Pt. One, by palarasandhek (aka arabybizarre).
When she woke, there was music.
It was a dream, she first told herself. Or it was the cold. Or the unrelenting malaise still clinging to her bones, making the world seem foggy and immutable, as if strips of gauze had been draped over her senses. Cosima, nose chilly, but flesh warm beneath layers of blankets, sighed into the cadence of it.
Waking was hard. There was no number of days she could remain in this bed that would assuage her exhaustion. She'd teetered on death's precipice, nearly frozen solid, nearly blown away, and while the cure had been administered, her body slowly recovering, there was a part of her consciousness reluctant to return.
The sleeping didn't feel good anymore—only necessary. And the longer she remained moored in its lapping pier, the more shapeless she began to feel. As if she did not belong to herself any longer. As if she did not belong here.
Heart fluttering in a thrum of sudden anxiety, her eyes opened, bleary and stinging. Out of instinct, she reached for the body that should be pressed warmly against her—a buoy amidst the pallid sway of recovery—but the left side of the bed was vacant, the sheets rumpled and cold.
Blinking, Cosima lifted her head. She felt the panic still, in moments such as these. It was like a television she heard playing low in some other room, or seeing the shadow of a body passing beneath the crack under their door. It was not urgent, but it waited for her. And when Delphine left, the panic smiled.
She heard the beating of her own heart, saw the phantom of a frosted breath fogging before her lips. The room was mostly dark, save for the flicker of the oil lamp on the desk. In the half light, she thought of other dark things, like the forest and clinging to the body of her past self, promising a safety that she had no claim to. She thought of Delphine's ribs fluttering beneath her fingertips, beneath the sheets, the off-white skin that knotted there, still puckered from a bullet's kiss.
But she heard music, too, playing faintly from across the room. An acoustic guitar. The crackle and pop of damaged vinyl. The secret hum she was probably not meant to hear. Reaching for her glasses, she was almost afraid to disturb the moment. She saw the body, wrapped in a quilt and hunched over the desk, blonde waves untamed, and despite her better judgment, the feeling that had returned to her over-warm limbs, she remained unconvinced that she wasn't still dreaming.
"Peut être, peut être, un de ces jours." Delphine's chin rested in her left hand, a pen clutched in her right. The ink flowed lazily across the page, her head ducked low and bobbing so slightly it could almost have been a trick of the light. It all looked, and felt, so calm.
But Cosima was not. And while she did not wish to startle Delphine, or burden her with her restlessness, the panic continued to smile in the other woman's absence. She cleared her throat slightly, rustling the sheets.
"J'espère, j'espère, depêche mon amour." Delphine's focus was sharp, however. Her hand moved steadily over the notepad on the desk, and through the muddling shadows draped over her face, Cosima could detect the faint movement of her lips, a subtle melody. She strained to hear.
"How to make you see, you were meant for me…" The blonde's voice was gentle, like the echo of something distant and ecstatic. It was like secondhand laughter, carried on a calm breeze. It made Cosima smile, too, in the face of a panic whose joy was vindictive and consuming. Her shoulders relaxed, and she allowed her head to fall back onto the pillow Delphine had abandoned. It smelled the way her voice sounded. It helped Cosima to breathe a little easier.
She closed her eyes, listening to her lover singing, and she wondered if, all this time, she'd had it wrong, backwards: if what she'd thought to be a dream had really, all along, been a living. Dreams were curious things, after all. She'd sometimes hear a song, or see a face in her dream, one she'd thought she had forgotten, or lost, a very long time ago. But maybe she hadn't really lost it at all. Maybe her brain just knew that things that are precious must be protected, sometimes even from one's self. And sometimes the only way to do so is to forget.
Except for in a dream, of course. Because nothing can ever truly die in a dream. (Everybody knows that.)
Cosima's eyes remained closed until the song ended, until the anxiety began to creep back in. And she worried about returning to herself, about precious things being destroyed. She remembered that she had almost allowed it to happen before, which meant that it could happen again.
She called Delphine's name, a whisper, and almost could not recognize her own voice.
The blonde startled anyway. "Cosima." She was already on her feet. "I woke you."
"No." She shook her head, propping herself up on her elbows. "I woke myself, I think. Couldn't sleep."
Delphine frowned, sitting at the edge of the bed. "Were you dreaming?"
Cosima paused. "No, I wasn't."
Idly, Delphine found her hand, brushed the tips of her fingers with her own. "You should be sleeping."
"You were singing."
"So, I did wake you." Delphine met her gaze, smiling.
"I've never heard you sing before."
Delphine chuckled. "That's for the best."
"I liked it," Cosima said, tugging gently on her shirt. "What was it?"
Smiling, not speaking, Delphine stood and padded quietly across the room. She returned a moment later with a record sleeve, handing it to Cosima.
"Pret a Porter."
"What does that mean?" Cosima asked, turning the sleeve over in her hands.
"Ready-to-wear. It is like… fashionable clothes for average people."
Cosima hummed, reading over the sleeve, not understanding the meaning of the words. "Like this fancy ensemble the Neos hooked you up with, right?"
Delphine rolled her eyes. "Their resources are very limited here."
Cosima shrugged. "I'm not complaining." Smirking, she reminded her. "I find the undergarments to be especially attractive."
Cheeks red, Delphine plucked the sleeve from her hand, mumbling, "Don't be a brat." She stood to replace the record to the small stack sitting in the crate against the far wall.
"So, resources are limited, but you have your own private record collection. How is that?"
Quiet, Delphine returned to her seat at the edge of bed, now toying with the duvet. "I was injured for a long time. For weeks, I barely left my bed. And when I finally did, I was afraid to leave my quarters." She glanced at Cosima sidelong, afraid to find some semblance of guilt or pity etched into her features. There was both, of course. But she wanted to continue. It had been a long time since she'd spoken to another person about things outside the scientific realm. Her own feelings, trapped inside for so long, had begun to feel too big, amorphous.
"They did cater to me, a little bit," she continued. "Because they wanted me to trust them. And they didn't want me to become too lethargic or… depressed, I suppose. They kept asking me if there was anything I needed, anything special—within limits, of course. And I refused their help for a long time." She paused, glancing down into her lap. "But it was lonely. So, I asked for things to keep me occupied. Books, music."
Delphine chuckled. "They brought me the Song of Ice and Fire series. Not exactly what I would have chosen, had they asked. But the books were long—meant to keep me occupied for a long time. I read all of them," she smiled at Cosima then, "and I thought of you."
"Does that mean you'll watch the show with me then? Without falling asleep?"
"Yes. I would like that." They were quiet for a moment, each watching the other's hands, clasping each other firmly. Neither could be sure if there would come a time for them when they could enjoy such leisurely pleasures again. But it was nice to pretend. "They brought me all French music. Which I thought was a little bit of a cliché." Cosima chuckled. Delphine sighed. "I hate to admit it, but it was a godsend." They both sobered.
"It helped me to focus. Calmed me. It always did actually."
Cosima wanted to apologize, right then. But she was afraid that, if she did, they would both crack.
Delphine must have known this too. She smiled shyly, almost forcibly, and said, "Would you believe it if I told you that when I was a child I wanted to be a singer?"
"Really?"
"Well… I also wanted to be a zookeeper. And a botanist." Cosima laughed. "Are you surprised?"
"I mean… yeah." Cosima sat up slightly, grinning wistfully. "I'm just trying to picture this: you—my brilliant zoo-keeping, botanist, popstar girlfriend—" Delphine laughed, too, cheeks pink. "But, like, tiny. Maybe with pigtails, or missing teeth or something." Suddenly, Cosima's brow furrowed, lips pursing.
"What?"
"I just—how do I not know what you looked like? When you were a kid?"
"Oh. I guess I never had a picture to show you." Delphine paused. "If it is any consolation, I only know what you looked like as a child because I've met Charlotte." Cosima hummed again, deep in thought. Delphine had almost forgotten how quickly her thoughts could consume her. She grasped the brunette's hand more firmly.
"Do you ever feel like—" Cosima began, quietly, but stopped herself.
"Like what?"
"Like—sorry—like there's just a lot we don't know about each other?"
Delphine looked away again. "Yeah. I guess I do." She met Cosima's gaze. "But that's okay."
"Is it?" She gesticulated abruptly, in an attempt to correct herself. "I mean, I'm really asking. Because, in hindsight, most of my relationships have probably been with monitors…" She licked her lips, feeling uncomfortable. "And that was all pretty textbook, you know. Like… clinical."
Feeling indignant—indignant for Cosima—Delphine's stomach twisted. She leaned forward suddenly to press a kiss to her girlfriend's forehead, allowing her lips to linger there. Her skin was blessedly cool.
"I didn't fall in love with you by reading some file, Cosima. It was just… you, as a person. And I don't think there's anything you could tell me now—any silly memory or strange thought—that would diminish that feeling." She leaned back, looking into Cosima's dark eyes. She looked scared still, in some way. She wanted to take it away. "So what if there is a lot we don't know? We'll have time to learn. We'll make the time."
Cosima swallowed thickly, nodding. "We will."
Delphine glanced across the room at the old clock sitting on her desk. It was late. Probably too late for this, if they had been normal people with normal lives. But the truth was, they were not. And they couldn't be, not really, until they knew the simple things.
"You know, when I was in my final year of schooling, I didn't get out very much. I certainly didn't make much time for relationships. I had a friend, Amy—she was a true romantic. And for some… very aggravating reason—" Delphine chuckled. "—she made it her mission to find me 'true love'."
Cosima smiled. "I can probably guess how that worked out."
"I bet you can. I had no interest, whatsoever. But she was very determined. Do you know what she thought was my problem?" Cosima shook her head. "Impossible standards." Delphine rolled her eyes.
"Wow. That's sort of flattering, for me."
"Yes, I guess it is." She smiled, rubbing her thumb over Cosima's knuckles. "She sent me an article once, about how you could fall in love with almost anyone, if you asked the right questions. And answered with total honesty."
"Is that so?" Cosima was skeptical. That's why Delphine loved her.
She shrugged. "I don't know how much I believe that. But they were good questions. And the theory was sound: that knowing every silly, secret… innocuous thing about a person could create a sense of intimacy, even with a total stranger."
"That makes sense, I suppose."
"It does. And you and I are not strangers, but… you are right. There is a lot we do not know about each other."
Cosima paused, sitting up. There was a glimmer of intrigue in her eyes. "So, you wanna play this game?"
Delphine nodded, glancing at the clock again. "We have the time, don't we?
"We do," Cosima nodded, smiling. "All the time in the world, right?"