If you don't watch Orphan Black, then you are seriously missing out. But you also have a whole lot less stress/drama in your life, soooo... yay!

I watched both seasons in like 3 days and pumped this out for my friend Mo, hope you enjoy :D

There's a dull pain in the back of my head when I wake up.

It's a sort of throbbing, emanating from the base of my skull, seeping through me and filling up my conscious with the beating of a drum.

With a rhythm.

I know that it should be inflicting pain on me, but it isn't, and I can't quite explain that, but I would rather be oblivious than in pain.

My eyelids are heavy.

It's as though there are small weights lining my eyelashes, making it harder for me to open them, harder for me to see at all.

And then the noises begin.

Murmurs; some are close, some further away.

Some are frantic, while others are calm and collected, comforting even.

I can hear a woman crying in the distance; a deep, heart wrenching, sobbing.

I can also hear the thud of water against the window pane, the glass rattling like a crazed animal in a cage, shaking the walls ever so slightly in it's movement.

Louder than that, closer to me- possibly somewhere off to my left- is a repetitive beeping noise.

Amongst this wilderness, underneath this cacophony of sound, is the soft inhale and exhale of breath.

Then I notice a warm weight resting on my hand. I can feel the air being expelled from it, the warmth rolling over in soft waves before dissipating into the coolness of my surroundings.

Slowly- ever so slowly- I open my eyes, dragging the heavy lids away, gradually revealing a white, clinical room.

Looking down, Isee that she is encased in a blue, paper-y gown, which completely covers my torso, but only has short sleeves, leaving most of my arms bare.

I continue my gaze onwards, down my arms, noting a white material that is just barely visible from underneath the sleeve, and dark bruising on my skin.

The view of my hand, however, is obstructed by a mass of blonde curls.

This, I realise, must be the source of all the breathing.

Experimentally, I wriggle my fingers, to test how deep asleep the woman really is, and whether or not the slight movement will wake her.

The answers; not very deep asleep at all, and yes, it will.

Slightly dopily, the woman lifts her head off of her hand, elongating her neck slightly as she stretches (the odd sleeping position must have caused her slight discomfort), before turning around, her warm brown eyes now fixed on me, her - now ex- pillow.

They widen in surprise, before returning to their original shape, but slight wrinkles appear by the sides of them, and a wide grin spreads across her face.

"Cosima, vous êtes éveillé." She breathes in relief, raising a hand to cup my face. "Dieu merci." She mumbles, still smiling.

Her palm is pressed against my cheek, thumb making occasional swipes at the patch of skin underneath my eyes, and she continues to hold my gaze.

Her eyes, I know realise, are not actually brown. They're more of a hazel, I think. The edges are a soft, mossy green, which fades almost seamlessly with the chocolate shades in the centre, and bright gold specks are interspersed within their intense depths.

They're beautiful.

She's beauti-

God, I don't even know her, and she has me nearly writing love sonnets for her.

Unless-

I study her carefully, but I still don't recognise her.

"I'm sorry," I begin, smiling softly at the alluring, yet mysterious, blonde. "but I don't speak french."

COPHINE

"I sorry to say this, Mrs. Niehaus, but you have lost your memory." The man in a white coat states solemnly. "Or, at least part of it." He clarifies, smiling softly as though this is wonderful news.

Maybe it is.

Maybe I'm lucky in comparison to others, lucky that I still remember my childhood.

I cannot for the life of me- however ironic that may seem, considering how close I seem to have come to it recently- remember even the smallest thing about this beautiful, blonde stranger.

She is currently slouched uncomfortably- at least I would call it 'uncomfortably', that posture could be natural to her for all I know- in the small sofa at the side of the room, her head resting on a closed fist. She has changed immensely in the short period of time it has taken for the medical staff to diagnose me with amnesia.

It's odd, thinking of myself like that; thinking that I am now an amnesiac. I am just another statistic in the history of head injuries.

The doctor rattles on about the likelihood of me regaining my memories, inserting short anecdotes and backing things up with the numbers, but I pay him little attention.

My focus is directed almost entirely on the woman on the couch.

Her eyes, which were earlier filled with such light happiness and relief, are cloudier now, murkier. Darkened by the weight of the situation.

Whoever she is to me, all forgotten.

Gone.

It must be horrible, I suppose, to be full of memories- happy memories- of yourself and somebody else being together, but for them not to remember any of it. Too feel as though you are alone in your reminiscence.

I interrupt the doctor as he is mid sentence.

"Can you go?" I try to phrase it in a way that will not seem rude, but he appears affronted regardless of my efforts.

He leaves anyway, muttering something about ungracious patients.

I don't really care about that.

I pull myself up to sit on the edge of the bed, much to the protest of my sore muscles and aching body, and gently lower myself until my feet are touching the ground.

My bare feet.

The floor is probably really-

I ignore the small voice inside my head which tells me how unsanitary walking around barefoot in hospitals is, and follow the pang in my heart which had appeared upon seeing the distressed blonde.

I ease myself onto the seat next to her, greeting her softly, which seems to startle her out of her reverie.

"Cosima," She begins, that wonderful french lilt making my name sound like that of a goddess. "You should not be out of bed." Her voice is filled with worry, which causes a jolt of distress- of pain, even- to form in my stomach.

She twists slightly in her seat, turning to face me more directly.

"I'm fine." I reply, brushing her worry aside in place of my own for her, which is probably stupid since I'm the amnesiac, but something within me just doesn't want her to be upset.

Beautiful people shouldn't be upset, it messes with the cosmic balance or something.

"Maybe you-" She begins, before breaking herself off and sighing. "Cosima, what do you remember about me?" She asks, her eyes searching mine, pleading with me.

"I- not much at all, really." She sighs again, eyes drifting away from mine, but I reach forwards, covering her quivering hand with my own and squeezing, pulling her attention back to me. "You're tall." I state, causing her to raise her eyebrow questioningly at me. "You're tall, and french, and-"

"These are just observations."

"Shush, frenchie, I'm on a roll." I throw back, smiling softly at her. "You're also incredibly beautiful." This causes a pink blush to rise up her neck, filling her cheeks with colour, and the corners of her lips curve upwards ever so slightly, before returning to a flat line again. "And you're caring, you're trying to make me more comfortable, even though- while I may not know exactly who you are- I know that this is hurting you."

"Mais vous ne savez pas mon nom." She murmurs, a tear slipping from her eye.

She pulls her hand out from under mine, intending to deal with the errant tear, but I beat her to it. My hand seems to recognise her anatomy, it molds instantly to her face, sparks travelling down from my hand, where my skin touches hers, to to the rest of my body, filling me with a buzzing energy.

"I want to remember you." I mumble, absentmindedly continuing to stroke her cheek as I return her tearful gaze.

She lets out a small hiccup, before surging forwards, wrapping her arms around my midsection and burying her face into the crook of my neck.

Slowly I wind my arms around her waist, reciprocating the embrace, and holding her as she cries into my neck.

"I'm sorry." I murmur into her hair, rubbing my arms up and down her back.

It's strange.

In a way, I barely know this woman; she is practically a stranger to me. Hell, I don't even know her name, and yet, I feel almost inexplicably drawn to her.

Like a magnet to a block of iron.

Like a substrate particle to an active site, it's elementary science, and I can't help but feel as though I need her as much as she appears to need me. A standard push and pull, give and take. I know that I must have known her at some point for my body's natural, 'knee-jerk' reactions to make sense.

"What's your name?" I probe carefully, when her tears have subsided and she has calmed down.

She pulls back, staring at me sorrowfully.

"Delphine."

I smile gently at her and reach over to hold her hand again.

"Delphine." I try, testing the word out. "Well, Delphine, you have a beautiful name."

COPHINE

"This was your favourite place to sit." She states absentmindedly, fiddling with a leaf that has fallen from the trees above. "That is, when I could drag you away from your computers." She adds, chuckling softly, in a way that seems almost forced.

"Well I can see why." I reply.

It really is beautiful out here.

After we had been released from the hospital, with the promise that we should return at a later date for further testing, Delphine had driven us to my- our- house.

I had asked her where she lived, and she smiled in a melancholic way, replying 'with you'.

This came with an added explanation of how long we had been together together, which blew my mind, because, well, why would someone as beautifully exquisite as Delphine want to be with me.

I told her as such.

She laughed and said something in french, waving me off when I asked for a translation, before offering me the grand tour.

The house is beautiful. Small enough to be cosy and homely, but not too small so as to be cramped. I can see some of my own influences around the house, with dark colours standing out against the creamy walls, small action figures littered around on the tables, and scientific magazines scattered around on available surfaces.

There are odd pieces of elegance interspersed within the organised clutter; paintings, sculptures, a vase filled with flowers that are just coming into bloom. It all fits together almost seamlessly, the opposing styles complimenting each other well, and it makes me ache to think that I have lived this life and forgotten it.

After the short tour of the house, Delphine led me out around the back of the house, and along a short trail through the forest.

Presently, we're sitting next to each other on an old, wooden bench beneath the autumnal canopy.

A few small rays of light filter through gaps in the dense leaves above, bathing us in a soft glow as we relax in the nature.

The path that we took is slightly muddy, as though it had rained recently, and it is edged with thick blades of grass, glistening because of the small drops of dew clinging on.

"It's calm here." She states, breaking the silence.

I turn back to look at her.

The sunlight that has seeped in through the trees has cast an orange gleam over her pale complexion, and a myriad of greens and browns sparkle in her eyes as she continues to hold my gaze.

"Delphine," I begin, sighing. She lowers her eyes, moving to turn her head, but I can't let her do that. I need her to look at me, I need to see her. I raise my hand to cup her chin, angling her face to look directly at me. "Delphine, I want to- will you help me remember?"

"I- I will try." She replies, smiling hesitantly at me.

I smile gratefully at her, but the gesture is interrupted by an errant yawn. In response, she stands up from the bench before turning to face me again.

"Come." She says, holding out her hand for me to take. "You are tired." She states. "If we leave now, we should get back before the sun sets, oui?"

I grasp her hand in mine, and together we walk the trail back to the house. By the time we reach it, the orange light of the setting sun is streaked across the clouded sky.

Delphine gets me a glass of water, and some wine for herself, and together we sit on the sofa in the living room, playing a game of 20 questions, so to speak.

I ask her about what I took at university, and my job, what hobbies I do, any friends we may have made.

I also ask about how we first met.

It was during my final year at university, and I had been in a tree, trying (as I had supposedly explained to Delphine) to capture a rare bug to do some testing, when the branch I had been balanced on broke, and I had fallen out of the tree, landing right next to Delphine, who had been studying in the shade it provided.

I broke my ankle during the fall.

She tells me some funny little anecdotes about things that we had done together, and all it did was make me wish I could remember it more.

My questions eventually dissipate, all but one, which I have slightly been dreading the answer to, just in case of the worst case scenario.

"Um, maybe I should have asked this earlier, do you know the password for my phone, because I would really like to call my mother." I say, carefully presenting her with the phone I had found in my bag at the hospital.

Delphine's smile falls so quickly that it could almost be comical.

"Your- I mean, yes, I know your password, but you- you cannot call your mother."

"What do you mean? Why-"

"Your mother is not- I mean, your mother is-" She trails off, but her meaning is clear.

"My, my mum is dead? Wha- I mean, when did...?" I break off, tears falling down my cheeks, and I launches myself towards her, falling apart in her arms, and letting her put me back together again.

COPHINE

The pounding in my head is less prevalent when I wake up then it was the last time.

It's still there, obviously- it takes a while to recover entirely from a head injury- but it's almost in the background now, only really noticable when I focus on it.

Opening my eyes, I recognise the bedroom that Delphine had showed me yesterday during the tour of the house, and I frown slightly when I realise that the french beauty is nowhere to be seen.

Blearily, I pull myself from beneath the soft duvet, and try to remember the way back to the kitchen. As I stumble through the living room, I notice a blanket and some pillows have been neatly folded and are currently resting on the edge of the sofa.

"Delphine?" I call, eyes still on the bedding.

"Oui, ma- I mean, Cosima?" She asks, walking into the room from the kitchen, a mug cradled between her hands.

"You didn't have- um, did you sleep in here?" I question, feeling guilty that I had slept so well on the bed, whereas her tall figure must have been cramped on the small, two-seater couch.

"You are ill, and you- you do not really know me, I thought you would be more comfor-"

"You couldn't have been comfortable on that." I say, cutting her off. "You're too long for it, for starters."

"But-"

"It's more your house than mine." I state. "Next time you get the bed."

"You will not- how do I say this? You will not back down?" She questions, smiling as though my stubborn countenance brought up happy memories for her.

"I'm sure you must know by now how stubborn I can be." I reply, smirking at her.

"Yes." She replies. "Bien sûr." She mumbles, smiling ruefully to herself. "Coffee?"

"Yes please."

I follow her into the kitchen, and she motions for me to sit at the counter, quickly pouring a mug of coffee for me. Without asking, she adds a spoon of sugar and some milk, sliding the now full mug in front of me.

"So, Cosima," The way she says my name makes me feel as though she isn't used to using it; maybe she used to used a nickname, or a pet name instead. "'Ow did you sleep?"

"Pretty well, I think." She raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to clarify. "I had a weird dream."

She leans forwards in her seat, motioning for me to continue.

"I was in a park, and I was reading a scientific journal, but a dog came up and stole it, so I chased the dog." Delphine is smiling encouragingly. "And then other dogs started to chase me as well, and, well, that's all I really remember." I finish, shrugging my shoulders apologetically.

"Yes, that happened." She replies, answering the question I hadn't asked. "About a year ago." She expands, grinning at me. "You never did get that journal back."

"This is good, right?" I ask, ever the optimist.

"I do not want to, eh, get my hopes up, you see." She replies, her smile falling slightly. "We will see." She adds, as an attempt to placate me.

"I will remember you some day, Delphine. I will." I say, more to myself than her. "You'll see."

COPHINE

Days pass, and no more memories appear.

After a week, we go to the hospital, and the check ups show that I am healing well, possibly even better than they had predicted.

They do not understand why I can't remember more.

I can tell it frustrates Delphine, but she remains silent, passive. I can, however, see her retreating further and further into herself, the little sparkle of hope that had appeared after my first (and only memory) long since faded.

At my request, I get a therapist, someone for me to vent to, to question, and just to talk to about things I wasn't ready to bring up to Delphine.

A winter chill had begun to settle in the air as the year was coming to a close, the cold was biting against my bare skin as I sat downstairs, reading one of the many books from the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. I decided that I would be more comfortable if I had a wooly jumper on, so I traipsed back upstairs to the bedroom, and began to hunt through the many articles of clothing in the drawers Delphine had labelled as my own.

As I reached the bottom of one of the piles, I found a small, cubic box. Curious as to whether it was what I thought it was or not, I flipped the lid open, inhaling sharply at the sight of the beautiful ring.

The band of it is silver, and the top bit is twisted, encrusted with multiple miniature diamonds, leading up to a large, burnt red coloured gemstone, held in place by slivers of silver around its edges. It's truly stunning.

With the boxed ring clenched tightly in my hand, I sink to the floor, my back pressed against the sturdy wooden exterior of the armoire.

Memories flood back to me in tidal waves, crashing against my brain, surging through my consciousness and taking back their rightful place.

The image of our first meeting flows in quickly; I remember how quickly the shooting pain in my ankle had dissipated upon catching sight of Delphine's concerned hazel eyes. I remember how red I had gotten, how I had stumbled over my words as I tried to explain my predicament. How she had stayed with me as I waited for it to be treated.

I remember taking her out to a coffee, using the lame excuse that I felt bad for interrupting her study.

I remember how quickly the two of us had 'clicked'- it had been almost instantaneous.

I remember her being there for me in the aftermath of my mother's death, holding me through my tears, stopping the loneliness that had threatened to invade.

I sit there, on the floor of our bedroom, remembering every little detail that had, for the past few weeks, remained entirely elusive to me.

And god, it must have been horrible for Delphine.

And that is how the gorgeous blonde finds me, on the floor with my knees pulled to my chest, staring intently at the ring, which sparkled in the dying sunlight.

"Cosima?" She questions lightly, and- oh god- I can hear her pain.

It's almost tangible.

I snap the lid of the box shut and put it back in the drawer, standing up and making my way over to her.

"Cosima? What-" I reach up, cupping her cheek with my hand, and brushing my thumb over her lips, effectively silencing her.

"God, Delph, I've missed you." I say, smiling up at her, while bringing my other hand up to her remaining cheek. "And I'm so, so sorry for everything."

I cut off her reply by pressing my lips firmly to hers.

It's been too long.

The world around us fades and electricity explodes from our joined mouths. My eyes fall shut as my hands bury themselves in the tight curls of her hair, clenching tightly, as though to anchor myself to reality.

I need to anchor myself, because this kiss is too perfect, and I can feel my sense of what is real and not dissipating until all that is left is Delphine and I, straining, pushing ourselves into each other, and trying to remove any space between us.

Eventually, however, the need for oxygen becomes dire, and we separate- albeit unwillingly.

"Wait." Delphine says, her voice breathless and husky, the foreign inflection making my need for her grow.

"Why?"

"You are- merde- you are so close to my Cosima. So close to the woman I have loved for so long, and it's hard to not just kiss you. It's so hard, because you're right here with me, but you aren't here at all."

"Delph."

"And everyday I find myself falling deeper and deeper under your spell, and I-"

"Delphine?"

"I can't fall in love again."

"Frenchie?"

"I need my Cosima to come back to me."

"Oh for, Delphine?!"

"Cosima, I am trying to-"

"I remember."

"That is why- wait, what?" The realisation spreads rapidly across her features, and a hesitant smile begins to spread across her face. "You- you remember?" She questions, and I nod in response. "Do you... I... How much?"

"Everything." I reply, grinning at her.

"Every-" She doesn't even allow herself to finish, resorting to tackling me onto the nearby bed, kissing me almost bruisingly in a flurry of harsh teeth, soft lips, and a graceful tongue.

When we break for air, I glance over at the drawer that holds the ring I had found.

Maybe I should-

But Delphine reclaims my lips, and the thought slips away, losing importance. I smile into the kiss, flipping us over so that I can straddle the beautiful blond girl.

The ring can wait, we have some lost time to make up for.

Dont forget to review/favourite if you enjoyed, thanks.

and, fyi, this will stay at just a ONE SHOT.