#COSIMA SQUINTING

[cressidagrey]

Glorious Sunrise - Chapter 7

Summary:

So what happens after the mating bond snaps?

Well-meaning interfering family members, deep conversations and nights spent brooding on the roof like some kind of gargoyle…this one has it all.

Warnings:

horrible self image, medical emergency, Mor bashing if you squint

(thanks to @cafekitsune for the super pretty dividers!)

I think I can fix it. 

Galena’s words echoed in Azriel's head…even after she had healed Emerie’s wings enough that they nearly looked like they had before. She hadn’t actually needed to fondle his wings like Cassian had expected, she just needed to watch him move them twice, spread out for her view so that she could see how the muscles attached, could see how skin moved over bones. 

“Should we get Mor?” Cassian asked him quietly as he stepped out of the room as the others worked to make Emerie more comfortable, probably ending up cutting her out of the fighting leathers she wore, so that she wouldn’t need to move. 

“You mean Mor, who still pretends that none of us know whatever is going on between her and Emerie?” Azriel gave back drily. “I think she’s with Rhys, isn’t she?” 

“I’ll let him know.” 

It didn’t take longer than maybe 5 minutes and they had a furious and worried Mor in front of them. Unsurprising as far as Azriel was concerned. 

He never commented on Mor and Emerie's budding relationship, because it hadn’t been his place. It had been none of his business. 

“What happened?” she demanded from Cassian, who grimaced. 

“Our newest obstacle course was a horrible idea and Emerie’s wings got crushed?” he answered questioningly and Azriel half expected Mor to pull a knife on both of them. 

Neither of them had even thought about the fact that something that was safe for them with two completely functioning wings they could move,  would be pretty much impossible for Emerie, who shlepped around dead weight with her. Not the least because she had gnashed her teeth into every new challenge they had put in front of her and come out victorious.

“Is Madja with her?” Mor demanded harshly. 

“Madja wasn’t available. Galena is with her,” Azriel said quickly. “It’s already looking much better, Mor,” he promised her. “The bleeding was already stemmed.”

“Does she know what she is doing?” Mor asked and Azriel just raised one eyebrow in response. 

“She managed to save Azriel, so I’ll argue yes,” Cassian said pointedly. “You saw her work then.” 

“Did she ever deal with wings before?” Mor pushed, just as the door opened and Galena appeared in the doorway. 

“I have but I’ll need Cosima for the rest. She’s something of an…expert on wings,” Galena explained. “You may sit with Emerie if you want to. She’s stable for the moment. Everything else I need to do is just…” She didn’t even end her sentence, because Mor shouldered past. 

Galena watched it, her lips pursing. She wasn't the only one. Annoyance was building in Azriel's gut at Mor's behaviour, even when he knew that it probably wasn't meant as a slight against Galena, and was just her worry for the female she loved. 

And still, Galena was leaning heavily on her cane and had done everything she could to help Emerie. 

“Are you alright?” Cassian asked, quicker than Azriel was. 

“Yeah, I am fine. Just tired,” she answered. He acted quicker then, pulling her onto his lap, where Cassian and he were both sitting on a bench facing the doorway and she let him fold her into his arms. 

“Do you need sugar?” he asked her, remembering one absent-minded comment about how she used that to feed her magic. 

“Please,” she agreed. Cassian chuckled but did ask the house to provide something sugary to eat, and quickly enough Galena got an almond pastry the size of her head on a plate…drizzled with chocolate. 

The House never bothered to give him stuff like that, though for her they clearly did. 

“Thank you,” Galena said aloud and the lights brightened for just a moment.”

“Could one of you fetch Cosima? I send her a letter, she should be ready soon enough,” Galena asked between bites and he held her a little bit tighter. 

“Of course,” Cassian agreed. “She helped fix my wings after the war,” he told Azriel and he weakly remembered a red-haired female that had supported Madja during some of the healing sessions for Cassian’s ruined wings. 

Cassian left, going off to fetch Cosima, leaving them alone, Galena still eating her pastry. He breathed in the scent of peppermint that was clinging to her and felt her relax against his chest, curling together there…resting for just a moment. 

“You want some?” she asked, holding out the rest of the almond pastry, absentmindedly. She clearly didn’t even think what she was doing. 

The want flared brightly in his chest. 

He wanted nothing more. He wanted nothing more than to take that stupid almond pastry and eat it. 

“If I eat that, you won’t get to fix Emerie’s wings, because we’ll be too busy with the mating frenzy,” he said drily and Galena flinched with surprise, staring at him, before dropping her head against his shoulder. 

“My brain is not quite there,” she apologized and he just chuckled. He knew that.

Though that offer…it had been so easily given and he trailed his fingers over her spine as her breathing evened out. And there was something inside him that was stupidly pleased about how there was no shock in her scent or her features...just true surprise. 

Galena wasn’t asleep, he knew that…she was thinking something through, clearly a complicated thought process, her face portraying her emotions until she finally settled on something. 

The shadows went and fetched her two books from her rooms and after she had read whatever she needed, Cosima and Cassian had appeared. Galena and her fellow healer were busy talking about whatever they planned on doing, j ust as Mor pulled open the door, her arms crossed. 

“You truly think that you can reverse the clipping?” she asked sharply. Azriel bristled, but Galena, placed a hand on his arm, calming him, near absentmindedly. 

“I am reasonably confident that I can fix at least some of the muscle tremors and give back a broader range of motion, even if I fail with recreating the ability to fly,” Galena said carefully. 

“But you have no evidence. You have never done this before,” Mor stated, looking not at all like she was willing to even consider it.

“I have not,” Galena agreed. “I have a working theory that Cosima agrees with.”

“You are not the one making this decision,” Emerie’s voice came quietly from the bed. “If you think this works, then I want to try it.”

“And what if it goes wrong?” Mor hissed. “What then? Think about the risk!”

“There is always a risk,” Cosima agreed. “But if we never take it, then we’ll never get better.”

“So you want to use her as your experiment!” Mor nearly exploded with rage at that, and Azriel had enough. 

"Morrigan," he bit out sharply.

“She was right with Azriel,” Cassian said, her voice icy. “She had a working theory then as well, and that turned out alright!”

“No offence, but you spent most of your time in a stillroom, stirring potions. And I am supposed to let you cut into Emerie’s wings?” Mor asked Galena with a huff, who didn’t even seem surprised by that. 

He opened his mouth to defend her, but Cosima was faster. 

“If you think that Galena spends all her time in the stillroom, then you underestimate her,” Cosima gave back just as sharply. “She does spent a lot of time there, that’s true. She’s a skilled potioneer with an incredible grasp of perfecting and improving potions. But that is only some of her work. Another large chunk is the research she does. Galena is who people go to if they have no other option anymore. She finds another option. Or she makes one,” Cosima said calmly. “She saved my life two years ago, with one of her experiments .”

Right. Cosima and Orion. Her son. 

“My husband is a Sialia faerie,” Cosima said, crossing her arms. Native to the Spring Court.  “Blue skin, black wings? Quite Pointy. Not dissimilar to Illyrian wings at all.  We had a daughter first. She was born without any wings, like every other Half-Sialia child there has been in recorded history. The wings never get passed down if the bloodline gets diluted. She got his skin though. And then I got pregnant again. My son inherited the wings,” Cosima recounted, swallowing. It was obvious that even years later, it still was something that took a toll on her. 

“At that point, Galena had already been researching tirelessly for the High Lady and she believed she had found a way to save both mother and child. But it was risky. She knew that as well. A major abdominal cut, through seven different layers of tissue to reach the baby.”

God, that sounded like Galena had disembowelled Cosima to get the baby out in one piece. And she had survived that?

“But with the right potions…and the right spells…Galena was sure that she could do it,” Cosima continued. “And really at that point, she was our only option. And she proved her theory. Galena was the only thing standing between me and my child and death. And she laughed into death’s face.” 

“It healed perfectly. The only thing that reminds me of it is one thin white line. I owe my son’s life to her. I owe my life to her. So when Galena Kosciarz says that she thinks she can fix this…She can. And she will. She will find a way to fix this.”

He swallowed, staring at his mate. 

He had known that she was smart, but he had never quite…thought about how smart, or how far her abilities went.  He knew that she was good at her job but not…not how good. 

How utterly fantastic. 

“So when can you do it?” Emerie asked. “Now?”

“Yes,” Galena answered, her voice quiet. “I can do that.”

And she did. 

He had no fucking idea what exactly she did to Emerie’s wings…how she cut into the scar tissue and removed it, and then put something or other there and there…how exactly she did…the magic she pushed into her, clenching her teeth with the pure magical power that she wielded so knowledgeable…ice and peppermint covering the room. 

He only knew that by the end, she touched one wing, so very gently and delicately…as she helped Emerie stretch it out to it’s full length…something he knew she had been unable to. 

“How’s that? Any pain?” Galena asked. 

Emerie shook her head, tears in her eyes. “The tremors are gone,”  she whispered. 

“This is going to take time to heal,” Galena explained softly as she helped her snap the wing closed again. “You won’t be able to fly tomorrow. Or even a week from now on. But if you take your time…you may be able to…at least over short distances. If everything heals well.”

Galena had done that. 

She may have just given back the freedom of flight…and she didn’t even seem to realise what a gift she had just given Emerie. 

Didn’t even think it was anything special. 

He couldn’t help but stare at her, still in a quiet conversation with Emerie and Nesta and Gwyn and Mor…

“You must be Azriel,” Cosima said, standing next to him and he could just nod, staring at his mate. Glorious…he had once thought. Brilliant, he thought now. Brilliant and Glorious and a thousand other things. “You aren’t the only one in awe of her,” Cosima quipped brightly. “She does things like this and doesn’t even think it’s a big deal…Like it’s normal.”

And it wasn’t. It really wasn’t. 

She wasn’t normal, but not in the way she had thought…in a way that was utterly enthralling. 

He managed to pry her away after a little while, as he saw the tremor in her hands and how she fought to stay awake, the magic she had used taking its toll on her. 

“I figured we could stay here tonight,” he told her softly, pressing a kiss against the back of her neck and she nodded blearily. 

He could do this. 

There was something inside him that was very pleased at the idea of providing his mate with comfort like that…something inside him that loved it when he could do something to soothe her, something to take care of for her. 

Just like when he had massaged her back…this time, he gently shepherded her into his bedroom in the House of Wind which he hadn’t properly used in weeks. 

“What do you think about a bath?” he asked, waiting for her soft agreement, as he already could hear the taps in the bath turn on, the bathtub being filled. 

The House seemed to have found a new person to dote on, for the moment at least. 

Nothing would ever reach the lengths it would go to for Nesta, but Galena seemed to have been accepted as somebody the house would occasionally dote on as well. 

There were a few grumpy shadows that complained to him that this was *our job, Master!* though . They swarmed around, helping him loosen the ties of her corset and untying her shoes and pulling her dress over her head…

He scooped her up to put her in the bathtub, not wanting her to loose her balance on the tiles and she curled up against his chest with a content little sigh, every bit of tension bleeding out of her. 

“Gods, you really did a number on yourself,” he said softly, as he started washing her hair with whatever the House decided to provide, just in time, for the shadows to fetch her a glass of lemonade and Azriel bit back the amusement as the shadows and the House seemed to be in some kind of unspoken competition who could do more to make galena comfortable. 

Lemonade here, lavender oil for the bath there…a little plate piled high with little pralines of chocolate, candles that suddenly surrounded the bathtub…He didn’t even want to think of what they thought of next. 

“It’s okay,” Galena said, her voice exhausted, her eyes not even bothering to open the whole way. “As long as Emerie is better.”

Yeah. And she was better. her wings looked better after hours of Galena’s attention than they had even this morning. 

“You know what you have given her?” he said softly, sliding his hands around her body, gently holding her. Her skin was cold to his touch, even with the warm beath and his own body curved around the back of hers…cold with exhaustion probably. 

“We don’t know if it works,” Galena protested, staring at him, the good eye blinking open blearily. “The only thing we know is that she has no pain right now.”

“It will work,” Azriel said calmly. He was certain of that. It was going to work. “You have given her her wings back, Lena,” he whispered. “Illyrians clip their females and take away their cauldron-given right to fly and taste the sky and hear the song of the wind…and you…you just gave that back to her. Even if she won’t be able to fly over long distances…you have given her that hope back.”

She had done that. So easily. So…

With so much care and so much of simply wanting to help and…

She had done that. 

“I hope it works,” she gave softly back. He could hear that she really hoped that. “I love you,” she whispered, pressing her lips against his shoulder, even in her half-asleep, completely exhausted state. 

“I love you too,” he gave back quietly, pressing a kiss against her head. 

He fished her out of the bathtub, and managed to pull one of his shirts over her small frame...it was nearly laughably oversized on her…and then she pretty much collapsed into his bed, even as he bundled her underneath the blankets. 

And Azriel curled around her and remembered a time when he had spent so much time laying in this very bed, unable to get even a wink of sleep. 

And then, how easy it came now when he could pull Galena in his arms, and feel her heartbeat, quiet and steady, smell peppermint and snow…and know that she was safe and warm in his arms…and that nothing would happen. 

To know that he was there and that she loved him, just as he loved her. 

After 500 years, he had finally found his peace. 

Even after he had long since given up on that. 

Two weeks later, when Emerie managed to fly for the first time with her newly healed wings, Galena proved her theory. 

[sandy-stills]

Stubbs and Niehaus!

[englishstrawbie]

49 with cosima :)

tending to your lover’s wound, placing a kiss on top of their head, grateful they’re still alive

There is a small bruise on Cosima’s temple, Delphine notices, as she wipes her brow with a damp cloth. It is the least of her worries after the scan showed them the damage being done to her organs by the growths in her body, but she can’t help but focus on it. It probably happened when she hit the ground, her head knocking against the ceramic floor as she convulsed. It’s all blue and purple, the colours swirling together in a small circle.

She leans over and presses her lips to it gently, as if her kiss will make it disappear. It doesn’t work, it’s still there when she pulls back.

Cosima stirs, her eyes fluttering.

“Cosima?”

Delphine runs her back of her fingers across her forehead, coaxing her awake. Without her glasses on, Cosima squints as she tries to focus. Delphine smiles at her, but it can’t hide what Cosima already knows.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Delphine says, tears pooling in her eyes.

She wishes so much that she could protect her from the truth, but she knows how much Cosima hates it when she lies to her.

“But listen, we’re going to figure it out, okay?” she continues. “Like we always do.”

“Follow the crazy science?” Cosima says with a small smile.

Delphine nods. “Follow the crazy science.”

* * * * *

a hundred different kisses

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Twenty-Five ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 4547

Warnings: None

A/n You lovely humans deserve a finished story. Sorry I’ve been absent for so long! It may be slow going, but I promise to keep posting. Happy reading :) 

**You can find this story on Ao3 under the same username and title*

The sun is unwelcome. It streams through the slats in the ceiling, prodding at my sensitive eyes. If not for the jarring light, I could have slept for ages.

I make myself turn over and glance at the bed to my left, knowing he’ll already be gone. True to his habits, it seems Haldir has risen with the sun, despite his lack of sleep.

With a groan, I push myself out of the warm blankets.

Sleeping in a bed felt wonderful.

I grab a change of clothes and some toiletries from my bag and exit the bedroom, squinting when I find the sunlight to be even more in abundance in the living room. I’m met with smiles from Haldir, Rumil, and Baranor, who seem chipper in a way I could never be in such a sleep deprived state. I do my best to smile back and hurry into the bathroom, needing some cold water to help wake me up.

Once I’m ready, I return the clothes I slept in to my bag and join the others in the living room.

Baranor pushes some fruit and some kind of meat my way, which I take gratefully. The three ellyn move so I can see what they gather around at the table — a large map of Arda. I watch with interest as I eat my breakfast, wondering what they are planning.

“If Sauron’s forces attacked here,” Haldir points to the location of the village on the map, “that means they traveled all this” he draws a line over its center, “without being noticed. We cannot allow that to occur again. Once the Lord and Lady approve, I can send word to Elrond’s forces and Thranduil’s with a proposed plan of coordination. Thranduil is closest to the threat, so his army, in theory, should be the most well-versed in handling Sauron’s forces. I will suggest that Glorfindel and I send troops from our armies to both learn from and reinforce Thranduil’s.”

It seems like a good plan to me, but Rumil shakes his head. “You know that will not happen. Thranduil’s pride—”

“—and Lady Galadriel’s displeasure towards him,” Baranor adds, wearing a similar grave expression as Rumil’s.

Haldir stops them both with a weighted sigh. “I know. It is a long shot. But it clearly makes the most strategic sense. I hope all will see that and put their personal feelings aside. The more of Sauron’s capabilities we can eliminate on Thranduil’s end, the less the rest of the world has to deal with.”

Rumil raises his eyes to Haldir’s. “And your secondary plan?”

“Fortify the borders, which we will do anyway.” Haldir points at a spot on the map. “I will also extend regular patrols to here. With convincing, Glorfindel could extend his to here,” he points at another spot, “leaving only the mountains unattended.”

Rumil lifts an eyebrow. “And the station, patrol, and training schedules?”

“Will be reworked,” Haldir responds, his tone hinting that he already has a plan for it.

I look at Haldir in surprise. Somehow, amidst all this traveling and time away from his home, I’d forgotten that he has other responsibilities — important responsibilities.

Responsibilities that will no doubt take him into danger.

The thought unnerves me, and I do my best to push it away. Now isn’t the time — we’re still not finished with our journey. I will have to ask him about that later.

Haldir pulls a rolled up map from his back pocket and spreads it on the table over the larger map of Arda. I lean around Baranor and he makes space to allow me to see more clearly — it’s an incredibly detailed map of Lothlórien. My eyes seek out Caras Galadhon and how far we have to go and, as if sensing my thoughts, Haldir taps a spot to the southeast of the main city.

“We are here,” he explains, nodding in my direction. “It is a four day ride to the center of the city, but it is imperative that it not take that long. We are letting the time slip from us too quickly already.”

A sinking feeling pools in my stomach as I realize what this means: we’ll be riding straight through again.

At least it won’t be as bad as last time, I reason with myself, even as my entire body groans at the thought.

“It will be faster if I travel alone.”

Rumil scoffs right as a noise of protest escapes my mouth. Baranor merely raises his eyebrows, looking between the three of us with mild interest.

“Why must you insist on always taking the hardest jobs for yourself,” Rumil groans, rolling his eyes.

“It’s not safe,” I add, stomach churning at the thought of him once again running off on his own. I know his intentions are good — he only wants to protect the people he loves — but it worries me to realize that when there is the potential for danger, his first instinct is to handle it alone.

“The borders are well-guarded,” he reasons. “I have no reason to think my safety will be compromised. I know this land better than I know anything else, as does Faervel. It is imperative that I speak with Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn as soon as possible so we can begin a plan against Sauron. I do not mean to be cold, but taking anyone with me would slow me down.”

I huff, pursing my lips so I don’t say anything else. He’s right. And, to be quite honest, I have no desire to ride without stopping again. But it feels wrong to come all this way just to be separated from him at the border.

I raise my eyes to his and watch his expression carefully. He holds my gaze. “And you will be in Caras Galadhon when we arrive?”

“If it is my choice, yes.”

I fight the urge to sigh. Considering he’s beholden to the Lord and Lady, I suppose this is the best I’m going to get.

I turn to Rumil, assuming that, in Haldir’s absence, he’ll be calling the shots. “How soon can we follow?”

“Today, if you wanted. Though,” he smiles tentatively at me, “someone has to wake Alex first.”

I nod, mentally preparing myself for that task. Alex is notoriously grumpy upon first waking. Before I can comment, Haldir begins rolling up the maps — evidently, his departure is imminent.

I sigh, following him into the bedroom when he goes to retrieve his bags.

He turns to me before I can speak. “I’m sorry. I had hoped we would enter the city together.”

My smile softens a bit with sadness and I step closer to him. “Me too, but I understand, really. Besides, we’ll only be a day or two behind — once there’s a plan for dealing with Sauron, you can give me a tour of the town.”

At this he grins, nodding slowly. “There are a few spots I would like to introduce to you.” Then, his expression sobers, and he wraps an arm around my back, pulling me to him. “The forest is relatively safe and I trust my wardens to guard the borders well, but still, please stay close to Rumil and keep this with you at all times.” He pulls a sheathed knife from his belt and tucks it into my boot. The weapon presses against my ankle bone uncomfortably, but I don’t have a belt like he does, and it won’t do me any good stuffed in my bag, so I suppose it’s the best place for the knife for the time being.

I nod, tightening my arms around him in a hug. “I will.”

With a finger under my chin, he tilts my head up and kisses me. Before we can get too lost in it, I pull back. The sooner we all get on the road, the sooner we can be settled in Caras Galadhon, and then hopefully, the two of us can have some actual time to ourselves.

I follow him into the living room where Rumil and Baranor wait, having thoughtfully put together a bundle of food that I assume Haldir won’t take the time to stop and eat.

Haldir thanks them as he swings his bags over his shoulder and grabs his bow and quiver from their place by the door. He turns to his brother. “Prioritize security over speed.”

“Of course,” Rumil agrees with a deferential nod. “We shall meet you in the city.”

Haldir says goodbye to his brother, then to Baranor, and with a final kiss on my cheek, he’s gone.

It all happened so quickly.

Part of me wants to rush to the door or a window and watch him summon Faervel and leave, but a bigger part of me knows I won’t do a good job of handling the reminder of how high up I am.

The three of us stand in silence for a moment as we ponder our next move. Though I am still tired and would appreciate another night of rest in this border station, I would rather leave as soon as possible so we can join Haldir in Caras Galadhon. We have never been physically far from each other — ever. This reality is new, and I already don’t like it.

Finally, I can take the inaction no longer. I stride in the direction of the other bedroom. “I’ll wake Alex, then we can make our plan to leave.”

{***}

Two hours later, we are fed, packed, and ready to go. It is midday, though, with autumn coming, Baranor advises wearing our cloaks. I throw mine over my shoulders, securing it with the lovely Lórien leaf.

At the door, I pause. Getting up here was bad enough — I hadn’t considered getting down.

Rumil and I watch as Alex climbs onto Baranor’s back and allows himself to be carried to the forest floor hundreds of feet below.

I take an involuntary step back.

Rumil sighs and turns to me with a pleading look. “I’m not going to drop you.”

“You might not plan on dropping me, but who’s to say what could happen,” I counter, taking another step back.

He places his hands on his hips in an exasperated sort of way that very much reminds me of something a younger sibling would do. “You want to get to the city, right?”

I consider this, and nod.

“Right, well the only way to do that is to get out of this tree. And you know, you’re going to be living in trees, probably for the rest of your life. So…this is a good time to start facing your fears.”

His last point hits home — Haldir had said something similar last night.

I take a deep breath, trying to psych myself up.

Rumil extends his hand.

I force myself to stride forward and take it.

He smiles and walks with me to the door, opening it with his free hand.

“Here, look.” He nudges my shoulder and gently pushes my upper body out the open door, still holding on to me with his other hand.

Gulping, I look at the ground far below, and try not to faint.

“Good, now put your foot there.” He points to a branch just outside the doorway.

I turn to him, eyes wide with alarm. “I thought you were going to carry me down.”

He grins, shaking his head once and nudging my side, trying to make space so he can close the door behind us. “Nope, we’re going to climb. Come on,” he prompts when my feet remain immobile. “You’re not going to fall.”

On shaking legs, I take the necessary steps forward, mostly because Rumil’s strength doesn’t allow me the choice.

He makes a noise of encouragement once we stand side by side on the branch. “See? Hardest part is over with. Now place your hands here.” Reaching around me, he guides my hands to grip tightly around a branch that hugs the main trunk. When Rumil slips his hand from mine and drops to a branch a few feet below us, I nearly have a heart attack.

“You didn’t say you were going to let go of me,” I shout, voice shrill with fright.

He tries to keep his expression one of assured encouragement, but laughter punctuates his words. “One day, you’ll be doing this all by yourself, trust me. Now come on, sit on the branch and drop down to stand next to me.”

I shake my head, gripping my lifeline of a branch tighter.

He shrugs, unbothered. “We can stay here all day if you like. But I’m willing to bet that you would much rather have your feet on the ground and begin making our way to the city so you can see my brother again.”

Ugh. He’s got me there.

So, fighting the urge to close my eyes, I lower myself to sit on the branch, hands shaking when I have to release them momentarily. Rumil smiles brightly and extends his arms up to help me slide securely to stand on the branch at his side.

“Excellent,” he praises, pleased to have made progress. “Now we just repeat that until we reach the bottom.”

I beg myself not to look at the long way to the ground. With deep breaths, I repeat a well-known phrase: just put one foot in front of the other.

Or, in my case, one foot below the other.

Time seems to stretch into a terrifying eternity, but, mercifully, my feet eventually find the dirt. With gasping breaths, I crouch as low as possible and hug my knees to my chest.

Alex’s hands find my shoulders immediately, and he shoots Rumil an accusing look. “What did you do to her?”

Rumil shrugs, unaffected by Alex’s rudeness. “Helped her climb down the tree.”

“Forced, is more like it,” I grumble, still trying to take in a proper breath.

Rumil grins brightly. “Now that you know you’ve done it once, you can do it again!”

I’m not sure I agree with him, but I keep my mouth shut. We really do need to get going —  I want to cover as much ground as possible before nightfall. I stand on still shaking legs and am grateful to find Baranor approaching with his horse and Roch. I reach a hand out to brush against Roch’s nose, and he whinnies in greeting once he recognizes me. Rumil helps me up and I settle on a familiar spot on Roch’s back.

Once we’re all settled, we’re off.

{***}

The terrain of the woods requires us to travel slowly, and I see why Haldir chose to go alone. Even with just two horses, the tangle of roots, low hanging branches, moss, and vines make it difficult to walk a clear path and, oftentimes, Rumil has to pull Roch to a stop to allow Baranor and Alex to catch up. I’m glad Rumil seems to know where we are, because I’m hopelessly lost.

On our second day of traveling and the tenth time I’ve almost been thrown from Roch’s back when he leaps over a fallen tree, I grit my teeth and nudge Rumil’s shoulder. “Why is there no path? Isn’t this the only way into the city?”

He shakes his head, pulling on Roch’s reins to steady him. “There are many ways to and from the city, though, this is the most common and arguably the easiest.”

“So, why no path,” I prompt when he doesn’t answer the first of my questions.

Rumil shrugs a shoulder. “Elves have lived long enough to see the damage human cause to their environments — roads, tall buildings, extensive farmland.” His voice turns rueful and he gives me a teasingly reprimanding look. “Our physical capabilities allow us to find our way ourselves, so we see no reason to permanently harm the landscape.”

I purse my lips together and nod, teeth clacking together as Roch dips to follow the slope of a shallow ditch. “I bet it keeps the humans out.”

From my spot behind him, I can see Rumil’s cheek tug in a grin. “That, too.”

I consider for a moment. “Am I the first human you’ve met?”

He shakes his head. “Not by a long shot.” A pause. Then, “though, you are the first one I’ve befriended.”

His words and the hesitant fondness behind them start a warm feeling spreading through my chest.

I wrap my arms tighter around him, resting my chin against his shoulder blade. “You’re the first elf I befriended.”

He tilts his head as if thinking on this, then he relaxes, shoulders shaking with mild laughter. “I suppose you’re right — you certainly liked me more than Baranor or Haldir, at the beginning.”

A few paces behind us, Baranor huffs indignantly. “What did I do? Besides save your life.”

I turn over my shoulder to grin teasingly at him. “Yeah, you did that, sure. But you also forced me onto a horse despite my near-crippling fear of heights.”

He grumbles something testily, but the tips of his ears burn pink.

My grin widens.

And, though there’s an ache in my stomach that won’t subside until Haldir is with me again and Rumil and I aren’t yet fully on good terms, I enjoy these moments with my friends.

{***}

It takes us the full four days to reach the city.

My exhaustion and worry do little to dampen my awe.

It’s just as Haldir and Rumil said — the city is built into the trees. The fact should be daunting, but now, when I’m safely on Roch’s back, no more than a few feet off the ground, I can admire the beauty. We’ve arrived mid-day, and I cannot wait to see this city in the dark, for it is evident that is when the city will shine most, just like Elrond’s city was made to sparkle in the brilliant lights of sunrise and sunset. All around us, homes and larger buildings sit amongst the branches, with intricate rope and wooden bridges connecting it all.

Despite everything to take in, I’m distracted. I know he’s not here — if he was, he would have already made his presence known to me — but I can’t stop myself from craning my neck, looking behind every tree, building, and elf, trying to locate Haldir.

Baranor and Alex wave goodbye and take a path to the right. Rumil stops at the base of a huge tree with a wooden and stone house built into the branches about twenty feet off the ground. “This is where you’ll be staying for the time being. It’s low enough that, hopefully, it can provide a sort of transition until you’re ready to live higher up.”

There’s something unspoken in his words, but I guess easily enough — Haldir surely lives higher-up.

This house will be mine until I’m ready to live with him.

Taking a gulp of air, I dismount from Roch and set my feet climbing the winding staircase that takes me up to the front door of my new home.

I get to the door and realize Rumil hasn’t followed. Careful not to look at the ground, I give him a questioning look.

“I’ve got to take Roch to the stables and then join the meetings,” he explains, already gathering Roch’s reins once more. “Baranor or myself will come find you and Alex as soon as we are released from duties.”

But not Haldir.

I swallow down my disappointment and nod.

It’s probably unavoidable, how busy he is right now, but it still leaves me feeling a little sad. We lived in such a bubble in Imladris, but now…

Now life has to get serious.

What that means for us, I don’t know.

I turn the handle of my door and step over the threshold, breathing in the warm, heavy scent of freshly-baked bread.

Wait, freshly-baked—

“Hi!”

I jump, pressing my back to the doorframe as an elleth — relatively small for the elven — pops out of what I assume to be my kitchen.

“Oh, hi,” I say carefully, watching her. She doesn’t seem threatening, but what do I know? The slight weight of the knife in my boot and the knowledge that I have the skills to use it calms me slightly.

The elleth’s smile grows sheepish. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I probably should’ve been gone before you arrived, but the Marchwarden guessed that it would take you at least until tonight to get here and—”

“Wait,” I stop her, catching the familiar title in her words. “You’ve spoken to Haldir?”

“Oh, yes,” she nods, clasping her flour-covered hands in front of her. “He asked me to get your home ready for you so it wouldn’t be a trouble when you arrived. There is food ready in the kitchen, and ingredients to make more if you wish, the bathroom is stocked, your bed is…”

But her words fade from my mind as I catch on the details. Even in his busy, surely tired state, Haldir thought to make it so I wouldn’t walk into an empty house. So I could eat and sleep comfortably and feel a little more at home.

The thought warms my heart more than I can say.

“…and I decorated a bit, but of course you can change it if it’s not to your taste, but I just thought—” The elleth cut herself off with a sheepish laugh, looking down at me with startlingly clear hazel eyes. “I should probably introduce myself. I’m Mirime.”

I try to force a smile past my rapidly-moving thoughts. “I’m—”

“Cosima,” Mirime supplies, that sheepish smile making another appearance. “Everyone knows your name. You’ve caused quite the stir here in Lothlórien.”

I feel my chest constrict. “I have?”

“Of course,” Mirime nods as if this would be something to be expected. Perhaps she’s right. “The Marchwarden returning home with a human? It’s quite unusual.”

I purse my lips, wondering how much she knows about my background. Knowing Haldir’s tendency to keep a lot of things close to his chest, this elleth likely doesn’t know much about me — namely, that I’m from a different universe.

So I search for another, safer topic of conversation.

I take in her clothes.

She wears the pliable dark leathers that typically go under a warrior’s armor.

I quirk my head to the side. “You’re referring to Haldir as Marchwarden — are you one of the wardens here?”

A faint splash of color creeps up her neck. “No,” she half-mumbles. “At least, not yet. Everyone says I’m too young to join, but I’m going to keep trying!”

At this, I can’t hold back my smile. She’s so eager, so warm, so determined. A part of me already worries for her on the battlefield, but I tuck that thought away. If we can figure out what’s going on with Sauron and put an end to it, maybe there won’t need to be a battlefield.

“I wasn’t aware the wardens have age requirements.”

She grimaces. “They do. Can’t join until you’re at least three hundred and fifty years old.”

I blink. If she’s not yet hit that number, she’s much closer to my age than Haldir’s which leaves me feeling a little like I’m going insane. I can’t wrap my head around it.

But she saves me the trouble, quickly darting to a new topic of conversation. “You must be starving. Here — go change — your bedroom is at the back of the house at to the right — and I’ll get some lunch ready. Will anyone else be joining us?”

I blink at her quick pace, the fatigue from the journey finally settling in at the prospect of fresh clothes and a full meal. “Um, no, it’s just us, I think.”

She nods, already jumping back into the kitchen to finish her preparations.

Shaking my head, I follow her directions and, indeed, find a bedroom. She was kind to decorate it, and I don’t at all mind the changes she made. I even find the wardrobe stocked with an array of items in my size. I touch the edge of a forest green blouse, and then grimace. I don’t want to ruin these clothes with how dirty I am after being on the road for three days — longer, if we count the whole trip. So I force myself to return to the kitchen, trying not to focus on the covered dishes that smell heavenly.

“I’m going to take a quick bath before I eat. You can start without me.”

Mirime beams and indicates a room off the hallway. “I’ll wait for you, but please take your time. A bath is already drawn.”

At this, I can’t help but smile. “You’ve thought of everything. Thank you.”

If possible, her smile grows wider, and she nods in bashful acknowledgement.

Though my aching muscles and bones want me to sink into the bath and relax, my empty stomach and fuzzy head urge me to be quick, so I hastily scrub my hair and body and then dress in a blouse and a pair of pants from my wardrobe.

Much better.

I meet Mirime at the table in the kitchen where she has, indeed, waited for me.

She smiles and greets me before we begin to eat and, stars above, the food is amazing.

I smile at her before I take yet another bite of bread. “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

Her grin widens. “I may or may not have some kitchen skills.”

Before I can say much else, her head tilts as she considers me. “Your hair is interesting.”

I bring a hand to my still-damp hair, twirling a finger around the waves. “Yeah, it’s a little wild from the quick bath.”

“No — I meant more that it’s curlier than I’ve ever seen on an eldar. You’re…” She blushes and looks at her lap. “You’re the first human I’ve met.”

I feel my eyes widen in surprise. “Really?”

“It’s not safe to travel,” she defends, looking at me apologetically. “And humans don’t always feel comfortable visiting elven towns.”

“That makes sense,” I nod, understanding her side of it. It’s not like I met a lot of people from…

But my mind goes blank.

Well, I’m guessing I never met very many people from across the world back in my past home, but I can’t be sure.

Mirime can’t contain her curiosity much longer, and asks me everything she can possibly think of about being human. I answer to the best of my ability, but the only humans I can really remember meeting are myself, Alex, and my nonna. After we eat, she helps me unpack and shows me how the laundry and plumbing work in my new house — talan, she says it’s called — and we finish a bit of the decorating. It’s nearing nightfall and I’m just about to suggest we crack open dinner when there’s a knock on the door

I start towards it, giving Mirime a questioning look. “Do you mind if Rumil joins us? He said he would be in meetings all day and I’m guessing he hasn’t eaten.”

“Not at all,” Mirime smiles, pulling the dishes from where they were reheating in the oven. “It’s your home, you know.”  

I fling open the door.

But it’s not Rumil on the other side.

A/n Thank you for reading! Let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tag list. 

|next chapter|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist @that-cute-stranger

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @sleepyamygdala @bigcatmairon @moony-artnstuff @thranduilseyebrows

[gendertraitorleda]

tbh at first i thought cosima said "you owe me" and if she did that most likely would have been a lot less controversial apparently

[lobsters-on-their-heads]

Continuing Travels of Cophine, Part 2, Chapt. 10

Disclaimer reminder: I haven't been to the Middle East, so if I've gotten some details wrong, please let me know in a respectful manner. This chapter and the upcoming ones involved some interesting research, and I've tried talking to people who've been there, but of course things slip through sometimes. Let me know!

You can read the entire work from the very beginning here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12116799

The night after the party, after a small dinner at Sarah's house, Cosima and Delphine rode with Sarah to the airport as cold evening rain peppered the city. Most of the trip was silent, with Cosima in the front seat and Delphine in the back with their carry-on bags. Delphine had spent most of the day recovering and doing a great unintentional impression of a cartoon sloth, but the after-effects of last night's brownies had worn off by late afternoon, and she was more or less back to her usual self.

As the airport infrastructure came into view, Sarah sniffed loudly and rubbed her nose.

“You gonna be a'right, then?” she asked.

Cosima peeled her face from the passenger side window and blinked at her sister. “Yeah. Yeah, we're gonna be fine. Why?”

“No reason.”

Sarah steered the car towards International Departures and sucked on her teeth.

“We will have personal security from the moment we arrive in Baghdad,” Delphine assured her. “It's a highly reviewed company, personally recommended by our contacts both here and abroad.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sarah rubbed her nose some more and the airport itself came into view. “I would feel a bit better if Helena went along with you, though, to be honest.”

Cosima laughed and imagined Helena following them around the Middle East. Hell, just getting her through airport security would be a trick to write home about. Putting a hand on Sarah's shoulder, Cosima said, “Do not worry about us. We're okay with what we have, and Helena needs to stay here with her boys. And don't go reading too many news stories about the places we're going to, either.”

Sarah laughed. “Not often someone accuses me of reading too much. Anyway, it's not me. It's the kids, reading up on every place you two go off to. I've got Alison on my case, too, telling me every little horror story she sees online –”

“Yes, we've heard,” Delphine cut in. “She's been on our cases, too.”

“She's calmed down recently, though,” Cosima added.

“And Art,” Sarah went on, like the words were being pushed from her body against her will. “He's coming to me every week with some other story he heard from one of the translators about someone's brother getting his head cut off, or somebody's sister being sold off to IS for God knows what. It's not like I just can't listen, Cos.”

The car wound its way into the departures lane and down the alphabet of airlines as everyone thought about what Sarah had said. Aer Lingus, Air Canada, Air France...

“Well,” Cosima said, “just remember, and tell everybody else this, too, that the stuff that makes the news, and the stories people tell, are the exceptions. I mean, yeah, obviously it happens, but not every day. Aid workers go in and out of Iraq and Syria every day without getting any more than a paper cut or a couple of nasty pimples.”

“We're being careful,” Delphine added. “We're being very careful.”

Sarah made a face. “Right.”

Five minutes later, Sarah pulled up to the curb near the Turkish Airlines sign. There were hugs and promises to call once they'd arrived in Baghdad, and as Cosima and Delphine went inside with their suitcases and bags, Sarah leaned against her car and watched them go.

Inside, the check-in process was smooth and the security checks predictable, and when they settled into the airport-standard restaurant close to their terminal, they still had thirty minutes before boarding their plane. They sat sipping water and nibbling on what passed for a “harvest salad,” and Cosima watched the other late-night fliers going by while Delphine did her daily social media Leda check, twelve hours later than she usually did.

“You did yours, then?” she asked Cosima.

“Yeah, at lunch time. You were kinda busy trying to remember that pool noodles aren't sentient, though, so you get a pass.” Cosima kissed Delphine's cheek, then her lips. It would be weeks, or possibly months, before she could that in public again. “You were super cute the whole time, though, fyi.”

Delphine grunted and resumed flipping through status updates of new bikinis, inspirational quotes, and cute babies.

“By the way, didn't Gabriela call you last night?”

“You mean while you were baked out of your mind and climbing all over my sister?”

Delphine looked like she had a retort coming, but just rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

Cosima giggled and squeezed her fiancée's arm to show no ill will. “Yeah, apparently her husband's divorcing her. Guess he was only in it as a monitor, and he was kind of convinced they could have kids, but when that obviously didn't happen, he peaced out.”

“Hm.” If Delphine had any thoughts or comments about being a monitor herself, she kept them to herself. Her thumb hovered over her Facebook feed. “Look at this.”

“What's up?”

The post Delphine pointed to was in Hebrew, and the picture beneath it showed a hand with an IV going into it.

“Oh, shit,” Cosima whispered.

“It's Avigail Chernev,” Delphine said. “One of the Israelis. It's the first time she's posted anything in almost a year.”

Cosima scooted her chair over to get a better view. “Is that her hand? For sure?”

“I assume so. It looks like yours.”

Cosima held her own hand up next to the picture on the phone and squinted. “I'll take your word for that. You are, like, the Leda expert at this point.”

Delphine's eyebrows twitched. “Yes, I suppose I am. You're still my favorite, though.”

“Thank fuck for that.”

Delphine took a screenshot of the Facebook post and emailed it to David Margolis, their Hebrew translator and Israeli cultural guide based back in Toronto. They would translate it themselves, too, with Google, but David's translations were more accurate and nuanced, and he could more easily match up the texts with others he had on file for both Israeli Ledas.

“There's WiFi on the plane, at least,” Delphine went on, “we'll need to monitor this pretty closely.”

Despite the severity of the situation, Cosima smirked. “Did you seriously just say monitor? Even after what I said about Gabriela's husband?”

Delphine stuck her tongue out and copy/ pasted Avigail's status into Google translate. In a second, the English side read Third treatment of the week, here we hope we can cure it soon!

“Third of the week, shit,” Cosima murmured. She pulled up a map of the Middle East on her phone and measured the distance between Baghdad and Tel Aviv. It was a hell of a lot closer than Toronto, but they weren't exactly next door neighbors. And then there was the whole messy political situation.

Meanwhile, Delphine pulled the Europe and the Middle East notebook from her carry-on bag. She flipped through it and tapped her finger on the first Israeli entry.

Avigail Chernev, born 11 June, 1984, in Bet Shemesh, current residence Tel Aviv Monitor as of 2016 – Daniel Fridman Primary care physician as of 2016 – Dr. Joseph Blachar [two msg sent by D.Cormier via D.Margolis, no replies] Social media contacts attempted 21 July, 3 September, and 4 December – no response

Delphine added a line about today's Facebook post on the otherwise empty page that stood in sharp contrast to the information-crowded pages on either side. The page before detailed the medical history and social media habits of Lonah Gerbi, the clone in Haifa they had already made an appointment to treat. Delphine tapped Lonah's page.

“We're not scheduled to be in Israel until the end of May,” she said. “Eight weeks from now.”

“Right, and we scheduled Lonah's treatment after all these other countries for a reason.”

She checked the time. They had fifteen minutes until boarding their plane to Istanbul, where they had a five hour lay-over before flying on to Baghdad. Baghdad, of course, being in one of the many countries with restrictions on travelers who'd had their passports stamped in Israel. Then she looked at Avigail's hand again. Third treatment in one week. Failed treatments, almost certainly, probably radiation or some kind of chemotherapy. The side effects alone probably kept her from working or taking care of her family or whatever else she would have been doing otherwise, and it was quite likely that the treatments had actually hastened the disease's progression, as it had in Jennifer Fitzsimmons.

“She can't wait until May,” Cosima said. “None of the other clones in the Middle East have shown these kinds of symptoms.”

“That we know of.”

She nodded. “That we know of.” Of course. More than once before had a Leda stayed quiet and private right up until she was dying, and only then did Delphine and Cosima hear anything about it. Desperation brought people out of hiding. Or, in the case of Nooran in Djibouti, brought the attention of enough people to point Cosima and Delphine in the right direction.

Delphine was watching her with those big doe eyes, waiting for her to say something, but the decision was obvious.

“I'll email the airline from the plane,” Cosima said. “Change the flight from Istanbul to Tel Aviv instead of Baghdad.”

Delphine's face didn't change, though. She licked her lips. “We still have to cure the others, though. Even if they don't have symptoms, we still have to – ”

“Oh, for sure, we're curing them, too. But we have to get to Avigail first.”

“Yes, but – ”

The airport announcement gong sounded, announcing preboarding to Turkish Airlines Flight XXX bound for Istanbul. They packed up their things, threw away their trash, and went to loiter near the gate with everyone else. At this hour, the crowd of passengers was quiet, mostly businessmen buried in their phones or newspapers.

“What if,” Cosima offered, “we just ask them not to stamp our passports in Tel Aviv?”

Delphine snorted. “Yes, certainly. Have you ever tried telling a passport controller what to do?”

“Not yet, no.”

“Well, I don't think it's a very good idea.”

Some of the businessmen looked up from their devices to listen to the only conversation happening, but the announcer called for first class boarding, so Cosima and Delphine hoisted their bags back onto their shoulders and got on the plane.

Once they were in their seats, enjoying the perks of the frequent flyer program, Cosima said, “Maybe someone else can go to Israel. Cure the Israelis, and we finish up the rest of the Middle East.”

“It's an idea,” Delphine agreed.

Cosima pulled out her phone and texted Scott while the coach passengers filed past.

A minute later, though, that idea was shot. I'd love to, he replied, but I can't take that kind of time off work. We have a big project right now.

She swore under her breath but typed, Okay, thx anyway

The faces of Clone Club flashed before her eyes, and she imagined all of them in lab coats in an Israeli clinic, syringe in hand. Art, Sarah, Alison, Helena, ... None of them fit that image. None of them had experience putting needles in people. Well, Helena might, but she probably wasn't used to aiming the needles with the intention of helping, and she had none of the other necessary skills for this endeavor.

She tapped on her phone until the crew directed them to turn off their devices, and held Delphine's hand as Toronto faded away below them. When the city was entirely gone behind clouds, she turned to Delphine and said, “Rachel would do it. She gave me my treatment, and she knows clone stuff.”

“And she is completely inaccessible to anyone who wants to contact her.”

“And there's that. Fuck.”

Once the fasten seatbelt sign was off, they both had their laptops out, emailing everyone on the Clone Club listserv for ideas and support. David Margolis confirmed their translation of Avigail's status and offered to reach out to her in Hebrew for them, which Delphine replied would be very helpful. Delphine posted a notification on the Foundation's website, just in case Rachel happened to be checking in from wherever she was. Cosima's Google searches confirmed that, indeed, for most of the countries they would be traveling to in the next two months, entrance was denied to anyone who'd been to Israel.

After thirty minutes, though, Cosima found herself staring into space at the shadowy clouds moving below them, forgetting what the hell she'd been typing, or starting one sentence and finishing it with another thought entirely. Beside her, Delphine kept trying to hide her yawns.

“It's after midnight,” Cosima said, dropping her head on Delphine's shoulder. “Maybe one of us should get some rest.”

Delphine kissed her forehead. “You go ahead. I'm used to working late.”

“And I'm not, is that what you're saying?”

“Mmm, yes. You work late, of course, but not like this.”

“Not on an airplane.”

“Correct.”

*

Delphine was right. Something about traveling had this way of knocking Cosima right out. Maybe the sound of a motor, steady total-body vibration, and occasional rocking back and forth made her feel safe, like she was six years old again and her parents were taking care of everything.

When she woke up, the window shade was closed and Delphine's light travel blanket was tucked around her shoulders. To her right, Delphine dozed with her arms across her chest and her head tipped to one side, laptop still open on her tray. The rest of the cabin was bathed in daylight and a flight attendant went down the aisle announcing the last call for beverages or snacks. According to her phone, it was 7:20 in the morning, but when she raised the shade the sun was well above the horizon.

Right. If it was 7:20 am in Toronto, it was 2:20 pm in Istanbul, and they were scheduled to land at 3:15.

She opened her laptop, trying not to jostle Delphine as she checked the clone business email. Five new messages.

Art said he would look into it but made no promises, which could really apply to most of the emails they'd exchanged with him over the past year.

David Margolis forwarded both Cosima and Delphine the email chain with Avigail Chernev, her medical team, and himself. Avigail's primary doctor right now, it said, was a Dr. Ada Bronstein, and both she and Avigail were excited about the possibility of a new treatment option.

There was an email from her mother, linking to an article about a suicide bombing in Basra and begging Cosima to be careful while she was over there.

Her advisor at U Minn sent her a list of epigentics conferences that Cosima “really should consider presenting at.”

And to her surprise, Rebecca Twell replied to Cosima's mass email, saying she was so sorry to hear that another of their identicals was ill, but Rebecca could not take off that kind of time, either, and regardless she did not feel comfortable administering any kind of medical treatment to anyone. She ended her email with a reminder that if and when Cosima and Delphine made it to Scotland, they should absolutely drop by for a pint.

Cosima went back up to the email chain and tapped Dr. Bronstein's number into her phone. That five-hour lay-over coming up in Istanbul was starting to feel awfully short.

*

At Istanbul Atatürk Airport, they got microwaved sandwiches and juice from Starbucks and found a terminal waiting area with no one else sitting in it, so they could spread out over several seats and the floor, charging everything that needed electricity. Delphine exchanged more emails with David Margolis and Avigail's medical team, and compared her symptoms with notes in the MEDICAL notebook that listed all observed symptoms and treatments with side effects.

Cosima called everyone, starting with Adele. Alphabetical order seemed as good as any order right now.

Adele answered with a dynamic yawn. “Oh, hey, Puddin' Pie, how are you doin'? How's Delphine, more to the point? She back from her brownie trip yet?”

“Yeah, yeah, she's good,” Cosima said. “Did you get our email?”

“Huh? No, I haven't checked yet. Why, what's up?”

While Cosima explained the situation, Adele responded with various “uh huh,” “yeah,” or “well shit.” When Cosima finished, Adele laughed. “Oh, honey, I wish I could help you. I really do. But heroin is the one drug I will never, ever touch. Needles skeeve the hell outta me. I stick to drugs that go into holes my body already has.”

Cosima had not said anything about heroin, but she laughed for Adele's sake and said, “Okay, that's cool. That's, uh, probably for the best, actually.”

“Yeah. Hey, have you tried Colin, though? He's gotta have some skills there, right?”

“Uh, not yet. I don't have his contact info, actually. Do you?”

“No, but you know who does.”

Felix picked up on the third ring. “You want Colin's phone number? What for?”

“For the stuff I emailed you about. Did you get our email?”

“I mean, I skimmed it. I've only been up for about 30 minutes. Why? You still haven't found anybody?”

“No. Colin's, like, potentially our last hope.”

Felix muttered something unintelligible, but a moment later produced the number for her, and listened as she read it back to him. “He won't go, though,” Felix added. “I'm certain of that.”

“Why's that?”

“Well, first of all, he's hates flying. He's only flown once, and that was to Calgary ten years ago. He doesn't even have a passport.”

“He doesn't...?” She had forgotten that people could even exist in the world without a passport. “Wow.”

“So, feel free to call him. Tell him that I'm not pining away in his absence, and that he's much more attractive when his head's not shoved up his own arse.”

“You know, I think I'll let you tell him all of those things, and I'll just stick to clone business, okay?”

She called Colin and left a message, and checked the message that had dinged while she was talking to Felix. A picture greeted her at the tap of her thumb: the main room of Nooran's apartment in Djibouti, with the girls and Mohammed, the younger boy, sitting around a folding table that had not been there when Cosima last visited. On the table were the art supplies Cosima and Delphine had given them, and each of the younger children held up a piece of artwork to show off. Fatima sat the farthest from the camera, and she held a book close to her chest, a smile tugging at her lips. The table wasn't the only new item in the photo – a calendar and a flag decorated the wall, and a drying rack laden with laundry snuck into view in the lower right corner. The cell phone used to take the picture must have been new, too, since the family had not had one before.

While Cosima studied the picture, distracted for a moment from Avigail's troubles in Israel, another message popped up, this time showing Nabil taking a selfie with his siblings in the background. Tapping Delphine to get her attention, Cosima took a picture of them together, Delphine smiling and Cosima making a face, and sent it to the kids.

“They are such good kids,” Cosima remarked. “We gotta see if we can keep helping them out, somehow.”

“Mmhm.” Delphine's attention was already back on the task at hand. “Julian can't go. Neither can any of my other medical contacts, including the doctors we know are aware of the cloning situation. All of them are busy, uninterested, or no longer reachable at their former email addresses. I texted Ali, even, from Tripoli, but he's tied up for the rest of the month, apparently.”

“Why Ali? He doesn't have medical training.”

“No, but I thought maybe he could at least transport the cure to Avigail's doctors for us. They could administer it, I expect, on their own, although I haven't confirmed that with them.”

“Oh, yeah. That is a good idea.” She texted Clone Club back with that idea – not to treat, but to transport. Anyone could do that. Anyone that didn't need to go to any of the Muslim-majority Middle Eastern countries that Cosima and Delphine needed to go to, that is.

Colin called back at 4:23 pm Istanbul time. “I'm sorry, you want me to do what, now?” he asked.

She gave the spiel again. “And you're really our last hope.”

“Why can't you do it?”

“Because once we get an Israeli stamp, all these other countries won't let us in. It's geopolitical bullshit.”

Colin exhaled into the receiver. “I don't think you understood my question. Why can't just one of you go, and the other one go to all the other countries? I mean, there are two of you, right?”

Cosima bit her tongue and pushed her hand into the top of her head. “Well, for starters, all the people we're curing look exactly like me. Haven't you noticed? We're clones. It's gonna be pretty weird for me to look all of them in the eye before treating them.”

There was another heavy sigh on the other end of the phone. “And you can't futz your way around that for one dying woman? Wear colored contacts or something? Seems like it'd be pretty easy. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”

Felix's last comment about the location of Colin's head came to mind, but Cosima said, “Just trust me. It's not the best idea.”

“Well, I haven't got any other ideas for you. I am not flying to Israel for you. I am not sticking a syringe into a woman I've never met for you. I am not going to deliver biological material that I have not personally inspected to a doctor I've never met for you. I don't even work with the living, remember? I sure as hell don't speak Hebrew.”

“That part really doesn't matter. Think about it, at least?”

“Yeah, maybe. But I'm not changing my mind.”

Just go yourself. She could change her appearance somehow and treat both Israeli Ledas while Delphine was in Iraq, but then Delphine would be in Iraq all by herself. And several weeks after that, Delphine would have to go to Syria all by herself, because Cosima would not be allowed in either of those countries.

Cosima made her way down her contacts lists and called everyone she hadn't already talked to, to see if they or anyone else they knew would be willing to pick up the job. Some people she called again, just in case.

“We'll sort something out,” Sarah assured her after coming up with no new ideas. “I already gave Art a call.”

Cosima even called her mother.

“Oh, Sweetie, I'd love to help,” her mother said, her voice heavy with sleep, “but I am completely unqualified for that kind of work. Even though you know your grandma's been trying to send me to Israel for decades, like with that Birthright program, you know, but for older adults instead of teenagers? Anyway, Israel would be great, but I really just can't go treating someone's illness. I'd probably do it wrong and make everything worse. I'd stick the needle in the wrong organ or something. I work with fish, not people.”

“Well, maybe you could just bring the cure into the country, then? Drop it off and take a week to see the sights.”

“Oh I can't. I'm having bunion surgery tomorrow. Did I tell you that?”

Bunyan surgery. Great. “Uh, no,” Cosima said. “You didn't. How 'bout you send me an email all about it, huh? I have to make some other calls. Unless you think your podiatrist might want to go to Israel for us?”

Sally laughed. “No, but she is Jewish, and I think she's been before. Hey, why don't you just mail it? The treatment, I mean? It's all sealed up, isn't it? You'd have to pay extra, but I don't think that's a big issue.”

Cosima could have kicked herself for not thinking of that earlier, but still, the idea didn't sit well with her. She and Delphine made a point to personally carry the treatment whenever they travelled specifically because they didn't trust anyone else with it. When she floated the idea to Delphine, Delphine's face mimicked her own.

“I mean, it's possible,” Delphine conceded. “But certainly not ideal.”

“I don't know how many other options we have, though.”

She shook her head. “Not very many. None that I like very much. We have a phone conference with Dr. Bronstein in about ten minutes, though, so we can always run it by her, see what she thinks.” Delphine checked her watch and muttered “putain” under her breath before winding the little knob to get in sync with local time. “It's very last minute, of course. I was afraid we might have to wait until tomorrow to talk to her, and, like we've been saying, Avigail doesn't have much time left. Dr. Bronstein seems willing to do whatever it takes, though.”

In the time before their phone conference, Alison called, and after a moment of checking in, repeated Colin's suggestion. “I don't know why you don't just go over there yourself, Cosima. You and Delphine are the only ones who have any experience with this. Put a surgical mask on and no one will notice you look the same.”

Cosima bit her tongue. “So you don't know anyone who could step in and help us out? No one at all?”

“No one who I'm willing to out myself to by sending them to Israel to treat one of my clones, no. Just go! You can rejoin Delphine when she's finished treating all our sisters in those... other countries. Or, you know, like I've been saying all along, you can just split the work and get it all done in half the time.”

“Alison,” Cosima began, “People recognize me. They recognize that I look like other people. Don't you remember how you felt way back when Beth first contacted you, first said you were a clone...”

Delphine nudged her before she could continue. “Dr. Bronstein's calling.”

“Gotta go, Alison. We'll talk soon, yeah?” She hung up before Alison could say anything else, and popped in Delphine's left earbud so she could participate in the conversation without annoying the few other passengers now camping out in the waiting area with them. Cosima took a deep breath to center herself and switch her brain from Sestra mode to professional mode as Delphine gave Dr. Bronstein a warm greeting.

“Yes, hello to both of you,” Dr. Bronstein said with a voice that reminded Cosima of character from Downton Abbey. “It's so felicitous that you've found us. I'm afraid Ms. Chernev's prognosis is quite poor at this point.”

“Yes, that's my understanding, as well,” Delphine said. “She knows that you're in contact with us, yes?”

“Oh yes, I've just spoken with her and her family, and Ms. Chernev has signed the agreement allowing me to discuss her condition with you and your translator, Mr. Margolis. I believe a PDF of the agreement has been emailed to you, as well.”

Cosima didn't see it right away, but considering everything else they were doing to save the Ledas, she wasn't too worried about a single release of information form.

“So, Dr. Bronstein, can you give us another quick run-down of Avigail's symptoms and prognosis so far?” she said.

“Well, she's been in my care for almost two years,” Dr. Bronstein told them, “starting with lung polyps that remain and have no clear cause.” She went on to give every symptom of the disease, and all the attempted treatments. Avigail had had numerous seizures that resisted the effects of anti-convulsant medications, and she'd been on oxygen full-time for the past year. Her doctors had tried every treatment that Cosima would expect them to and then some. Avigail had lost her hair and now weighed only forty-one kilograms. Her vision was spotty, She had difficulty swallowing. She was jaundiced. Her kidneys failed almost a year ago, and she was on dialysis, but the rest of her health conditions kept her off the kidney transplant list.

“Anyway,” Dr. Bronstein concluded, “I don't know exactly how you've found us, but any help you can offer is incredibly welcome. We don't know how much time she has left, since we've never seen something like this before, but, well, to be honest, it might not be very much time at all. Her family's been advised to help her get her things in order.”

Cosima hung on every word Dr. Bronstein said, picturing the cells and tissues and organs, and the woman lying on the hospital bed. “Third treatment this week,” she'd said, just that morning, on her Facebook page. The understatement of the century, it seemed. If nothing else, Avigail's attitude seemed positive.

“I'm glad she has her family with her,” Cosima said.

While Dr. Bronstein gave a standard sort of agreement, Delphine put her arm around Cosima's waist and held her tight, until an airport employee walked by and gave them a double take, and Cosima scooted away. On her own cell phone she typed We're in Turkey again, babe and showed it to Delphine. There could be no public displays of affection here.

“So, Dr. Bronstein,” Cosima said, “we've actually seen this condition a few times before, and we're very interested in treating Avigail if she'll let us, but, um –”

“Yes, that's what your colleague said in her email. How soon can you get here?” She laughed, and Cosima had a mental image of large front teeth.

“Well, that's just the thing,” Cosima began. “We'd love to get there as soon as possible, but –”

“–but we're also going to a lot of other countries in the region,” Delphine finished when Cosima's hand flapping indicated she needed help.

“I see,” Dr. Bronstein said.

“For the same purpose,” Delphine went on, “and our understanding is that we're not allowed into those countries after we've been to Israel.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone, and Cosima and Delphine exchanged a long look. In her research, Cosima had run across another interesting fact – people who visited Palestine were occasionally not allowed to enter Israel, unless they were Israeli citizens. She'd made a mental note of that and moved on, since they didn't plan to visit Palestine, but now she dredged it back out.

“For what it's worth, Dr. Bronstein, we're traveling exclusively for medical purposes. We really have no interest in anyone's political positions. We just want to cure these women. And, again, for whatever it's worth, we are not planning to go to Palestine. We haven't heard of any patients there with this condition.”

“Oh! Hahaha...” Dr. Bronstein chuckled. “No, no, I was thinking more of our patient here. You see, I've reached out to other doctors, and no one has any idea, either, so I'm simply surprised, ehm, surprised that you've had so much experience. That's all. And, worried, quite frankly. I am quite worried about what will happen if she is not treated soon.”

“Well, we have the treatment with us,” Delphine said. “We could send it to you.”

“With you? As in...?”

“As in, we're sitting next to it right now,” Cosima said. “But we're worried that if we bring it over, we won't be allowed into some of the other countries that we really need to get into.”

“I see. Well, one of you could come and the other could go to the other countries. Or not?”

That idea again. The worst part was that it was right. It would be the easiest solution. It would also be the absolute worst one.

“Yes,” Delphine acknowledged, “that is one of our possibilities, but we'd prefer not to travel alone if at all possible. I'm sure you understand.”

“Well, where else are you going, exactly?”

Delphine pulled up the itinerary she had save on her laptop. “Iraq, later today. Iran, Kuwait, Turkey, Lebanon, Syria...” Below Syria on the list were Jordan and Israel, followed by the European countries, but the noises Dr. Bronstein was making on the other end of the phone interrupted that flow.

“You're going to Syria?” Dr. Bronstein exclaimed. “Have you really found a patient there in such dire straights that you must absolutely go into that blazing inferno to treat them?”

Dire straights was putting it rather dramatically for most of the Ledas at the moment, since less than twenty percent had developed visible symptoms, but that was beside the point. “Yes,” Delphine said. “We have. She may have more time than Avigail, but we don't know how much.”

“Well, you certainly are dedicated,” Dr. Bronstein said. “You're not going to Jordan, then? It's a bit more peaceful.

“We are,” Cosima said. “After Syria.”

“I see. I was going to tell you that entering Jordan and Egypt is often easier after a trip to Israel than some of the other countries are, so you may consider going there instead.”

Cosima leaned her head back against the wall. That was not the point. “We'll keep that in mind, thank you.”

“About our other suggestion, though,” Delphine said, “about us mailing you the treatments. There would be five vials, all properly secured, with extensive instructions --”

“Erm, I don't know about that. You've administered this treatment to other women, you say?”

“Yes, more than a hundred of them.”

“Oh! Well, I can't think of anyone better qualified, then, to administer than yourself. I wouldn't feel completely comfortable no matter how extensive your instructions are, if I knew that there was someone better qualified to do it. And I assure you, Tel Aviv is quite safe. You don't need to worry about traveling alone here.”

Dr. Bronstein probably had a reassuring smile on her face, but Cosima's stomach continued the drop it had started twelve hours earlier. If Avigail's main doctor did not want to give her the cure herself, there wasn't much chance anyone else over there would, either.

“And if you're worried about the stamp,” the doctor went on, “I'm told that many tourists don't get their passports stamped at all. They have this little piece of paper they stamp for you instead. You can throw that away once you've left the country, if you like.”

Cosima and Delphine looked at each other. That changed everything. “Really?” Cosima asked.

“That's what I've been told. I'm a citizen, myself, so of course I've never been in that position.”

“It's worth a try,” Delphine said.

“Can we expect a visit, then?” Dr. Bronstein asked.

“We, euh, we need a few minutes to discuss it, privately,” Delphine told her. “May we call you back?”

“Of course. This is my mobile, so it shouldn't be any trouble.”

They got off the phone, and Cosima started pacing around. “If they just don't stamp it for anyone, we've been pulling our hair out for nothing. Not that I'm complaining, but, it would be suspiciously convenient.”

Delphine tapped away at her keyboard, then her eyes darted back and forth. “Other travelers back it up, actually.”

“Shit, we should've just put that in our Google search first. Here I was trying to see if I could tear the page out of my passport without anyone getting suspicious.”

Delphine leaned back against the wall, fingers resting on her keyboard. “You want to be the one to go, then?”

“I think it makes the most sense.”

Delphine nodded. “I agree. Just in case, you know.”

“In case they don't let me in anywhere else, after all. Which is still a possibility, I think.”

“I think so, too, but I don't know how much of one.”

Cosima thought of everything Dr. Bronstein had said about Avigail, about how she seemed to be staying alive out of sheet pluck while her body fell apart all around her. In the end, there really had been only one solution – this one. “Go ahead and call her back,” she told Delphine. “I can be there by tomorrow morning.”

*

A few hours later, after a visit to the ticketing agent, a phone call with Alison, two more phone calls and an email with Dr. Bronstein, and repacking of their carry-on bags, they stood together just outside the terminal for Delphine's departing flight to Baghdad, which she would take alone. Cosima's flight to Tel Aviv left in two more hours. Outside the terminal windows, the sun had set almost an hour ago, and each of them had several more waking hours ahead of them.

“Try to get some rest where you can,” Delphine told her. “You won't do Avigail any good if you're exhausted.”

“Yeah, I could say the same for you.”

“I have a little more time. The appointment isn't for another twenty-five hours.”

“Yeah, but you have to get to it.”

Outside on the tarmac, Delphine's Turkish Airlines plane pulled up to the extendable passenger bridge. Before it began discharging passengers, Cosima nudged Delphine and gestured towards the women's bathroom.

“Come on. Last chance for a little while.”

Delphine followed her into the largest stall and giggled as Cosima locked the door behind them. “You want to have sex in the bathroom? In ten minutes?”

Cosima made a face. “Not sex, no. Not smelling like this. Just...” She draped her arms around Delphine's neck and pulled her down for a long kiss. They stood together holding each other and kissing until passengers flooded the bathroom with their chatter, their laughter, their complaints, and a couple instances of explosive releases.

“I just wanted to kiss you again,” Cosima said. “It's gonna be a couple days till I can do it again.”

Delphine cupped Cosima's face in her left hand, stroking her earlobe with her pinky finger. “It's just a couple of days. I'll text you when I land, yeah?”

“Yeah. Same. I'll... I'll keep you abreast of all affairs.” Her terrible attempt at imitating Dr. Bronstein's accent made Delphine break into giggles again, but their moment was cut short by knocks on the stall door.

“We have to go,” Delphine whispered. She peppered Cosima's face with kisses and told her how much she loved her.

“I love you, too,” Cosima said, just before the knocking resumed with a bit more force. “Be safe, okay?”

“I will, I promise. You, as well.”

When they opened the door, they were greeted by a stout cleaning lady and a couple of curious travelers, all of whom expressed some version of “oh!” Delphine gave them her best smile and a cheery “Bonsoir!” as she and Cosima maneuvered their way through the people and back out into the main terminal.

And like every other flight they'd taken in this part of the world, Cosima did not hold Delphine's hand in the boarding line, or rest her head on Delphine's shoulder. For those other flights, though, Cosima had still been beside her, and now she wasn't. She stood by the departures board and watched her fiancée move through the line of almost exclusively Middle Eastern travelers and get her ticket checked. Just before rounding the corner onto the passenger bridge, Delphine turned and paused. She smiled and gave Cosima a tiny air kiss, then made her way down the hall and out of sight.

* * *

Four hours later, standing in line at Ben Gurion International Airport in Tel Aviv, Cosima flicked through her messages. Delphine had arrived safely in Baghdad an hour before and was suitably exhausted. She said the security escort was working out fine. Cosima texted her love and sent another message to Dr. Bronstein saying that she was waiting for passport control.

Wonderful! Dr. Bronstein replied. I will retrieve you personally and deliver you to our guest house. I am the tall thin woman in the burgundy jacket, but I also have your name on a sign, so we should have no trouble at all finding each other.

In the next message, Alison assured her that “the Jewish family who lives down the street” had been to Israel and never gotten their passports stamped in Tel Aviv, and they'd never had an issue visiting any other countries. She did not, however, specify which other countries they had tried to visit. See? Alison went on, I told you this would work out just fine.

Scott texted her that one of his Muslim coworkers had tried visiting Israel a few years ago, but got turned away at the border with Jordan. But that shouldn't be a problem for you, Scott said.

The line inched forward. A baby cried. A man bragged to a woman about the ultra marathon he'd run in Israel last year. A little boy whined about being hungry. And Cosima swayed on her feet with no one to lean against.

It was after one in the morning when Cosima finally reached the passport control window. She gave the uniformed man behind the glass her best smile and handed over her passport, open to the picture page.

“Miss Niehaus?” he clarified, winning top marks as one of very few people who got the pronunciation right on the first try. He spent longer than any other passport official ever had comparing her face to her picture, confirmed her date of birth and residence, and asked how long she planned to stay in Israel.

“Two weeks,” she said. They'd made the mistake way back in Ecuador of being vague but honest about how long they would stay, so now they gave a nice firm, if wrong, time frame right up front. He nodded and began flipping through the passport, slowing down after a few fully-stamped pages.

“Um, actually,” she said, “I was wondering if I could get one of those stamps pieces of paper instead?”

He glanced up at her and resumed his exploration of her travel history. “You go a lot of places, Miss Niehaus.”

“Yes. Yes I do.”

He clucked his tongue. “Very many places. Mexico. Argentina. Oman. Libya. Saudi Arabia.” He looked up at her with a frown. “And you have visas for Iran, Syria, and Iraq. You plan to visit them later?”

“Yes, well, you see, that's why I'm kind of hoping you might stamp a different paper instead, because they might not let me in if I have your stamp, and well, you know.” She smiled and held up her hands in a “what're you gonna do” gesture, to show that it wasn't his fault politics were all fucked up.

He did not smile. He leaned over, picked up the phone receiver, and mumbled into it. When he hung up, he gestured for Cosima to step to the left. “Stand aside, please, Miss Niehaus.”

“Oh. Okay, sure. Um, can I have my –”

The officer handed her passport to a tall man in a gray uniform who approached and looked her up and down, one hand on the strap of his rifle.

“Oh, shit,” she whispered.

*

The room they took her to was tiny, with a long table on one side and two metal chairs on the other. A uniformed woman directed her to remove her boots, jacket, belt, and all of her jewelry. She then gave Cosima the most thorough pat down Cosima had gotten from anyone other than Delphine. While that went on, an middle aged woman (Soldier? Guard? Border officer?) sat in one of the metal chairs. The man who'd taken Cosima's passport placed her bags on the long table, and he handed the passport to the second woman, who set a recorder with a blinking red light on the table.

“Sit,” the woman told Cosima. “Take your hair down.”

Cosima did so, and the younger woman worked her fingers down the length of every one of Cosima's dreadlocks.

“It's okay, I left the explosive hair pins at home,” Cosima snarked when the hair inspection was about halfway done.

The younger woman paused for a moment. “No jokes, please.”

So Cosima sat quietly while the man opened up her bags, setting the electronics to one side, and the older woman looked through her passport. Maybe it was her exhaustion seeping through, but the more she watched them working, the more they reminded her of General Leia Organa and Kylo Ren from the new Star Wars movies.

The officer Cosima now mentally called General Organa began the conversation. “So Miss Niehaus, what brings you to Israel?”

She had practiced professional answer for that. “It's a medical trip. There's a patient here who's arranged for us, I mean, for me to come and treat her.”

“What's the patient's name?”

“Uh, that's confidential. Patient confidentially's very important to us.”

“Who's us?”

“The Sadler and Daughter's Foundation. Their information is on a card in my purse.”

The Kylo Ren guard emptied her purse onto the table and fished around in her things until he got the little stack of business cards, which he handed to the General.

General Organa arched an eyebrow. “So you're based in Toronto, but hold a US passport. Where will you be treating this patient?”

“At the Tel Aviv Medical Center.” When the General put the cards back on the table, Cosima added, “I have an appointment there first thing in the morning, and our patient's life really depends on me being there.”

As if on cue, Cosima's phone rang, vibrating its way in a little circle on the metal table next to her laptop.

“That's probably my contact at the hospital,” Cosima said. “She was supposed to pick me up here.”

No one moved to hand her the phone, but they waited until it stopped ringing to speak again. “And who is this contact?” the General asked.

That part was not exactly confidential. “Dr. Ada Bronstein. I can give you her contact information.”

“Please do. We also need to search your email addresses and your mobile phone.”

“Excuse me?”

“Failure to comply will jeopardize your chances of entering the country.” The General gestured to the male guard, who handed the laptop and the cell phone over to Cosima.

“Unlock these,” he said.

Unlocking her phone, she saw that, indeed, Dr. Bronstein had called her, and sent a text message inquiring about her whereabouts. “Can I just respond to these real quick?” Cosima asked.

General Organa frowned up at her, but did not say no, so Cosima sent a quick text. They're asking me a lot of questions. Then the young female guard took her cell phone and the General took her laptop. While they poked and prodded, Kylo Ren continued his search of Cosima's carry-on bag.

“I hope you like all the pictures of my fiancée,” Cosima muttered to the guard scrolling through her cell phone.

There was no reaction from the guards to her statement. Kylo Ren, though, held up the case containing the Avigail's cure, and Cosima sat bolt upright.

“What's this?” he asked.

“That's the medicine we use to treat people.”

“What is the chemical composition?”

At this point, it must have been close to two o'clock in the morning local time. Cosima's hands and legs were trembling, and biting her tongue got harder with every question they asked. Still, miraculously, she did not give the chemical composition as “the cum I scraped off your mom's face last night, bitch” but rather gave the actual breakdown of materials in each vial. The guard's face glazed over after five words or so, but the little recorder on the desk blinked away, and someone listening certainly knew what she was talking about.

“Where was it manufactured?” Kylo Ren asked.

“Toronto, Canada.”

“Where exactly?”

“The basement of a comic book shop. The Rabbit Hole.” She waved at her laptop. “Look it up. There's a picture of it on our Foundation's website.”

General Organa leaned forward on her chair. “You have been asked a serious question, Ms. Niehaus. If you wish to enter the country, I strongly suggest that you take this process seriously.”

Cosima's voice trembled and she dug her fingers into her palms. “Dude, I am as a serious as a fucking heart attack. There is a woman here in Tel Aviv who needs that medicine to survive. You can call her doctor if you don't believe me. Her number is in my phone.”

“That won't be necessary.”

Cosima bit her lip and struggled not to cry. She was in the habit of not drinking much in the last hour of any plane ride, in case she couldn't use a bathroom anytime soon after landing. The habit came in handy now, but her throat was dry and the blood vessels in her head throbbed, and crying wouldn't make any of that better. She took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Can I at least know why you're holding me? Or, like, your names or anything? Badge numbers?”

In college, when she participated in far more political protests, she'd had the whole spiel of what to say to cops memorized. But that was years ago, and she hadn't been exhausted or desperate to save someone else's life.

The young female guard came around in front of her and held Cosima's phone up so the screen was a foot away from Cosima's nose. “Who are they?” she demanded.

Cosima put her glasses back on to see the picture of Nabil and his siblings around their new kitchen table. “Friends. Their aunt is a friend of mine.”

The guard handed the phone to her superior and looked down at Cosima with a face that had switched from professional indifference to outright contempt. “Where are they?”

“Djibouti. Why, you wanna call them, too? Wake them up in the middle of the night?”

The General's body language also changed when she saw the picture. “How do you know these children?”

“I just told you, they're my friend's nieces and nephews.”

“What friend?”

“A friend in Djibouti. She was also a patient of mine, and the kids are in her custody.”

The General shoved the image closer to Cosima's face. “Those children are not Djiboutian. They are Arab.”

If she had been less tired, Cosima would have rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you got me, they're from Yemen. They're refugees. You might be aware that there's a bit of a refugee situation, like, fucking, globally right now, right?”

“Well, that's a bit closer to the truth, finally.” The General pointed to Nabil's selfie, not to his smiling face but to the wall of their apartment, where a green flag with white swords decorated the drab brown and gray. “What symbol is that, Ms. Niehaus?”

“I...” She looked again, with the feeling of being dropped into the most important geography pop quiz of her life. The flag looked Saudi Arabian, but the swords pointed up more, and there was a book between the sword tips that wasn't present on the Saudi flag. The flag wasn't Djiboutian, Egyptian, Algerian, or any other country she recognized, either. “I have no fucking clue. I'm sure you have a specialist somewhere in Tel Aviv who can answer that question for you, though.”

“Smart ass,” Kylo Ren muttered, shaking out her underwear once piece at a time.

“Ms. Niehaus,” the General said, “I suggest you give us a very good explanation for this photo, right away, or I shall have to deny your entry into our country, not only for today, but for the next ten years at the very least.”

Tears fell from Cosima's eyes before she could speak. So much for not crying. “What the fucking hell,” she whispered into her hands. “Please,” she said, looking at the General and opening crying now, “they're just kids. They're good kids. Their parents are dead. I don't know what the flag means. They probably don't know, either. For fuck's sake half of them can barely read! This has nothing to do with Israel, or, or with anything else! Just let me cure my patient and leave! Then I swear to God I'll stay away for the next ten years or forever if you want me to!”

General Organa might have said more, but the door opened and a trim young officer stepped in and addressed her in Hebrew.

They stepped out together, leaving Cosima with her guards, staring at her belongings scattered across the table and quietly sobbing. Delphine would have been out of here by now. She would have said just the right things, had just the right whatever-the-fuck, and they would have let her in the country with no problems. But now, hopefully, Delphine was sleeping peacefully in a hotel bed, in a country that everyone had told them not to go into, and Cosima was this close to being denied entry into what Alison called “the only civilized country in the Middle East.”

Cosima had almost dozed off on the little metal chair when the door opened again and the General came in with Cosima's passport in her hand and a scowl on her face. “You're very lucky, Ms. Niehaus. We've been instructed to let you into the country without further delay. Get your things together, please.”

Keenly aware of the guns still pointed not exactly at her but certainly not away from her, Cosima stuffed everything back into her bags, only taking any care with her cell phone, her laptop, and the cure. She asked no questions and made no comments. Once she was finished, she turned and held out her hand for her passport, but instead, the guards led her back around to the passport control desk.

“Dr. Bronstein will meet you through those doors,” the General said, her voice dripping with disdain. Then she cut in front of the other people waiting to get into the country, went into the passport control booth, and stamped Cosima's passport with the Israeli travel visa.

[queercapwriting]

Earp sisters, Danver sisters, and Cosima's all get together and try one up each other on evil shit they have been through.

Delphine is laying in Cosima’s arms with her feet up on Kara’s lap. Lena sits on the floor, her back against Kara’s knees, clinking her glass with Alex, who’d just offered up a toast to messed up childhoods creating badass science nerd adults.

“I’m not a science nerd. Or a nerd of any kind!” Alison protests, as Sarah slings her arm around her and grins.

“We can be the odd ones out. Us and the Meatball,” she assures her, and Helena smiles and chuckles happily.

“Does being a history nerd count as a science nerd?” Waverly wants to know, sprawled out on the floor next to Alex and Maggie, leaning back into Nicole.

“Purgatory’s history is pretty much all mysticism, babygirl. Which is, you know, a version of science?” Wynonna shrugs, trying to reach for the last of the donuts without Kara noticing.

She fails, and the women all laugh. Harder than they’ve been able to in far too long.

“No, but really,” Sarah raises her bottle of beer. “Let’s have a go at it, yeah? See who’s evil shit is the worst evil shit.”

“Oh, we probably don’t want to go down that road,” Cosima cautions, and Delphine chuckles softly.

“Afraid you’d lose, darling?” she teases, and suddenly Cosima is all in.

They shout out traumas like they were talking about breakfast cereal.

They shout out traumas like the presence of other women who know what they’ve been through – and who love them anyway – can exorcise it all from their bones, from their nightmares.

They shout out traumas like baseball scores, and they ooh and ahh and hold each other’s hands and kiss each other’s foreheads.

“You get major points for that one, Danvers, fine,” Wynonna chases a shudder with beer as Alex talks about Myriad.

“Oh please,” Waverly flaps her hand, but soothes her teasing by squeezing Alex’s leg supportively. “Who in this room hasn’t been mind controlled at some point or another?”

Cosima, Alison, and Sarah tilt their heads, shudder, and squint, respectively.

“I mean, I don’t think our particular enemies favor possession so much as – “

“Manipulation at the genetic level,” Cosima continues for Alison, “which if we really want to get into it, could be interpreted as – “

“No, let those of us who think more about magic guns than lab reports stay in our science-less oblivion!” Wynonna laughs.

“Magic guns?” Nicole chokes, and Alex leans into Maggie, shaking with laughter.

“Got away from you, that sentence, huh?” Lena jokes, and Kara leans down to kiss her.

“Yeah yeah,” Wynonna grins, shifting to tickle Waverly’s ribs.

“I once tried to shoot deer with no ammo in gun. Had to take him down with bare hands. Was unpleasant.”

Silence falls in the beat after Helena’s statement, and they all turn toward her at once, faces ranging from amused to concerned to trying-not-to-imagine-that-scenario.

“Wow, Meatball,” Sarah grimaces affectionately. “You definitely win.”

And Helena chuckles to herself, happy – to be with her sisters, to be with the sisters of her sisters, to be – to finally, now, belong.

[medicineforafakedisease]

Rumination

"The gods are dead."

Hophix squinted as those words left their mouth, running their tongue over their teeth as though trying to identify a flavour. Their outlandish armour creaked as they balled one of their hands into a fist, shaking their fabric-swathed head. How long had Hophix, The Masked, The Watcher in Purple, reviled by most who truly knew of them, watched and waited for their opportunity to perform just such an act? How often had their dreams been haunted by images of just that kind of vengeance? They, who knew more keenly than most the cruelty of the gods, branded into their body since before they were even born? And they went and died on their own terms? Hophix knew they should be pleased by the revelation, but for some reason the act send ripples of anger through their gut.

"Didn't even have the good grace to die right." Then they paused, looking up and around in case anyone had heard their exclamation. They were nowhere near the others, hidden up a tree with only their heavy cloak as shelter from the cold. Hophix never enjoyed sleeping in typical circumstances; when one becomes adept at the grim art of murder one starts to see it in relation to their own habits. Besides, they didn't trust the others in their group not to decide to turn on them in their sleep. They peered off into the distance, where the embers of the campfire lay. The sleeping forms of their companions could barely be seen, having already eaten and turned in. Hophix hadn't revealed their hiding place to any of them, but they could swear the men and women of the camp were laid facing the tree they were lodged in. They gave an exasperated sigh, tugging the rich lining of their cloak down over their face.

Why did they linger? It would be the easiest thing in the world to simply get up and leave the party to their problems. The whole world was out there, and after their escape from the clutches of the Underworld Hophix was quite inclined to witness it all again. It's not like they would be missed; Cosima and Ianthe were the only ones who held the cloaked androgen in any semblance of good grace, and even then the look the Athenian battle priestess shot Hophix after they had killed the cyclops in cold blood haunted them. It's unlikely the axe-wielding pirate would turn on them unless they did something monumentally stupid, but Ianthe would never understand the necessity of what they did. She lived in a different world from Hophix, one of uncompromising ideals and Athenian pride.

Not to mention they had decided to follow the words of the, uh, lightning woman. The very thought of blindly accompanying this uppity sorceress vexed Hophix greatly, and they were privately questioning the wisdom of seeking advice from an Oracle when the very gods themselves had fallen or abandoned their posts. No matter, a consensus had been reached, though that brought them back to the issue of accompaniment. The fact that Legeia seemed to distrust them was another point of vexation for the spymaster; their appearance at the moment of the Theban's death seemed like a massive blunder now, as they could have merely stayed out of sight and let the girl die alone, but they hadn't exactly anticipated on everyone coming back from the dead.

The same went for the other damn Oracle in their life. They reached up and rubbed at their hairless jawline, wincing again at the slap they'd received from Kaliope.They could almost feel the searing pain of the strike, and the lingering insult left by it. Their breath quickened in agitation at the very thought, free hand reaching almost unconsciously to one of the knives strapped across their slender chest. It would be so easy to creep up and avenge themselves once more, to...

And then it flashed in their mind's eye. The gaze Melanthios gave them back at the inn, as he brought his spear up to bar his younger sibling's way. The low, firm words and the lingering sorrow in his gaze and tone, though he tried to hide it, scratched at the walls of Hophix's mind. The hand that had been reaching for a knife instead shot to cover their sternum, eyes screwing shut as they relived the feeling of their brother's spear plunging into their back, violating their innards and charring their flesh with that infernal lightning. Their heart was palpitating, and they forced themselves to breathe deeply. What was this feeling twisting in their belly, almost more painful than the memory of that fatal injury? No, they knew exactly what it was. It was what they felt whenever they gazed in their brother's direction, the feeling that they felt when they fought side by side with him against the bellowing cyclops, destroying what little high the feeling of victory gave.

It was shame.

The sheer effectiveness with which Hophix and Melanthios fought together was its own torture. Every movement their brother made answered with their own, the heavily armoured hoplite bearing the brunt of the attention while their purple-clothed sibling nipped at their flanks, achieving together what neither could have alone. A fleeting glimpse of what might have been. Of what had been stolen from them. Their lips twisted in bitterness.

Perhaps that was why they stayed. Perhaps a part of them really wished to atone. Hophix had never considered their actions to be in any way wrong; after all, who were the high-minded Greeks to lecture them on morality when they fought and killed and bled over every slight pretext? At least they were honest with themselves that assassination was a grim and necessary business. This though...

They shook their head and lay back against the broad trunk of the tree, closing their eyes and trying to relax for once. They would have to more thoroughly examine these new feelings, lest they be used against them.

[mveloc]

Days of Why and How

Chapter 8

For the second time in as many nights, she wakes slowly and stretches languidly, her lips twisting into a smile when the crick in her neck she’s come to expect doesn’t come. Instead she feels well-rested and delights in the many benefits of a good night’s sleep. A slight shiver rolls down her spine when she twists ever-so-slightly and the blankets covering her tiny frame slide away from her, exposing her to the mild chill of the room.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

The voice alarms her at first, completely unexpected. She shoots up in another bed that isn’t hers, squinting into the distance to make out the figure standing on the other side of the room. She breathes a noticeable sigh of relief when her brain finally pulls away from its haze of sleep and her memories return to her.

“Expecting someone else?”

She reaches across to the nightstand and retrieves her glasses, sight returning to her. When she turns back, the blonde is sauntering over towards the bed with a large glass full of a mysterious liquid in hand.

“I made this for you,” Shay says, handing the glass to Cosima.

Cosima hums in appreciation, taking a few gulps before passing it back.

“You like?”

“Yeah. It’s good,” she answers, watching Shay take a sip before setting the drink aside on the nightstand.

“You look like you slept well,” Shay remarks. “Prison really makes you realize how much you take the little things for granted—a decent night’s sleep, for one.”

“Oh yeah.”

They both laugh as the blonde straddles Cosima’s waist. Cosima’s smile stretches when Shay slowly forces her back onto the bed, her hands reaching for the brunette’s wrists and pinning them on either side of her head. She doesn’t even try to fight back, intrigued by what the other woman might have in store for her next; Shay has always been a playful lover, though their encounters in prison were almost always hurried and so they never had time to really luxuriate, to explore the boundaries of their relationship.

Things are different now.

They had spent the entire evening re-learning each other’s bodies, even discovering new spots that would elicit tiny giggles or drawn out groans. Unlike her most recent encounter with Delphine, there was no desperation to their coupling, no hurried kisses or urgent hands; there was no sense of lost time to make up for, no great inferno fuelling them, no years of tension that had drawn them both taut as a bowstring until they eventually snapped.

“God, I missed you,” Cosima thinks out loud, closing her eyes and losing herself in the sensation of Shay’s lips on her neck.

“Really?”

“Mhmm.”

After her shit storm of a conversation with Delphine, it had taken every ounce of self-control she possessed to make it through the rest of her shift without smashing every fucking bottle behind the bar. Bobby had offered to send her home early since it wasn’t too busy, but she didn’t want to give Delphine the satisfaction of knowing she was still so deep beneath her skin. She had hung back to help Bobby close the bar and it was the bartender who’d actually planted the seed in her head.

“Girl, you really need to find yourself something else to fixate on.”

“I’m not fixating,” Cosima had snapped, aggressively wiping down a sticky table.

“Well, could you “not fixate” on another table? You’ve been scrubbing for ten minutes now—are you trying to sand the damn thing?”

She had stormed out of the bar in a huff, though she found herself unable to return home to Tony’s house. She couldn’t spend the night stewing on her cousin’s couch. She tried to call Sarah to see if she wanted to hit up an after hours and drink away the rest of the night, but the Brit never answered her phone and Felix was equally as unreachable as his sister. She considered wandering out into the city on her own when she was struck by an idea, hard as lighting.

Shay.

She had no way of knowing if things would still be the same, but it couldn't be worse than crawling back into bed with Delphine. She had rushed back to Tony’s, digging through her belongings to find one of the letters Shay had written her after she was released. With the address in her mind and Google Maps to guide her, she found herself on her prison lover’s doorstep in the middle of the night just praying the blonde was as understanding as she remembered.

And she was.

It may have been three o’clock in the morning but after a few steady knocks, she heard shuffling in the apartment and Shay greeted her just minutes later, the sleep quickly vanishing from her eyes the second she realized who her visitor was. She invited Cosima inside without a moment’s hesitation and immediately began making tea so the two of them could talk.

And they did.

Conversation flowed easily between them, not like with Delphine. She took care to omit any mention of the French woman’s name while recounting her story to Shay and once the conversation had ended, Shay had looked at her with the smallest glint in her eyes, with a smile tugging at her lips, and invited Cosima to spend the night.

How could she pass up a warm bed and even warmer company?

“Are you okay?”

Shay’s words root her back in the present.

Cosima nods.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Shay sits up, still straddling Cosima’s waist though halting any advancement.

“You seemed pretty tense last night,” she says. “I didn’t want to press it, but I just want to make sure everything’s okay.”

Cosima smiles, reaching up to cup Shay’s face. She delicately brushes her thumbs along her cheekbones and tucks a few stray pieces of hair behind the blonde’s ears.

“I’m fine,” she tells her.

It’s not exactly a lie, though it isn’t the truth either. She feels fine in the moment, though she knows the second the euphoria of their reunion wears off and she returns to the world, she’s still going to feel just as bitter as ever.

“I’ve just been stressed lately,” she admits.

“Can’t imagine it’s more stressful out here than it is in there.”

Cosima nods.

She thought getting out of prison would mean everything would get easier from here on out, but if anything, her life is far more complicated now than it ever was when she was behind bars. She certainly doesn’t miss prison—the experience was horrifying in its own right—but she wishes someone would have warned her how shitty things would be after getting out just so she could have prepared herself a little better.

“I ran into Delphine.”

She pauses, gauging Shay’s reaction. Shay pauses as well, slowly processing Cosima’s words.

“And how’d that go?”

Cosima sighs, twisting her body out from underneath the blonde. Once she’s free, she sits up straight and tries to center herself, considering her words very carefully. She doesn’t want to blow up and unnerve her lover, but she can’t stop her emotions from swelling every time she speaks about Delphine.

“She’s… she’s un-fucking-believable,” Cosima begins. “First, she totally butts in on a job I’m running with Sarah and Felix and ruins everything. We ended up losing the score and we nearly got caught. Then she shows up later to tell me that she misses me and that she’s sorry for being a mega-bitch, that she wants to get back together. She wants to be partners, of all things.”

“Wow.”

“I know, right?”

She’s glad to know she’s not overreacting—that she’s not the only one who thinks the entire situation is completely fucked up. Delphine had approached her as if it were the most casual thing in the world—as if asking her to team up again after everything that went down between them made perfect sense.

“What did you say?” Shay asks.

“What do you think I said?” Cosima retorts, nearly laughing at the ridiculousness of the question. “I told her to keeping fucking dreaming.”

She reaches for the smoothie on the nightstand, taking a few more gulps before wiping her lips on the back of her hand. Shay watches her through curious eyes that silently assess the damage.

“It’s just… I know how much she meant to you,” she tries, extending a soft and supporting hand to caress Cosima’s back. “You spent, like, every single day pining for her.”

“Not every day,” Cosima throws back.

“Okay. Most days,” Shay corrects herself.

Cosima laughs dismissively, then throw her legs over the edge of the bed and stands. Shay’s eyes follow her the entire way to the bathroom, frowning when Cosima disappears behind the door.

“What are you going to do?” she calls out.

The words reach Cosima’s ears as she takes a seat on the toilet and relieves her full bladder.

“Nothing. I’m done with it all,” Cosima yells back.

She frowns, the French woman entering her thoughts once again. She wonders if Delphine will actually stay away this time and grant her the peace she’s been desperately in search of ever since she left prison. It’s doubtful. She knows Delphine—knows that she’ll fight and rage until she gets her way because she always does, in the end. Maybe Sarah was right after all and the only way she’ll ever be able to escape Delphine and her past is if they finish their job and take off running to South America. Maybe that’s her only shot at a real future.

“I don’t even wanna think about her right now,” Cosima mutters beneath her breath, finishing in the bathroom and stalking back over to Shay’s bed. “It’s getting me too worked up.”

She huffs in annoyance, plopping herself back down onto the mattress. Shay smiles playfully, stretching across the length of the bed to close the distance between them. She presses a kiss to Cosima’s cheek.

“Well, I can help with that,” she promises.

Cosima’s smile returns, she finds a fistful of blonde hair and runs her fingers through the silky tresses.

“I bet you can.”

She draws the smaller woman in closer, stealing a long kiss and nearly sighing at the relief that immediately washes through her. She forgets about Delphine for a moment and allows herself to relax into the gentle touch of her lover.

“I always have, haven’t I?” Shay teases.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

Shay freezes.

“You guess?” she asks with an arched brow. “Don’t forget who was there to hold your hand through everything.”

“I know, I know,” Cosima concedes.

When Sarah couldn’t be there for her—when Delphine wouldn’t—Shay was there. If it weren’t for the spirited and patient young woman she’s certain she wouldn’t have made it through her sentence with her sanity intact; Shay had made the long days bearable, had endured countless hours of her sorrow and anger and regret over Delphine, had offered her comfort in any way she knew how. Shay had been a true friend to her—there was no ulterior motive, no level of expectation.

Shay is perfect.

Or at least on paper she is.

“So, why didn't you look me up sooner?”

It’s a fair question.

“I don’t know,” Cosima sighs. “I sorta just wanted to get my shit together—get my feet on the ground and my head on straight, you know?”

Shay hums in understanding.

“To be honest, I didn’t even know if you’d still be into me,” Cosima admits.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Shay counters with a laugh.

Cosima offers her a genuine smile and rolls onto her back, pulling Shay with her until the smaller girl is tucked into her side.

“Well, everything’s different out here. Larger pool, you know?” Cosima rambles. “It’s like dating someone in high school—you sorta get together out of necessity since there aren’t that many prospects. But then you both get into different colleges and realize that maybe what worked in high school isn’t gonna work anymore, that there are people better suited.”

Shay turns her head to stare blankly at Cosima’s face.

“Did you just compare prison to high school?”

Cosima laughs.

“You know what I mean.”

Shay nods.

“Don’t worry. You’re still my favourite fish in this great big sea.”

Cosima’s laughter builds and she squeezes Shay a little tighter until they're both laughing. She almost forgot what it feels like to breathe easy, to wake up in the morning without this crushing weight on her chest. She wonders if she can actually do this—forget about Delphine completely and pursue something with Shay; it would probably be the healthiest thing for her to do and she wants to tell herself that it’ll be all-too-easy to push the French woman from her thoughts so long as she has the Russian at her side, but she knows it isn’t so cut and dry.

Their brief moment of respite is interrupted by a text tone from Shay’s phone. Cosima groans in mild frustration as Shay slowly slithers out of her grasp to reach for her phone and check it, the look on her face immediately transforming.

“What is it?” Cosima pries.

“Nothing,” Shay dismisses her. “I just have a thing later.”

“A thing?”

Now her curiosity is piqued.

“Yeah. Some family-party-thing,” Shay explains.

Cosima sits up.

“Like… “family” family?” she tries to clarify. “The same family that—”

“Yep.”

Shay had never shared much about her family other than the fact that they were Russian mob and that her involvement with them was the reason she had landed herself in prison.

“Wow. So… you’re still in with them?”

Shay shakes her head.

“Not exactly,” she replies. “I’m not doing any stupid shit, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s a relief,” Cosima expels.

They had spent many hours talking about what they’d do when they were free—returning to a life of crime had never once come up and even though Shay says she has no intention of getting involved with the mob again, Cosima knows that these sorts of ties are not so easily severed.

“Despite everything that’s happened, they’re still my family, you know? I still love them—I still want them to be a part of my life,” Shay tries to justify her actions.

Cosima is in awe.

“How can you do that? How can you forgive them so easily?”

How many years of her life had she lost because of her involvement with her family? How can the blonde just walk right back to them without any sort of qualms? Cosima thinks about Delphine; even if she wanted to forgive her ex-girlfriend, she doesn’t even know where she would begin.

“I never said forgiveness was easy,” Shay tells her. “But at the end of the day, how upset can I really be? I’ve always known what they are—what they do. It’s not like they duped me. I was the one who fucked up—not them.”

Shay’s words ring in Cosima’s ears.

“Really? You don’t see anything wrong with them being mobsters?”

Shay laughs, swatting Cosima’s leg.

“Of course there’s something wrong with it. All I’m saying is that you can’t buy a puppy and then get upset when it shits on the floor—that’s what puppies do.”

Cosima nods slowly, the words seeping in. She takes her time to mull them over.

“You wanna come?” Shay asks with a wriggle of her eyebrows.

“To a mob party?” Cosima asks incredulously. “Yeah. I don’t think so.”

“Oh, come on! It’ll be fun!” Shay exclaims, bouncing slightly on the bed.

“You and I have very different definitions of fun.”

+ + + + +

She doesn’t know how she let Shay talk her into this but she feels uncomfortable the second she sets foot in the large, lavish mansion. There are men and women all around (speaking mostly in Russian) and music playing softly in the background. Shay takes her by the hand and guides her through rooms and people until they’re standing in the beautifully decorated dining room. She plucks two glasses of champagne from amongst the neat rows set out on the table and hands one to Cosima.

“Super swanky,” the brunette comments, her eyes scanning the crowd.

“Yeah. My uncle likes to do things big,” Shay replies.

Cosima shifts uncomfortably, trying her hardest not to look out of place. She doesn’t want to cling to Shay but she doesn’t have very many options; most of the partygoers either ignore her completely or glance at her skeptically which is why when she feels a hand settle on her shoulder from behind, she nearly jumps out of her skin.

“Lapochka!”

Cosima whirls around to see the perpetrator wrap his arms around Shay in a tight hug, a huge smile dominating his visage. He’s an older man, probably in his late-fifties or early-sixties, with silver stubble on his face and salt and pepper hair slicked neatly back. His cologne is strong enough to match his jawline and he’s dressed impeccably in a designer suit that he wears with a subdued yet undeniable confidence earned only through age and status; on his wrist, a gleaming silver and yellow-gold Rolex worth more than Cosima stands to make in months slaving at Bobby’s—tips included.

“It’s good to see you, Uncle.”

When they part, he presses a kiss to each of her cheeks and then turns his attention to Cosima.

“Ah. You must be my niece’s friend—the one she told me about.”

“U-Uh, yeah,” Cosima stammers, offering her hand to shake. “I’m Cosima. Nice to meet you.”

He ignores it, instead opting for a sturdy hug she finds herself nearly drowning in. He's a burly man despite his age and she can barely fit her arms around his torso to half-heartedly reciprocate the gesture. When they part, he repeats the same process he did with his niece and presses a kiss to each of her cheeks as she tries not to squirm and make her discomfort known.

“The pleasure is mine,” he tells her, his Russian accent thick. “I am Dmitri. Shaydushka has told me so much about you.”

Cosima arches a brow, inspecting the blonde who’s smiling coyly.

“She has?”

Dmitri beams.

“All good things, of course,” he clarifies. “She told me you were a loyal friend; loyalty is so hard to find these days.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Cosima mutters.

He laughs, pulling out a chair and gesturing for her to take a seat.

“Come. Sit.”

Cosima glances hesitantly over to Shay who nods her head, encouraging her to play along. Dmitri pulls another chair out for Shay and the tiny blonde promptly sits. Trying to follow her lead, Cosima lowers herself slowly into the chair and then watches as Dmitri takes a seat of his own on the other side of the table.

“What is it you do now that you’re free?” he asks.

Cosima twirls her champagne lute, the bubbles rising to the surface mirroring her own feelings of anxiety. She tries to tell herself that she has no reason to be anxious, that she’s just here as Shay’s friend, but there’s something in the way Dmitri looks at her that has her stomach doing somersaults.

“Oh. Uh, not much. I’ve been bartending a few nights a week at my friend’s place for now,” she explains.

“Really? That seems like such a waste of your talents.”

There’s an undertone of disappointment in his voice and Cosima’s gaze shifts over to the blonde again. She wonders just how much Shay has disclosed about her past.

“My talents?” she asks.

“She tells me you’re very good with computers.”

Her nod is delayed.

“What else did she tell you?”

Sensing her hesitation, Dmitri throws his head back and booming laughter escapes. Shay joins him, reaching over to set a hand upon Cosima’s thigh and give it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t worry. She said nothing but great things,” Dmitri tries to put her at ease.

Cosima tips her head back and takes a long swig of her champagne.

“I could use someone with your skill set.”

She nearly chokes and spits the sprays alcohol everywhere but somehow manages to swallow it down, eyes wide and hand shielding her mouth. When she looks over to Shay again, the blonde is frowning.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m out—for good,” she tells the older man.

He cocks his head.

“May I ask why?”

She exchanges another look with Shay, unable to decipher what it is she’s seeing on her lover’s face. Whatever it is, it certainly isn’t joy; Shay seems just as uncomfortable by the proposition as she is.

“Uh, because I spent the last five years in prison?” she tries. “I have no desire to go back.”

Dmitri gingerly folds his hands, resting them on the table in front of him.

“With the Bratva at your back, you will never serve another day in prison.”

She can hear Leekie’s voice in her head now, speaking those very same words to her and Delphine all those years ago. Leekie was supposed to be a powerful man—powerful enough to protect them. In the end, it made no difference.

“You know, my last employer told me the same thing—that I’d be taken care of, that I’d never see the inside of a cell. No one can keep a promise like that in this business.”

Dmitri chuckles.

“Your last employer isn’t me.”

“No, he certainly isn’t,” she mutters.

Dmitri may be as conniving as Leekie on a certain level, but she doesn’t see any disdain in his eyes. From the first moment they started associating with Leekie, she always got the impression that he regarded her as nothing more than a nuisance—that Delphine was his true prize and she simply came along with the territory. Whether it was true or not, she believed that they’d both be safe so long as they stuck together.

“You shouldn’t waste your time running around with small men,” Dmitri lectures her. “You could be aiming so much higher.”

“You sound just like Leekie,” Cosima laughs sardonically, finishing her champagne.

Dmitri freezes.

“Aldous Leekie?”

Cosima pauses, carefully considering her course of action.

“Yeah?”

Dmitri leans forward in his seat while Shay folds her arms over her chest and tries to keep her frown at bay.

“Aldous Leekie is your former employer?” he presses.

“Uh, yeah. You know him?”

“Of course I do,” he says. “I need to know my competitors.”

The way he speaks puts Cosima on edge. She knows how Leekie deals with competitors and it’s safe to assume that Dmitri has a similar protocol, being Bratva and all. Her heart begins to beat double time as soon as she recognizes the dangerous turn this conversation has suddenly taken.

“He made all of those same promises and he never kept a single one.”

Dmitri is silent, considering. He scratches at the scruff of his beard and nods.

“Your mistake was trusting that man. He’s a snake.”

“Yeah. I figured that one out, thanks.”

She figured it out too late, but she knows now that it’s impossible for her to trust a word Leekie says and so it must be impossible for her to trust Delphine; so long as she’s aligned with him, any promise she makes can never be kept—any sincerity that may have emanated from her voice is tainted.

It’s infuriating to her that her ex can’t seem to grasp this.

“Still, it’s surprising to me that he’d hang such a valuable asset out to dry,” Dmitri remarks.

Cosima blinks.

“Excuse me?”

Shay trades glances with her uncle, her eyes glimmering with what seems to be a silent warning; she knows where this conversation is heading and she silently pleads with him not to push Cosima too far. He seems to consider her for a brief moment, though he quickly shifts his focus back to Cosima.

“If you’re half as good at what you do as Shaydushka has told me, it’s hard for me to understand why he wouldn’t protect you—safeguard such a strong asset.”

She thought the same thing at first, but the evidence against her was far more damning than she could have anticipated. When she thinks back on it now, she doesn’t know how she ever expected Leekie to come through for her. How could anyone deliver on such promises? He was just another modern day wizard, spinning grand tales from behind a curtain and using smoke and mirrors to inflate himself to a size so great that even he became caught in his own orbit.

“There was nothing he could have done,” Cosima shrugs. “The evidence was pretty damning.”

Dmitri smirks.

“Oh? Is that what he told you?”

And just like that, she immediately feels her blood run cold—feels a sweat break out despite the ice in her veins. The knowing look in Dmitri’s eyes digs at a truth she’s considered once or twice before but always buried away before it had time to infect her.

“Do you think I’m the only one with police and judges on my payroll? With a team of top-notch lawyers at my disposal?” he asks her.

Of course not.

From what she understood, Leekie owned half of this city—maybe more.

“My dear girl, if you spent so many years sitting in a cell, it’s because Aldous Leekie wanted you there.”

She sets her empty glass down heavily on the table, nearly cracking the stem in the process. She feels her body begin to quake, her vision begin to narrow, her chest begin to heave. Shay reaches over to find her hand and she instinctively shakes her off, rising quickly to her feet in a flash of anger.

“Son of a bitch,” she spits through gritted teeth.

So Leekie had set her up to fail.

“This is wonderful!” Dmitri laughs, rising to match her energy.

“I’m sorry, but how is any of this wonderful?” she snaps.

She’s not so concerned with her tone anymore, with upsetting the Bratva or anyone else. She’s not concerned with the sympathetic look in Shay’s eyes as she gazes wordlessly at Cosima trying to figure out what she can do to ease her nerves and de-escalate the situation.

“It’s as if God himself has put you in my path!” Dmitri exclaims, clearly excited. “I need someone to help me get rid of Aldous Leekie and you need justice! We can help each other!”

She considers it.

She seriously considers it.

She’s ashamed, but all she can think of is how badly she wants to murder Aldous Leekie. She’s never considered herself a vengeful person and she was serious before when she told Delphine that she was finished with everything, that she was ready to move on. But now? With this newfound knowledge, how can she just walk away and pretend like nothing ever happened? How can she let that man continue to manipulate people and ruin their lives?

What about Delphine?

Does she know? Did she have a part in any of this? Is she truly the guilty one or was she just another pawn, like her? Is it possible that they were both used—that they’re being played against each other like fools?

It’s too much.

“I… I’m sorry. I need to think,” Cosima stammers, rushing out of the dining room.

“Of course. Take all the time you need. I’ll be awaiting your answer!” Dmitri calls from behind.

She pushes through all of the strangers, her legs moving on their own. She’s completely unaware of her surroundings, focused only on finding the door and getting the fuck out this hornet’s nest as soon as possible. She forgets about Shay entirely until she feels a hand pull at her arm from behind.

“What the hell, Shay?” she snaps, whipping around to let loose.

“I’m sorry!” Shay apologizes. “I-I didn’t know he was gonna offer you a job or anything, I swear! I asked him if it was okay to bring you as a friend and he said he wanted to meet you! I-I didn’t think that—”

“You told him about me?” Cosima interrupts.

“I just mentioned you once or twice,” Shay says quietly. “When I got out, he asked me about prison. He wanted to know if I was treated well—if there was anyone he had to… deal with. I told him I was fine because I’d made a friend, that you’d helped me through it all.”

The petite blonde bows her head in a sign of submission and Cosima sighs deeply at the sight. She knows Shay meant well—Shay’s always meant well. As frustrating as her naiveté is in the moment, she knows she shouldn’t be blaming her for everything that’s just transpired.

“I need to get out of here.”

“Yeah. Of course,” Shay nods.

They both leave in a hurry, Cosima slipping into the passenger side of Shay’s vintage Bug. The second the car starts, Cosima slams a fist against the glove compartment and Shay recoils, alarmed by the brunette’s aggression.

“Leekie fucked me over—and Delphine’s still running with him! She’s probably in on the whole thing!”

Shay slowly pulls out of her parking spot, her eyes scanning the mirror to make sure they’re clear.

“Are you really that surprised?” she asks softly.

It’s a valid point.

If Delphine is in on the con, she shouldn’t be surprised at all given what she knows about her ex.

But still…

“I… I don’t know. I knew he was a slime bag and I knew she was fucked in the head but I didn’t think—I didn’t think she’d fuck with me like this, you know?” Cosima rambles, her thoughts racing. “Reaching out to me, trying to get me back on board? What kind of game is she playing?”

She just can’t figure out what Delphine’s angle in all of this is.

“Do you think he sent her to keep tabs on you?”

It isn’t an absurd question, but somehow she just doesn’t believe it.

“I don’t know… but I got the impression that the whole partnership thing was her idea.”

She’s almost certain of it.

Leekie is manipulative, but Delphine reaching out to her? It doesn’t seem like his doing. If Leekie had his way, she would still be in prison or at the very least, far enough away where she couldn’t interfere with Delphine or his business. Even before, she was always fairly good at discerning when the blonde would move her lips and that man’s voice would slip out and she didn’t get a sense of it during their last conversation. Whether Delphine’s conspiring with Leekie or not, whether they’ve both concocted some sort of plan together, she’s almost certain that Delphine reaching out to her wasn’t at the guidance of Aldous Leekie—that it was initiated by her ex-girlfriend for reasons she may not ever fully comprehend.

“Cosima,” Shay sighs, visibly deflating. “Do you really think Delphine’s been playing you like that? I know she hurt you and everything and I’m not saying she’s completely innocent in the matter, but do you really think she set you up or do you just want to believe that she did to make things easier?”

“Why would I want to believe that the woman I used to think I’d spend the rest of my life with would fuck me over like that?” Cosima barks, clearly irritated by Shay’s insinuation.

And even though she speaks the words, she knows she’s deflecting—that maybe there’s some semblance of truth to the young Russians’s words.

Does she want to believe that Delphine has been in on the con the entire time? It would certainly give her more ammunition, more reason to harbour the hatred currently building in the pit of her stomach. It would certainly make things easier moving forward—in cutting Delphine out completely. On some level she thinks this would be the easiest way forward, but she also can’t deny the handful of things she still knows to be true—that there was something special between them all those years ago—that there’s still something between them now, even if she may not be able to describe it or accept it.

“You know, I never resented her because I thought she sold me out or whatever—that she used me to save her own ass,” Cosima muses, her eyes downturned to match the tone of her voice. “I honestly don’t know if she did. I mean, it’s definitely possible—it’s possible I was just a fucking idiot and didn’t see it—that I still can’t see it because I just don’t want to—because I was so in love with her.”

Shay’s grip on the steering wheel tightens as they come to a red light at an intersection and slowly come to a complete stop. A beat of silence passes between the two of them, both unable to look each other in the eyes. It isn’t until the light turns green and Shay starts up again that Cosima continues with her thought.

“But even if that were the case—whether it’s true or not—it wasn’t the reason,” Cosima all but whispers. “That wasn't her betrayal—not the one that mattered, at least.”

They’ve both made mistakes. Even if Delphine had made one that ended up costing her her future, she’s certain she would have forgiven the blonde—would have found a way to forgive her—if she just knew Delphine was right there with her the entire time.

“Yeah,” Shay mutters, her mouth dry. “I know.”

They ride in silence for the remainder of their drive until they arrive back at Shay’s apartment. She parks the car, turning the ignition off, but neither woman make any attempt to move from their current position.

“How could she not know?”

Cosima’s voice trembles.

Her eyes shine, her lower lip quivers.

She decides that she wants to believe that Delphine had no involvement, but how can Delphine have gone for this long without catching scent of it? How can she not see what kind of man Aldous Leekie is? How can she not have pieced it together herself? Delphine is bright and perceptive and too clever for her own good, so how can she just not know what Aldous Leekie has done?

Either she knows, or she just doesn’t want to know.

Cosima isn’t sure which betrayal is worse.

+ + + + +

“You’re getting out?”

Disbelief washes over her like a cold October downpour, seeping straight into her bones and sending a shiver through the rest of her body.

It isn’t bad news, per se.

She should be overjoyed that Shay is going to be out of this hellhole soon, free to resume her life; she should be relieved that this woman she’s come to care for is finally going to get a shot at safety and happiness. She should be so many things, upset not being one of them, and she feels all the more guilty for the sour taste on her tongue as she tries to digest the news.

Shay’s leaving.

Shay’ s leaving her.

Shay’s leaving her alone.

“That’s… that’s great.”

She wrestles with the words, unsuccessfully trying to rally her enthusiasm and convince her lover that her sentiment is genuine.

“Hey. Don’t sound too excited,” Shay says flatly.

Cosima sighs deeply—honestly.

“I’m happy for you, Shay. I really am.”

Even if she can’t feel the joy at this particular moment, she knows her mixed feelings toward the entire situation will eventually subside. When they do, she’ll approach it with a smile, with open arms and understanding.

“You’ll be getting out soon, too,” Shay says quietly, sensing the brunette’s wandering mind.

Cosima nods.

“I know. It’s just… I’ve never been here without you.”

She’s reminded of Delphine—of looking back into the gallery at her sentencing hearing and finding the blonde’s absence painful and apparent like a deep, messy wound—like a chasm splitting her entire world in two. She should have realized then that she was the fool, but excuse after excuse came to her as she tried to reason away her girlfriend’s inexcusable silence.

“It’s hard to think what this place is gonna be like,” she confesses.

She had replaced her world without Delphine with one full of Shay, but without either of them? She can’t even begin to imagine such a place. Are the walls as suffocating as the ones that enclose around her every day? Does the quiet pick at her brain like a crow at a carcass? Is she still the same person there or is she somehow changed—or is it just the ground beneath her that’s shifting?

“I’ll come visit every week,” her lover promises.

Cosima frowns and shakes her head.

“No. Don’t do that.”

She doesn't know what prompts the words. She’s acutely aware of how out of character they are. A piece of her delights in the prospect of Shay’s concession, but she knows deep down that she simply can’t accept it because the only thing worse than being left alone is holding someone back there with you. There’s no truer state of loneliness, she thinks.

“Why not?”

“No one should ever have to come back here,” Cosima tells her.

No one should have to live like this; she’s stretched herself so thin, one foot planted in the past while the other tries to pull her forward, that she’s afraid the next wolf who comes knocking at her door will blow the rest of her away and she’ll never be able to rebuild.

“I don’t mind,” Shay shrugs.

“I do.”

She won’t be responsible for stealing Shay’s happiness. She won’t be the black cloud that lingers over every conversation—every decision or indecision—even if it means she finds herself alone again.

“Fine. I’ll write you?”

“Deal.”

[trylonandperisphere]

Silent Retreat 2: When The World Breaks Through, Ch. 25

Author's note: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also on A03 and ff.net.

The road we traveled could barely be called one. Packed earth with some gravel that ticked against the undercarriage of the car until it ran out, leaving us rocking through dips and furrows of dirt and mud with patches of tall grass that whisked under the bumper and wheels and was punctuated by the occasional rap of a small tree branch hitting the roof. Michael was used to navigating country trails in his old truck, but this was something different, his hands white-knuckled as he kept us to a steady but slow pace that felt both like it would take us too long and would never keep us far enough from our destination.  He was protecting his precious cargo, but it couldn't feel like enough, considering our situation.

After who-knows-how-long the terrain began to slant upward into a hill, the tires slipping slightly until Michael switched into a low gear.  There was a hint of grey light ahead,  indicating that we might be coming to a gap in the tunnel of trees, and as we crested the top if the incline we burst through a heavy-dipped bough sodden with previous rain, droplets and wet, detached leaves spattering across the windshield with a patter.

  I caught my breath. There was a clearing before us, populated by a low, crumbling building with rusty metal doors, a retired power sub-station, it looked like, and this was confirmed by a single deteriorating power-line pole beside it, tilting drunkenly and missing cables, although a few insulators remained perched on its crossbeam.

  And beside them, a black SUV.

  We rolled to a stop, regarding the vehicle with dread and caution. The glare of white light leaking through the high, dove-grey, backlit clouds above reflected on the SUV’s windshield glass, obscuring our view into the front seat, and it seemed empty, quiet.   Then there was a startling knock on the window beside me that thrust my heart into my throat, just catching a glimpse of the man in the black suit and raincoat who must have emerged from out of the tree cover, slipping along the side of our car and peering in at us before stopping at the front, driver's-side corner and tucking his hand into his coat front, the tiniest sliver of a shoulder holster revealed by the motion.

  “Get out,” he said. “Slowly. “

  Teo glanced back at me, eyes wide. None of us said anything. Michael and Teo opened their doors and stepped out, Teo’s hands instinctively rising up, palms forward, beside his ears.

  “Hands on your head, slowly, “ the armed man said, nodding at Michael. I couldn't see Michael's face, but there was a tiny pause and tightening of his shoulders before he complied.

  “Now you and the boy, Ms. Niehaus,” the man said, looking through the window at me. My legs felt frozen, and my arms convulsed briefly around my son.  I didn't move, and Sevvy leaned back to look at me again.

  “Mommy, “ he whispered, and he looked so brave I couldn't help but focus on him.

  “Okay.  I love you,” I told him quietly.

  “I love you, too,” he said, and I opened the door slowly, easing him down so he was behind me, holding my hand, as I stood in the protection of the metal door.  The man’s eyes might have squinted, just barely, for a moment. Then:

  “All the way,” he instructed me. “Close the door behind you.”

  I hitched in a breath and did it, carefully keeping Sevvy behind my legs as I did.

  “You can’t blame her, “ a voice said, and my blood ran cold to hear it.  The rear window of the black SUV was just a little bit open, and the voice floated through it.  There was a click and the door latch disengaged.

  “It's the instinct of a mother, and it's as it should be,” that unbelievable, dreaded voice continued.  “Mothers should always put their children first.”

  I felt light-headed as the rear door to the SUV swung fully open.  Someone stepped out, but it wasn't who I expected.

  The voice was so familiar, it seemed unmistakable. I knew it almost as well as I knew my own voice, because the vocal cords that shaped it were identical to mine. Nevertheless, there was a flatness to it.  An affect of calm laid over possibly limitless violence beneath, all with the distinct, crisp diction of received English.

  It was the voice of Rachel Duncan.

  But it wasn't Rachel Duncan before me.

  The clone who stepped out of the SUV looked too young to be Rachel.  At first I thought, holy shit, is that Rachel, but she’s found some Neolution youth serum or moisturizer or something?   But then I realized it couldn’t even be that.  This clone looked like maybe I did in college or a little older… but you could chalk up a bit of how old she looked to the way she was dressed.  Her suit was perfect, crisp and tailored.  She wore all black, which I thought maybe was a bit more than what Rachel would have done, and her makeup was definitely more prominent than Rachel used to wear.  And her hair… it was in a sort of bob like Rachel’s, but more undercut, and it was not blonde, but a shade of red I never thought would have worked with our skin, except she was pale, paler than I’ve been, since I was really sick, anyway.

  All this time I was looking at her, she was looking at me, and she had that same predatory, almost reptile-flat stare Rachel had.  My mind turned over and over, taking her in, wondering how in all my searching I could have missed out on another clone.  I thought my quest had been exhaustive, and I’d had Mika’s help, among others, to seek other Ledas out.  But here was someone before me I knew I hadn’t met before.  Could it… could she?  I felt like I almost had it, like I was mentally grasping in the dark but there was suddenly a faint light.  And then…

  “Hello, Cosima,” she said, and her lips pressed together in a line, like she was trying to smirk but something bitter in her tainted it further.  And I saw how youthful she suddenly looked, because her face was so soft, and her eyes looked vulnerable, yet defiant.  And I wondered…

  “Are you… Charlotte?” I asked, almost swallowing the name as I squinted at her.

  “Very good,” she answered.  “I suppose at least now your remember I exist.”

  The other man in black had exited the driver’s seat of the vehicle, and now he rounded the fender and stood by her.  He was clean-cut in that too bland, unsettling, almost Secret-Service-y way the other guy was, except he was more muscular, his neck barely breaking from the slopes of his shoulders.  He leaned over to her and said something too lowly for me to hear, and she shook her head once.  He straightened up and looked at us, seeming to size us up, paying close attention so he could take out his weapon the second any of us moved.

  Teo twisted around to look at me, his hands still up, his eyes wide, confounded.  I could tell he wanted to ask me who she was, what was going on, but we couldn’t exactly have that conversation right then.

  “Let me see the boy,” she suddenly commanded, and I focussed back on her.  

  “He’s right here,” I said, my hand tightening on his and keeping him behind me.  “Charlotte, what… what’s going on?  What do you want with him, with us?”

  Her mouth tightened and her eyes went cold.  This was the kind of shark-like look I remembered from Rachel, and I knew the next step with her had been rage, the kind that gets the bone marrow that could save us clones including her, herself, stomped beneath a business-appropriate heel. But Charlotte wasn’t wearing pumps.  She was wearing heeled boots that went slightly above her knee, over tights.  It made me wonder…

  “Robert,” she said, tersely, and the man closer to us, the one who had given Sevvy the note at the playground, reached into his coat and pulled out his gun.  He moved economically, like someone who was used to turning a firearm on anyone he was ordered to, even a family with a small kid.  I saw Michael’s shoulders tense and Teo let out a gasp, but Robert seemed calm, almost lazy as his arm settled into position, the muzzle aimed to hit Michael, and possibly me, if it went through him.

  “Alright!   Shit, alright!”  I found coming out of my mouth.  I felt lightheaded, unable to catch my breath, almost like I had when my disease was at its worst.  I had raised my left hand in a stop gesture, but I slipped my right from Sevvy’s little hand and down his wrist, squeezing his forearm gently.  Before I could say or do anything, he crept around my leg, still leaning against me, eyes wide but moving under his own initiative, becoming visible.  I looked down at him in surprise and he darted a look up at me.  He was so brave… and I could swear he was telling me to be brave, too, with his eyes.

  Charlotte came forward, looking at each of us in turn, until she was close to Robert.  The gunman twitched his head to his right, looking at Michael.

  “Step to the side, so she can see him,” he ordered, again more matter-of-fact than rough.

  I could see Michael’s shoulders heaving with his breath, and for a cold, tense moment I didn’t know what he might do.  He turned his head to look at Teo, then stepped sideways away from the car, as Robert had directed, angling his head further to see me and Severo.  When he turned his head back to look forward, I could tell he met Robert’s eyes, because Robert stared at him for a moment.  Charlotte turned her gaze downward to take in my son, and smiled.

  I hadn’t expected her to smile.  I don’t know what I expected, if anything, but it wasn’t that.  It wasn’t the slight tremble of her lips as they stretched, both happy and sad, as if overwhelmed.  It was a smile I was familiar with, even down to how oddly broken it looked it some way, as my own had, in the mirror, after Delphine had split with me, when I went on the run.

  Charlotte bent down, her hands on her knees, closer to his eye level.

  “Hello,” she said to him.  “You’re a very special little boy, did you know that?  Not everyone knows how special you are, but I do.”

  Sevvy shifted his arm so he was holding my hand again. He looked up at me, and though he was pale, again I felt like he was reassuring me.  I took a breath and gave his hand a squeeze, then levelled my gaze back at Charlotte.

  “We all know he’s special.  He’s our son.  What do you want?”

  Charlotte straightened up, her annoyed affect returning.

  “The cure,” she said.  “You brought it?  Place it on the hood of the car.”

  “I can’t,” I told her, “I don’t have it,” and instantly I saw her anger flare.  “I don’t, like, carry it with me everywhere, ” I explained quickly,  “I haven’t needed to, for years.  I’ve got samples in storage, but they’re not here.  I do have the formula and the instructions, though, and I can tell you where to get the reserves.”

  There was a brief silence.

  “If you had let us talk to you she could have told you that,” Teo suddenly blurted.  “We couldn’t even get them because you had us under some kind of… of house arrest!”  He took a step forward, and Charlotte looked at him, but Robert kept his gun steadily aimed at us, and the other man stepped forward and pulled out his own gun, levelling it at Teo.  For a minute I thought I was going to lose it, lose my shit, fall on top of Sevvy or yell or lose control of my bladder or something, but Teo jerked his hands higher in the air and stepped back, shutting his mouth.

  Charlotte sighed.

  “Well,” she finally said, “that’s disappointing.  But I’m sure you’re right.  I’m sure we can get the reserves.  Especially since Severo will come with us.”

  “What?” Michael barked, and I found myself encircling my son with my arm and clutching him close again.  Charlotte narrowed her eyes.

  “Severo is coming with us.  While we have him, I’m sure you will cooperate in any way you can to ensure we get what we need.”

  Michael sputtered, but I interrupted before he could lose his cool completely.

  “Charlotte, none of this is necessary!    I didn’t know you needed it… I didn’t even know you were alive!    If I had, I would gladly have given it to you just like I did to the rest of our sisters I found.”

  “Really?” she shot back, and it wasn’t a question.  “I find that hard to believe after you let my mother die out of your petty resentment.”

  I was gobsmacked.

  “What?” I managed.  “I didn’t kill your mother.  I never even knew Marion Bowles!”

  “Marion Bowles was not my mother,” she stated coldly, between clenched teeth, and I was floundering, increasingly more weirded out and confused than ever before.

  “What do you mean? She...she raised you until…”

  “She never told me the truth.  She never told me I would die, and she kept me from my real mother.  I was made from Rachel.  She saved me when DYAD was collapsing thanks to you and your sisters, and brought me to the one person who could stop the disease in me and fix my leg.”

  I must have been gaping like a fish.  A small, cruel smile flitted across her too-young face, as if my confusion was something I deserved, or evidence of something wrong with me.

  “Susan Duncan,” she said simply. “She was able to slow the progress. But, with Neolution in disorder, thanks to you and your sisters ,” she continued, hissing the word like a curse, “she could only do so much.” She tilted her head slightly, reading my expression.

  “Do you really expect me to believe you’re that clueless?” she asked, after a moment.  She walked closer, a curious yet disgusted look on her face, like she’d discovered an unusual bug. “I have to say, your acting skills are far better than I expected.  If I didn’t know you were smart enough to develop a cure I’d think you were an imbecile.”  It was uncanny

. how smoothly her vitriol emerged, almost as if she really were Rachel.

  “I may be dumb about some things,” I finally managed, stuffing down the old ire that used to flare when I felt mistreated, “but the truth is I really don’t know what you’re doing here.  I looked for you, and for Rachel, to give you the cure.  I had people looking for electronic traces of you.  I was worried about you. But I never found you.  I thought you must be dead.  How was I supposed to know you were hiding out with Susan Duncan somewhere?”

  Her hand connected with my cheek almost before I saw it coming. The pain was brief but the shock brought me inside myself, wondering if it had really happened, as if there was some other reason my head had snapped sideways and I was now looking at the trees just past my shoulder.

  “Liar,” she accused, and I turned back to see her eyes rounded in outrage.  Severo shifted from beside me and partly behind my leg again, clinging to my thigh.  Charlotte took a breath, and I heard it: that distinctive rattle that I remembered from all those years ago, that sound that signalled trouble, fluid and tissue clogging my lungs and threatening to grow upward, the predecessor to a cough that could rumble once or twice or leave me on the ground, gasping, almost as if on a whim.  

  “You’re sick,” I said.  It came out of me before I could register it.  “You’ve got the disease.”

  “Very good, you’re so smart ,” she said, and I could swear I saw a slight stain of blood on her teeth.  “Of course I am.  Do you think that Susan could find a cure without the samples you had, the science?  Do you think we could manage it on the run while Sarah and the others exposed DYAD and took away our resources?  You meant to bring my mother down, all of you.  She told me how you and Sarah denied her, and because of that, she died.”

  ” What?” I blurted.  “What are you talking about?  None of us even spoke with Rachel.  I mean, believe me, Sarah didn’t wish her the best, but she didn’t stop me from looking.  And nobody wanted any harm to come to you!”

  “That’s enough,” Charlotte hissed, and her hand went into her jacket and came out with a gun, one she pointed right at my face.

  Adrenaline turned my insides cold.  It had been so long since I had been this scared.  

  “Oh, that’s more than enough, ” came a voice from seemingly nowhere, and I thought I must be hallucinating, because it was my favourite voice in the world.

  And then a little, bright red light appeared on the side of Charlotte’s head.

  A light that came from the direction of… the decaying shack. From behind which my beloved Delphine fucking Cormier had stepped, holding a gun, with a laser sight, pointed at Charlotte’s temple.

[ao3feed-orphanblack]

Hands Free

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2zBAJml

by foxfirereturns

Shameless Cophine PWP. Bit of fluff if you squint.

Delphine wakes up with one thing on her mind.

Words: 1621, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Orphan Black (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F

Characters: Cosima Niehaus, Delphine Cormier

Relationships: Delphine Cormier/Cosima Niehaus

Additional Tags: Fluff and Smut

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2zBAJml

[mickey-milkovichs]

help me mend my broken wings - sarah/cosima

punky monkey AU one shot - hurt/comfort, first meetings

Sarah's having a dark night and goes looking for a new experience. Cosima comforts her in other ways.

also on AO3

“Hey, you!” a voice calls out through the din of the crowd. Cosima turns her head away from the blonde who’s talking about different kinds of microcosms and squints, trying to see who’s yelling through the room that’s packed with smoke and party goers.

“Yeah, you!” She spots the source of the noise, a messy haired brunette who’s pointing straight at Cosima as she slouches her way through the crowd, stopping less than a foot away from her.

“Hey, I heard you were...um, a lesbian, yeah?” Cosima blinks, surprised. The girl tries not to stumble in her black boots and rubs at one of her eyes, causing the black eyeliner, mascara and silver glitter to smear. “Cosima, right? My brother sold you some pot. He...he loves to share with me whenever he’s found a fellow “child of sin” as he calls it. He has a dark sense of humor.” She’s slurring slightly, and pauses to sip at a silver flask. “So, are you?”

Cosima’s all kinds of confused as to what this stranger wants with her, but she folds her arms and calmly gives her her usual statement. “My sexuality is not the most interesting thing about me.”

The girl rolls her eyes as she mutters, “Right,” in a voice that Cosima has only just noticed is accented (she would be surprised at herself—she usually has excellent observation skills—but she reasons it’s loud at the party) as she lifts her flask to her lips again, this time chugging straight from it without stopping to breath.

“Woah, woah, dude,” Cosima exclaims, tugging the flask away from the obviously inebriated girl. “Let me help you with that.” The girl just stares at her with glassy eyes, making no protest.

“Are you okay?” Cosima asks, growing concerned as the girl continues to stare. “Do you want me to call someone to take you home?”

The girl snorts. “There’s no one,” she intones, quietly but angrily, fire in her eyes as if the last few seconds have awoken her out of a trance.

“Okay…,” Cosima says as she rubs her hands together, “well...is there anything I can do? Do you want me to give you a ride?”

“Actually, I think I’m gon’ be sick,” the girl says, putting a hand over her mouth as she turns and stumble-runs out of the main room of the townhouse, clearly in search of a bathroom. Cosima, feeling a need to help the sad and drunk, follows, figuring the wild eyed girl might need help aiming herself over the toilet.

Cosima finds the brunette aimlessly wandering a corridor, turning silver doorknobs in hopes that one will open into an empty room, but they’re all locked.

“Oookay, here we go,” Cosima says, grabbing the woman lightly by the shoulders and steering her down the hallway and into a master bedroom, which she knows is also connected to a master bath (she’s friends with the guy who’s hosting this thing).

She rubs the girl’s back as she pukes up all she’s worth, groaning and shuddering in between hurls.

When she’s finally done Cosima stands, finding a washcloth and rinsing it with cold water, making a cool compress to lay on the girl’s neck. It’s only when she finishes and turns around that she sees that the girl is crying; big, silent, heaving sobs that shake her body and leave tear marks down her cheeks. She runs her hands through her wild and greasy brown hair, gripping so hard it looks like she’s pulling strands out by the roots.

For a second Cosima doesn’t know what to do. She sets the washcloth down on the counter and hesitantly walks up to the distraught woman, settling down onto the cold tile floor next to her. She squeezes in close to her and slowly puts an arm around the girl’s shoulders. Surprisingly, the girl quickly lays her head down on Cosima’s shoulder and sobs into her neck. Cosima can feel a few hot tears slip down into the valley between her neck and her shoulder, and for whatever reason she doesn’t mind at all.

When the girl’s sobs have quieted some, Cosima risks asking a question. Talking things out usually helps her with her own problems.

“Um, I—I’m sorry, I understand if maybe this is rude of me but I was wondering...do you want to tell me what’s wrong? I mean, I’m here if you do. I’m told I’m a pretty good listener.”

The girl sniffles, quiet as she listens to Cosima. The room is filled with near tension as Cosima waits to see if she will speak. Finally she says, “...I lost my daughter.”

“Oh my—oh my God. I’m so sorry. Oh God, um, we—we don’t have to talk about it anymore if you don’t want.” Cosima feels like punching herself. How could she have just asked someone who’s kid died “what’s wrong?” Oh God. What can she say to her now?

“No, not—she’s not bloody dead, just I lost her.” The woman sniffles again. “’Cause I’m a fuckin’ shite mom.” She starts to quietly sob again. “I chose fuckin’ around and coke and this fuckin’ shit,” she glances down at her flask, which she throws at the bathroom mirror, cracking it, “over my daughter.”

Cosima doesn’t know how to handle this. Embryonic development she can handle. Fellow college-student-problems she can handle. Moms who are sobbing over losing their children due to substance abuse issues? She can’t handle.

“I’m...I’m really sorry,” she says. The woman continues to sob.

“Look,” Cosima says suddenly, sitting up straighter. “You can still turn this around, I bet.” The girl shakes her head dejectedly.

“No, really. Who...um, who took her?”

“My...my old foster mum.”

“Okay then! So the government’s not involved, right? Because it would be a lot harder to get her back if that was the case, trust me.”

“No, Mrs. S will never let me have her. And she’s right.”

“Listen,” Cosima says, scooting around so that she’s facing the other woman, and cupping one side of her face with her hand. “Around 78.9 percent of people can quite their addictions and lead full, healthy lives after. And I know that can be you. I have faith in you.”

One half of the girl’s mouth quirks up in a slight smile. “You don’t even know me.”

Cosima shakes her head. “I don’t have to. I can sense it.”

The girl smiles fully now. “How do you know all these bloody things, anyway? Like about the government and...percentages and shite.”

Cosima shrugs. “I’m a scientist. I know a lot of useless—and some not so useless—facts.”

The brunette just nods and settles back against the bathroom counter, banging her head against it lightly. The two sit in silence for a few minutes.

“Soo,” Cosima begins awkwardly, breaking the silence. “Maybe this is a bad time, but as you’re right and I don’t really know you and who knows when we’re going to see each other again...do you mind if I ask why you were, um, inquiring about my sexuality?” She’s honestly really curious. It was probably just the random workings of a drunken mind, but still...she wants to know.

“Oh, God,” the woman says, bringing a hand up and resting it over her eyes. “Er, yeah. I was, just, uh, thinking about regrets all day, yeah? And how many decisions I’ve made that I’ve ended up regretting. How many bloody things I’ve done that I regret. Losin’ Kira especially. How many things I haven’t done. And…,” she pauses, hand falling down to her side as she thinks, her eyes looking faraway and thoughtful. “I’ve never been with a woman. Never...done anything about the...gay or, um, bi feelings I sometimes have, or whatever. ‘Cause the guys were always easy and around and that was enough for me.” She scoffs. “And they never really wanted anything serious. But...I don’t want to regret never trying it. ‘Cause I know I do want to.” She wraps her arms around her knees and glances over at Cosima ruefully. “So I got shit faced and came onto the first girl I saw who I figured might be okay with letting me try. I’m sorry.”

Cosima grins. “Ah, it’s okay. And don’t get me wrong, usually I would be so down. I mean look, you’re hot. But...maybe sex isn’t the answer to your problems right now? I mean, that is one of the things that you said got you into trouble. Even magical sex with girls.”

“Agh, you’re bloody right. But I still don’t know if I can fix the fuckin’ mess I’ve made of my life.”

“You can,” Cosima nods her head in finality. “Now,” she says, groaning as she stands and pulling the girl with her, “I’m exhausted. Think I’m gonna head. You want that ride I offered?”

“Might as well. Don’t think I’m gonna be partyin’ much more tonight.”

“Good girl. Oh and hey, what’s your name by the way?”

“Oh,” the girl breathes and flashes a toothy, beautiful smile. “Sarah.”

“Nice to meet you, Sarah. Now let’s get you home. Hopefully things will all look better in the morning. Maybe we’ll even revisit your special request,” Cosima winks flirtatiously as she exits through the bathroom door, disappearing from Sarah’s sight. Sarah ignores the immediate quirk in her stomach, and follows this woman who helped her when she needed it most, reaching out to grab her hand in the dark.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Sixteen ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3021

Warnings: None

A/n Every chapter, you all make me smile so much <3 Thank you!

Haldir leaves and I let out something halfway between an exhale and a groan.

What. Was. That.

My room, which is a very respectable size, felt like a matchbox as the space between Haldir and I minimized. He went from weeks of keeping a consistent physical barrier between us to ghosting his hands over my arms, my hips, my waist…It’s…new.

And when he held me close, his chest so nearly brushing against my back—

I shake my head against the onslaught of scenarios that run through my mind.

I should not be thinking of him this way.

Haldir is a friend, a guide, an instructor, nothing more.

I let out a deep breath and begin to pace, trying to work off this newfound energy. Haldir and I trained for nearly two hours, I should be exhausted. Instead, I feel wide awake, invigorated, jittery, like I couldn’t possibly go to sleep. I groan, taking my hair out of its bun and letting it fall around me. I stop in my tracks, glancing at the spot where Haldir and I stood so close together just moments ago.

I cannot stay here.

I tear through the open door, turning right and taking the staircase that leads to the first floor. I turn left and, before I know it, I’m standing in front of Alex’s closed door.

I knock.

The door creaks open. “Hey,” he greets, opening it wider to allow me in. “What’s up?”

“I uh,” I purse my lips, having not really thought through my plan. I do need a distraction though, and being out of my room is already helping clear the fog from my brain. My eyes catch a pile of books on his nightstand. “I came to help you research, if that’s okay.”

His face lights up. “Yeah! Yeah, of course. I’ve read those three so far,” he gestures to a small stack by the window, “and there’s nothing helpful in them. Everything else in English is fair game. Is there anything specific you want to look into?”

“Fæs.” I’m surprised that the answer comes to me so easily, but as soon I speak the word, I know it’s true — I do want to learn more.

Alex nods slowly. “Yeah, okay, I think I’ve got a couple books on that here. Let me….” He trails off, spinning in a circle as he searches for a specific volume. “Ah.” He squats down and grabs a book near the foot of his bed, reaching it up to me.

An image of Haldir, crouched on the ground, hand warm against my ankle, staring up at me with such intensity, so much confidence—

Alex stands and I look to the ceiling, trying to will away the image and the feelings that come rushing along with it.

“What makes you want to learn about fæs? Isn’t that an elf thing?”

I purse my lips, stalling until the embarrassment fades enough to look Alex in the eye. “Haldir mentioned that humans have their own version of a fæ — a little weaker, a little different, but generally the same concept.” An idea begins to take form, and I roll with it. “I was wondering if—assuming that our fæs remained unchanged between our homeworld and Arda—well, if we could use it somehow, tap into it and reclaim our memories. If anything were to remember, wouldn’t it be our spirits?”

Alex nods slowly, a grin tugging at the edges of his lips. “That’s actually not a bad idea. Great thinking! Let me know if you find anything.”

He settles into the couch, leaving the bed for me. Gratefully, I cozy up against the pillows. I open the book, skimming the introductory chapter, which is basically just a summary of the core concepts Haldir has already explained to me. When I’m on chapter three, the sky passes firmly into night, and even the plethora of candles Alex has lit aren’t enough to keep my eyes from straining.

I pull my knees to my chest and lean forward, glancing over at my friend. His cheeks — which had been gaunt when we first reunited, now take a healthy shape. His shoulders no longer hold vestiges of tension — they lean relaxed, leisurely, against the back of the couch. Even in the limited light, he squints his eyes and continues to read, seeming intent on soaking up as much knowledge as he can.

I rest my chin on my knees. “I need to ask you something.”

He looks up, his eyebrows drawing together in concern. “Okay?”

“Are you alright?”

He sighs, shifting in his seat. “Cosima…”

“No,” I protest. I don’t care if it’s uncomfortable, he needs to talk about things. He’s been bottling it up since he arrived in this world and it hasn’t done anyone any good. “I mean it.”

Alex groans, shaking his head. “Fine, okay. It’s…strange.” He pauses, but I wait, holding out hope that he’ll continue. He does so, slowly. “I’ve…gotten myself to accept that I’m in a different world, but I can’t wrap my mind around the how. That’s stressful. We don’t have a solid plan to return home, nor do we know if we’ll find one. That’s depressing. And, I have flashes and snippets of memories, but otherwise, I feel like I don’t know who I am.”

My heart breaks. Here my friend is, hurting, lost…

And I’ve left him completely alone.

Alex tilts his head to the side, contemplating. “But I do feel better than when we arrived, or even just from a few days ago. Having things to do, feeling useful and like I have agency for the first time…it’s really good for me. And, well,” he dips his head then raises it again, leveling his eyes on me. “It’s helped me realize something else — that I owe you an apology.”

I blink in surprise. I’ve been the one that has pretty much abandoned and ignored him. I should be apologizing.

“On the road, I said some pretty mean things, and I isolated you from your friends and tried to take control. I didn’t mean for it to be like that. I was…” he sighs, shaking his head, “scared out of my mind. I already felt like I couldn’t do anything to fix the problem, and then on top of that I felt like you had completely given up and it was my job to save us both. And I know now that’s not the case, but for a while…” He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re just more adaptable than I am, I guess.”

I push myself off the bed, cross the room, and sit next to him on the small couch. Automatically, he throws an arm over my shoulder, the movement so familiar and easy that he must have done it a thousand times before. I lay my head on his shoulder, the bone there pressing against my ear.

I take a deep breath. “If we had really been kidnapped, or injured, or anything more realistic than what actually happened,” he gives a small, tired laugh, the movement shaking his shoulder, “you would’ve been the one to get us out. I know it. Even now, you’re the one putting in all the hard work to get us home. I’m sorry I’ve pretty much left you to handle it alone.”

He squeezes my upper arm gently. “I appreciate it, but I don’t blame you. I get it.” He shrugs again, a measure of sadness creeping into his voice. “It’s not like you remember anyone enough to miss them. If you have people you like here, of course you’d focus on them.”

I feel my lips pull into a guilty frown. “They like you too, you know. You all just need to spend some more time together—”

“Nah,” he shakes his head, pushing a smile onto his face. “It’s okay, honestly — we just don’t click. But I have you, and Baranor and I get along well, and I have this project to work on. It’s enough for me.”

I sigh, resting my head against his chest. I hope that’s true.

{***}

At breakfast, Lavandil and I make plans to meet at her shop. She gives me directions and I hurry up the stairs to my room, changing out of my tunic and leggings and into something a little more fun for my first day of work. I settle on a dark purple gown, one that billows down my arm in puffy gossamer sleeves and has a slight, sparkly train. I’m probably a bit overdressed, but knowing Lavandil’s extravagant wardrobe, I’ll fit in just fine. I bound down the staircase, eager to discover the market and the shop. I turn left, intent on exiting the building.

And crash into the middle of someone’s chest.

Hands grip my upper arms, steadying me as I stumble back. Once I’m righted, I look up, and my mouth falls open.

“Cosima—”

“Haldir—”

Both of us freeze, having spoken at the same time. I purse my lips, waiting for him to go first. He raises an eyebrow, evidently expecting the same of me.

But I can’t make the words happen. His hands on my arms send my mind right back to the tension of last night, to the room that started light and open and turned more intimate than it should as the night went on.

Haldir’s arms fall to his sides. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you turning the corner. Are you alright?”

I nod, my eyes darting from his chest clothed in a cobalt blue tunic up to his eyes. The intensity from last night is gone, now replaced with a noticeable degree of hesitance.

Interesting.

Did he feel something last night, too? Or does he know I did, and now feels awkward around me?

That last thought sends a wave of stress through me. Was I horribly obvious? Have I messed everything up?

“Are you off to Lavandil’s shop,” he inquires, pulling my mind away from these anxiety-inducing thoughts.

“Yes.”

He quirks a smile. “Then I imagine you will be seeing a lot of my brother today. He has a tendency to hang around there.”

“Probably a result of him being in love with the shop-owner,” I quip, voice going high with nerves.

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I suppose that would do it.”

We fall into awkward silence.

Haldir clears his throat. “Well, enjoy your day.”

“You too,” I nod, crossing paths with him to exit the building.

Once outside, I take in a gulping breath.

Did I create all that weirdness? Or is he struggling to figure out how to act around me, too? And why?

Things have never been strained or awkward between myself and Haldir. Once he got over his initial suspicion of me, we got along easily. I feel like he understands me better than the others and, if I had to pick a favorite, as Rumil prompted me not so long ago, it would be, without question, the supposedly-stern Marchwarden leading our company. And, based on the amount of time he spends with me of his own accord, I would say he enjoys my presence, too.

So, that begs the question, what could have happened to turn all that ease on its head and replace it with stilted, awkward, unsure interactions? We were fine until last night—

I suck in a breath.

My brain, apparently useless until I looked the issue straight in the eye, starts piecing together instances of my time with Haldir, forming a terrifying and exhilarating picture.

Sleeping between me and the entrance to our camp so I wouldn’t be frightened. Spending hours alone with me lying on a blanket staring up at the stars. The way he panicked and looked after me when I had my migraine. Big things like that and smaller ones, too — the way he teases me, the way he always makes sure I’m cared for, whether that means sharing from his canteen or sending me with food when I’m likely to miss dinner. The way he’s conscious of my fears—heights, orcs, you name it—and provides support without coddling me, enabling me to handle and face them on my own. The way his arms, so gentle yet so secure, held me close, even for just the smallest of moments.

Could we…have feelings for each other?

Could this rapid and strong attachment to an ellon I met mere weeks ago be something other than friendship?

With a sinking feeling in my gut, the momentary rush of excitement falls into something much more sinister. Something that, in any other world would be a wonderful, thrilling feeling—the one I am developing feelings for maybe, potentially, might see me the same way—is here, horrifying.  

Because elves live forever and love only once.

And a human lifespan is dismally short.

Rumil’s face after our conversation yesterday, crestfallen and saddened, comes to my mind.

If my mere friendship with these ellyn will cause them grief when I’m gone, then even entertaining these thoughts about Haldir….

It’s deplorable.

From the heart of the city, the bell chimes. I’m late to meet Lavandil.

I shove down the ache that makes my lips quiver and hurry down the path that will lead me to the market.

The distraction of working with Lavandil will be my lifeline.

I cannot allow my feelings for Haldir progress any further. So, though I’m not sure how effective I’ll be, I swear not to think about him for the rest of the day.

{***}

“What happened last night between you and Haldir?”

Damn.

I made it two hours.

I swallow, trying to seem busy as I hang a tapestry on a display. “What?”

Lavandil comes up beside me, using her height to hang the art properly. “Rumil told Orophin who told me that Haldir came back from training with you and seemed quite flustered.”

My body runs hot. “Did he?”

“Mhm,” she nods decisively. “Apparently he returned to the room in a rush, wouldn’t say a thing, and then spent over three hours at the training grounds, sparring quite harshly with some of the guard.”

Even though the tapestry is hung, I pretend to fuss with it, not brave enough to meet Lavandil’s eyes. “Nothing happened. Maybe he just wanted a better workout — I can’t imagine I was much of a challenge.” I try for a joke, and mercifully, she gives me a pity laugh.

Her demeanor softens. “Cosima, you know there’s nothing wrong with having an attraction, or even feelings.”

“Of course there’s something wrong with it,” I shriek, much louder than I meant to. I look at her with wide eyes, surprised by my outburst.

Thankfully, no one is in the shop, and Lavandil only regards me with calm eyes, no judgement in them.

“I’m sorry,” I hurry to apologize, sitting myself in a chair at a nearby table. On top of it sits a beautiful garnet tablecloth — Lavandil’s work. She sits across from me.

“It’s alright,” she smiles kindly, resting her elbows on the table to mirror me. “I had a similar disposition when I realized I loved Orophin.”

“I don’t love him,” I correct quickly.

She puts her hands up in the sign for surrender, though her bottom lip pulls like she’s trying not to make a face.

“I don’t,” I insist, putting effort into keeping my tone non-angry. I lower my voice, worried, perhaps irrationally, that Haldir himself will go waltzing by and hear my dreadful confession. “It’s, at most, an interest, and probably not even that. Likely more of a curiosity.”

“Well, interests are nothing to be ashamed of.” Her tone matches my low volume and carries in it a gentleness I could never hope to emulate.

“Yes, they do!” My voice drops to nearly a whisper. “Lavandil, he is an elf. You know I’m human. The two don’t mix well.”

She huffs. “There’s nothing to say that. An elleth here, Arwen—”

“Is walking into a tragedy,” I cut her off.

Lavandil’s eyes narrow. “Too many people see it that way, and it is getting quite old. Do you know what I see? Two souls in love. Though their futures are bleak and incompatible, their presents are filled with joy and love and the connection that can only come from two fæs who want each other so badly finally bonded. They would still face pain if they ignored their love for each other — so why not give themselves what joy they can?”

“But she will die—”

Now it’s Lavandil’s turn to interrupt. “Arwen is fully grown. She is wise, and I trust that she knows herself well enough to make the choices she has. Her life is ultimately her own. She can spend it how she pleases.”

I press my lips together, head falling to stare at the deep red tablecloth. Despite Lavandil’s conviction, her words do nothing to allay my fears.

The only thing that awaits an elf bonded with a human is grief and death.

Arwen may have made her choice, but so have I made mine.

“Rumil said elves can take centuries to fall in love. Is that true?”

Lavandil pauses, caught off guard with my change in topic. “I-in some cases, yes. More that it could potentially take that long for an elf to admit they are in love. Often, even if they are not ready to accept it, their fæs know. And even then, that is the timeline in the most rare of cases. You know, for Orophin and I it only took a matter of—”

I raise my eyes to her, pleading. “Lavandil.”

She sighs, staring at me like she wishes I had asked her something else. “Fine, yes. Elves fall slower than humans.”

I take in a deep breath, nodding.

Good.

Because if I have only just noticed these feelings, chances are, if Haldir were to follow suit, he is way behind. The instance Lavandil described from last night, the other hints that show he might be feeling something…I can end them now.

I have time to stop this.

I have time to save him.

A/n So, funny thing, @errruvande got pretty close to guessing Cosima’s reaction to realizing her feelings for Haldir, so shout out to Liza!!! Seriously though, love her, love her blog, I’d definitely recommend checking her account out! Thank you all for reading! 

|next part|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande 

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff

[cosimayoun-blog]

As the chair sits empty, a voice scatters throughout the room. She sighs and ties her hair as she walks to it, eyes rolling in a careless manner. There goes my fame as an enigma, she thinks, wires quickly finding their way and attaching to her smallish frame. Cosima had seen machines like these before – they were nothing new, yet she had always evaded them. Now, she faces one, and it was like prison all over again but in addition, there was the giant sihthead behind the glass waiting for her dirty laundry to be spilled.

                                          Perfect. 

Please state your name, age, height and place of birth for the record.

          “Cosima, twenty-nine, 5′6′’, and unfortunately, this wretched planet.“ Cosima smiles as her words pour, back leaned on the back of the chair and arms resting on the table. Her eyes are pinned on the mirror-like glass, the green light flicking confidently next to her not of importance. “Continue to the part where you try to catch me in a lie, please. I don’t have all day.“

Is that your true name and age?

          Cosima scoffs immediately, her lips finding their way between her teeth. The tattoo on her ankle begins to ache, reminding her of the girl she had killed way back in her teenage years; the girl who was so much like her yet nothing alike, nothing but a mere corpse in her feet. She shuts her eyes closed in harmony with the ceasing sensation of her inked masterpiece, words coming out after a long pause. She was smarter than to lie the machine, she knew there was no point, yet that’s exactly what she did. “What, do you presume I’m a grandma? Of course that’s my real age.” Cosima’s periphery catches the grass-green light turning blood red, her head shaking with a sarcastic smile on her face. “Nari Youn. You happy? Do you also want my birth certificate? Oh wait, you probably have that too. Creepy stalker…”

Do you believe in what this mission is trying to accomplish or are you here for different reasons? If so, what are they?

          “At this point, there are no real results. Nothing to prove that we are doing anything else but rotting on a starship.“ The answer comes easily to her, her composed posture paired with a shrug of her slender shoulders. “I’m here because I prefer the air normal people breathe instead of the drunks down in prison. I made some great friends there – rats and cockroaches, intoxicated prisoners and beaten up children – nothing compared to what I’m required to endure on a daily basis. Lips pull into a smirk, voice just slightly darker. “I am also here to continue what I’ve started, perhaps somewhere down the path after this hell show is over. I still have cards I haven’t played.“ The machine lights green without hesitance – and can it wonder for its choice at all, after Cosima was so unapologetic about everything she said?

Do you have any friends on board? Any enemies?

          “Fox, Orion, but that’s anything new, is it?” she answers, the light turning red, however. “Do I have to state Augustus as my friend too? Cause they aren’t. I like to make them sob in a corner and draw mustaches on their inspirational brochures.” The light remains unapologetic, her eyes squinting at it. “Oh look, the rich ass Benefactor can’t afford a working machine. Do you expect me to say Nyena? I thought that was obvious.” Green lights next to her almost immediately, her reflection expecting another answer. “As for enemies, I hate everyone else. Mostly. The thief and the angry pilot are my favorite ones to infuriate.”

Are you loyal to this crew?

          “I trust no one but the two people tied to me for years now. Fox and Orion. I believe everyone knows that anyway.“ The answer is concise and pointed, her pulse steady and diodes flickering next to her. “I suppose you are gullible enough to trust sixteen weirdos, half of which like to kill things or set buildings on fire, the other half crying in corners.“

Is it possible to know the truth without challenging it first?

          “How do you think I got hold of all the government’s dirty secrets, huh?“ Cosima challenges, venom dripping from her lips. And when you think today she had woken up in a good mood. “I too was once innocent. Believing what I was told without making sure of it for myself. But then I challenged, I conquered. And now, I know if not too many truths I wish to change. Have I not, really?”

If a scenario occurred which ensured you could only save the life of Fox or Orion, who would you choose?

          Her air is finally stolen, eyes immediately filling with fear. The stomach flops and her words are caught in her throat; her body remains tense, concentrated and comfortably relaxed despite the death sentence she was put on. “Both of them, fucker,” she snarls, the machine now even making funny noises. Oh, how she wants to BREAK it and throw it at the window which stalks her every move and word, each twinkle of her eyes and curve of her lips. How she resents it. Cosima straightens her back, thinking of how she could evade, but nothing comes to mind. A feeling forms in her gut, one that she’d felt when she lost her father but never wished to express it.

          Perhaps the most unfortunate fact is that Cosima knew the answer. It was held in a box neatly tucked at the back of the brain, its contents remaining safely locked due to her lack of impulsiveness. Fox was the one she trusts the most, the one the hacker can’t let go of no matter what. Orion was a situation never anticipated but welcomed with open arms once they rolled into the Rebellion with her. Yet, there was tension between them, a certain change of air Cosima had noticed as soon as they had reunited. How did one make such a choice? How did Cosima have to choose between the only people keeping her sane in this wretched world?

          If anything else, she is at least decisive. Her tongue acts before her brain, though, a tear forming in the corner of her eye. It’s not caused by sadness, but by anger for the one asking questions and too much of a coward to show their true face. Vulnerability – how fucking disgusting. The tear rolls down gently, almost invisible against her skin; but she can feel it while her hearts is beating rapidly. “Fox.” As she wipes the tear ferociously from her face, she slams her fist on the table, the impact echoing through the room. “I can’t wait to meet you in person and bash your head into a wall, you fucker. My answer does not mean whatever you are forcing me to imply. It doesn't mean I wouldn't die for both of them at any time. Try again.”

Are you completely confident in your skills? Do you believe there’s anything that could stop you from hacking something? Perhaps your moral code?

            Her voice nothing but a memory now, she stares blankly at the mirror in front of her. “Isn’t that what you recruited me for? My confidence in my hacking skills. The only thing I can’t hack is your identity, which I’m convinced is atrocious by now. Not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing anyway.“ Cosima thinks of the words ‘moral code’. She didn’t consider herself a person with wicked morals or an antagonist of some sorts, just different views. “My moral code is the enabler of everything I do. I wouldn’t hack without a reason. I don’t manipulate machines just for fun or because I like to watch the world burn. There’s a purpose behind my actions, even if sometimes it burns like an inferno. You should learn from that, by the way.“ she spits, baring her teeth with aggression in her voice. “You know, having a purpose behind your actions. I guess you are the one who wants the world to burn via a lie-detecting machine. So mediocre… at least you could’ve brought them here. I’ve always been an opened book.“

Finally, do you believe your actions within the rebellion were just? Do you feel bad for anyone that has gotten hurt?

          “Was this question submitted by Theon?“ she asks, genuinely. “What I did, as stated before, had a reason to be done. I am not sorry about what I did, and many can agree the Rebellion is just. If the rich are ready to kill to leave the rest poor – we will answer fire with fire. Always.“

Of course the Benefactor thanks her for her answers. She tears the wires glued to her skin immediately, kicking her weight off the chair and raising her middle finger to the mirror before leaving for the Concord with the air behind her left ablaze.

                                                               || ARMOUR ||

[thegirlwiththebuffytattoo]

@onecosima

“Cosima come on, yer going to miss all the fun,” Mud insisted, pulling the LEDA clone along by the arm down the hill side, away from prying eyes of the sleeping Revival camp. The trek was short, with lanterns strung up in trees the only light source in the steel reinforced pit that spanned at least 30 feet. As the two approached, one of the hunters pulled back on the latch, forcing a tall figure into the pit with a black hood over the head. “Here it comes,” Mud shook the other’s shoulder, pressing herself against the fence to watch as the person was shoved to their knees, the hood removed instantaneously as the hunter backed out of the cage, sealing it. 

“Place your bets!”

-----------------------------------------------------------

Catching a full breath for the first time in a few hours after the mask was removed, Arcadia caught wind of a scent that distracted her from the events of the present. It’s just an illusion, stop. 

Pushing to her feet, the wolf closed her eyes, her head hung in silent defeat already as the trap door was left open for a grizzly bear to creep in. Her body ached, she was dying of thirst---the only saving grace would be the meat she’d get to devour from tearing this poor creature apart. Turning on heel to face the bear’s direction, Arcadia’s gaze finally rose, taking in the crowd that was riling the other animal up by pounding on the cage.

“Barbarians,” she grumbled to herself, her eyes skimming past a frantic woman pushing to the front. Golden hues squinted, trying to make out the murky outline before being struck down by passive claws to her back, pummeled by the grizzly as it roared.

[lobsters-on-their-heads]

Continuing Travels of Cophine, Part 2.2

It’s on Ao3 here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13525500

And Part 1 is here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12116799

They stayed in Fès for five more days, checking and rechecking every establishment they could enter for a glimpse or of information about Malika, the clone who allegedly lived there. There was a woman in a perfume shop who said she knew Malika, but hadn't seen her in years, and she had no contact information for her. She also spoke very little English, so Delphine handled the entire conversation.

“Et ses parents?” Delphine asked.

The saleswoman shook her head. “Non.” Then she rattled off a string of Moroccan French that Cosima caught pieces of, like “school” and “away,” though the hand motions helped a lot with that one.

“She says Malika's parents moved away a long time ago,” Delphine told her when they left the shop. “She last saw Malika in 2002 or 2003 maybe, and they were never very close. They went to school together, nothing more.”

Cosima leaned against a wall outside the shop and sighed. “We could check the police station again.”

“Chérie...”

“What? They might have something.”

“If they had something, they would have called us.”

Cosima chewed on a hangnail and shook her head. “I don't know that they would. It's not like we're a super high priority for them, you know?”

“We've been there twice.”

“A third time won't hurt anybody. Come on.”

Delphine rolled her head to one side, but Cosima was already walking away. An hour later, they sat in the police station, in front of the same officer they'd seen each previous time.

“No, madam, there is no record of her on file.”

“Could you check again, please?” Cosima asked.

“Pardon?”

“I said, could you check again, please? Check to see if she's on file anywhere. Any file, for any reason.”

He did so, and came back empty handed. “As I said, madam, there is no record of her. Perhaps you should check your own files.”

Cosima rubbed her tongue over her teeth to keep a retort from coming out, and allowed Delphine to lead her out of the station. “I'll show him where he can stick his damn files,” she muttered as soon as she could.

“No, you won't, chérie.”

Chilly, sandy wind stung their faces, so Delphine took them into a little restaurant across the street from the station. While they waited for their food, Cosima rested her head in her hands. This hadn't happened before. They'd always had leads before. Always. Even when they needed to travel around some more to find a sister, they had always found her, or gotten some clue about where she was, even if it was as broad as “She's in Asia for the semester” or “She's gone to the mountains for a while.” There had always been something.

“Cosima...” Delphine wrapped her fingers around Cosima's forearms. “I don't think she's here.”

“Yeah, I'm getting that impression too.”

“That doesn't mean she doesn't exist.”

“Right, but she could be anywhere.” She looked up at Delphine. “Like, literally anywhere.”

“Correct. Which means... we should leave.”

Leave. Leave Fès and Morocco behind. Leave the only address they had for Malika behind.

“Art still has translators in Toronto looking for all the sisters, including her. But, we've been here eight days,” Delphine reminded her. “That's three days longer than-”

“Look, I know. I know we agreed to five days only, but that was back in Nicaragua, and we found Dalia's parents in time, so it all worked out.”

“Yes...” Delphine had that look of forced patience on her face. “It did all work out. But Cosima, what do you think we can accomplish by staying in this city? We have no leads. We're not helping anyone by being here, and we've had to change hotel rooms twice.”

“Yeah, I was there, thanks.”

Delphine was right, too. They had looked everywhere, talked to everyone. There were no rocks left to look under, no more people with the same last name left to question. By now, a third of the population had Cosima's picture on their phones and Delphine's information card in their pockets. She let out a long breath and checked the time.

“We'll have to hurry if we want to check out of the hotel in time.”

Delphine smiled at her. “I'll call and ask for an extension.”

* * *

After the failure of Fès, the clones in Oran and Saïda, their first stops in Algeria, were a breeze. They went to their appointments and Delphine stuck needles in them, and everyone walked away with what they thought they wanted. While Delphine was at the clinics, Cosima went to cafés and shops, still asking for Malika. She tried asking in French, which led the Algerians to laugh or cock their heads in confusion, and either walk away or switch into English for her if they could. Her Arabic was so poor it wasn't even worth trying.

“She from here?” a woman at the drugstore asked. “Your sister, yes?”

“Yes, my sister. She's from Morocco, from Fès.”

“Ah, yes, Fès.” She rang up another customer before saying more. “Beautiful city.”

“So, do you recognize her?”

“No. Sorry. You try Fès next, okay?”

* * *

Their next stop was Algiers, the capital, where two clones awaited them. This time, Cosima got the aisle seat on the bus, and stayed awake as much as possible to be their eyes and ears while Delphine dozed against the window. They arrived in Algiers at 2:30 in the morning as 7 degree C winds flapped their jackets around them on their walk from the bus station to the hotel. Inside the hotel, the lobby was bright, well-furnished, and devoid of any human activity. Cosima rang the bell and they both tried to stay upright.

The clerk appeared, a young man trying to grow a mustache with limited success, whose name tag read Taoufik.

“Oui?” he said.

Delphine responded in French, holding their credit card next to her face and saying that they'd reserved un chambre under the name Dr. Cormier. The clerk's face didn't change, but he tapped at a computer, and a few minutes later they had a set of key cards for room 144. Taoufik slipped back into the back room before Cosima even picked up her luggage.

When they got in the room, they stood in the entryway and stared at the two twin beds positioned about a meter apart, with a nightstand and lamp between them. “This again,” Cosima muttered.

Delphine stepped around her to put her bag on the bed near the window. “I'll take this one.”

“We're going to let it slide here, aren't we?”

“Unless you feel like risking a prison sentence, yes, I think we should.”

Cosima stretched her arms and rolled her head around on her shoulders. She needed a hot shower, a deep tissue massage, and a hot alcoholic beverage. “You know, when I was 18, gay sex was illegal in Virginia, too, but that didn't stop me from banging my girlfriend there over summer break.”

“That's in the US. The US is not Algeria.”

“No, but I'm just saying, laws and day-to-day life aren't always in sync.”

Delphine walked past her to the bathroom. “If you want to go downstairs to explain to Taoufik that we need one large bed, I won't stop you.”

“He probably doesn't speak English.”

Delphine poked her head around the doorframe. “I know. That's why I won't stop you.”

*

When she woke at 8, her eye sockets were pushing against her eyeballs. “Ngggghh.....” She reached out for Delphine, but found only the edge of the bed on both sides.

From somewhere outside of the bed, Delphine rustled around, zipping and unzipping bags, putting bottles on tables, and running into something solid with a loud “Putain!” The toilet flushed and water ran in the bathroom, and then a hand shook Cosima's shoulder.

“Hey. Are you getting up?”

She squinted as much as possible and pulled her head from the pillow. “Is that necessary?”

“Euh, well, you did say you had things you wanted to do today.”

“Like what?”

“Work on your dissertation, look around for Malika, email people.”

Cosima let her head fall back down. “Can that wait?”

Delphine put the back of her hand to Cosima's forehead. “Are you not well?”

“Nnnhhh... I don't know.”

“Well, I'm supposed to be at the clinic in fifteen minutes, so I do have to go.” She kissed Cosima's temple. “I'll see you later today. Call or text if you'll be out late, okay?”

“Mhm.”

The next time she woke, Delphine's fingers stroked her hair, and Delphine herself was sitting on the edge of her bed, dressed in her blue and white blouse and her dark blue slacks, with her hair pulled back into a bun. Cosima rolled over to face her.

“Hi,” she managed. Her throat was thick and sore.

“Hi. Have you been up at all?”

“Umm... no?”

“Hm.” Delphine checked Cosima's forehead again, then put her fingers against the underside of Cosima's jaw, which hurt like a bitch. “Sore throat?” Delphine asked.

“Yeah. What time is it?”

Delphine rose and fished around in her medical bag some. “It's a little after three.”

A little after three. In the afternoon. Cosima moved her tongue around inside her mouth, hating every surface it touched. The lights were too bright, and her bladder was about to explode. With tremendous effort, she crawled out of the bed and stumbled to the bathroom, where she bumped into the sink and very nearly didn't make it on time.

When she re-emerged, Delphine was sitting on her bed again, holding a thermometer. “Here,” she said.

She took the thermometer and stuck it under her tongue, leaning against Delphine while they waited for it to beep. Eyes closed, Cosima drifted off again and jumped when it finally beeped. Delphine took it out and held it up.

“Thirty-seven point five.”

“In Fahrenheit?”

Delphine paused. “In Fahrenheit it's ninety-nine point five. And you know Celsius quite well.”

Cosima stretched back out on the bed. She was more awake than she wanted to be, her throat ached, and none of her muscles wanted to move. “Maybe. It's not a fever, though.”

“Only a very mild one, and only because you've been asleep all day. If you'd been active it would be normal.” Delphine stroked her cheek and yawned. “You should keep resting, though. I'll get you something for your throat.”

She dozed off again, on top of the covers with her legs dangling off the bed. The door opening woke her this time, followed by Delphine dropping a bag from the drug store on the bed. Cosima sat up, rubbed her throat, and watched Delphine set bottles and bags on the nightstand.

“How do you feel?”

“Alert, but like my lymph nodes are made of concrete.”

“Here. Drink as much as you can.”

It was a 16 ounce bottle of water, but it felt like shards of glass going down. Still, her headache and drowsiness improved after a few minutes, so she put on her glasses and looked at the rest of Delphine's haul. There was Algerian Robitussin, NyQuil or its local equivalent, various bags of lozenges, multi-packs of pocket-sized hand sanitizers and tissues, assorted decongestants in pill form, vitamin C chewables, and a bottle of throat spray.

Delphine fell onto the other bed and got the contents from her other bags, which Cosima hadn't noticed until now. One had an eight-pack of Gatorade and some dried fruit, and the other had two styrofoam containers of soup. She passed one to Cosima.

“You're very sweet,” Cosima told her.

Delphine grunted, eating her soup on the edge of her bed. “Some of this is just planning ahead. It's only a matter of time before I get whatever it is you have, and we didn't have enough supplies to deal with both of us being sick.”

“Sharing is caring, yeah?”

* * *

The next day, while Delphine was in the neighboring Casbah district convincing another Leda to get her shot, Cosima stayed in the room. She slept in until 10 thanks to a full dose of NyQuil, ate some flatbread and hummus, and Skyped with Alison in her pajamas.

“Are you alright?” Alison asked immediately. “You look terrible!”

“Yeah, I'm a little sick.” As if to prove her point, her throat tickled, and she coughed unproductively into her elbow.

Alison's eyes went wide. “It's not... you're not... I mean...”

“It's not clone disease. Don't worry. Just a head cold. I don't even have a fever.”

Alison made little sympathetic noises. “It's a terrible way to spend Valentine's Day, though.”

“Valen-” Cosima froze and checked the date on her laptop. Sure enough, February 14th. That explained why Alison was wearing a heart-print sweater, and had red, white, and pink craft supplies in the background. “Fuck.”

“Don't tell me you forgot.”

“Well, we've been kind of busy.” She rubbed her forehead and ran through ideas in her head. There must be some place to buy flowers close by, or some other romantic little token that didn't take up too much space in a suitcase.

“Of course you have,” Alison agreed. “But it's the gesture that's important, not the scale. You're in Algeria now, aren't you?”

“Yes. Algiers until tomorrow morning, then a 10:30 bus to Skikda.” She dug her knuckles into her temples. At least she'd get to sleep for this six-hour trip.

“Well, go out and buy some flowers tonight!”

“What, and carry them with us tomorrow?”

Alison huffed. “I thought lesbians were supposed to be romantic.”

“Hard to be romantic with separate beds and a bitch of a head cold. What are you doing for Donnie?”

She straightened up and smiled. “He is taking me to this lovely little French bistro in town. I'll post some pictures online, so make sure you show Delphine.”

“Why?”

“Because she's French, silly!”

“Right. I'm sure she'll love to see pictures of your food.” More coughs interrupted her, and she gulped some more Gatorade. “Anyway, you didn't answer my question. What are you doing for Donnie?”

“I just told you, we're going to dinner.”

“You said he's taking you. What are you doing for him?”

Alison blinked several times and did not answer. On the table beside the laptop, Alison's phone rang, but she silenced it with an aggressive tap. Cosima, meanwhile, coughed some more, and Alison watched. “At least you're not coughing up blood anymore,” she said.

“Yeah. I wish I'd cough up something, though. It's kind of useless right now.”

“Well, take care of yourself. There's nothing pressing on this end of things, and it sounds like there's nothing new on yours except for your cold. And do something nice for Delphine! Don't let her know that you forgot.”

Cosima nodded. “A'right. Talk next week, yeah?”

Alison signed off, and Cosima closed her laptop with a sigh. Valentine's Day.

Last year, of course, they hadn't done Valentine's Day. Delphine hadn't returned from Geneva until later in February, and then they were too busy catching up with each other and taking down Neolution to care much about dates. This year, though, she didn't have that excuse.

Alison was right. She really did need to do something.

She pulled some clean clothes from her suitcase and carried them into the bathroom. Step one was to get clean, since she hadn't showered in more than two days. In the shower, she let the hot water beat against her chest and back, loosening up some of the mucus that had taken up residence there, and the steam worked its way into her sinus cavities to do the same. While she dried off and got dressed, her coughs wracked her body, until, at one point, she was bent over, hand on her chest, while her throat spasmed. Still, nothing but saliva came out.

“Fuck,” she croaked.

Her phone chirped with a message from Delphine. All done. I'll be back soon.

“Fuck!”

She pulled up Google Maps and searched around the hotel. In quick walking distance there were two computer stores, a mosque, a bakery, a bookstore, and four other hotels. She clicked on the bakery as more coughs came. Maps had nothing useful about it – a 3 star rating, an address, and a picture of a nondescript store front. Not worth the attempt.

Her throat burned, and more coughs forced their way out. She hadn't coughed this much, or this forcefully, in more than a year, and even in the pits of her illness the coughing fits had come and gone. She finished the bottle of Gatorade and searched for restaurants. It was a crap idea, but her only one. She and Delphine ate at restaurants all the goddamn time. Maybe there was an extra nice one around.

And of course, none of the restaurants had websites or menus posted. One of them had the word roi in the name, which could have been promising, but then, Burger King did, too. Another one said sardines, and a third called itself Le Meilleur Couscous

“The best couscous,” she said. “You're not really selling yourself to me with that. Sorry.”

She coughed some more. At this rate, she was starting to worry that she might actually cough up blood again because her throat was so raw. It didn't make for a romantic afternoon and evening, no matter what she decided to do.

On the nightstand by the box of tissues and the bottles of cold medicine, she spied the bright red throat spray Delphine had bought. If there was ever a time to try it, now was it. She skimmed the instructions, tore off the plastic and the cap, and opened her mouth as wide as possible. The first squirt hit the back of her tongue and tasted like a freshly opened vinyl shower curtain. She gagged and spasmed for a moment, then pulled herself back together. The back of her tongue buzzed.

Bottle of water in hand, she went to the bathroom. This time, as her tongue still revolted against the taste, she leaned towards the mirror and aimed with greater care for the back of her throat. Just as another cough threatened, she pushed down the top and shot a stream of medicine at the back of her mouth. It misted her tongue along the way but hit her pharynx spot on, coating the entire area and setting off her gag reflex. She threw a mouthful of water down after it to still the gagging, but it only spread the effect. Now her entire throat rippled and pushed upwards to keep it out. Swallowing wasn't possible. Breathing wasn't even possible. She grabbed at the wall and went to spit it out, but the spit became a retch, and she vomited crimson into the hotel sink.

For a second, she flashbacks of coughing up red in other sinks and surfaces, but another wave of gagging brought up the electric blue Gatorade from earlier that day, and the image was shot.

Once the retching stopped, she rinsed the majority of the mess down the drain and leaned against the wall, gasping for air. Her throat and tongue still prickled a little bit, but there was no more gagging.

The door opened then, and Delphine stuck her head in the bathroom. “Hello? Cosima? Are you okay?”

“Mm.”

“What's wrong?” Delphine stepped in, still in her boots and coat, and saw the brightly colored specks on the edge of the sink.

“I don't think that's gonna work out for me,” Cosima said, pointing to the throat spray.

“No? Did it make you sick, then?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

Delphine sighed and rolled her head around. She'd had a headache that morning, but dismissed it as the result of a cheap pillow. The way she held her hand to her throat, though, made Cosima suspicious.

“Are you okay?” Cosima asked.

“Yes, I'm fine. I just, um, need to use the bathroom. Sorry.”

Cosima left and curled back up on the bed to cough some more, drinking more water as she did. She sat up again when Delphine re-emerged, hanging up her coat and removing her boots. “Does your head still hurt?”

Delphine nodded. “A little bit. It's nothing major. I am very tired, though.”

“How'd the cure go?”

“It was fine.” She pulled off her sweater and jeans, then unhooked her bra inside her shirt and pulled it out of one sleeve. “Her whole family was there. Thirteen all together, all of them getting flu shots. Her husband sat with us the whole time. He tried converting me to Islam.”

Cosima laughed, pausing to cough again. “That must've been fun.”

Delphine crawled under the covers of her bed in her underwear, T-shirt, and socks on. “He was very nice about it. I did learn a lot, actually.”

“Was it better or worse than Julia Luiz trying to save our souls for Jesus?”

“Better. Abdullah never touched me.”

That would make it better. Julia had put her hands on both of their heads for uncomfortable amounts of time while she prayed over them in. “No touching” seemed like a solid policy. “He might not be allowed to touch you.”

Delphine shook her head, her eyes already closed. “He's not. Whatever the reason, though, I'm not complaining about it. By the way, is it okay if we stay in tonight?”

“It is totally okay.”

“Good.”

Cosima watched her sink deeper into the bed. She changed back into her pajamas and turned out the lights after helping herself to another small dose of NyQuil. Delphine would nap better without Cosima coughing all the time, and Cosima might as well nap with her. Well, at the same time as her, at least. By the light on her cell phone, she stepped over to Delphine's bed and kissed her cheek.

“Happy Valentine's Day, Delphine.”