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It’s been two hours since Felix lured Kira away with breakfast (and some of the tamer stories from his youth, from the snippets of conversation Cosima overhears) when Alison comes in, fresh from a good night’s sleep at home in Scarborough. They’ve come a long way, really, Cosima thinks; Alison was so snobby about being the only one with a family to go home to at first, in the early days of all this, but the night before she excused herself with a small, apologetic smile, and a tiny tear stain left behind on Cosima’s shoulder. And here she was again, as if it was totally obvious that she’d return this morning. But Alison doesn’t stop being a mom even with her other family.
“Cosima,” she says sternly, “you need to be sitting down.”
“I’m fine,” says Cosima, feeling more like she’s arguing with a parent than a just slightly younger sibling. It takes her back to her senior year of high school, when her dad would catch her studying into the wee hours of the night, standing in her doorway and shaking his head (but always with a smile). Back then, her biggest concern was getting into a good college. The stakes are considerably higher now.
“No more science,” says Alison, refusing to budge. “Sit down and have your soup.”
Cosima sits, tilting her head at the thermos Alison sets down on the coffee table. She unscrews the lid before scurrying into the kitchen and returning with a spoon.
“Chicken noodle?” asks Cosima, a surprised little smile playing across her face.
Alison hands her the spoon and produces a couple of napkins from her purse, because of course she carries those around. “It’s what I make for Oscar and Gemma when they’re sick.”
It’s then that Cosima remembers why this soup smells so familiar: the first time she went to Alison’s house, Gemma was running a fever. It was normally safe for them to meet there during the day, Beth explained, as she drove them up Alison’s street, but she nearly kicked them out that day, because Gemma was home in bed. The same comforting scent had wafted into the living room from Alison’s kitchen then. Cosima can’t help but feel touched.
“Thanks, Alison,” she says, gingerly dipping the spoon into the soup as Alison sits down next to her. She sips it carefully - it’s pretty good. Alison isn’t half bad at this.
She’s also pretty good at uncannily picking up on exactly what Cosima’s thinking, from time to time. Cosima’s not sure if that’s a mom thing, a clone thing, or both.
“You know,” says Alison, “when I first met you, I thought we would never get along. Aside from our faces, we were nothing alike. You were so laid back about everything, and I was...”
“Neurotic?” Cosima offers, with a smirk.
Alison scowls at her, then turns her gaze down to her hands clasped in her lap. “Beth, I understood,” she says quietly. “The way she approached things made sense to me. But it was funny. You never bugged me the way I thought you would. Now I realize you were the most stable one of all of us.” She looks back up at Cosima. “I think you still are.”
“Alison...”
“I mean, it’s no wonder I related to Beth,” she goes on. “I wasn’t exactly holding it together, either.”
Cosima slides an arm around Alison’s shoulders.
“You’re still here,” she says, gently. “You finished rehab, and you worked things out with Donnie. You made it.”
And Alison’s lip quivers in a way Cosima’s never seen before, a crack forming in her exterior that’s hard in its own way, different from Sarah or Beth’s toughness or Cosima’s wall of sarcasm. (Sarah’s words from the night before echo in her head, and it really is incredible how different they all are.) Even supermoms have to break down sometime.
“She could’ve made it, too,” Alison whispers, barely audible, before a sob escapes her. Cosima holds her there while she rides out this wave of grief.
Because they both lost a sister, and it still hurts Cosima’s heart, too.
She still remembers when Alison told her - just hours before she met Sarah. Even the night before, she’d had a sinking feeling after that phone call. They’d tried to be a place for Beth where she could feel safe, but it wasn’t enough. The news made her feel strangely numb. And then another girl with their eyes walked into their lives, unaffected. Another girl Cosima would come to see as family.
“When we first brought Oscar and Gemma home, they held onto each other so tight,” says Alison, once she’s managed to catch her breath. “They were all each other had. And a part of me was jealous, because growing up, I’d always wondered what it’d be like having a brother or sister around. But I was so glad for them, because I knew they’d always have each other.”
Cosima reaches over to brush Alison’s bangs out of her eyes.
“I don’t wanna lose you, too,” says Alison, and she frowns when Cosima grins at her. “What are you so happy about?”
“I’ve never seen you get this sentimental before,” says Cosima, rubbing her shoulder.
“Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it. Eat your soup.”
Cosima lifts the spoon to her mouth obediently, foregoing the Yes, mom that almost slips out.