At a quarter 'til two the last thing she expected was a customer. A bright, grinning customer strolling in like an ordinary weekend brunch. (Though something told her that this woman would never actually do a brunch.) It was too late for a smile that wide. Or too early, maybe.

Delphine continued to wipe at the already spotless counter without looking down. Instead, her eyes followed the new arrival all the way to the stool a few feet away from her. She hadn't meant to stare, but she also had little desire to wait on someone else that night.

"We're closing in 15 minutes," Delphine informed her. She didn't bother pulling the pad from her waist pocket. It had been a long day, but she could remember one order.

The woman nodded and reached a stray hand up to straighten the glasses on the bridge of her nose. "That's cool. I promise I'm not trying to put you out." She raised her right hand as if swearing an informal oath. "I just had this really intense craving for a milkshake, and I was in the neighborhood."

"Just a milkshake?" Delphine asked politely.

"Yup. Chocolate, please. If it's not too much trouble." The addendum was accompanied with, unsurprisingly, a friendly smile.

Delphine just shook her head, an implied No trouble in the action.

"Cool. Thanks." The woman tapped gently against the laminate countertop, her rings echoing a note sharper as she watched Delphine make her dessert. The waitress in question could feel eyes on her though it wasn't necessarily uncomfortable. Interested, maybe, was how she would describe it. Vaguely curious, perhaps. Delphine was used to it. She caught a lot of gazes at work, particularly of the male variety.

When she finished, Delphine sat the full glass in front of the diner's sole patron and reached for a nearby napkin dispenser that needed filling. She should probably say something. If her manager were there, he'd be poking his head out from around the corner. He would be wearing a ridiculously exaggerated smile that showed all of his ridiculously white teeth while he brought two fingers together in front of his mouth and brought them out and up, imitating the arch of a smile. Smile! He would mouth command like there was some way she hadn't understood what he was not-so-subtly insinuating. But smiling constantly was exhausting. It made her cheeks hurt.

"So Delphine, huh?" The question was abrupt and unexpected, and Delphine jumped in her place. She didn't even know how long she had been standing there. Her eyes were glassy and she was just staring off into the distance while she worked on her napkins.

The woman was trying to start a conversation. Or at least, that's what Delphine assumed. Normally, Delphine was actually great at polite, professional interaction. (That was part of the job description here. A good conversationalist who makes customers feel welcome. Which, of course, was a thinly veiled code for flirting with the male patrons who were constantly trying to smack her ass when she walked by.) She made polite conversation at work. In the lab. At the ridiculous department events that her supervising professor insisted she attend.

But it was five 'til. Delphine just wanted to go home. She wanted to kick her shoes off and finish studying for the exam she had first thing in the morning.

"Hm?" Delphine hummed, glancing up from the napkin dispenser that she was refilling. With cautiously curious lines etched in her forehead, she met the woman's friendly gaze. "How did you…"

"Your name tag." It was a simple statement followed by a simple gesture. The woman jerked her head in the direction of the small plastic rectangle pinned neatly to the front of Delphine's top. "I'm a regular Sherlock Holmes that way." She laughed and tossed a playful wink towards Delphine. "I'm Cosima, by the way," she grinned. There it was again. That blinding smile.

And it was contagious.

Despite the ache in the soles of her feet and the all-around exhaustion plaguing her, Delphine could feel the corners of her mouth turning up ever so slightly. It was nice if almost foreign. This virtual stranger wasn't the first customer—the first person—to offer Delphine a smile that day, but this woman—this Cosima—somehow seemed the most genuine. Perhaps it was the lines and creases that surrounded her mouth. Delphine could tell that she smiled often and easily, but it was more than that. She smiled honestly.

"Delphine." As soon as the name slipped through her lips, Delphine shook her head and laughed softly at herself, embarrassed. "But you know that."

"I do… But no big. I didn't really give you a chance to introduce yourself properly before jumping to conclusions—however logical they may be. Totally my bad." She swiped a hand through the air and her bracelets clanged against each other with the movement. "Consider this a blanket apology because I do that a lot."

"Jump to conclusions?" Delphine probed gently.

"Exactly." Cosima laughed and shook her head. "But like I said, they're all entirely logical leaps." She leaned forward conspiratorially and ushered Delphine closer with a wag of her finger. "That's kind of why I'm here." She pulled back. "I'm like, the geek monkey or whatever." She rolled her eyes and Delphine couldn't put her finger on what exactly Cosima was talking about anymore. She was certainly a strange one, that much she could tell already.

"I'm sorry? I don't…" She trailed off. Follow. Delphine didn't follow. She wasn't sure if there was some cultural barrier separating her from this obviously American woman (though maybe Canadian, she couldn't tell the difference yet,) or if there was something more, something subtle that she just wasn't picking up on.

"Nevermind. Sorry. Went off on a tangent there." Cosima waved her hand back and forth as if to brush away what she'd said prior. "But you. You're French." Another astute observation. "Your accent is too strong to be from Quebec," she explained with a shrug before Delphine could even question her. "Plus, I mean, your name is Delphine. That narrows it down to the French speaking countries. France was just the obvious guess."

Delphine listened with wide eyes and interested ears. "You're quite good."

"I know." Cosima winked again, obviously teasing. "So what are you doing here?" She took a drink from her milkshake before abruptly pulling back and shaking her head wildly. "God, that came out totally rude, I'm sorry. I just meant, why Canada? Kinda far from home, no?"

"It's fine," Delphine chuckled. She meant it though. "I'm an international student. I'm getting my PhD. This is just…"

"Paying the bills?"

Delphine nodded. "Yes, exactly."

"Lame." Cosima tilted her head to the side and scrunched her nose in distaste. "What are you studying?"

"Immunology. Host-parasite relationships."

"Oh, cool, cool. I'm evo-devo." Another lopsided grin. "Studying evolutionary developmental biology," Cosima explained before Delphine could ask.

"Do you go to this university?" Delphine pointed a stray finger towards the darkness outside the small diner. Somewhere out there was the University of Toronto.

"Um. No." Cosima shook her head. "No, not quite. I said 'studying,' and I am… Just…" She trailed off and waved her hand in the space between, her wrist turning in quick circles. "Independently. I'm not enrolled anywhere yet, but grad school's the dream. It's just complicated. You know how it is." She shrugged and took another drink. There wasn't much left though and she ended up just slurping from the bottom. "That's probably my cue, huh?"

"Hmm?" Delphine hummed the question, frowning before realizing what Cosima was referring to. She looked up to the mounted clock on the wall. Its plastic face was dirty and scratched to hell, but the time was still visible. Somehow it was already after two. She stole a glance over her shoulder to see if Sydney was still in the kitchen or if he had packed up and left without her. Sure enough, the kitchen was empty. At least from what she could see. "I should probably close before anyone else gets cravings for sugar and chocolate…"

"Hey, it's a totally legitimate craving, man. Plus, Beth is strictly anti everything sugary and delicious, so I've gotta take what I can get. She's all about the exercise and shit… Empty calories are not conducive to marathon training."

"Beth?" Delphine questioned, eyebrows raised while she walked over to the cash register and quickly charged Cosima for the milkshake. (If it was up to her, the drink would be on the house, but her manager was more strict than usual when it came to counting the till recently, and Delphine couldn't afford to pick up the tab on her own. Still, it was a thought.)

Cosima waved the question away. "Nevermind. She's just a friend of mine." She smiled like she'd just told some inside joke that only she was privy to.

Setting the check down in front of Cosima, Delphine just nodded politely.

Without tearing her eyes from Delphine's, Cosima pulled a single plastic card from her bra. She smirked and handed the card over the counter. "I don't like carrying purses," she supplied simply.

Delphine cleared her throat in an attempt to avoid laughter, but it was futile. Muffled laughter passed through her lips and she brought a hand up to cover her mouth. "You are not like anyone I've ever met," she noted aloud, an observation of her own.

Cosima tilted her head in mock curiosity, but it was obvious she knew the answer to her question before she even asked it. "In like, not a bad way?"

"Not a bad way at all." Delphine mirrored Cosima's casual phrasing and looked down to the card in her hand. Elizabeth Childs was the name written in silver block letters. She's just a friend of mine. Cosima's voice echoed in her head, and Delphine wondered if this was the same person, if Elizabeth Childs was short for Beth. Beth who didn't let Cosima have milkshakes.

As if sensing Delphine's silent confusion, Cosima cleared her throat and gestured between herself and the card. "Milkshakes on Beth. Don't tell her." She wore an easygoing grin and though Delphine really should not be okay with this, she didn't object. Protocol ordered her to turn down the card, to report this strange woman she'd just met. But the charge was minor. It was only four dollars, and Cosima didn't seem like someone who would steal a credit card.

Delphine just swiped the card like nothing was out of the ordinary, like she was on autopilot. When the receipt printed, she walked it back over to Cosima with a black pen for her signature. She didn't watch as Cosima's hand moved across the rectangular sheet. Plausible deniability?

When she finished, Cosima handed the pen off to Delphine, gently slipping it back into her hand. Cosima's thumb pressed gently against the other woman's wrist and lingered there for a moment before she pulled it back. "It was nice meeting you, Delphine from France."

"Enchantée."

Cosima grinned widely turned and walked towards the exit. Delphine half expected her to pause when she reached it, to turn around and somehow get in the last word. She didn't.

Once the diner was empty again, Delphine picked up the in house copy of the receipt. Below Cosima's signature (though it actually very clearly read BChilds) was a sloppy line of text. I promise I'm not a criminal.

It had become a sort of routine. Cosima would saunter in about half an hour before Delphine's shift was up, the obscene amount of silver around her wrist jingling with each step she took towards the counter, and she would take a different seat every night. (To mix things up, she'd said. Gotta keep things fresh, you know?) The two of them would talk long after closing, Delphine explaining her dissertation and Cosima asking various questions. (Cosima was one of the most curious people she'd ever met. There was such a strong desire to learn, and she showed more interest in the subject than most people in Delphine's graduate program.) And then half past the hour or so, Cosima would help close up—even though Delphine constantly insisted that it really wasn't necessary.

Cosima, sit. I can do it. You really don't have to—

Relax, will you? I kept you here this late; it's the least I can do.

It was near two when the familiar face stepped into the diner. But something was off. Delphine looked up from the counter with a puzzled expression as she took in Cosima's appearance. Gone were the form-fitting, patterned dresses and oversized bracelets and rings. Instead, Cosima donned a black leather jacket and tight, dark jeans. Hair that was normally up in a messy ponytail was down and wavy as it fell over her shoulders. The glasses that always framed her face were gone too. Even her walk was different. The way she carried herself.

But still, that wasn't the most glaring difference between this Cosima and that Cosima. It was her mouth. The easygoing smile that dominated Cosima's face last time they met was nonexistent. In its place was a subtle frown. The corners of her lips were turned down and the lines around her mouth said that that was their near permanent address.

How could this possibly be the same person?

"Cosima?" Delphine ventured, her brows furrowed in a curious confusion.

"What?" The voice that belonged to this body was not Cosima's. It was heavily accented. English, most likely. Rough. The woman—"Cosima"—seemed surprised at first, but recovered quickly. Understanding colored her harsh face before it was replaced by a knowing smirk. "Yeah, sorry, Frenchie. Cos is out right now."