The fresh air feels good, expanding, contracting coolly in her lungs. The deep breaths don't come for her yet. She can stop where she stands, open her mouth wide and inhale, but the remaining ramparts of her illness stop allowing air midway down her chest. If she breathes too deeply, the oxygen burns, makes her heart skip a beat.

She takes it in, one eager, shallow gulp at a time. In and out, respiring an exhausting, yet blessedly perfunctory rhythm. It's still hard to believe: all those months of hard work and sleepless panic; racking, bloody fits; cashing in her mortal resignation for a feeble peace of mind—all she really achieved, in the end, was this. A steady breath. In and out. The only tangible victory that remission has yielded.

There's so much more, of course, figuratively, that she has gained, like the hours spent sitting cross-legged on the floor of the loft, records passed between her and Sarah as they share embarrassing stories from their childhood. The drunken laughter that wells between her and Felix at two in the morning, when she really ought to be resting. The brownies, cookies, and cupcakes that Alison bakes for her – an olive branch when the constant fussing turns from endearing to aggravating.

Like this, too: the tiny hand held fast to hers, equally carefree and cautious as she is dragged across the playground towards the swing set. Kira looks back as she leads her, her smile vibrant, and asks, "Can you push me, Auntie Cosima?"

"I know you can swing yourself, Monkey," Sarah intercedes, tone hesitant as she trots along behind them, hands stuffed into the pockets of her leather jacket.

"I go so much higher if someone else pushes me though."

"Well, I can—"

"Sarah," Cosima glances back at her, eyebrows raised, and waves a hand. "It's not like she's asking me to run a marathon. I think I can handle some swings." Sarah wants to protest, she can tell. It's become instinctual, after all these months. Despite what little annoyance she feels, Cosima can't blame her. If she'd had to spend so much time caring for someone, treating them as if they were made of glass, unsure if they would even wake in the morning, the urge to coddle would probably overwhelm her, too. She can at least be thankful that Sarah's brand of cossetting is not as forthright as Alison's.

She feels good today, despite the bite in the mid-October air, the chill that nips at her hands and cheeks. She feels strong, and just to prove that point, she smiles cheekily, pointedly at Sarah, before she grabs Kira by her middle, and lifts her off her feet.

"Come on, Monkey, I'm gonna make you fly!" She sprints the rest of the way to the swing set, Kira giggling in her arms.

"You ass…" It's all Sarah can do to mutter under her breath, shaking her head as a small smile curls over her lips. She still worries, somehow, that the treatment won't hold. Her concerns are valid – ultimately, the treatment will fail. In spite of all the stem cells harvested from Helena's embryos, a permanent solution has yet to be found. Cosima muddles through Ethan's cipher the best she can, but so much still remains hidden from her. She needs a fresh set of eyes on his work. She needs help.

There's a lot that Sarah can do for her now. She can make her sister laugh when her brows knit too tightly, lips pinching in frustration. She can give her a kick in the ass when her stubbornness rears its head – hopelessness a shadow that is never far behind. She can even give her space, if that's what she needs; and intuitively, she seems to understand when it will benefit her the most.

The thing most needed now though, she can see, for reasons both emotional and scientific, is too far away. Though neither of them is willing to say it out loud, she needs a partner. She needs Delphine.

"Monkey," Sarah calls loudly from her spot on the bench. Kira peeks her head over the top of the jungle gym, eyes wide and inquisitive. "Keep that jacket zipped." Her tone brooks no argument. Cosima almost wants to laugh until her Sarah glances over at her with the same stern expression. "You, too."

"Are you kidding?"

Sarah's face breaks suddenly into a satisfied grin. "Kind of." She pauses. "It is cold though—"

"Yeah, don't go there." Nonetheless, Cosima wraps her arms around herself, bundled up in the red coat that now hangs loosely about her frame. Her appetite hasn't returned yet, not fully. Until it does, her ribs will continue to show.

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, both unwilling to tell Kira they must leave. The sun will begin to set in under half an hour. They don't have much time if they plan to make it back home before the street lamps turn on, but neither budge. In truth, Cosima is as soothed by the crisp October air as her niece. Sarah doesn't want to take that from her.

The more she glances at Cosima, the more anxious she begins to feel, however. Not about the impending dark or about the biting chill, the way it raises goosepimples along Cosima's too-pale skin; but about the conversations they haven't been having.

She can't ignore it. Cosima is clever, intelligent, but she's not stealthy. She pretends she's watching Kira as she moves happily, a little clumsily across the monkey bars, but Sarah can see the way her gaze settles just to the left, fixed on some obscure point in the background. Her pupils dilate, glassy and unfocused. It's a look Sarah has become familiar with, ever since they left DYAD.

"Cos." Her sister flinches slightly, blinking as she readjusts her glasses.

"Yeah," she answers, too quickly.

Sarah watches her daughter as she says, "I've been meaning to ask you, recently…" The statement trails off, somewhat awkwardly. Cosima already knows what she's getting at.

"Still nothing." Her posture stiffens, hands folded in her lap in uncharacteristic stillness.

It's been a month since she received any contact from Delphine. When she first arrived in Frankfurt, the calls were sporadic, clipped. In spite of the legitimacy of the operations DYAD were conducting in Germany, Delphine was unconvinced, paranoid. She was fearful; so thoroughly bereft of composure, in fact, that Cosima could hardly imagine it.

All communications were tapped, she'd claimed. Her cellphone, email and other internet activities – all tracked. When they spoke, it was usually in the middle of the night, Delphine's voice choked and breathy over the line of the burner she'd purchased.

Delphine had spent so much of their time in Toronto, exerted so much energy just in trying to hold it together. For Cosima's sake, she'd asserted. Cosima couldn't stand it though. Half the time she'd felt at arm's length, blind to the goings on of her own treatment. It frustrated her endlessly. Delphine would lie beside her each night, hold her, whisper quietly in her ear, but she couldn't deign to bare her own feelings. It made Cosima feel irrational, overly-emotional in comparison.

In the end, she broke, allowing the tears to fall freely on the night that Rachel had abducted Kira. Cosima convinced herself things would be different then. But by the time they woke the next morning, that cool composure had returned.

Over the phone, it seemed she'd gotten what she'd wanted all along – Delphine, unfettered from her pride and self-possession, left raw. Everything in the open. But with her disposition so resigned, having compromised her own mortality, it suddenly felt too much. Over the phone, it felt so wrong.

She kept dreaming of her, beautiful and healthy. Confident, dressed all in white, her body effervescent. She would beckon Cosima forth with her palms open, as if in supplication, telling her not to be afraid. It all seemed so perfect.

The light was too bright though, harsh, the way it is in the middle of the night, when one steps from a darkened hallway into a fluorescent bathroom. She had to blink against it, eyes watering. Her feet couldn't carry her forward fast enough, the breaths ragged and heavy in her throat. Delphine's voice was farther away than her body – too far. It was wrong.

She'd wake sputtering, cold, blood trickling from the corners of her mouth. The emptiness of her bed made her realize she ought to have been more cautious in her wishing.

She does not wake with the same ease that she once did. On the best of days, coming to is a process. On the worst, it seems almost an implausibility.

The fringes of her dream echo with a far off chime. She ignores it for what seems like several minutes before she can feel herself being shoved, tumbling. Her eyes open blearily, vision swimming from both her lack of frames and the clinging remnants of slumber.

"Cos… oi, Cosima." It's Felix, tonight. Sarah and Kira stay often, but Cosima feels bad denying the little girl her own bed, if only inadvertently. When they're not around to keep her company, Felix assumes watch. She appreciates it more than any of them can understand.

She means to mumble some half-hearted response, some offer of recognition, but sputters instead. Beyond her own weak coughing, she can still hear the ringing.

Felix places a hand on her forehead, his own voice sleepy, but gentle. "Your phone, darling. They've already called once."

"Hmm?" She squints, attempting to sit up. She manages to push herself off her back, and clears her throat. "Where 's it?" He presses the phone into her hand. She stares blindly at the screen, the numbers a blur.

"Unknown number," he supplies.

"'Kay." She answers, clearing her throat once again. When she speaks up, her voice is raspy. "Hello?" There is only silence. "Hello," she tries again.

She's about to hang up when she hears her own name, cracking, on the other line. It sounds different, fragmented, but unmistakably tinged with a French lilt.

There's a hollowness in her chest then, an odd, fluttering cessation, almost like the dropping of one's stomach, but exactly where her heart ought to be. She lets out a breath.

"Delphine?" She can't help the questioning inflection that lifts the end of her name. After all this time – weeks, stretched taut and thin beneath the inevitability of death – after all those maddening fever dreams, it's hard to believe she's actually speaking to her. That she's alive. That they're both alive.

A sound caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh bubbles incredulously on the other end. Her eyes burn, but she smiles, too.

"Yeah," Delphine replies. "It's me. I'm here."

Her face falls then, because she has no idea where "here" is. It doesn't even matter, she realizes. Because "here" is where she is not.

"Yeah, well… she was plannin' to make a break, right? Get out from under DYAD's thumb." From her peripheral, Cosima can see Sarah running a hand through her hair, lips pursed. It's the kind of look she sports, she's noticed, when she's trying to say something consoling without being obviously consoling. That her sister has never trusted or really even liked Delphine makes the sentiment only that much more frustrating to her. "A bit of radio silence isn't necessarily a bad thing. She could just be trying to, uh, stay hid, is all."

Cosima concedes a nod. She makes an effort to actually stay focused, keep an eye on Kira. For a kid, she's almost startlingly intuitive. In moments like these, though, she's as oblivious to it all as she should be. For Cosima, it's a welcome distraction.

"She had it perfectly timed," she says quietly. "I know that. If she escaped a month ago, then her hand was forced."

Sarah hums distractedly, struggling to find some explanation that could allay her sister's fears. Despite the sudden sinking in her stomach, the rigidness of her spine though, Cosima doesn't want consoling. She doesn't want Sarah to have to try.

She stands, a little slowly, as the inevitable weariness begins to weigh on her. Buttoning up her coat, she looks down at Sarah and smiles.

"She's smart though. Maybe not as smart as me," she smirks, "but, she has way more experience in double-dealing."

"No shit," Sarah scoffs as she joins her, looking a little shame-faced for it. It's hard for her, giving Delphine any credit; but she does, for Cosima's sake. "She seems, uh… really dedicated. Honestly." She scuffs the ground with the toe of her boot as they walk towards the jungle gym. "Seems like, if she commits to something, then she's got to see it through to the end. Doesn't matter what it takes."

Cosima glances at Sarah, trying to hide her surprise. The insinuation is evident to them both. It's not about what Delphine is committed to anymore, but who. She swallows thickly, feeling she should say something more. Say thanks, in some way. Before she has the chance to, though, Kira is running towards them, being scooped into her mother's waiting arms. It's all right, she thinks. As with most things between them, it doesn't need to be said. They both already know.

One of the first things she asks, once the pleasantries have subsided, the weight of peril seeming to permeate even the kindest words, is about the bone marrow. She wants to know when the transplant took place, how Cosima's body is taking it. Does she feel any better?

Instinct urges her to lie. It seems sensible, somehow. There are thousands of miles between them now. Sending Delphine into a panic isn't going to do either of them any good.

Of course, there is still the very real possibility that Cosima will die because of that bone marrow. Without it. The thought of dying, of Delphine not understanding why, makes her chest clench, her stomach warm with a nauseating heat.

She can't hurt her in that way, can't contribute any more deceit to their already tenuous relationship. More misplaced good intentions.

"Listen—" For a second she feels like she might choke, but clears her throat again, roughly. Felix had offered to wait out in the hall while they spoke, but she declined. Truthfully, she just couldn't handle being alone, knowing what she was without. He sits at the edge of the bed now, glancing over his shoulder with obvious concern. She shakes her head.

Preamble makes it all the more painful somehow, so she simply tells her, "Rachel destroyed Kira's bone marrow." She pauses, clenching her eyes against the vacuous silence on the other end. Shakily, she inhales. "All of it—but," she adds quickly, the sudden hope that enters her voice sounding pitchy, almost disingenuous, "I think I've got it – Professor Duncan's cipher. And, not only that, but—"

"Cosima." Delphine's voice is coiled unbelievably tight. Even without the aid of non-verbal cues, she can tell she might break. "All the bone marrow?"

"… Yeah." She can't even hear her breathe, for a moment.

"Oh, mon dieu… salope!" Cosima stiffens. Clearly, Delphine hadn't heard her reassurances. "No… Cosima…" Her voice is watery, pleading, as if there is anything more that can be done. "You do not have—the t-time."

Delphine breaks then. Cosima can hear her, on the other line. It's a different sound than she has ever heard from her before. Her previous tears had been remorseful, ashamed. These are despairing. Completely hopeless.

The phone nearly drops from her hand with the sudden, cold exhaustion that grips her. She wants to cry, too – thinks she should – but she doesn't have it in her. Instead, she steels her jaw, clutching the phone tighter.

She'll make this right for both of them, somehow. It doesn't matter whether she should, or if she can. She'll fix it. Her body doesn't know what else to do.

"Let me surprise you," she says. She's not asking.

By the time they return to Felix's, the sky is a bruise, a colorful patchwork that grows darker by the minute. When the door slides open, the shadows climbing the walls seem to waver. A single lamp brightens the loft, lit up in the corner where Felix stands before a blank canvas, contemplating his palette.

"Uh oh," Sarah remarks, a wry smirk curling her lips. "Are we intruding, Fee?" Even if they were, Cosima doubts Sarah would actually be concerned. She, on the other hand, tends to worry. She feels like an interloper here, sometimes. It has nothing to do with Felix – he's been endlessly welcoming. He tends to grow disinterested when she geeks out, but otherwise, he's in a constant state of amusement with her.

It's just that she's spent the majority of her life alone. Often, it was by choice. Growing up, she had a difficult time connecting with people, either intellectually or emotionally. This disconnect necessitated a sort of hyper-independence – a fondness for solitude.

One of the great things about having genetic identicals, she's found, is that there isn't really a need to connect. They are innately bonded to each other, alike in ways so easy and unfathomable, yet still different enough to find constant intrigue in each other. When it comes to her clones, their families just seem, in some way, to belong to her, too. If only a little bit.

Independence is a habit of hers, though, one she's practiced her entire life. She's felt for the past couple of weeks that she ought to find a place of her own, start to move on. Waking up in Felix's bed inevitably reminds her of days in which she almost didn't wake at all. She'd like to forget.

"I know the muse isn't fond of visitors."

"No," he sighs dramatically, "but the muse is being finicky tonight. I can't even figure out how to start."

Sarah goes immediately for the kitchenette, picking up a kettle and gesturing towards Cosima. "Something hot?"

Cosima shrugs, removing her coat. "Sure, thanks. Coffee." She watches Kira as the girl wanders quietly over to Felix, standing at his hip and glancing up at the canvas with the same steady deliberation. She seems fascinated by art, Cosima has noticed – looking, inspecting, drawing. She's amassed an impressive stack of drawings in the past few months. More incentive to get her own place, she thinks. If she had, say, a fridge, she'd have a place to display them.

"What do you think, Monkey," Felix asks, looking down at his niece. "What should I paint?" She cocks her hip for a moment, imitating him maybe, before her face lights. Cosima takes a seat at the kitchen counter, curious for her answer.

"Fox-Bear Witch," the girl suggests. Cosima snorts.

"What? Cos, the hell kind of stories you been reading to her?"

"The Island of Doctor Moreau," Kira answers. "It's science-fiction, Uncle Felix." Duh.

"Oh, of course, how foolish of me." He glances over his shoulder to roll his eyes at Cosima when a sudden thought occurs to him. "Shite, Cos." He strides forward, rifling through a stack of letters on the counter. "I almost forgot." He hands a small white envelope out for her, which she takes immediately into her hands. Turning it over, she sees there's no return address. Her heart hammers instantly in her chest.

Sarah and Felix don't even pretend to feign other interests while she tears open the envelope. The blatant disregard for privacy feels especially familial.

Her hands tremble, just slightly, when she unfolds the small piece of paper inside. The precisely angled script is familiar.

There are two sets of numbers at the top, separated by a comma, the first containing eight digits, the second, seven. Below them, in fine scrawl, is written, "Je suis toujours en attente pour que la surprise. XO."

An immediate grin splits her face. She feels so breathlessly relieved her head goes a little light.

"What is it," Sarah asks.

Felix, tactlessly, leans right over the top of the paper, brow furrowing slightly in confusion. He points to the numbers. "The French seems obvious enough. But what's that supposed to mean?"

"Coordinates," she replies, unable to take her eyes off of them. "She wants me to know exactly where to find her."

AN: All right, needed to get a little post-finale fic out (something derivative of canon) before I'd allow myself to delve into some AU (heavily debating a Rock Band AU at the moment). I've got two more chapters planned for this. Hope you enjoy!