#evelynespacifier

J. When words aren’t enough.

Y. Tears.

Sarah has that red-eyed look that speaks of recently-shed tears, even if all is dry and “sorted” (Sarah’s word) now; Rachel feels... something, seeing that redness (like the other side of the spinning coin that is the anger/grief dichotomy, which Sarah has been flirting with like a child flicking quarters on a tabletop to watch them spin and listen to the hum of the metal on wood) but she can’t define the feeling

                                                         [can’t = chooses not to].

“I’m sorry about Siobhan,” Rachel says, simply (Sarah probably thinks “unfeelingly” but that is simply because Rachel is...

                                                        [Rachel is Rachel]

not sure how she should feel and therefore

                                                        [Rachel is a part... apart]

 does not) and then adds, “Truly,” like it will mean any more to Sarah.

                                                        [It doesn’t.]

playlist for @evelynespacifier

They stumbled through the door to their apartment just after midnight. Exhausted from the day neither could make it further than the couch and they collapsed in a heap of tangled limbs. Cosima’s head came to rest heavily against Sarah’s shoulder and the Brit intertwined their fingers, running the pad of her thumb gently over the back of the Scientist’s hands. Their moment of tranquility was interrupted suddenly by a grumbling of Cosima’s stomach.

“You hungry, Cos?” Sarah chuckled. 

“Skipped lunch,” Cosima mumbled guiltily, “Scotty and I made this, like, major breakthrough so we didn’t have time to stop.”

“You gotta stop doin’ that,” Sarah sighed, “You just got well, yeah, you have to take care of yourself.”

“I know,” Cosima shifted so she could bury her face in the crook of Sarah’s neck, “I’m trying it’s just, the science is so addictive. I can’t help it.”

Sarah shook her head and smiled. Her girlfriend was such an adorable nerd sometimes. 

“Eskimo pies!” Cosima sat up so suddenly that she knocked the top of her head on Sarah’s chin.

“Jesus Christ, Cosima,” Sarah groaned, “I bit my bloody tongue.”

“Sorry,” Cosima winced, rubbing her head, “God, you have, like, an incredibly hard head and I think I have a concussion.”

“Bullshit,” Sarah muttered though the ire in her words was lost as her tongue had started to swell.

“I know the perfect cure,” Cosima said as she dragged herself off the couch and stumbled over to the fridge, “Shit,” her face fell as she pulled the box of frozen treats from the freezer.

“What is it?” Sarah frowned at the lisp she had developed.

“Only one left,” Cosima held up the lonely ice cream bar.

“It’s bloody mine, innit,” Sarah growled, “You practically had the rest of the box. Not to mention you nearly split my bloody tongue in half just now.”

“But Sarah,” Cosima whined as she bought the treat back over to where her girlfriend sat, “I’m so hungry.”

Usually the puppy dog eyes being thrown her way would melt Sarah into a puddle but she was tired and her tongue throbbed. She wasn’t going to give in that easily.

“No way,” Sarah shook her head, “Don’t pull that shite with me tonight. Hand it over Dreads.”

“What if,” Cosima started unwrapping the ice cream, “We, like, shared it?” 

Sarah watched accusingly as her girlfriend took a bite out of the corner, “Oi! Sharin’ means leavin’ some for me.”

Cosima dropped back down onto the couch and reluctantly handed the treat over. The sweet, cold ice cream soothed Sarah tongue and she groaned happily as she let it melt in her mouth. They passed it back and forth between the two of them until all that was left was the stick which Cosima placed on the side table next to the couch. It was rounding on one in the morning and neither of them had the energy to make it to their bedroom, content to rest in each other’s arms where they sat.

“Sorry about your tongue,” Cosima said as she ran her fingers through Sarah’s hair.

“Sorry about your head,” Sarah replied softly, her eyes drifting closed.

K. On the edge of consciousness.

O. The stars or space.

-

Cosima can hear the faint sound of the boat, of Sarah’s escape, and she sits on the step of the med hut - trying to be as visible and obviously not escaping as possible - watching the stars.

That is one good thing about this place: the light pollution (or lack thereof) is such that the stars are huge and bright and brilliant.

“Since you’re already here,” Delphine whispers in her ear under the guise of coy, flirtatious intimacy, “dance with me, and we can talk without drawing attention.”

Sarah scoffs under her breath, but lets Delphine lead her by the hand, the two of them rotating slowly through the gaps in the crowd, Delphine continuing to lead effortlessly as Sarah subtly cranes her neck over Delphine’s shoulder to keep an eye on their targets.

“I hope you have a plan, Sarah,” Delphine murmurs, leaning in so the words are slipped right into Sarah’s ear without touching the outside air (Sarah feels a slight warmth where Delphine’s lips accidentally brush her ear), “because your marks are slipping out the back door.”

P. Driving or in/around a car.

S. Music < given above>

–

Delphine’s back hits the car, her knees buckling, her breath short; she thinks of other reasons for these feelings: Cosima’s lips and hands and presence.

As the pavement approaches, her fingers getting slick with blood, Delphine tries to grip the bumper, can’t, and resolves herself to thinking of Cosima - fantasizing about going somewhere (anywhere) together.

She wishes she wouldn’t have to die alone, wishes that she was, even now, seated at the tables shoved together on the sales floor of Bubbles, wishes that she was anywhere but here - preferably wherever Cosima is - but wishing is only a luxury that she won’t have for much longer, so she asks.

L. A stolen kiss.

M. When it rains/snows/storms.

–

Sarah ducks in out of the rain, which is so bloody heavy that she has to wring out the now-transparent lab coat she threw on to blend in and the already impossible-to-see-through glasses are practically opaque with moisture and beginning to fog up; all in all, Sarah is not having a great day so far.

“Cosima,” Delphine calls, bounding up (her heels clattering on the water-spotted time) and, heedless of Sarah’s state of sordid wetness, proceeds to embrace and then kiss her.

Sarah, who’d already experienced this particular mishap once and isn’t in the mood for any of this carrying on, just pushes Delphine away and hisses, “Wrong bloody clone, mate.”