Chapter Text
THIS ORGANISM AND ANY DERIVATIVE GENETIC MATERIAL IS RESTRICTED INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY.
The crushing weight of the words on the screen in front of them displaced any elation they had felt at finally breaking the cypher, at unlocking the language of Cosima’s DNA, and by extension that of her clones as well. They’d gone searching for a needle in a haystack, and what they had found was a noose.
The irony of the discovery paralyzed their minds as their bodies sank back against the couch. Each in her own way, the sisters had engaged in acts of self-direction, exercising agency to win the right for freedom. Even the blonde had finally chosen a side, had chosen her heart, had chosen Cosima. But as the letters became words that became phrases that had meaning, and as the meaning of those words together became clear, the futility of their plans had also become clear.
Delphine was in shock. Cosima. Her sisters. Property. Things. Not people. Possessed. Not self-possessed. Eye eyes cast down, her mouth closed tightly against the despair she felt, she could not look at Cosima; she was uncertain if she even had the right. She wanted desperately for Cosima to forgive her, to see her as an ally, to love her if she could, and now she sat next to the woman she had inexplicably fallen for at possibly the most upsetting moment of her entire life. She could not imagine how Cosima must feel; how much she might hate her at this moment; how much it would hurt when Cosima sent away again, as she would have every right to do. And then she heard the hitch in Cosima’s breath, the quavering of a voice attempting to produce language.
Cosima sounded so raw that Delphine allowed her gaze to shift in the direction of the smaller woman next to her; she prepared herself to receive whatever Cosima needed to purge. It was the least she could do for having been so implicated.
“I’m sick, Delphine.” Cosima practically whimpered. She too turned, allowing her eyes, which were more desperately sad than anything Delphine had ever seen, to meet the blonde’s.
Delphine, devastated in her own right by the implications of the simple phrase, accepted the grief being offered her, made room for it, understood that Cosima meant it as a gift not as an imposition, a gift of whose receipt she struggled to feel worthy.
And then, perhaps because their intimacy had always been born of complexity, it seemed the most natural thing to take Cosima in her arms, to hold the frightened woman close to her breast and then, finally, to kiss her.
To the blonde’s relief and surprise, Cosima allowed this, welcomed it in fact. The brunette moved closer to deepen their kiss, and then whispered into the shell of Delphine’s ear, “Take me to bed.”
The blonde did not hesitate in her response.
Cosima insisted that Delphine use her hands. She insisted that they lay with the length of their bodies’ touching. She insisted that she be allowed to feel Delphine move against her, inside her, while at the same time being able to see the desire in her lover’s eyes. She insisted, after her own climax, that Delphine not worry over her; she insisted that she be allowed to taste the arousal she inspired in the blonde; she insisted that Delphine say her name, and she insisted, after Delphine’s climax, that she be allowed to control her own biology.
Delphine, knowing full well that the vials needed to go to DYAD looked Cosima in the eye and lied. Then she took the smaller woman in her arms again and kissed her, hoping that someday Cosima might truly forgive her, might choose her, might even love her.