under Leekie.
Their truce is uneasy. Delphine feels like she is made of spun glass and the tiniest misstep will shatter her, the broken pieces of herself left for Cosima to cut herself upon. It turns out that Cosima can be cold, can move past Delphine without touching her, can exist fully self-contained. It is not a good surprise. She should have enjoyed warm, easy smiles more when she had them.
It doesn't matter if Delphine was right. It certainly doesn't matter if she had good intentions. Leekie might have understood, might have tried to help smooth things over (more planted information, more lies, more things to eventually catch Delphine out).
Rachel just watches them.
Cosima can carry on a full argument through looks alone, and it is all she allows either of them with Rachel constantly in and out of their lab, in and out of their space. A reminder. Nothing you do goes unnoticed. Leekie had spies and cameras. Rachel understands intimidation tactics better. Delphine can feel each glare, each sidelong glance filled with wretchedness, each cough Cosima tries to mute tear a little bit of her soul away. She wonders if a person can live without a soul, but then Rachel enters the room again.
"Dr. Cormier," she says, but they both turn and look. She is the picture of nonchalance, leaning against Cosima's desk, face blank. "take off your clothes."
Delphine can feel a spluttered protest rising in her throat, the first noise she's made today. Cosima coughs. Delphine can feel them both watching her face redden.
"I will remind you of our relative positions, Dr. Cormier, and advise you to be quick. Besides," her smile is nothing like Cosima's smiles, "sex with your boss is nothing new to you."
She should stop this, Cosima should stop this, both of them should stop this, but Cosima just watches her as Delphine carefully removes and folds her clothing, stacking a neat pile on her own desk. Delphine straightens, wishing to feel taller, more powerful. She is certainly stronger than Cosima, probably stronger than Rachel. She is older. She is more educated.
She is completely without power, naked between them. They are predators, the pair of them, sharp eyes and pain.
Rachel raises her eyebrows slightly, crooking a finger. Delphine steps closer. Cosima should stop this. Cosima should stop her. Cosima, she can see out of the corner of her eye, just watches.
"On your knees. You know what to do." Rachel leans back further on the desk, hitching her hips up to sit gingerly upon it, knees open, skirt tugged part-way up her thighs.
It is desperately easy to lean in and put her mouth on Rachel Duncan's cunt. It shouldn't be, but it is, and the absurdity of human clones threatens to bubble up in Delphine's throat, a choking sob of right-not-right. If Rachel notices, she must think it is terror, because it goes unremarked. Rachel tastes like Cosima and unlike Cosima at the same time. She is lucky the same tricks work on them both. Where she might have used that to her advantage with Cosima, drawn things out, teased endlessly with tongue and lips until neither could stand it any more, she is sharp and fast with Rachel. This cannot end soon enough.
Cosima shouts when she comes, laughing and shaking. It is a noise Delphine has learned to crave.
Rachel is silent, and then harsh fingers in Delphine's hair, pushing her away.
"Thank you, Dr. Cormier," she says as she stands, straightening her skirt. "That will be all." Delphine's knees ache, but she doesn't stand. If she stands, they both will notice how wet she is. She doesn't know which of them she wants to notice less. Rachel nearly smiles. "Dress yourself, Dr. Cormier. You wouldn't want to get anything on your skin." She reaches down, flicking her thumb across Delphine's cheek, catching a smear of wetness and rubbing it into her skin. She goes, still almost smiling.
After a long moment, she stands, limbs trembling. Delphine turns to dress herself, reaching for her clothing, then stills. Cosima is still standing where she has been this whole time, face unreadable. Delphine takes a hesitant half-step toward her, then stops.
"Cosima," she starts.
Cosima shakes her head. Her voice comes out choked, and Delphine can't tell if it is emotion or simply physiology. "Don't."
She sighs, tugging her clothing back on, wincing a little at the brush of fabric on skin. She would do very nearly anything to be touched by Cosima again right now. It is very clear that is not happening.
"Cosima, I-"
"Don't."
Delphine can feel the truce they have built crumbling, can feel herself crumbling, can feel so many things. Can taste Rachel on her tongue still.
She grabs her labcoat, shrugging it on. Armor. "I pretended she was you," she says, her voice as broken as she feels. She turns to leave the lab. If her footsteps seem shaky, they both ignore it.
"You're good at pretending," Cosima mutters to her back. Delphine aches, but not enough to turn around, to comfort a person who does not want comforting from her. Perhaps the taste of the cigarette will burn the taste of Rachel from her mouth. Probably not.