Things are wonderful.
Time stops.
You don't know how often you visit her in her lab, but you never get tired of the surprise in her eyes, even after weeks and weeks of doing the same thing. You'll always want to see the subtle widening of her hazel eyes when you first turn the corner and the little upturn of her lips when you approach.
Before you were hesitant to kiss her in public. Not anymore.
You relish it.
You come alive when she leans a little harder against you, her hands never failing to find purchase on your hips. You love when she smiles against your lips, like a love-sick fool, because it gives you hope that the both of you are in the same boat. Except she's not a back-stabbing horror of a person.
You love when she pulls away, but never breaks her hold on you, her eyes scanning the room to see if anyone is looking. She smiles bigger if someone is. She goes in for another if they aren't.
It is, for lack of a better word, lovely.
It isn't until you get home that the pleasant feelings dissipate. At home you are alone. At home you are at Leekie's beck and call. At home, your saving grace is gone.
So slowly, ever so slowly, you stop going home. You start going over to her place. At first it's for dinners. You make the excuse that after seeing her kitchen, you cannot allow her to continue eating garbage. She doesn't argue. She simply sits at her desk, in full view of you, continuing her typing and coding and research and work, all the while, you can tell she has her eyes on you as you work.
So you always go slow. You make sure to never mess up or spill. You sway your hips a little more, enjoying seeing her lick her lips from your peripherals.
You always give her food with a smile and a wink. She never fails to blush and bow her head to hide it. You always go back to clean while she eats. The kitchen has sort of become your place. Not to be sexist. But it's the truth. You don't feel comfortable rearranging anything else in the flat, or touching it much less. The kitchen is yours to clean and organize and move whenever you want, because she has absolutely no use for it.
It feels like a home most of the time.
By now, you have figured out her taste. So everything you give her disappears in a matter of minutes.
Then you leave with a quick kiss and a wave.
After dinners became not enough time away from your house, dinners became dinner and sleeping. No sex. You wish there was sex, but after that first time, you cannot bring yourself to do it again. Not until you are free of Leekie. Not until sex with Cosima will no longer feel like a move in a chess game. You do not want to use her.
You know she doesn't understand this.
After dinner, you and she will talk for hours. Honestly hours. You are in awe of her mind and all it possesses. All the thoughts. All the emotions. All the compassion. You love hearing about her parents. You love hearing embarrassing stories that make her blush, even though she shares them anyway.
You love telling stories. You love how she leans forward as you speak, as if mesmerized simply by the sound of your voice. You love the glassy look in her eye she gets. In those moments, she feels like yours.
She's not yours to have, you need to remind yourself.
Then after you finish talking, she always invites you to stay. Always.
At first, you agreed, staying on the couch even as she gets up. She had frowned at that. So eventually you gave in and slept in her bed.
She always tries to kiss you. You relent, always, because how stupid can you be to refuse such a feeling? Her lips make your head spin and empty the usually constant murmuring going on up there. Her hands wander more and more frequently, and you're forced to pull away, panting and flushed. And every time, you catch the worry in her eyes.
It hurts that she thinks you don't want her. You do. Desperately. Fiercely. But that doesn't make the fear in her eyes disappear.
You try to kiss it away, usually to no avail.
And then you pull her into your arms and sleep.
But that's the last of the good.
It quickly falls apart.
Because in those few waking hours when you are alone with your thoughts, her body warm and radiating in your arms, you realize what a stupid genius you are. You don't deserve your degrees or your merits or your job. You are just really, really dim. Bête. Stupide. Tu es folle. Crazy for even considering a happy ending for yourself.
You realize in those little moments in the dark, that you make everything worse every day, every hour, that you stay.
But you convince yourself that you are not hurting anyone, because if you leave, then they will just send someone else. You know how bad an argument it is. Because by then, Cosima would know she had been tricked. And she would not make any new friends. She would not let anyone within a fifty yard diameter of her. She would be safe.
Still. You cannot bring yourself to leave. You are selfish.
That's not even the worst part.
The worst part comes when Leekie starts calling more and you have less and less excuses for him. You have less room to wiggle away, and your window is closing. Get out or stay, and you do not know which one is best.
At the end of the week, you get to her apartment, food and dessert from your favorite restaurant in hand, because you've had a long day. And as much as you like cooking for her, you are just too tired. You switch the bottle of wine to the same hand as the bag so you can knock before opening the already unlocked door.
You see her at her desk, and your heart jumps a little. It always does when you see her. You bite your lip and enter, walking straight for her.
"Bonsoir ma Cherie," you murmur, slipping your fingers softly to her neck and guiding her chin up.
You kiss her gently, inhaling before pulling away, your fingers lingering on the hot skin of her neck as long as they can until you're too far away from her to hang on.
"I have the truffles that I promised you."
You set the things down on the closest clean space. When she doesn't answer, you look over your shoulder.
"You okay?" you ask as you shrug off your coat, expecting her to simply say she's tired.
"Are you?" she asks.
This catches your attention. Your hands falter in folding your coat. You give her a once over. She looks upset. Really upset. Throwing your coat to the side, you step closer to her.
"Well I was, but…"
She doesn't answer. She avoids your gaze instead, roughly spinning her laptop to face you. You instantly recognize the picture of you and Leekie.
"Delphine Cormier," she accuses. "Not Beraud."
Your heart sinks. It sinks harder and faster than you could've imagined, and immediately you feel nauseated.
"You've already got your doctorate in immunology, don't you?"
You fall to your knees on the opposite side of the desk, crossing your arms on top of it. You know it's the closest you'll be able to get to her now.
"I am so sorry," you breathe out.
She leans forward, anger in her eyes as she points to herself.
"I am so stupid," she whispers, an incredulous smile on her face, like she cannot even believe herself.
"No!" you're desperate to assure, reaching out across the desk. "No. No you're not—"
She pulls her hands away and straightens.
"You knew this all along," it's a half question, half affirmation. You always knew you were a bad liar. But why would she put herself up to all the pain?
"Yeah, that transcript you accidentally left behind," at this you cover your face, rubbing your temples quickly before looking at her again. She continues. "Your fake boyfriend in Paris, pretending you didn't know who Dr. Leekie was. I knew it was bullshit," her voice wavers, and you look at her sadly, "But I still thought you were on my side. I wanted to trust you." Her voice cracked.
"You can trust me!" you exclaim more harshly than you wanted.
"You told Leekie I know these girls!" she almost shouts, but her tears make the words wobble and almost fall away.
You don't think you can stand to see her cry. Not at your expense. You're running around the desk as fast as you can, clutching for any part of her. You get ahold of her wrist and pull her chair close to you as you kneel.
"I had to!"
She turns her head away.
"Look at me," you shake her until she concedes. "He says you're in danger."
"Of what?!" She's finally found hold on something other than crying and sadness and hurt. And you realize in her shout, that she has latched onto anger. You're screwed now. There's no getting past anger.
Her stare is firm and penetrating as she waits for your answer. You don't have one.
"D-You don't know, do you?" she asks angrily.
Fright washes over you, as you realize how much worse the situation is than you thought. Your eyes widen at her suddenly intense glare before you can't take it anymore. You duck your head and shake it hesitantly.
"No," you breathe out.
"Then you're the real danger, Delphine."
Staring up at her, you understand how right she is. How stupid you were to even drag it out this long. To take this from information gathering, to a one night stand, to a relationship. For a woman with a doctorate, you are dumb. So incredibly stupid.
She pushes away from you, and you lose your balance, falling back onto the ground and giving a yelp of pain. Instantly she stops and looks back, worry in her eyes for a split second. Then it's gone, replaced by horror. Then anger again. She's out of sight into her closet, and you manage to stand, only to see her lugging a suitcase back into her bedroom.
She throws it on her bed, grabbing nearby clothes without much thought, half folding them, and throwing them into the open bag.
"Please, Cosima," you beg, your voice quivering around her name. "Where are you going?"
You put your hand to your forehead as she continues packing, shifting your weight.
"Why, so you can tell Leekie?" she asks mockingly. "I am such an idiot!" she hisses to herself, slamming more clothes into the bag to release some of her anger.
You look on helplessly.
"What else did you tell him?"
"Nothing!" you cry. "Just the seven names. Nothing about…Kira."
At this, she stops packing. Her eyes shoot to yours, her mouth hanging open like she can't even believe you had the guts to say her name. She looks angrier than before, so you try to amend.
"She's an anomaly, you know that?"
It doesn't work. She's still pissed.
"Delphine, you can use me."
You cringe at the word. She waves her hands like it's nothing. It's so much.
"That's fine. But don't go near that little girl." Her anger is fading. You know she still has some left, but she's back to tears, welling up in her voice and eyes.
"I didn't and I won't!" you shout desperately. Why won't she see? You don't care about any of that. You care about her.
"GET OUT!" she shrieks.
"Please listen to me," you beg as you rush forward.
She takes a leaping step back away from you.
"Just let me tell you this one thing."
You expect her to decline. To shove you right out the door. Instead, she wipes at her eyes and sways, trying to calm herself and acquiesce.
You realize this is your best shot. These are the last words you are going to say to her, so you need to make them right. You need to let her know she is not worthless just because you screwed up. She isn't even close to being as insignificant as you treated her.
"I never meant to fall for you."
The gasp she gives makes you think your words actually physically pained her.
"I wasn't supposed to."
You stop talking for a moment because you're going to cry. Sitting there listening to her little gasping sobs, you clench your jaw to keep going.
"But I have."
She throws her hands down desperately.
"How can I possibly believe that Delphine?" Her lip quivers and she shakily inhales.
Your next words are going to be to tell her why you fell so hard.
To you, she is not a number or a sequence or a copy. To you, she is not a scientist or a student or an experiment. She never was.
She is special and wonderful and the only person you will ever truly love. The little way she tilts her head when she thinks. The spark and ease of her humor. Her very well done, always spot on wit that never seems to fade. The joy in her eye when she speaks of science and all the things you like. The way she always seems dressed down when you see her unplanned and the way she's always dressed up when you give her warning.
The way she bites her tongue and refrains from speaking by actuallybiting her tongue. The way she cares so much for her other clones, keeping them safe by tracking their bloodlines. The way she doesn't even seem to consider herself…ever.
But for some reason, that never makes it out of your mouth.
Somewhere along the way, your words get muddled up, or your brain does. Because instead of trying to promise her how wonderful she is, you find yourself trying to get her back. Even though you know she won't.
"Because you feel it."
She scoffs and turns away. You realize you should've stuck with your initial plan, but your selfish mind takes over. You want her, and instead of making her feel better, all you want is her to love you back. You hate yourself even more for it, but your mouth sputters on.
"This is not…it's not a lie, it's not possible."
You're crying now, You're crying freely because you lost your chance. You had your chance to make her feel better and take all the pain and hate and carry it yourself, and you failed. You failed her.
Instead of saving her, you are telling her you're not a bad person.
You are bad.
Somewhere along the way, you forget entirely what you had set out to accomplish. All you want is for her to know how much you love her. You want to bear your soul to her like she did for you, even though you know she'll crush it.
So you do just that.
"You know I've never been with a woman before."
"Yeah. It showed," she says bitterly. Instantly.
You lobbed it right over home plate, and she did not hesitate to smash it out of the park.
You inhale sharply, and the only words that keep you from busting out sobbing run through your head.
You never deserved her.
That's the mantra that starts as you bow your head. It's what gets you on your feet and lets you not trip as you walk away. It's what helps you remember your coat and gets you to open the door and slam it shut.
But it fails you after that. You fall against her door and sob.
Because you could've had her.
If you had met her without Leekie, you would've deserved her.
But that's long gone.
On the other side of the door, you hear her unhindered sobs, her wheezing breaths.
You intended to make yourself hurt more than she did.
Hearing that desperate, horrible crying makes you remember exactly what you told yourself every night.
You only made it worse.
