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She had been lounging on the couch, leaning in to the rare moment she had to read a novel. They had both agreed to take a night off from research, from worry. Cosima had insisted she needed it to feel normal, and she wanted Delphine to take a break too. When Delphine heard the lock turn - Cosima returning from the night out with her sisters - she shifted on the couch and turned her attention to the door. As often as not, Clone Club took a lot out of the dreadlocked American. She knew when Cosima returned, she would need space to process or she would need to feel. It wasn’t always clear which. So Delphine waited, looked up at her as she entered, and offered a small smile.
Cosima walked in slowly, heavily. Seeing her lover’s usually bright features worn by fatigue, she set a bookmark and shifted to stand, never taking her eyes from the brunette.
Cosima looked to her then and smiled back. Her eyes were tired, but not knitted in worry, or anger, or concentration. Delphine let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. This had not been a night of hatching schemes, but of fun. She could smell a hint of bourbon. Sarah must have been in charge of the drinks.
She rose and headed into the arms of the brunette. “Ma cherie, I missed you,” she whispered as she kissed her neck, and nestled into her.
Cosima began to unbutton her red wool coat, and Delphine helped, sliding her hands under the shoulders of the fabric and pushing back, revealing her lover’s shape as it fell.
Then she saw it.
This. Again. Why, my love? Why must you wear this shirt?
The heathered grey-blue crewneck had a white screenprint of test tubes in a wooden rack, “Stop Staring at My Rack” emblazoned across the center.
She had been eager to remove all of the brunette’s clothes, slowly, to revel in the slow reveal of soft skin. But this shirt would not come off slowly. She grasped the woman’s waist and pulled her in, closing the distance between them, and capturing her lips in lingering, playful kisses. Her fingers stroked her arms, her waist, then pushed up the offending shirt, up and off her body hastily.
Cosima willingly obliged, eager now at the blonde’s eagerness, mistaking the look she read on the blonde’s face as some sort of geek fetish, an unexpected love for the nerdy shirt.
As her fingers met warm, soft skin, Delphine’s mind quickly wandered from the geeky ways of her girlfriend to her taut, compact form, to the quirky, challenging grin on her face as she watched Delphine enjoying the view.
It wasn’t long before she had stripped the brunette bare and let her nimble fingers make short work of Delphine’s own jeans and hoodie as well.
They had fallen into a level of ease and comfort, but they still made love with a certain reverence, a kinetic passion, heightened by all the turmoil around them and the fact that they had chosen each other, despite everything urging a different choice. Those were Delphine’s last thoughts as she drifted off wrapped up in Cosima.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
She wasn’t sure how she got stuck with laundry duty, always, but it seemed that the tedious tasks of separating colors, paying attention to the appropriate cycles, and folding – something she was certain she had never seen Cosima do – were beyond the American’s ability. So Delphine spent a few hours on Sunday washing their clothes, all mingled now at Delphine’s apartment where Cosima stayed more often than not.
Today, she was grateful, as she ferreted out the blue-grey shirt from the dryer, folded the print on the inside, and immediately headed to her room to tuck it into her drawer of old sweatshirts and tees.
Her thoughts drifted to the beautiful brunette. She loved her brilliant mind, curious, never settling on an easy explanation. She was endlessly breaking apart scientific riddles, viewing them from every angle. It made her brilliant in the lab, seeing solutions where others saw only complications and obstacles.
It made for brilliant conversations too, long into the night, one topic bleeding into another and another because she was endlessly fascinated by puzzles, by stories, anything that wrestled with the meaning of human existence. And she found humor in it all, even the overwrought search for “meaning”.
Her brilliant mind, her challenging sense of humor, all the things I love about her so, are the reason she loves this shirt. And it is also frustratingly juvenile. And she wears it all. the. time. I would be happy to never see this shirt again.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
“I love the idea of us cooking together – start to finish – let’s plan a menu and go get everything and make a whole day of it?”
“Oui, Cosima that sounds lovely. I enjoy cooking, and I hate that we have been so wrapped up in the work that I have not been able to cook for you.”
“Let’s not do anything fancy though, okay? Just like, we can make it easy.”
“Oui, easy. That is fine, but no ramen. I will never eat that salty water again.”
“Yeah, yeah.” As she walked out of the kitchen toward the bedroom she turned, “hey babe, I don’t think I have anything warm over here that’s clean. Can I borrow something and then we can be on our way?”
“Bien sur.” Delphine nodded, accustomed to the request.
She reached into the armoire drawer, seeking out her favorite cozy sweatshirt of Delphine’s, the soft, worn UPMC shirt from her college days. Instead, her fingers fell on a familiar, long-sleeved blue-grey tee.
“Hmm, where have you been?”
She walked out into the living room, her arms wide, a huge grin on her face. “Hey Del, look what I found!? It must have gotten tucked into one of your sweatshirts when we did laundry.”
Merde, must I shred it? Is it irrational to bear this level of hatred toward an article of clothing?
“Oh, yes, it must have. When I did the laundry, Cosima … Okay, I think an easy thing to make would be a tart? You like mushrooms, yes?”
“Yeah, but when I think tart, I think sweet.”
“No, ma cherie, a savory tart. With gruyere, some shallots, maybe chard, and chives.”
“Didn’t we agree on easy?”
“It is easy – like making a homemade pizza, but even easier.”
“Oookay. And dessert?”
At that she pulled her lip between her teeth and reached out to tickle her girlfriend. “Eskimo pies, yes? And I could make some madeleines? I have a simple recipe, and most of the ingredients here.”
“That sounds awesome,” she said through a smile as she lifted herself onto her toes and kissed the blonde on the nose. “You are gonna cook French sweets for me. You cook, you clean, you look absolutely stunning all the time ... should I be looking for real estate in Stepford?”
“Quoi?” She was smiling down into hazel eyes, but her brows knit together.
“Nothing, nothing, let’s go!”
They made it out to the market and back in an hour, carrying in their haul of fresh ingredients, including six different kinds of mushrooms, which Cosima deemed overkill, and cardamom and oranges for the madeleines.
Cosima unpacked and readied the produce while Delphine fussed about the kitchen. She quickly took over, Cosima sitting on the counter, swinging her legs slightly and chatting to the blonde.
Every few minutes, Delphine drifted between Cosima’s swinging legs to place a kiss to her lips, snaking her arms around the slender woman. Whenever she looked over at her girlfriend, her eyes settled on the print of her shirt, cringing a little inwardly.
Clearly her gaze had been noticed. “Why, Dr. Cormier, are you staring at my rack,” she chuckled as her grin grew.
Delphine didn’t respond, but smiled back and brushed a little batter onto the woman's nose.
They were barely able to finish eating before Delphine was leading Cosima into the living room, the look in her eyes familiar and easy to read.
“Aren’t we gonna clean up? I know how you abhor a dirty kitchen.”
“It will wait, ma cherie," her voice was low and husky and she pushed the brunette against the arm of the couch.
“Oooooh, okay.”
Delphine was undressing her again, hurriedly, starting with her shirt. As the shirt came off, she turned Cosima around, wrapping one arm around her from behind and caressing down her abdomen.
With the other hand, she quickly, surreptitiously, tucked the shirt under the cushions, as she kissed down the brunette’s neck and spine.
“Let’s go to bed, Cosima.”
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Cosima was combing through Jennifer’s records, ensconced on the floor, laptop on the coffee table, back firmly pressed against the couch. She was stuck on a particularly frustrating series of contradictory data, implying successful treatment followed by falling vital stats. She was completely at a loss for how to reconcile them.
She clasped her hands behind her head, huffing, bracelets jangling with the movement, when her fingers brushed against something between the couch cushions. Her face scrunched briefly before she twisted her body to peer behind her, seeing blue-grey peeking out of the cushions. She pulled it out to find the printed t-shirt she'd been looking for for nearly a week.
“Hmm.” She tried to remember if Delphine had taken her here while she wore that shirt. She could think of several times when she had, but they’d always ended up in the kitchen or the bedroom.
She was holding it in her hand, still lost in thought as Delphine walked out of the bedroom in her robe, dewey from her recent shower. When she saw Cosima she stopped cold, a look of guilt and slight hint of mischief evident there.
“You knew where this shirt was all along didn’t you?! When I asked you where it went … You are the shirt goblin?”
Delphine looked back, her head tilted down, eyes looking up through her lashes, putting on her best puppy dog expression as she bit her lip. “I am sorry, ma cherie, I really do not like that shirt.”
“Baby, I wore this shirt because every time you saw me in it, you immediately ripped it off me and took me to bed.” She slowly stood and walked toward Delphine twisting the shirt between her hands.
Delphine looked shocked momentarily, then shook her head, her wet curls flinging drops around her. “Oui, ma belle, you are irresistible. But I also hate this shirt. I kept trying to hide it from you.”
“Consider it trashed, babe,” she said as she threw it into the little closet housing the trash can. Her voice took on a slightly husky tone as she whispered into her ear, “now take me to bed.”
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
The next morning Delphine awoke with the sun. The small brunette was tucked in close to her, sleeping deeply, never an early riser. Delphine quietly slipped out of bed, tugging on her robe and tiptoeing to the kitchen to make some coffee. As she entered the kitchen, she saw the grey-blue shirt hanging over the top of the trashcan lid. She smiled to herself thinking back on their misunderstanding and the brunette’s unique sense of humor, her complete disregard for convention.
She reached over and snatched the shirt from the trash and tossed it into the laundry basket instead.