Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cosima shut the computer. Her hands felt numb, barely registering the laptop's warmth. With a sigh, she pushed her chair out from the desk and turned to survey her student housing bedroom. Sticky air drifted in through the window. Stacks of books and boxes dominated the floor, illuminated by her desk lamp and the streetlight that never turned off - even in Gainesville's blistering daytime. The cop's face floated over the scene like a bright object she'd looked at for too long. During their brief Skype conversation, Cosima's focus had flitted between Detective Child's serious visage and her own miniature inset. Beth's face was her face but also not her face. They could be identical twins. 

Metal rubbed painfully against her knuckle. She looked down and realized she had rearranged all the jewelry on her hands, the tell-tale ring still pinched in thumb and forefinger. Placing it on the desk, Cosima stood and began to pace the room. 

At first, she was sure this was an elaborate farewell joke played by her cohort buddies. Any hope for that died when Beth appeared on her screen. Maria could straight-face a ridiculous clone story over the phone, Davy could photoshop dopplegangers into foreign IDs, but nobody in her program had the skills - let alone the time - to simulate a Canadian cop "Cosima" on live videochat. She stopped and leaned on a tower of boxes still smelling of packing tape. Her fingers worried an edge of the box's lid; cardboard that should have contained the possessions of a normal scientist leading an exciting but still fairly predictable life. Okay, in immodest moments, evidence could suggest that she was a bit more brilliant than average... but all of her experiences sat roomily inside the bell curve. What Beth suggested? The standard deviations required didn't even exist. She started toward the window.

The photo IDs! Cosima pivoted, narrowly avoiding a stack of textbooks and journal reprints. A beat later, dreadlocks smarted her cheek but she didn't bother to sweep them aside or even to sit down again as she opened the laptop. Muscle memory operated fingers over the keys, an alternate hypothesis forming like a slippery lifeline. 

She hadn't looked closely at the Canadian driver’s licenses nor the German passport, other than to appreciate what she took to be Davy's handiwork with the hairstyles. "Two Canadians?" she had texted him this afternoon, "Now that's just lazy." (He'd texted back, "???" and then, "Miss ya already bro".) Something niggled at her: an important detail still submerged in the subconscious. She skipped over Beth's terse and oddly formal message to really look at 'Allison' and 'Katja.' Were they identical, too? 

"Holy uncanny valley," she muttered. Quadruplets were rare, a quick search revealed they occurred in 0.0078% of births. She sat down and scanned the Wikipedia entry further: there were only about 70 sets of identical quadruplets worldwide. Cosima glanced at Katja’s passport. We're certainly worldwide, she thought.  Page scrolling continued but she wasn't really reading. Obviously, human multiple births have become more common with IVF and other modern fertility treatments. But why would parents pay thousands of dollars for kids just to set them all up for adoption? What were the chances of that happening? Improbable. Absurd. Still infinitely more likely than Beth's explanation. 

When Cosima reached the bibliography, she sighed and leaned back, clasping hands over her head. There was actually no way she was adopted. Her mom had been so proud of her only successful pregnancy. And the all subtle ways her parents had favored her over her adoptive brother... it just didn't fit a lifetime of data. Frowning, she pushed past the absurd to the wholly inconceivable: did her parents put up the other three? They'd pursued a family in the desperate way only infertile couples can and with the force from a fortune that could send septuplets to private colleges. Also, why the international adoptions? So much extra red tape. She could strain spaghetti with this hypothesis it had so many holes. 

A group of undergrads walked by on the street below, their overeager laughter carried in on the breeze. A stack of scholarly papers rustled until the topmost pages fanned out from their staple and shuddered like photocopied gills of a stranded fish. Cosima plucked the ring off the desk and pushed it back and forth over a raw knuckle. Katja's biographical stats stared back with a perfect poker face, giving away only surface details: 5'4'', brown eyes, birthplace, birthdate...

Her birthdate. The scientist did a double take. 24 März — almost two weeks after her own. She scanned for Alison's and Beth's birth dates: also different days in spring, 1984. We don't share a birthmother. Cosima let out a short laugh and breathed, "Jee-sus, this is for real."  There were no other options but to meet Beth at the bleeding edge: a massive longitudinal human cloning experiment. The concept was incredible. The research possibilities... What sort of scientific fringe group had the resources for this? 

Did her parents know? For the first time in years, Cosima considered calling them — it was still evening on the west coast. She surprised herself by picking up the phone, thumb hovering over "Parental Units" in her contacts. Mom would be on a second brimming glass of Merlot and reading The New Yorker as Dad fell asleep to Late Night. The line rang twice before Cosima recalled her mother's voice explaining why they would no longer fund her undergraduate education. She couldn't stand their bullshit.

She shut the phone off, tapped it twice on the desk and flicked it away. Adjusting her glasses, Cosima looked at the photo IDs with renewed interest. We're all so different. A thousand questions competed for her attention as she scoured the faces for any asymmetries, a product of stochastic events during development. The image quality and watermarks stymied these efforts. God, what this could do for epigenetics research! We have such a limited understanding of how genes and the environment interact — were we all right handed? Did any of us have asthma or allergies? Were they also queer? Cosima decided Katja looked pretty frickin' queer. Alison... not so much. 

The PhD student tried to recall what Beth had actually said to her. Cosima had been so stunned to see a plausible "genetic identical" that words had washed over her like all the term papers she'd graded this week. Beth seemed so matter-of-fact. She was such a stranger. The eerie resemblance compounded by how she used Cosima's voice but not her tone; employed her body but not her posture. This avenue of inquiry became uncomfortable. How much of my personality is unique? She knew little about Beth but figured a scientist is not so different from a cop: evidence, analysis, solving mysteries. Beth seemed smart, thorough, and dedicated — traits Cosima admired in herself. Kinda depressing though, studying death instead of life. Would I be a homicide detective, too, if had I been born in... East York, Canada? Obviously, yes. I have the most compelling evidence possible for that. 

Images from the University's animal facility crowded her vision and Cosima's throat tightened. She felt like one of the many white squeaking rodents bred for a life in one of the many stacked plastic cages in one of the many sterile stinking basement rooms. A life predetermined by a pair of blue-clad hands punching numbers into murine ears like living braille. Whether they contracted the disease or not, received the treatment or the placebo; it didn't matter. After 5, 10, 50, 100, maybe even 365 days, they would all end up limp and fetal in the CO₂ chamber. Cosima fought back sobs as she imagined her skin sloughed off one layer at a time, organs harvested and filleted, divvied up among collaborators. Her ragged breaths heightened the sensation of being pinned to a slide, drowning in saline solution, leered at through layers of glass and glycerol by some faceless scientist reducing her to the mechanics of her existence.

The laptop slammed shut and the desk lamp switched off with two angry motions. The young woman slid to the floor and slumped against the desk, hands covering eyes from the glare of the streetlight. Cheap composite wood dug into her shoulder but she sat there, shaking, for a long time.

When she heard her roommate enter the apartment, she scrabbled for her glasses and tried to pull herself together but Lauren stumbled past Cosima's closed door and made for her own room.  Fingertips brushed over something small and plastic as Cosima's other hand located her glasses. She peered at the dual ID / lab access card with "University of Florida" in blocky typeface. The year-old photo depicted her with hair drawn in a utilitarian ponytail — her industry look. The day it had been taken, she'd realized that her new grad student status afforded her the freedom to present however she wanted. That same day she caught the bus to the most alternative salon in a 20 mile radius and asked for dreadlocks. Then she got the nose ring. Then after, the nautilus tattoo. Everything had hurt: her scalp, her face, her wrist, her feet from practically running from one place to the next. And she had been so happy, every reflective surface reminding her that she'd made it. No more a lab drone paying down student loans! She was finally becoming the academic she’d always intended to be. Anger made room for an upswell of pride; her parents and the universe had conspired against her and she'd followed through anyway. I have agency. This life was always my choice. I am more than the conditions of my environment.

Finally, Cosima stood and made two solemn promises to herself: 1) she would do everything in her power to control her biological destiny and 2) should she die, no one would dump her fine ass in an orange biohazard bin. Then, with the practiced air of a good San Franciscan, she rolled a massive joint and let the head high take her as far away from her body as possible. 

***

To: Dr. Aldous Leekie

From: Dr. Kathryn Herter

Subject: Re: Your new lab

Date: April 14th 2012

Aldous,

I was quite surprised when Prof. Young informed me of the anonymous gift. I'm not sure how to thank you properly! The equipment has certainly made the transition to the lab here much easier. Do let me know if there's anything I can do to reciprocate. 

With regards to your personnel question, three of my UF grad students have decided to follow me: Shawn is finishing his last chapter and will defend next Spring; Elise who just passed her quals; and one of my first years, Cosima Niehaus, will arrive after finishing her UF courses and TA duties. I just hired a new lab manager, Ronny Klein, who also sends you thanks - his face when they unloaded the microCT scanner was priceless.

Now that you're revealed, I'm sending over a bottle of port. Enjoy!

My thanks,

Kate 

--

Dr. Kathryn Herter, PhD.

Assistant Professor of Biological Sciences

University of Minnesota

Chapter Text

The morning split open with a banging and Cosima instantly regretted the amount of THC she'd inhaled the night prior. Cannabinoids dried out her mouth such that tongue stuck to hard palette like a stalagmite. Or stalactite, technically?

"Cosima!" The banging continued. "Shut. Off. Your. Fucking. Alarm!" Lauren made her request in time to the phone's beeping. Cosima groped for her bedside table before remembering she'd sold the table and had left the cell on her desk. The door bust open and her housemate strode towards the sound's source. 

"I'm up! I got it, I got it." She beat Lauren to the phone, belatedly looking down to check that she was decent. Apparently, she had passed out in yesterday's clothes. 

"Jesus, Cosima. Do you have any idea how long that'd been going?"

"Uh..." Shit. It was 7:47 already. And she had approximately 20 unread texts from Maria.  

Lauren crossed her arms. "Aren't you proctoring today?"

"Shit!" 

"You look like shit. You slept in that?"

"Lauren." Cosima did not have time for this. "Get out." 

The other woman raised her hands and retreated from the room.

Boxes and suitcases were everywhere. Her glasses, however, were not in sight. Cosima tore apart her room while triaging her morning: the exam started at 9:30; Maria expected her at the copying room at 8; she'd need 11 minutes to bike there; only Lauren would know if she wore the same clothes... no, gross; showering was out of the question but she could change if she skipped breakfast. Her mouth tasted like a Petri dish. Why had she gotten so fucking high? Oh right, I'm a clone. What an auspicious beginning. 

Her glasses clattered to the floor when she shook the top sheet for the second time. She grabbed them and ran to the bathroom where corrected vision revealed her face was in shambles; wingtip eyeliner looked awesome until it didn't. She gave herself three minutes for damage control and made up for it by simultaneously brushing her teeth and peeing. At 7:56 she squirmed into flats, crammed computer into messenger bag, and ran towards the door.

"Hey, Cosima." Lauren nursed an OJ and a hangover in the kitchen. 

"What??" She hesitated, a hand on the doorknob. 

"Godspeed, girl." 

Cosima flipped off her soon-to-be former housemate whose giggles followed her as she flew down the stairs. 

By the time she rolled up to the biology department at 8:09, Maria was already rolling out a cart piled with freshly printed finals. 

"Oh good! Your timing is spectacular, as always." Maria grinned. Cosima struggled with her bike lock. "Em, I am so sorry. You would not beli--" 

"Don't worry about it! Hey, guard the exams." She disappeared into the building. What if I told Maria that I have genetic identicals? And I met one last night? Cosima fretted with her hair. She'd probably call me Dolly and laugh it off like the joke it should be. A moment later, Maria returned with two coffees and a bag of muffins.

"Oh my god. You're the best!” 

"I know. But this means you've got the cart."

"Totes. Just don't eat my muffin." 

Cosima grabbed the cart and they started off towards the lecture hall. The Floridian humidity had already mounted a serious attack and the imbibed coffee flanked her from inside; their combined heat was compressing all the water out of her in beads. On a day like today, she would've ordered an iced mocha frappachino. Maria, however, was the sort of coffee drinker who abhorred anything adulterating her morning solution of stimulant. 

"So." Maria leaned over and sniffed at Cosima's sleeve. "You waking n' baking, now?"

"Shit! Does it...? Do I...?"

Maria spoke in stage whisper, "Smell like pot?" She raised an eyebrow then shook her head. "Naw, but Davy told me you were texting him 10 Guy style, like, all yesterday."

"What? I sent him one questionable text. One!" 

"And you missed drinks at 101 Cantina."

"Oh god, I totally did."

"I must've sent you abajillion texts."

"I'm sorry Maria, last night was just..." Her voice cracked and Maria stopped walking. "Woah, are you ok?"

"I-, I-" She stared at her friend. The truth was too ridiculous, especially in the presence of 120 Genetics and Development exams. "I, um, had to call my parents last night." It wasn't an outright lie. 

"Ay, amiga. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really." The words sounded brittle.

"You sure?"

She shrugged.  

"Did they go off on why gays shouldn't exist because of biology again? 'Cuz if so..." Maria smacked her coffee cup, which caused the muffin bag to wiggle and a small amount of scalding liquid to escape. "Ow!"

Cosima had to laugh. "No, no. Nothing like that. Just... um, it was awkward. And I sorta imploded after." 

"That really sucks. God! I hate it when people wrap their shitty ideologies in science. As if it makes them legit. Y'know, that is actually my number one pet peeve." 

"Yeah. Ditto."  For the first time ever, talking about her parent's rejection felt like safe territory. The experience was weird. Weird and isolating as fuck. 

"Here." Maria handed her the muffins and started off with the cart of exams. "Eat. I'll even handle all the announcements, you just pass these bad boys out. Sound good?" 

"Yeah. Thanks, Em."

"You got it." Maria nudged Cosima's arm. "All I ask is, you better be ready for tonight. We're sending you off in style!"

"Have I ever told you that you're, like, the actual best?"

"Hmm, maybe once or twice." 

They listened to the cart rumble behind them for a moment. Then Maria launched into a familiar tirade about her ancient DNA project and how it would ruin her summer with fruitless PCRs. Cosima sipped her drink and imagined caffeine molecules booting out the last cannabinoids from her neurons. Unfortunately, her brain was also waking up to a reality in which only strangers could understand her life right now. Strangers with only DNA in common - albeit the entire friggin' genome. 

When they reached the lecture hall, Cosima switched on the lights and sighed; it was going to be a long day. Proctoring exams goes about like this: 

1. The really nervous students start showing an hour early; the suggested TA response is an affirming smile which is usually ignored in favor of flashcards.
2. The majority of students arrive 10 minutes before, about 60% of them actively cram while the other 40% chill with headphones or aggressively laid back postures.  
3. The perpetually late come right on time, which means once the tests are distributed and announcements made, the pencils begin about 5 minutes after the exam should have started.
4. The TAs spend 3 hours watching the tops of people's heads bob to a soundtrack of furious scribbling. In other words, boredom punctuated by occasional questions and the one or two students who catastrophically overslept.  

Like all previous, Cosima and Maria settled into this exam by sitting on opposite sides of the demonstration table and opening their laptops. Cosima reflexively clicked on her mail application and Beth's email popped up. She realized that, given yesterday’s interactions, the cop probably thought she was an arrogant skeptic. She drafted a quick reply:

Beth, I believe you. What are the next steps?

Cosima

She reread the message and changed 'the' to 'our' before hitting send. Of course, the laptop emitted a whoosh which caused Maria to smirk and students in the first four rows to look up indignantly. Cosima gestured her apologies and hit the mute button just in time. A few seconds later she had a new email.

Cosima,

Glad to have you on board. It's a lot to take in. How much expertise do you have in this area?

-B

Beth's question confused her for a moment before recognizing that The Cop thought of her as The Scientist.

Hi Beth,

I'm only a first year PhD student and my field, broadly, is evolution. I also have several years of industry experience in genetics/biotech so while I know the fundamentals of reproductive cloning, I wouldn't call myself an expert. That said, I could get up to speed on it pretty quickly. 

Cosima

Three inbox-refresh cycles later:

That's good. What equipment do you have access to? Can you process hair and blood samples, for example?

-B

She needs an off-the-books forensics team. Beth wanted to understand their origins as much as Cosima did and her position as a biologist granted a unique ability to provide answers. This feeling of mattering so significantly to someone dulled, slightly, the ache of isolation. 

Short answer is yes. 

Long answer is our lab specializes in comparative evolutionary development biology, meaning I work with non-human specimens and mostly analyze images of embryos. But I can access equipment for procedures like PCR and gel electrophoresis. You should be aware, however, I'm about to move to an entirely different university - University of Minnesota in Minneapolis. I don't know exactly what my set-up will be like there but I'm sure I can make it work for whatever you need. 

It's also good news that I'll be closer to you and Alison. 

-C

Emails continued to shoot back and forth: 

Excellent. Thanks, Cosima. Plan on a Skype check-in with the three of us next week. When are you available?    -B 

I'm actually moving this weekend but starting tuesday I'm just unpacking. So anytime except Thurs from 3 to 4pm.     -C

I'll be in touch.    -B

Only 15 minutes had passed but they had done wonders for Cosima's cortisol levels. The detective's messages had lifted somewhat the specter of faceless scientists. Beth seemed to have a plan and she was obviously better suited to find who was responsible for this experiment. Cosima could focus on the how and the why. She leaned back in her chair and looked out at the matrix of students sitting at least one seat apart; they reminded her of a DNA microarray. This got her thinking about the various uses of microarrays: single nucleotide polymorphism (SNP) detection, gene expression profiling, chromatin immunoprecipitation... the latter two would be super useful to study the epigenetic differences between her and her identicals. And what better way to subvert the experiment than to become an investigator herself! Too bad her dissertation on mammalian body plan evolution wasn't really related. Unless...

Maria caught her attention and gestured towards her keyboard. Cosima waved back and logged onto gchat. 

Maria: bets on who'll ask the most questions?

Maria: i call kim rathborn  

Cosima: A choice is so safe it's almost cheating. 

Cosima: but I say Jason Goodwin. 

Maria: youre on!

Cosima: what are the stakes?

Maria: buy me a beer tonight

Maria: a *craft* beer

Cosima: Kk. put me down for a glass of not franzia red 

Maria: done! 

Cosima: and if we tie? 

Cosima: or there's a dark horse? 

Maria: both our drinks are free :P

Cosima: lol

Maria: you didn't literally lol. 

Cosima: haha. you dork

Maria: wut ur da 1 usin txtspk bad

Cosima: OMG this convo is over. 

Maria: n00b

Cosima: but actually, I should work on stuff

Maria: stuff?

Cosima: um

Cosima: I'm meeting with Kate next thurs...

Cosima: and kinda want to change my dissertation topic a bit.

Maria: really

Cosima: and by a bit I mean a lot.

Maria: why??

Cosima: long story

Maria: but yours was so solid ??

Cosima hesitated over the keys. Her friend's consternated look almost made her literally lol. 

Cosima: Honestly?

Maria: duh

Cosima: I've developed a sudden and all-consuming interest in epigenetics and reproductive cloning technology.

Maria's eyebrows furrowed and she seemed to read the line twice before looking up and mouthing, "What???" 

Maria: are you kidding me

Cosima: I wish

Maria: how is that evo devo?

Cosima: It's not really.

Maria: like maybe tangentially but........

Cosima: I know

Maria: wait

Maria: WAIT

Maria: why are you even going to minnesota?

Cosima: that's why I need to prepare for Kate.

Maria: i am so torn right now

Maria: are you saying youre staying??

Cosima: too late for that :(

Maria: girrrrl what is your life D:

Cosima: an experiment on compounding complexity.

Maria: wow

Maria: deep :P

Cosima: actually tho

Cosima: I should work.

Maria: ok but we will discuss this further

Cosima: Kk

She closed gchat and logged on UF's portal to her favorite scientific journal database, BIOSIS Web of Knowledge. The large search field looked particularly inviting this morning. Key terms turned into article titles which became abstracts which turned into full text PDFs -- and before the reverberating shuffle of pencil on paper became a crush of former students filing out towards summer -- Cosima amassed a bibliography. The contents were unfocused; the links among them amorphous. But, just like synaptic pruning in a developing brain, coherence would come after thoughtful review, a winnowing to only the most promising connections.

***

Maria: we need to intervention cosima!

David: what? why?

Maria: she's changing her dissertation

David: ok...

Maria: to cloning and epigenetics

Maria: !!!!

David: ???

Maria: exactly

Maria: meet us at 1 in the microbio lounge

Maria: bring food

David: yes sir

Chapter Text

Jason Goodwin tapped Cosima's shoulder. Her gaze reluctantly slid from Burggren et al.'s review, Epigenetics in Comparative Biology and to her student's panicked features. They silently exited the lecture room to talk in the hall.

"Ms. Niehaus? Yeah, I have a clarification question about... about..." he flipped through the pages. She forced a smile. She hated answering questions during tests; it turned what was usually a learning opportunity into an awkward negotiation.

He found the page. "Here. Uh, about question #32."
It was one of the questions she had written about mammalian anterior-posterior body plan development. "Sure, shoot."
"So, I get that Hox11aaccdd means all three sets of the gene are knocked out. But it doesn't say whether 11 usually inhibits Hox10 or Hox12?"
"Jason, you should know that."
He looked crestfallen and Cosima coughed to cover up a sigh. So much effort had gone into her section plan on this topic and he was such an earnest student - one who came to all her office hours yet refused to use her first name.
"Okay, um, try to remember the Wellik and Capecchi article. How did the Hox numbers line up with the different types of vertebrae?" She had to hold her hands down Dr. Strangelove style to keep them from giving it away.

Despite all the immensely complex genetics going into development, evolution had set up Hox genes - the literal body blueprint genes - in the simplest way possible: 1) as the numbers increased, they encoded body regions increasingly further from the head; 2) higher numbered Hox genes repressed lower numbered Hox genes in order to differentiate these regions; 3) hell, they even lined up in ascending order on the genome. Teaching, however, revealed that she often took her knowledge for granted. In fact, the more she knew about something, the harder it was to convey. She'd been charged with planning the Hox gene section because of her dissertation topic... and it was a disaster. Too many details and not enough generalizable take-aways. This was the other thing she hated about questions during a test: they revealed teacherly bungles without affording any chance to correct them.

Jason looked at her hopefully, but she shook her head and showed him the lecture room door; she'd already said too much. She sat down again and Maria tipped her an imaginary hat, Jason's latest question put her ahead in their bet. At least she might get a free drink out of fucking up Hox genes. She took respite in her blossoming epigenetics library.

Finally, the exam finished. The shuffle of papers turned into a muttering of students comparing their experiences: some gnashing, some bravado, and a few heartfelt thanks directed towards the TAs. Jason shook Cosima's hand and presented her with a mug emblazoned with "SCIENCE. It works, Bitches." His insight into her taste floored her and as he thanked her, she witnessed his unpreoccupied smile for the first time. When all the students had disappeared out the door, Maria began alphabetizing the exams while Cosima checked for trash and lost items. They didn't speak until stepping outside, noontime heat breaking the intensity of exams and student farewells.

"Hey, did it seem like all the questions were about my PCR section?" Maria asked.
"Nuh-uh, no way. Everyone was still confused about Hox genes."
"What? I thought you did great with that."
"Ha. You're just being nice. Also, your explanation of PCR was flawless - it was that guest lecturer who totally biffed the thing about primers."

Cosima started towards the seminar room where all the other TAs would meet to grade but Maria had other ideas.

"Em, where are you going?"
"Microbio lounge. We have a rendezvous to make." She had that mischievous look Cosima knew well.
"What do you have going on this time?"
"We, my friend, are getting a catered lunch. But that's all I'm saying about it."
"Maria! We have to do scantrons with everyone else--"
"Pssht, we'll do that later."
Cosima sighed and lugged the cart after her friend. Maria cheerfully changed the subject. "So, what did Jason give you?"
"Oh!" Cosima fished in her messenger bag and pulled out the mug. "This."
"'SCIENCE. It works, Bitches.' Wow. That's kind of amazing!"
"I know, right? Also hella unexpected."
"Well, you can drink your free wine from it. Jason: 4; Kim: only 2. Man, she must have studied so hard this time."
Cosima looked at the mug and thought about all her office hours this semester. "Dude, we did alright by them, huh?"
"Teaching?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, definitely." Maria pulled her into a side hug and they continued towards the microbio lounge.

Air conditioning and the unmistakable smell of Burrito Brothers Taco Co. washed over Cosima as she stepped inside. She could hear Davy's favorite iPhone app, a beer pong themed tower defense game.

"Davy! You brought lunch!"
"Hey hey, Cosimbro!" He tossed the phone and brought her into a backslapping hug. "Yo, did you ever untangle yourself from those two Canadians?"
"What?" Then she remembered her last text to him. "Oh, heh. Not 'til this morning."
"She was pretty late." Maria inserted.
"Damn, girl! There's no way you can pack up all that game to Minnesota." He went in for a high five, "Y'know, I could take some o' that off your hands."
"Ha! In your dreams, man. This shit is non-transferable." She bypassed his high five and patted his shoulder patronizingly.
"Oh, snap!"

Cosima laughed and unwrapped the sweet potato burrito he proffered. Davy was probably the smartest biochemistry grad student at UF but he compensated for it by dialing frat-boy up to eleven. Right now he wore a black muscle tank with obscenely low-cut arm holes and a custom slogan, Schrodinger's cat walks into a bar and doesn't. These little details - the ones that revealed his irony and almost unraveled his whole routine - had instantly endeared him to her. On his part, Davy had made a point to bro-friend her right after she managed to seduce Suzanne Prendick, a leggy brunette with an amazing southern drawl; she was easily the hottest women in their cohort and this development with Cosima had surprised everyone, including Suzanne.

Davy slid Maria's chicken burrito across the table, "Hey, Em! Mission accomplished?"
"Shh!" She glanced at Cosima, "She doesn't know yet."
"What don't I know?"
Maria abandoned her lunch with a huff, "Well, I was going to wait until after we finished eating, but..." She got up and rummaged in the cart as Davy returned Cosima's questioning look with a shit-eating grin. He was always giving away their pranks by laughing too early or otherwise dropping character. Maria returned with a small stack of exams and handed them to her face down.
"Turn to the second to last page."
Cosima obeyed and discovered a question that had definitely not come up during proofreading. At the top, in huge Comic Sans: For zero points and the entertainment of your TAs, please illustrate your favorite topic from Genetics and Development. Bonus zero points if you incorporate one of your TAs in the illustration. The rest of the page was filled with one student's crude drawings of fruit flies that appeared to have glasses and dreadlocks.

"Oh wow. This is, like, the nicest, most nerdy thing ever!"
"Does it beat the mug?" Maria asked.
"Haha yes. Barely though."
"Y'know, we're gonna miss you, Cosima."
"Aww..."
The sentimental exchange whooshed over Davy's head as he leaned over and pointed at one of the fruit flies, "Is that a dread coming out of its nose?"
Cosima inspected it closer, "Oh, no that's the Antennapedia mutant. Yeah, a chromosomal inversion causes an abdominal Hox gene, Antp, to be expressed in the head... so it grows legs instead of antenna."
"Oh weird. And why the hell does this fly have glasses on its legs?"
Cosima laughed. "That's so cute! It's another Hox mutation. We talked about how if you ectopically express the gene for eye development, you'll get eye cells in random places - like all over the legs."
"And you would do this because...?"
"Actually, it's super cool." Cosima stood up and started to pace the room, "So the gene that kicks off eye development is called eyeless--"
"Naturally."
"No it makes sense, 'cause the flies without this gene were literally eyeless."
Davy reclined again, posture saying, you're science ranting right now but Imma let you finish. Maria took this chance to dig into her burrito.

"So eyeless. Necessary and sufficient for eye development in flies. Turns out, we humans also have the eyeless gene and if it's knocked out then our eye doesn't develop normally." Cosima took off her glasses to emphasize her point.
"Hmm." Davy seemed mildly impressed and made for the next student cartoon.
"But wait, I haven't even...!" She gesticulated with the first exam still in hand, "The super amazing thing is that you can rescue eyeless-knockout flies by giving them the human version of eyeless protein! Bam!" She replaced her glasses, "They develop eyes no problem."
"You're telling me these flies got human eyes."
"Oh no, no, no. No, don't be ridiculous. Eyeless is just a developmental signal saying, 'Hey, make an eye here.' It turns on other genes which actually construct the species-specific eye. What's so cool is that the signal has stayed virtually the same over 300 million years of evolution! At least! Can you imagine when humans and flies last shared the same common ancestor? That's how long the eyeless gene has been around doing what it does best, makin' eyes."
Davy sliced the air with ninja hands, "Evo-devo, yo!"
"Hell yeah!" Cosima dropped back into her seat and allowed the student cartoon gallery to continue.
"I curated the best ones for ya." Maria said in between mouthfuls.
"And I thought you were just struggling with the alphabet back there." Cosima teased.

They munched on burritos for a while, passing cartoons, laughing occasionally, and doing a moderately successful job of keeping the exams salsa-free. Davy held up one towards the end of the stack, "What's up with the mountain climbing?"
"Huh?" Cosima took it from him. The picture showed her as a stick figure planting a flag on top of a mountain surrounded by smaller hills, everything bracketed by x-, y-, and z-axes. "Oh! It's an adaptive landscape."
Davy quirked an eyebrow and offered her an imaginary microphone, "Adaptive landscape. Go!"
"Okay, okay. It's a way to visualize Darwinian fitness. See, these axes represent lots of different traits - like, uh, body size, brain size, and attractiveness to potential mates, for example. The y-axes is fitness so the higher points mean more adaptive combos of those traits, the valleys mean less."
"So they're saying you've got game!"
"Haha, they kinda are!"
"Accurate, hey-oh!" He finally got his high five.
"Wait, Cosima, when did you teach this?" Maria asked. "That definitely wasn't on the syllabus."
"Oh, um, I sorta got on a tangent talking about Hox genes and body plan evolution."
Maria looked at her sideways, "Musta been one helluva tangent."
"Dude, I was talking about how duplications of Hox genes can, in one generation, create an entirely new kind of animal. Y'know, like going from a fly with 1 set of wings to a wasp-like thing with 2 sets. Totally syllabus."
"Okay. So far."
"And then Janie asked why we aren't seeing crazy evolution of new body plans like we did in the Cambrian Explosion. I mean, c'mon, what an amazing question! So, I started to explain why evolution is more constrained now than it was before, how a random mutation was more likely to jump you up higher on adaptive mountains back when..."
Cosima stopped when she saw her friends exchanging a look. "Um, I've been talking a lot. Davy, you wanna spit about protein folding thermodynamics?"
He smiled and shook a hand. "Nah, I'm on summer break. And we were just, um, thinking... you really love this stuff, huh?
"Yeah, obvs."
"Yeah, we um..." He looked suddenly awkward and Cosima caught a glimpse of what he must have been like in high school.
Maria set her burrito down with an audible plop, "We're staging a scientific intervention."
"You're what?"
"Epigenetics? Cloning?? Cosima, you can't be serious." She pressed.
Cosima tried to laugh it off, "You guys don't need to worry about it."
Davy put a hand on her arm, "Dude, you're following your idol across the country and then randomly decide you're gonna change your dissertation to outside her expertise? Outside your expertise? We're worried."
Cosima recoiled her arm, "Hey, it's not that big of a deal! Look, they both deal with development, and," she ran with an idea just starting to form, "evo devo is all about how epigenetic controls change over time, transcription factors and regulatory regions..."
Maria cut in, "Yeah, but they're asking completely different questions and on different time scales. Not to mention you'd need to master different methods and a whole new body of literature!" She shot Davy an exasperated look. He said quietly, "You're a rational human, Cosima, I'm sure you have a good reason. Just tell us what's going on."

Cosima felt trapped by their concern and vulnerable from their attack on her plan to regain some semblance of control over her life. She opened her mouth to speak but the levies built from fond farewells of friends and former students broke, letting the horror of last night flood back in. Doubt spread like mold over the idea of her and Beth taking on the cabal of scientists who had designed them. But worse, the scrutiny of her friends felt more acute than the objective eyes monitoring her from afar. The room shifted and she felt suddenly unseaworthy; water threatened to seep from her eyes. She took off her glasses to wipe at them as though she were merely tired.

When she looked up, her friends were regarding her with a mixture of shock and concern, not daring to say anything lest they break her hold on composure. She let out a shaky laugh, "Uh, is it okay if we postpone this intervention?" She took a breath, "I've had a... a weird 24 hours." After a long pause, Maria whispered, "Yeah, of course. That's completely fine." Davy nodded in agreement. Cosima picked at tortilla scraps and waited until the sensation of drowning subsided. Finally she said, "Maria, we should probably go grade soon."
"Oh shit, what time is it?"
Davy seemed relieved to have a question he could field, "It's almost 2."
"Okay, when you're done with your burrito, Cosima, we'll go."
"I'm done. Let's get this over with."
"Fine by me."

Cosima stood to gather her things but Davy stopped her with a rare, real hug. Enveloped in his height and the smell of Old Spice, she wondered - and not for the first time, what would have happened if Suzanne were out of the picture. She held him for a little longer when he started to pull away. Then she looked up to see pity in his eyes and the moment was gone. She punched his shoulder, "Hey, thanks for lunch, man."
"Anytime, bro. You just let me know when you're hungry and I'll run Taco Co. up to Minneapolis."
"Ha, if only."
"See you tonight?"
"Fo sho, fo sho."
"Good. A'ight, later chicas!" And he shoved out the door, longboard in tow.

Maria and Cosima repacked the exams in silence. Once outside, the humidity seemed to buffer the awkwardness and they found ways to talk about superficial things. The other TAs barely acknowledged their arrival so they, too settled into the monotony of grading.

Later that night, when Davy and Maria picked her up from her apartment, they all acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Cosima pretended her biggest decision was whether to hook up with Suzanne one last time or to smoke out Davy and Maria with the remainder of her weed. Familiar laughter filled Davy's Jeep but as Gainesville's halogen street lights flashed by, she could already sense a distance from her friends. She felt a strange gratefulness that moving away would clean the slate for this new reality as a self-aware clone.

***

To: Dr. Aldous Leekie
From: Daniel Rosen
Subject: Leverage for Immunology position
Date: July 17th 2009

Aldous,

Your hunch on D.C. paid off.

See attached email to the IRB Compliance Committee chair written by her advisor but never sent. He is up for tenure soon and seems he did not want this on his record either. We have removed this file as well as D.C.'s incriminating communications from his computer and back-up drives.

She will defend her PhD in December, suggest sending first offer in February 2010.

Daniel

Chapter Text

When the safety instructions ended, Delphine found herself without a distraction. She hated flying. Though not for the usual reasons. To be sure, she experienced all the bodily grievances: long legs versus reclining seat backs; nausea upon both take-off and landing; how even the window seat - with all its permutations for repose - still stymied any possibility of sleep. Before, she'd actually enjoyed these sensations. Before, flight imbued a sense of adventure and the discomfort had amplified the promise of her destination. She used to feel like Darwin pitching his lunch over the side of The Beagle only to look up and see Galapagos on the horizon. Now, flying reminded her of that day in Malaimbandy when she'd boarded a last-minute jetliner to Hell. A one-way ticket printed on her most profound failure. Delphine took in the monotonous interior, the stale air, the mechanical hum. It all seemed to whisper: you're still en route. 

"Gum?" The graying man in the middle seat waggled a stick in her direction. "For your ears?"

She hesitated and then took it, "Oh... em, thank you." 

The wrapper was heavily creased and it stuck to the gum as she unwrapped it. For my ears?? She eyed the man next to her. He produced another stick from his pocket, extricated the green strip, and began chewing emphatically. He winked at her and pulled on one of his earlobes, "Keep those eustachian tubes open!" 

He put emphasis on "YEW-stay-SHUN" and Delphine couldn't help but smile. Her mother always brought hard candies to suck on when they flew to visit the Malta grandparents, though her explanation of la trompe d'eustache had been easier on the ears, literally. Working at DYAD's research center in Paris had reinforced one thing: science conducted itself in a lingua franca of hardened cognates. 

They chewed in relative silence (her seat mate seemed oblivious to his mouth noises). Everything about the gentleman was so American. Especially the way he sat: elbows taking up both arm rests, one hand on a potbelly and the other thumbing news on a smart phone. She imagined Minnesota populated with men exactly like him, Skymall tucked under an arm as they went about. The scene got so far as Middle-Seat-Minnesotans paying for things not with green American bills but with rumpled sticks of mint gum. Everyone would have such wonderful breath! 

The pilot instructed all flight attendants to secure the cabin and reminded Delphine of the 10 hours still separating her from the Twin Cities. She stashed a book and headphones within reach for when her nausea abated or when electronics were approved for use. Whichever happened first. Until then, she could only ruminate on the events leading up to her most unredeemable decision like a Sisyphean penance. There was no way to bring back a dead child. And when the earth opened up and swallowed her in the reckoning, there was no way back into the sunlight... right? This hope for absolution tortured her. She rekindled it only in the stomach-turning half-hour increments the few times a year she flew. Then she drowned it in months of double-downed hours at DYAD upon her return. In these brief introspections, hope illuminated her decisions since Malaimbandy and revealed most as additional stones she'd need to roll endlessly upwards. Delphine hated flying. 

"Sir, I need you to turn off your phone, we'll be taking off momentarily. Sir?"

"Oh! Of course, of course." Middle Seat pointedly disarmed the device and buried it in the seat pocket. He settled back for a moment, then turned to Delphine and pointed at her book, the 2nd installment of Harry Potter. 

"Ah ha!" He grinned, "A modern classic. Have you read it before?"

She blushed, "Yes, but it was in French." She was about to compose an excuse about improving conversational English but he responded, "Well, I admire your dedication to read such literature in the original language." And Delphine couldn't help but laugh. 

"Tell me, how did they translate Tom Marvolo Riddle?" 

She blushed again at how easily she accessed this information, "Tom Elvis Jedusor."

His eyes focused on imaginary letters as his fingers swapped them around into Je suis Voldemort. "Huh! That works."

She smiled. The plane was taxiing towards the runway and she expected the obligatory pre-take-off conversation had been fulfilled. Her thoughts drifted back towards Africa.  But apparently they were just getting started. He rejoined with, "So tell me, mademoiselle, what brings you to our Great Flat State?"

She hesitated. This would be good practice. "Actually, I'm a Ph.D student. At the University of Minnesota."

"Well met! What department?"

"Biology, that is, immunology, specifically. I study host-parasite relationships."

"Very intriguing. As a matter of fact, I am a doctor, myself."

"Really? I first enrolled in a both MD-PhD program..." Merde. Her alias, 'Delphine Beraud' did not have that history. Hell, it was expunged from Delphine Cormier's, too. As conditions of his silence on Malaimbandy, her advisor stipulated that she terminate her MD and swear to never work with human subjects again. 

"And now you're just doing research?"

"Um, yes. It, ah... suits me better."

He changed the subject by leaning in conspiratorially, "Did you know that flight attendants only get CPR training? Nothing more?"

"Hmm?"

"It's true. The airlines rely on mere probability that there's at least one doctor on every plane! For real medical emergencies!"

Delphine did not know what Ms. Beraud would say to this. She didn't know how to respond. But after a pause for effect, he continued with a touch to her arm, "Looks like we've got this flight covered." 

She laughed and nodded at the attractive woman in the aisle seat, one of the lucky few whose mouth now gaped in slumber. "Well, she certainly looks relieved." 

Middle Seat glanced over and turned back with eyes lit up, "Ah ha! We..." He shook a finger as though he was both scolding and selecting her, "we are going to get along just fine." 

Delphine enjoyed the casual flirtation of men. They were often eager to pay it to her. She noticed, however, disproportionate attention from older male acquaintances who had matured into a certain boldness or perhaps figured they had nothing to lose. What could she say? She liked them, too. They were always the most... what was the english word he had used? Intriguing. 

The plane started to accumulate speed on the runway. "So, host-parasite relationships, huh?"

"Yes."

“Well, as a doctor, I'm naturally curious about your insights on the relationship between patients and their infectious diseases..." He seemed determined to steer the conversation this way, like her own personal Virgil. But better with this gentleman than alone. 

"Well, you are in the luck because that is what I studied... non, study." She continued, hoping he either didn't notice the tense error or would make the obvious connection between it and her accent. "My interest is the evolution of human populations--" the cabin lurched and Delphine heard as well as felt the landing gear suck inwards. "Sorry. The evolution of human populations in malarial zones."

"Wow. Where are you based? South America?"

"Madagascar, actually. We study how people from Sub-Saharan Africa have affected the frequency of genes conferring malarial resistance. I work specifi--"

"Why Sub-Saharan Africa?"

Delphine looked at him in surprise, surely he would know this. "That is where the mortality rate from malaria is highest, of course."

"Ah. Right."

"You're familiar with sickle cell anemia and malaria? You know, the textbook heterozygote advantage case study?"

"Of course!" He drew his eyebrows together, pretending both seriousness and professional offense.

"Ok, well I study a different gene, DARC. It codes for the Duffy glycoprotein - very important receptor for this disease. The malaria parasite P. vivax uses it to infect our erythrocytes. So not having it--"

"Is another heterozygote advantage?"

"Non. No, see, the Duffy-null allele is very advantageous here and has few deleterious effects in the homozygote condition. So good on its own, in fact, it's practically fixed in Sub-Saharan populations!" 

He didn't seem properly impressed by this, so she hurried to the punchline, "We think that is why P. vivax can't exist in these places of Africa! No Duffy means impervious red blood cells. The population evolved perfect immunity!" 

"Fascinating. They slammed the door on it, did they?"

"Exactly!" She stammered, trying to decide which fascinating detail to produce next: Evidence that not one, but two different Duffy-null alleles evolved due to malaria's selection pressure? How the deadly P. falciparum still infiltrated Duffy-null red blood cells? The molecular structure of the Duffy glycoprotein epitope that--?

"Madam scientist, blame my American geography skills, but I don't see how you get Madagascar from Sub-Sahara."

Delphine feigned clearing her throat to hide a crest of nausea. "You are aware, sir, that Madagascar is a big island 400 kilometers off the east coast of Africa?"

He deigned to raise one eyebrow.

"Sooo you get there by taking a boat or a plane." She laughed as his half-smile became pursed.

"I'm serious! This is why I study there. These ways of mass travel are relatively new and Sub-Saharan immigrants bring with them their genes. As an island and as an area still with P. vivax, Madagascar..." She exhaled appreciatively, her old excitement surfacing. "It was the perfect laboratory to see human evolution happening in the present."

"Ah! So you've finished. Did you see evolution?"

"Well, you can't actually see evolution happen in a few field seasons..." 

She nitpicked his question to stall for time. Could she steer the conversation away from her ignominious last year of dissertation data analysis? The dissertation whose title was read aloud with only her advisor to accept the epitoge? (She had felt certain he'd abandon the ceremonial cloaking gesture in order to strangle her onstage with this cloth so she opted to receive it and her diploma by mail.) "So you can't see evolution in that amount of time because human populations don't turn over that fast. And gene frequencies can't change without--" 

"Ok, sure, but you must have found something in that perfect lab." Middle Seat looked genuinely curious. 

She took a steadying breath, Delphine Beraud did not have this scar on her scientific past. "I did! In a few generations, frequencies of the Duffy-null allele are now so high, only positive selection from malaria can plausibly explain it! 

"Wow."

"Yes, and this very much supports that theory - the one about the entire Sub-Saharan population having a null allele as an adaptive response."

"All the strings tied up, huh. You don't always get such a neat story, do you?"

She smiled despite that she would never know the precise mechanism of Ando's death. It could have been an even grander narrative but his ending prevented Delphine from finding hers. She shook her head as if deflecting his praise, "Enough of me, what do you do in your practice?"

"Oh people come in and then they go out, usually alive." A wink. "Doesn't hold a candle to your work."

"Come on, I bored you with my entire dissertation." She pointed at the woman still slumped in the aisle seat. "Tell me, if CPR didn't work, how would you save her?"

"I would tell her to sing."

"What?"

He grinned and continued with a theatrical air, "'He who sings frightens away his ills.' Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. In Don Quixote, of course."

"Wait." Her face must have been priceless because she had speak louder to be heard over his chuckles, "What kind of doctor did you say you were?"

"I, mademoiselle, am a doctor of early modern literatures of England, Latin Europe, and the transatlantic world." As she absorbed this, he held forth, "'I have seen a medicine / That's able to breathe life into a stone, / Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary / With spritely fire and motion...' Shakespeare that time, All's Well That Ends Well, Act 2, Scene 1." He bowed, a fluttering hand traced an arc towards his knees. 

"You... you lied this whole time?!"

His look became wounded, "Only lies of omission, my dear. Never lie about your substance."

"But you talked about your patients, your practice..."

"Your words and assumptions! I do hold a writing practicum, though."

"And some of your students die?"

"Well, it meets rather early in the morning; forgive this old english professor his metaphors. Besides, would you have regaled me with your brilliant research had you not assumed I was in medicine?"

"Hmm." She smiled but her thoughts turned towards her mission in Minnesota.

"I think not." 

They sat in amiable silence. The innards of a cumulus cloud completely obscured the view out the window. When the pilot announced it was now safe to move about the cabin, the professor sighed and reached for his computer bag. She watched the process of converting the tray table into a serviceable but clearly insufficient desk. He took a breath like a diver on the edge but looked at her and said, "Thank you for a most transporting take-off." Which she acknowledged by mimicking his flamboyant bow from before. The gesture also confirmed her nausea had abated enough to read. She collected the Harry Potter, leaned her seat back, and opened to her place. Immersed in its rich yet unambiguous world, Delphine Cormier felt as though sealed within a snow globe: protected from her past and distracted enough not to consider her destination.

To: Dr. Delphine Cormier

From: Dr. Aldous Leekie

Subject: Re: 324B21 & 658B21

Date: May 4th 2012

Delphine,

I trust your final travel preparations are going well. Your arrival to the States comes at an opportune time but developments with another subject are modifying my plans for your purpose here. 

Please read the attached files on 658B21 and we'll discuss them in person.

Aldous

Chapter 4 Sources

You can always a compiled list of ALL the sources used for SciTB on tumblr right here.

The Duffy null allele and evolution of P. vivax malaria resistance in human populations

Dean L. "Blood Groups and Red Cell Antigens" Bethesda (MD): National Center for Biotechnology Information (US); 2005. Chapter 9, The Duffy blood group. A surprisingly readable summary on the gene, scroll past the table to get a discussion of the Duffy antigen system. Includes evidence of two different instances of the Duffy null genotype. You can also get a ton of information on this gene by reading the Wikipedia article, “Duffy Antigen System” but I think the article cited here is more lay-person friendly (though both include a fair sprinkling of jargon - it’s hard to avoid).  

Hodgson JA, Pickrell JK, Pearson LN, Quillen EE, Prista A, et al. (2014) Natural selection for the Duffy-null allele in the recently admixed people of Madagascar. Proceedings of the Royal Society B-Biological Sciences 281. This is the paper I’m basing Delphine’s fictional* PhD research on.

*IMPORTANT NOTE: I want to state very clearly that Science in the Black is a fictional work and while the science is as accurate as possible, Delphine’s unethical decision is purely fiction. I do NOT want to imply that the real-life researchers of this paper have done anything unethical while collecting data from human subjects. I am sure they followed every requirement laid out by their Institutional Review Board to conduct research in a way that is safe, just, and respectful to the people participating in their study.

Structures to ensure research involving humans is ethical, safe, and respectful: The Institutional Review Board (IRB)

Resnik, David B. "What Is Ethics in Research & Why Is It Important?" Bioethics. National Institute of Health, 29 June 2013. Web. 01 Dec. 2014. A very thorough discussion of what ethics are in science written by the head of the IRB for the US department on Health and Human services. 

Wikipedia contributors. "Institutional review board." Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, 2 Nov. 2014. Web. 5 Dec. 2014. I tried to find a better non-wikipedia source… but honestly, I think it’s the best summary out there. You can also search the name of your favorite university along with “IRB” and a page will probably come up describing your institution’s practices. 

As always, I want to acknowledge that I’m writing in the universe of Orphan Black, a copyrighted creative work by Graeme Manson and John Fawcett, produced by BBC America.

Chapter Text

Delphine stepped onto the escalator and let the inexorable carry her towards Dr. Aldous Leekie. She had spotted his tall frame at the back of the waiting throng almost instantly but kept her eyes from meeting his until halfway down. He held a whiteboard with a posture faintly mocking both the professional taximen and the exuberant family members around him. She let a small smile form to let him know she got the joke.

Their roles in this ritual were reversed. For as long as Delphine had been part of DYAD, she would meet Aldous whenever he visited Paris and accompany him back to the branch under l'Institut Curie. The first time she was informed of this duty, it seemed an enormous waste of her time. A coffee run foisted on an intern. But when Dr. Paquet showed her to the sedan, it already had a chauffeur and she realized her purpose was something else entirely. She got in the back seat and soon shadows of Paris passed by in the tinted window. They took the A1 towards Roissy but exited far too soon and Le Bourget - used exclusively for business aviation - came into view. Fingertips traced loops on leather seat cushions as her mind tangled with why an international biotechnology conglomerate's director would want anything to do with her. No hints came from the chauffeur, whose only words to her were, "Attendez ici," as he got out. Obedience to this request seemed ridiculous. She watched him move towards the lobby and then followed him in, locking the door behind her. When she caught up, he just accepted her presence and sent a message from his phone. Two minutes later, a steady gaze from an unmistakable visage caught Delphine's eye and she breathed an involuntary, "Oh!" Striding towards them, Dr. Leekie continued to beam at her and nervousness morphed into other feelings.

As Delphine stepped off the escalator, excitement concealed trepidation over her role in Minnesota like the layers of make-up she had just applied to her travel-worn face. It was her turn to make an entrance. She sauntered towards Aldous who raised his eyebrows but otherwise remained impassive. An urge to shatter his cool propelled Delphine through the crowd and she reached up to pull his lips into hers.

"Delphine Beraud?"

His neutral tone caught her off balance. Her hand, which was halfway to the nape of his neck, froze as she processed this instance of her pseudonym. Of course, Aldous would test her. She noticed her arm breaching his space like a literal faux pas and turned it into a handshake. It seemed appropriately American: awkward and inherently a power play.

"Oui." She accentuated her accent, "Dr. Leekie, I presume?"

He clasped her hand with both of his, gave one of his false smiles, and took the suitcase. "You must be tired from your trip, Ms. Beraud. We have a car waiting, of course."

Delphine trailed behind Aldous into the thick evening air; the chess clock ticked in her corner. He busied himself with transferring her enormous suitcase to the chauffeur, whose name Delphine still did not know. She got in on the passenger side then decided that an innocent Ms. Beraud would slide to the driver's side and allow Dr. Leekie the same courtesy. This had the desired effect of forcing him to walk around to the curb again and - since he was partially deaf in his left ear - turn his face completely towards her once seated. She knew he was about to tsk over her performance in the terminal so she didn't allow him to speak first.

"Dr. Leekie, I am surprised by this... lavish welcome for a PhD student. All unnecessary, I'm quite used to public busses."

He studied her as the car slid into motion. Crepuscular rays penetrated through the windshield and made his features look chiseled from stone. She could see how, in another decade perhaps, these would decay into crags but right now he exuded the power of a man far before his twilight years. He smiled - genuine, this time - and conceded the point by saying, "Well, I much prefer private transport."

Delphine thrilled as he leaned across the middle seat and kissed her in full. She brought a hand to his cheek and found reassuring warmth. Three weeks had passed since the last time they had occupied the same continent and five, the same city. Aldous's monthly Paris visit had been deflected by an Iowa emergency and now he regarded her mouth like some cultural artifact unheard of in such a place. She reveled in it. By the time they pulled away, the car glided east and light filtered softly through the tinted glass. He left a hand on her thigh and relaxed back onto his seat.

"So, Delphine, how was your flight?"

His thumb traced over her nylons in lazy circles whose ripples made it very hard to concentrate. At the satisfaction of hearing her first and real name, Delphine almost divulged that it had been as terrible as every other flight since Maliambandy. She stifled the urge and related the first detail she could think of.

"I had a most wonderfully strange seatmate."

Aldous, so used to private jets probably forgot most people flew amongst strangers. His interest visibly piqued, "Oh?"

"Yes, he was ah..." Both hands swirled the air as she searched for the best phrase. She settled on, "an old english professor who pretended to be a medical doctor."

Aldous chuckled, "Did he?"

"He did it so Ms. Beraud," she gave him a look, "would tell him all about her research." She smiled to convey it had gone well.

"Hmmm." His eyebrows raised appraisingly, "And which version did you decide on?"

"My real background."

They began to spin around an off-ramp, causing sodium-mercury glare to play across Aldous's face as if cast by a lighthouse. At the beginning of their tryst, she had spilled much about what had happened - no, what she had caused to happen - in Madagascar. He had been so sympathetic, the black car becoming her confessional. She knew admission made her vulnerable but even then she could recognize that danger was part of the relationship's appeal. Paradoxically, however, Aldous made her feel safe. He would take her story and show it to her in a different light: one that depicted her impromptu experiment as a foresighted gambit that could have saved thousands of lives despite costing one. Two years later, she still took refuge in the relative ethics he espoused and the career she now pursued. The sedan continued its dizzying descent and she had to find a horizon to focus on. In the din of her cognitive dissonance, Delphine wondered if Aldous was leading her out of disaster or drawing her ever closer to the rocks.

The car stopped at a traffic signal and she restarted the conversation by explaining her decision, "I read the files on Cosima-"

"324B21." He corrected.

"Yes. Well, I read her files and thought we'd have more to discuss if my dissertation were also evolution focused."

"Good. I'm glad that's settled." He looked away and rubbed his neck, sore from facing sideways the entire ride and Delphine regretted her ploy at the airport. She leaned over, kissed his cheek, and took responsibility for the neck rub. Aldous smiled gratefully and sighed, his hand still draped above her knee.

The Twin Cities now enveloped them in the classic concrete constellations of lit-up high-rises. It did not look like Paris but Delphine decided that all cities shared a certain allure at night. She could almost pretend... Almost, if it weren't for the brash english billboards chucked in at regular intervals. Trying the fathom the distance she'd just traveled, Delphine imagined being reflected across a great meridian into this new hemisphere - everything the same except she became her mirror image.

The chauffeur dropped them in front of The Saint Paul Hotel, a neocolonial building with elaborate lilac gardens lining the entrance. When Delphine stepped out, a wave of fragrance and exhaustion hit her at the same time. It had been 22 hours since the last time she had slept and the prospect of a horizontal bed and dark-out curtains called to her like a siren. She noted with relief Aldous's efficient dealings at the front desk. His motivation, however, became clear in the elevator when he drew her back into him, hands on her hips and lips on her neck. She could see his lidded gaze reflected 10-fold on the door and the ricocheting thrill suppressed her sleep drive. She let her head loll back and found his mouth just as the elevator shuddered to a stop.

The doors parted with ding and let in two elderly tourists. Aldous had stepped back and now leaned against the rail half a meter behind Delphine who smiled politely at the new arrivals. They hardly noticed and continued bickering about who forgot their floor and who needed to wear glasses at all times. In the mirror Delphine saw Aldous looking pointedly at her. He cleared his throat and, as if picking up an interrupted conversation, asked:

"So, Ms. Beraud, how long will you stay in St. Paul?"

Delphine turned and leaned on the rail perpendicular to Aldous. His question reminded her of the cryptic email he had sent right before she'd boarded. "Je ne sais pas, I'm getting mixed signals from my advisor."

"Ah ha, are you now?" He chuckled. She did not.

"Oui, first he recommends me to a, ah, fellowship in Minnesota then sends a vague message about needing me in Toronto." Thinking about work allowed her sleep debt to reassert itself. When the other couple stepped off on the next floor - to her immense relief - she dropped the performance.

"Aldous, let's talk about it tomorrow."

"I'm not opposed." He leaned over, kissing her while pressing the door close button. She let him enjoy the moment but felt mostly annoyance at his hot and cold behavior.

"Aldous, I am very tired. Can we do... everything tomorrow?"

He seemed to expect this and hid his disappointment well. He pecked her cheek, "Of course, Delphine."

Sleep did not come quickly. In fact, it avoided her. It left her staring at the textured ceiling in a room smelling of air conditioning and grapefruit cleaning solvent. Under the AC unit's hum, she could hear the patter of Aldous' conspicuously long shower and she turned to check the time again. 10:42 PM. A quick calculation translated that to 5:42 AM CEST; her body thought it should be waking up soon. She popped two more melatonin and burrowed under the comforter. Her brain kept replaying the conversation she'd had with the professor on the plane, latching onto something he had said about lies of omission versus substance. Taken, like some kind of Enlightenment age naturalist, she couldn't help but re-classify her life using this binary nomenclature.

Omission. Substance. Omission. Omission. Substance...

To: Aldous Leekie
From: Daniel Rosen
Subject: Incident 28793 - resolved
Date: May 5th 2012

Aldous,

The voluntary extraction of 658B21 and monitor #283 was successful. Dr. Nealon has taken over her care.

Daniel

Chapter 5 Sources

Sources for all of SciTB can be found on the scienceintheblack tumblr

## What controls our sleep-wake cycle?

"The Science of Sleep." Healthy Sleep. Division of Sleep Medicine at The Harvard Medical School, n.d. Web. 02 Dec. 2014.

As always, I want to acknowledge that I'm writing in the universe of Orphan Black, a copyrighted creative work by Graeme Manson and John Fawcett, produced by BBC America.