A/N: I know it has been some time between updates, for which I very sorry. This chapter is more of a prep for the next, but it's a necessary step, even though is kinda slow. Hopefully I'll be able to make up for it in the next one.

Thanks for reading and the patience (although involuntary).

Thanks to my beta!

I wake up when the warmth of Delphine's body pulls away, and I stir, pulling the covers closer to myself as she gets up. She allows me a brief moment of laziness, saying nothing as she leaves the bedroom. I linger in bed, only half awake, listening to the sounds of Delphine getting ready for the day. After a moment, she returns, opening and closing drawers and the closet door.

"Don't feel like getting up?" Delphine asks in a quiet voice.

"Not really," I respond, opening my eyes just a little, and rolling over in time to watch her pull a light blue, wool sweater down her body. "Breakfast in bed would be great too."

At this, she laughs. "You had no problems raiding my fridge last night. I don't imagine that today should be any different."

I sit up, bringing the covers up to cover my chest, more from the cold than modesty, and look for my glasses, before remembering they were abandoned in the living room somewhere. "Well, I can get it myself, but that would defeat the purpose of not getting up."

"Then I guess you have a very difficult decision to make," she mocks with a shrug, then leaves me alone again.

I twist my lips and take a deep breath, beginning to pull the covers down and stopping right after when I realize my clothes are… well, I really don't know where Delphine's put them last night.

"Hmm… Delphine!" I call from the bed. "Kinda naked here!"

I hear her snort and walk in my direction, but she stops at the door, leaning on its frame and crossing her arms over her chest. A subtle smirk on her lips, she remains there, silent and staring, raising a brow when I don't move.

"Really?!" I ask, a smile threatening to break my serious tone.

Delphine only shrugs, maintaining her position.

"Fine!" Quickly tossing the covers aside, I exit the warmth, and purposely cross the room, stopping just before her. "Happy?"

Delphine's smile widens, and she wraps her arms around me, only partially blocking the cold. Lowering her head, she gently nudges my cheek before placing a kiss on the corner of my mouth. "Your clothes are in the dryer, I'll find you something of mine," she says in a low voice.

I watch her move away and into the bedroom, rummaging in her drawers until she produces a pair of sweatpants and a black hoodie, that she places on the bed.

"Or we can enjoy other activities that require no clothes," I suggest from the doorway, hugging myself because the cold is becoming really uncomfortable.

"Unfortunately that won't be possible," she says, moving close to me, but, regretfully, keeping her hands to herself. "I have places to be, and so do you."

"Right," I mumble, not entirely happy about being reminded of the task I have before me. "But as a protest, I'm going commando," I finish, a weak complaint in my tone, as I walk to the bed and reach for the sweatpants.

"And you're meeting your boss like that?" Delphine's question is spoken in a slightly higher pitch.

I stop on my tracks, mentally projecting that image, and then I shake my head. "No… that's probably not a good idea," I say, continuing to pull the pants up my waist and grabbing the sweater. "Although I don't know if I'll be able to meet her today. I really don't know if she's in the area."

"Your boss is a woman then…" Delphine comments, not missing a beat. "I wonder how many women are in your line of work, in such a high position no less."

"Yes, and I'm not exactly thrilled about having this conversation with her," I answer, annoyed with myself for the slip up. "And you'd do well to not underestimate her."

"I wouldn't," Delphine replies calmly, not overreacting. "What do you think she's going to say?" She asks, walking out as I follow her to the kitchen.

"I'm not sure, but I doubt she'll be happy about it," I say, accepting the butter and milk that she passes to me from the fridge.

"You're intimidated by her," Delphine observes, throwing a smile over her shoulder when she moves away.

"You'd be too, if you knew her," I say, not denying her observation.

I'm expecting more questions, but this time, Delphine keeps her curiosity at bay. It's as if she's imposing limitations on herself. I know she wants to ask more, I can see it in the glances she gives me, like she's assessing the situation, mentally cataloguing questions. Perhaps she thinks it's best to not push me further in this matter, not when she's so close to making a deal with us. Whatever questions she may have, she's saving them for later, when the deal is done, placing her trust in my ability to convince Siobhan. Maybe she thinks my conversation with Ms. S is nothing but a formality, only waiting for an official positive reply, even if she's cautious in her inquiries. However, I'm not so sure. Siobhan might agree, but she'll still impose conditions of her own, about information we can and can't share. The terms of the final agreement may very well end up being so restricted, as to be inefficient, void.

Of course I have the advantage of knowing the two sides involved. The two women are more alike than they'd probably admit, if they ever met each other. Despite being on opposite sides, both are guided by the same principles. Delphine and Siobhan will clash, because neither will be inclined to compromise. Some call it stubbornness, others, loyalty. Meanwhile, I'll be stuck in the middle, trying to negotiate a way for this to work. However, I'm not an impartial party in all of this, the side I'm on is well defined from the start, my own loyalty, established. My commitment is to Siobhan, and the team I'm part of, not with Delphine, or the feds that she'll undoubtedly represent in this unorthodox treaty.

I wonder if Delphine thinks I'll take her side, if she believes that what has happened between us will influence me to favor her. Perhaps it was with that in mind that she took the initiative to mend our relationship - or, at least, reconnect as much as possible, given the circumstances. Was that her plan all along? Does every move she makes has a purpose? Does she continue to manipulate me? Or was it something that came along? Not planned, but useful nonetheless when it fell on her lap?

Last night I was so sure that the intimacy was real, and perhaps it was. But the two are not mutually exclusive. Nothing says that Delphine's actions, last night, didn't come from a more… impulsive side, while, at the same time, her mind is still working behind the curtain, still finding ways to get what she wants. And as I consider all of this, while I share a pleasant breakfast in her company, I realize how paranoid I may sound, constantly looking over my shoulder, awaiting the moment Delphine will make a move to stab me in the back. The reason for this is, partially, due to the nature of my line of work: I'm trained to trust no one outside our group, in every shadow there's a potential enemy lurking, ready to attack. However, some of it is due to our tumultuous history. Delphine has betrayed me before, left me out to dry without so much as a glance back. And it's quite irrational, actually: I can't judge Delphine solely on the actions of her teenage self, especially because since, she has proven to be more reliable. If it wasn't for her, I doubt I would be able to leave Warsaw unscathed, let alone accomplish all I did. Her more recent actions should have more weight on the great scheme of things, but that early impression still lingers, not helped by the fact that we are, virtually, on opposite sides. Our interests align today, but how long will this last? And what will happen when our interests no longer coincide?

On the other hand, I know that, unless she's playing us, and all she said is a lie, Delphine herself is risking a lot. Only my word assures her that I won't go behind her back, talk with her superiors and try to make a better deal, with someone who ranks higher. It's rather curious why I don't do just that though. I may not trust Delphine, but I still believe she's our best option to get us out of this relatively clean. After all, who's more likely to have my best interest in mind? A group of strangers whose lives revolve around hunting people like me? Or Delphine, who, despite her many shortcomings, has, at the very least, some concern for my well being?

I don't trust her, but I trust the people she's working for even less.

We leave her place at the same time. After we finished breakfast, I dressed in my own clothes, and we head outside. Delphine was reluctant to let me leave, and even more so when I asked for her number. But I reminded her that there had to be a way for us to get in contact, and that settled her, probably assuming I have no intention of dropping off the face of the earth without a word. Tempting? Yes, definitely. But as she pointed out last night, when she convinced me to go to her home, she knows where to find Sarah and Felix, and I'm not about to gamble on her threats, regardless of whether I believe she could go through with it.

I walk a few blocks away from the direction she trails, without a real destination of my own, only putting some distance between us and the street she lives in. The gun, that Delphine begrudgingly let me take, an uncomfortable bulge hidden under my large jacket. If someone decides that I warrant a closer look, I'm quite fucked. No guns in New York, no matter what, even more so when I'm without any sort of ID. Therefore I do my best to melt into the crowd walking the sidewalks, keeping my head down, not making eye contact with anyone, not stopping for too long at a store window. Just keep walking, not too fast, not too slow.

I maintain my pace when I reach inside the pocket of my jacket for the phone. Siobhan doesn't take too long to answer, it's almost as if she's expecting my call.

"We need to meet," I say immediately after she picks up. "I'm in New York."

"I know," Siobhan replies in a flat, noncommittal tone. "I've spoken with Sarah. I'm heading your way now. Safe house, in two hours."

And that's it, she hangs up. I'm not terribly surprised that Sarah found a way to get in contact with her, but I am by Siobhan's coming to New York by her own initiative. I wasn't expecting her to feel the need to come, not after I assured Sarah that I was just laying low.

Our safe house is located in a old, small apartment building covered in graffiti, in Flushing, Queens, where it's less likely anyone would call the police if they notice movement at odd hours of the night. The New York house is more accommodating than most of the other safe houses we have scattered all over the country - usually just holes with the essential to spend a night - despite the shabby appearance. This house is often used when we have an assignment in the neighboring states, since it's easily accessible by a web of highways, and boasts people who offer the perfect cover to help us disappear. Two airports that fly to virtually everywhere in the world for a quick escape, makes this our primary safe house on the West Coast.

I have time to spare when the taxi parks a block off our street. I go to the bedroom where we all keep several change of clothes, and I change out of my all black clothes. The gun and holster were left on top of the table in the living room, where I turn on the TV, and wait...and worry about the conversation that approaches with every passing minute.

At least I won't be caught by surprise with the sound of the keys turning in the lock. The cameras are working: on the front of the building and another installed at our front door, both cameras motion sensor activated and connected to the security panel inside the house. Even so, knowing exactly the moment Ms. S enters the building doesn't make me any less anxious, and when I stand to open the front door, waiting for her at the doorway. I'm still shifting from one foot to another, shoving my hands inside the pockets of my harem pants, only to regret it and take them out, my arms dancing awkwardly by my sides when Siobhan briefly pauses in front of me and, after a meaningful look, moves inside.

I close the door, following her slow steps with my eyes. Siobhan's features are closed. I can guess nothing from her expression, only that she's not happy. Without a word, I move to the kitchen and fill a kettle with water from the tap, place it on the stove, and light the flame. Only then do I return to the living room and sit on the couch, while she chooses the armchair, waiting for her to start the conversation.

"You didn't spend the night here," she notices, her eyes moving across the nearly untouched room. "Don't tell me you checked into an hotel while on the run."

"I'm gonna need you to keep an open mind, Siobhan," I begin with a voice much steadier than I feel. "Because you're not going to like what I have to say."

Siobhan narrows her eyes at me. "Not a good start," she says, her tone calm. "But points for honesty."

I nod and clasp my hands together, twisting my fingers. "Good, good… Cause I might need those in a very near future," I comment with a grimace, predicting the impending catastrophe.

The woman before me crosses her legs and arms, perhaps thinking she's prepared for the bomb I'm about to drop, but there's really nothing she can do to prepare for what's coming. Her eyes remain glued to my face, analyzing every little change in my features, her expression closed. Siobhan, more than any of us, has long ago mastered the ability to dominate and control her emotions. She might be expectant, but nothing in her posture reveals it.

"Since you've already talked with Sarah, I'm going to assume you're aware of what happened last night with the Russians," I start, after a long moment of silence, while I contemplate where to begin.

"Yes, yes… everything was picture perfect until the feds showed up and everything went to shit - her words," Siobhan says with signs of impatience.

"Right… well…" I start again only to pause right after, swallowing the nervous lump forming in my throat. I can hear the loud, rapid beat of my heart drumming in my ears. "One of those feds… well… we're kinda familiar with…" I stop, awaiting her tempestuous reaction.

But Siobhan only lifts an eyebrow, uncrosses her arms, and laces the fingers of her hands on her lap, the knuckles turning white the only indication that she might suspect where I'm going with this. "Go on…" she encourages in what sounds more like a challenge.

"She was guarding the backup vehicle that we'd parked outside the facilities where the meeting was taking place," I say, extremely reluctant to continue. "I had to use it in order to get the hell out of there. I had an agent right behind me, couldn't properly scout the area…"

"Why don't you just say it, Cosima?" Siobhan cuts me off, clearly getting exasperated with my tangents.

"She didn't give me much of a choice: either I went with her, or she'd go after Felix and Sarah," I say quickly, my anxiety causing me to startle and jump out of my seat when the kettle's whistle blows loudly. "Shit!" I mumble and move quickly to turn off the stove.

Siobhan remains seated while I prepare two mugs of tea, and return to the living room.

"So," she says thoughtfully, taking the steaming mug in both hands, "You've spent the night with Delphine to keep all of us safe?" She paused to blow the hot tea, her eyes peering over the rim of the mug, her sarcasm not enough to mask the slightly threatening stare she gives me. "It was quite a sacrifice you had to endure for the team."

"No, no! It was nothing like that," I reply quickly.

"No?" She lifts an eyebrow again. "Then what?"

"She wants our help to take down the Websters," I say, continuing to speak quickly.

"Absolutely not!" Siobhan answers even faster, shaking her head, her voice hard, resolute.

"In exchange she'll do her best to intervene in our favor when all this is over," I keep pushing forward, despite the determination she's showing.

"No!" Siobhan's position remains unchanged. "With the feds involved, it's best if we pull out of this mission and disappear for a while, lay low until all this blows over."

"I know…" I insist, ignoring all the signs she's giving me with an ugly look from her crystal blue eyes. "That was my first instinct too. But considering our situation, I don't know if that's possible, not with someone in our case," I continue and, hearing this, I can see Siobhan's determination waver. "She can even help us with that. The feds may have information on your mysterious Mr. Y."

"That's a very generous offer from her, but I'll have to decline," Siobhan says after a thoughtful sip from her tea. "We solve our problems in house, we don't need to make deals with the Devil."

I grimace a little. "She didn't exactly offer," I tentatively say. "I wouldn't explain the problems we're having without speaking to you first.".

"Good!" She says slowly, nodding her head. "At least you haven't entirely lost your mind."

We're silent for a long moment as Siobhan continues to drink her tea, and I barely touch mine. Usually, I'd see this conversation as over, I know not to continue pushing when she's this adamant. There's an invisible line that we all know we shouldn't cross, unless we're willing to deal with the subsequent rage. But not today; today I seem to be determined to exhaust my arguments, face her rage if need be. The motivation for this is complex, there's a multitude of reasons that keeps me pressing the matter: while my relationship with Delphine does play a part, there's also my dislike and distrust for the man we're helping, and the possibility of us taking part in helping a criminal organization getting away with whatever they want to do with our inaction.

"Siobhan," I say softly, and she takes her eyes off the mug to look at me. "We need to do what's right here. Daniel Webster is up to no good. I don't exactly know what he's planning, but if he's in league with the Russian mob, we know it's bad news."

"That's not our job, Cosima, it's theirs!" Siobhan counters, but she doesn't sound as intransigent, something in her expression softening. "Is she really worth put everything we've worked for at risk? Turning our backs on the reputation we've worked so hard to build over the years? Betray our clients? Because that's what's going to happen if it becomes known we're cooperating with the authorities. They don't care if it's the right thing to do or not; if we've done it once, we'll do it again. No one will ever trust us with a job ever again."

"I'm not saying this because I'm sleeping with her…" I assure her, shaking my head.

"It's not the sleeping part I'm worried about, it's everything in-between…" Siobhan interrupts me for her sarcasm to make another appearance.

"I'm saying this because we need to have some values, lines that we shouldn't cross. And helping the Russian mafia, even if indirectly, should be one," I say, pushing past her jab. "And we'd be dealing with Delphine and Delphine alone. She has assured me that she can guarantee our anonymity. No one would know about our involvement, unless we want them to."

Siobhan frowns, disbelief touches her face. "Then how can Delphine say that we'll come out clean from all this, if she's the only one who'd know about our involvement?"

"She can't," I say. "I didn't say that. I said she'd intervene in our behalf if it comes to that."

"Sounds like a terrible deal for us," Siobhan comments, and I know the little wiggle room I've gained is diminishing with every word I say.

"Yeah, I know," I agree with the obvious. "That's why we'll ask her to look into our situation," I add immediately. "We'll help her if - and only if - she helps us."

"That'd require we fully disclose at least our last two missions to her," Ms. S twitches her nose, her resolve returning in force. "Does that sound like a smart thing to you?"

"If she keeps it to herself and says nothing to her superiors, giving us de facto immunity?" I say, raising my shoulders. "Then, yes!"

"And why would she do that?" Siobhan challenges. "Because you're…"

"Because we'll be helping her!" I don't let her finish, raising my arms, my turn to get exasperated. "That's what mutual cooperation means!"

Siobhan reclines herself on the armchair, the index finger of her right hand that's holding the mug traces its rim. After a while she releases a deep sigh of temporary defeat, and drinks the rest of her tea.

"Arrange a meeting between the two of us!" She eventually says, not as a request, but as an order.