A/N: So I love cophine and shaysima (I've also fallen into shipping Delphine/Shay because i'm crazy) and it's my hopeless dream that we will one day get Delaysima. Since that's not likely to happen, I've started writing this fic. It's largely Delphine and Shay centric since I love those two and really want to explore their characters and delve into their back story a bit. Anyway, I hope you like it. I know that Shay's not very popular right now so I'm not expecting many people to read this but what the hell

Warning: There will be references to attempted suicide throughout the story

...

Trauma (noun)

1. A serious bodily injury or shock, as from violence or an accident.

2. A severely disturbing experience that leads to lasting psychological or emotional impairment.

Delphine closes her eyes as the sound of footsteps, even and sure, dissipates into the distance. She's thankful that her final moments won't be tainted by the presence of her killer, looming over and waiting for that bitter end. At the same time, her heart flutters with anxiousness at the prospect of being left alone, dying alone. All her instincts cry for help, for comfort, and yet her mind knows that none can be given;listens to them with pity. How odd that, even with every logical fiber within her pointing toward one inevitable conclusion, there is a part of her that still hopes for a saving grace.

Perhaps this is not unusual, though. Perhaps every person when confronted with death, even when they find themselves breaths apart, cannot fully believe that it has come.

Survival instinct, maybe. Fight even when the fight is lost, on the chance that the tides may turn.

That won't be happening this time though.

In agreement, pain surges within her and Delphine shudders, moaning when this movement only adds to her misery.

Perhaps her killer would have been kinder to give her a shot to the head, a quick death, end the misery of waiting for what cannot be escaped.

She can find no rational in drawing this out.

When Delphine was 17, her parents made her see a psychiatrist. She can remember long sessions, sitting stalwart straight on a seat designed for comfort, legs crossed and arms folded, trying to speak. Trying and failing. Oh, she spoke, but never the words that he wanted to hear, never those that she needed to say. But she can't be entirely blamed for that. Quiet is safe, she learnt that early on. There is a danger in being loud, of daring to be heard, to be noticed.

How could she speak then, when she had trained herself not to?

Do you think about death, Delphine?

Oui, Monsiour.

She tries, at the very least, to be honest.

Do you think think about killing yourself?

Non, Monsiour.

But she has fashioned her world in grays and half truths.

What do you think about?

Silence

The truth is, she used to think about death a lot back then. It started when she paused in the middle of reading to her bedridden grandmother - final stages of cancer, riddled with pain and hopelessness - and looked up to find her still. No rattling breaths, no agonized coughs, no flickering but falling eyelids . . . So still, so quiet.

She was frightened, of course. But also . . .relieved.

Even then she knew, for some sufferings, death is the only peace.

She cradled that knowledge to her chest for many years after that; a fascination, a failsafe. It gave her comfort in the long hours of the day, and kept her up at night, mind racing.

But death is not always peaceful, not always yearned for.

She understands that now more than ever, palming the gaping hole in her stomach and feeling the flood of blood pour out over her hand. She prays for a miracle, even as she accepts her fate. She feels the treasured plans of her future falling away with each faltering breath. She hears the teasing murmurs of her lover as she wraps around her in bed, lost to her forever.

Loss. She feels it greatly.

But there is also relief. That traitorous, unimaginable feeling that, even now, she tries to deny the presence of. Because there is so much she has yet to do, so much that needs doing, and so much she wants. And it will never be a relief to leave Cosima.

But she is tired, and battle weary. She has walked on glass for too long, and now nothing but blood and scar tissue remain of the feet she once stood en pointe with. She has lied and killed and ruined herself in sacrifice and although her heart screams its demand for more, she cannot.

She has no more to give.

So relief, maybe.

Warring with regret.

With grief.

She closes her eyes and tries not feel any of it, tries for silence.

...

"What do you think happens to us after we die?"

Delphine looks down, twirling their combined hands. Over and over, over and over. "Well, without oxygen our cells begin to die and decomposition begins. First, rigor mortis-

"No, I mean in an afterlife sort of way." Another turn of their hands. "Do you think there could be one or it's all just bunch of comforting human bullshit?"

There is no use in wondering the cause of conversation. The cold, abandoned corpse of Jennifer Fitzsimmons weighs heavily on her mind after today's autopsy. She has no doubt that Cosima's is similarly burdened by it. Not for the first time, she wonders if it was wise to reveal Jennifer to Cosima, not only that but have her assist in an examination of the body. The process had been a horrifying slap in the face for Delphine, so she can only imagine what it was like for her. Has imagined it, long before and long after, as she weighed the pros and cons of enlisting the clone's expertise.

But she promised honesty. And full disclosure.

And Cosima insisted on joining the autopsy.

And yet . . .

She does not think she will ever escape the nightmare of cutting into the replica of a body she loves and knows so intimately. Even the memory of it fills her with an ebbing panic that she must always push down, away, for Cosima's sake.

She should not have let her do it.

No, that's not her choice.

You knew she could not handle it. You cannot handle it.

It was Cosima's decision to make.

Delphine can't meet her gaze. "I don't know. I've thought about it, of course. I'd say everyone does. But never in depth. I'm not religious, nor was my family - my father liked to say that religion was the root of all evil. He felt very strongly about the fact. We never even celebrated Christmas." She frowns, thinking.

"Yeah, but, I mean, outside religion."

She takes a breath, looks at her and smiles. It is a weak smile. But it is half honest at least. "Oui. I believe it's possible." She settles their clasped hands in her lap, holds tight. "After all, there is so much science can't explain." Yes, she believes it's possible. Or, more accurately, she wants it to be. "Why not?"

"What do you think it'd be like?"

She ponders the question, rubbing a thumb over the soft, soft skin of Cosima's hand. "Peaceful. Quiet. Like when you're lying in the bath and, for a little while, you go under. And all the sounds become a hum and you can see but the shapes are blurred, the sharpness is gone . . ." She tries to explain it, that feeling of being completely submerged in liquid warmth, the rest of the world cut off . . . "And for those brief moments, nothing matters."

Cosima turns to her, eyes soft as her mouth eases into a smile. She rubs a thumb across Delphine's cheek, caressing, memorizing. "Sounds nice."

"Mm." The blonde's head falls forward, touching their noses together.

For a time they stay like that, peaceful, quiet, together.

Then Cosima grins, a light dancing in her eyes. "You think they have sex in the great beyond? 'Cause if not, I'm totally gonna be filing a complaint."

Her eyes crease in amusement. "Cheeky."

"Gotta say though," Cosima continues, threading a curl behind Delphine's ear. "I think any world without you would kinda be an epic fail for the most part. Just my humble scientific opinion."

The blonde bites her lip.

She has so much to say to that, so many words that nestle in her heart and try to make their way up but not a single one would be enough. She does not know how to describe this feeling, this immense love. It is impossible. A world without her may be a failure to the clone, but she cannot even imagine a world without Cosima. And it terrifies her that she may one day not have to, that it will transcend the imaginary and become her only reality.

What will she do then?

She surges forward at the same time as Cosima, breath expelling into her mouth as they meet. She pulls her close, lips fusing in a desperate hope never to part and, as they kiss, the brunette holds her just as close. She savors the contact, the warmth of her mouth and thud of her pulse beneath her hand. She cherishes the moment, a distant part of her knowing there may be few like it to come.

Eventually, they have to part, gasping for air and clutching at each other still. Delphine exhales and rubs her nose along her cheek, ghosts butterfly kisses across the skin.

"Mon souffle."

Cosima settles into her, head nestled in the crook of her neck and Delphine sighs, closing her eyes against the steady puff of breath against her collar. It is a reassurance she hopes never to lose, and vows to do everything in her power to keep.

"Dude, I can't believe you never celebrated Christmas. That's like seriously messed up."

...

All of a sudden, the quiet is broken. A car hums into being, coming to stop nearby. She flinches, cringing at the inevitable pain this again causes. A car door opening and closing, then the distant click of heels, hesitant at first. As they come closer, though, they grow faster, heavier and she realizes that it is her they are coming for.

Is it Cosima, come to continue their conversation maybe? Her chest fills with relief even as her thoughts fall into a panic.

She does not want Cosima to see this. To see her.

She cannot be saved. Even if, by some miracle, this bullet doesn't kill her, another assassin soon will. Neolution is resolved: they will not let her live.

And the idea of Cosima caught in the middle of that fills her with dread.

But at the same time, it is Cosima. The woman she wasn't supposed to love but did, and did so with a recklessness and absolution that both terrified and thrilled her. Cosima who has the power to ease her constant anxiety just with the touch of a hand, the turn of a smile. Cosima who has loved and known her in ways that no-one else has, or ever will it seems.

And she wants her. She wants her here. She wants to see her again, just one last time. To be held by her, touched by her. She wants-

But she cannot.

For the same reason that she wants her, she cannot have her. She loves her far too much.

The footsteps draw closer, halt and there's an exclamation of surprise. "Shit."

Delphine sags. It is not Cosima.

And if she is both disappointed and relieved then it matters little. She will not be alive to judge herself for it later.

Tap-tap-tap

The person is running now, growing ever louder and Delphine bites down on her lip. She tries to draw strength, something, anything more than mere desire, to open her eyes. She needs to see, needs to know who has found her, who has intruded upon this scene. Who will bear witness to these most private moments that should belong only to Cosima?

She hopes with everything that it is not Neolution.

Eyes fluttering, she fights for them to remain open for more than a millisecond, to make something of her blurred surroundings. When they do and she sees, a laugh bubbles up in her throat and she chokes. The universe it seems is full of delicious irony.

She cannot for the life of her understand what Shay is doing in the parking lot of DYAD. If she had her faculties about her, she would find this troubling and cause for investigation. As it is, she finds herself only exhausted and morbidly amused by the fact.

When Shay reaches her, she crouches on the ground without preamble, hands diving into into her handbag and pulling out a phone - to call an ambulance no doubt. Delphine makes a noise of protest that sounds more pained than anything, failing to get the point across.

"What the fuck happened?"

She blinks, trying to process.

Formulating a response, however, is somewhat beyond her at this point.

Shay is reaching for the hem of her bloodied top nonetheless, and pulling it up to inspect what lurks beneath before Delphine can even think to stop her. Not that she could. She's not sure she has the strength to offer much more than a dazed glare.

"I knew you guys were into some crazy shit but seriously?" The smaller blonde bites her lip at the sight that greets her, paling a little. "Jesus, I'm going to call an ambulance."

Delphine tries to shake her head. "No, no ambulance."

Neolution is everywhere, not just in Topside and Castor. She has no doubts that if she survives the trip to the hospital, she will not survive her stay there.

Shay knows none of this, though. "You've got a bullet wound to the abdomen. I don't care if hospitals give you the heebie jeebies, you're going."

"Th-They'll find me there," she gasps.

The other woman bites her lip, considering. She eyes Delphine for a moment, the bleeding hole in her stomach, the distress in her eyes and hesitates. Something changes in her then, as though a switch has been flicked, and gone is the panicked woman scrambling for a solution. In her place is a stranger, urgent but calm. "Right. OK. First things first."

She strips off her pale sweater and, after a moment's thought, the purple singlet underneath. Reaching for Delphine again, she carefully but firmly presses the singlet into the wound. Agony courses through her and she cries out in a mixture of pain and alarm. Shay doesn't pause, applying further pressure before grabbing her sweater with the other hand. She threads it through the gap between the doctor's back and the car she's leaning against, bringing it to tie off at the front of her midsection. "Completely unhygienic but." She shook her head at herself, or perhaps just the insanity situation before looking back up at Delphine. "Can you keep the pressure up?" she asks, grabbing Delphine's trembling hands and placing them over the bandage. She obeys, clenching her muscles and straining to apply the appropriate amount of force, weak as she is. Shay nods and works an arm around Delphine's shoulders. "OK, good. I'm gonna need you to stand."

By this point, Delphine's eyes have fallen shut again and she's of half a mind to bat Shay away and tell her to casse-toi. She can feel what little strength remains to her bleeding out and a dizzy exhaustion setting in. The pain, also, is starting to leave her, fading into the background. Not a good sign, she knows, but she welcomes the change.

It will make it so much easier to sleep.

"Delphine!"

Yes, she might smack her.

Forcing her eyes open, she finds the smaller woman glaring at her with no small level of impatience.

She wonders what Shay will say to Cosima after? I tried to save her but she refused to move. Sorry.

She wonders what Cosima will think of her then, if she will hate her for not trying, for not fighting.

She's had enough of fighting, though.

It was never something she was fond of. As a little girl she preferred silence to protests, enduring the onslaught of her parents' nitpicking, disappointment and dreams without a sound; listening to their fights, so often as they grew to make a sport out of it; abiding dinners and bedtime stories that were always broken by shouts and yells. She learnt to be quiet then, to blend into the furniture where none would notice her. By the time she was sent away to boarding school, it was a relief.

Until it wasn't.

Teenage girls love to fight too she soon found. And Delphine was smart and pretty and rich, and for all these things a threat. It was more difficult to hide there, surrounded by mass produced uniforms ever searching for the slightest error, but she tried.

That was her fight. Fighting to remain unheard, unseen.

It was only later, in university, that she began to fight for something else: the science, her career, knowledge. She fought for her position at DYAD, winning out over hundreds of other promising candidates. She fought for her role as Cosima's monitor, for her trust and her life.

Cosima . . .

She has faught so much for Cosima.

"Hey!" A hand pats her cheek, nonviolent but insistent. She blinks at the wide-eyed woman. "I'd love to be able to carry you but I'm tiny and you're . . . not. Seriously, help me out here."

She will always fight for Cosima.

Weakly, she nods and Shay sags slightly in what might be relief. She wonders why she cares, what investment the woman has in Delphine surviving this. Is this not the perfect punishment for the woman who threatened her with a razor?

For Cosima.

"OK, on three. 1. 2. 3."

Delphine grits her teeth and grips onto Shay as she heaves her up. Her legs strain beneath her, pain returning anew with a cry, but forces to rise, to hold. There is a flood of warmth around her middle and her gaze flicks down to see the sweater flushing with blood. She staggers a little but Shay holds her.

"Good, good," she breathes. "OK, my car's just over there. Do you think you can make it?"

Non.

She manages a nod.

"My purse . . ." She looks towards her handbag resting on the ground a few feet away. It is absurd to worry about personal belongings at a time like this but her phone is in there, filled to the brim with contact information for DYAD and Topside, and the sisters. She should have erased all information, all history but she thought . . . she thought she'd have more time. It was foolish of her.

Of course, it would be naive to think that any of the numbers in her phone would be new to DYAD, or even Neolution but she would still be an idiot to leave them lying about for anyone to find. Why take that risk? Some of the contacts may prove valuable to the sisters also. She would have given her phone to Cosima if it wasn't certain to arouse suspicion in the clone.

And then there is the robotic maggot she pulled from Nealon's mouth, concealed in a plastic sleeve at the bottom of her bag. She returned to DYAD in hopes of using its equipment to perform what tests she could on it in the time that remained to her. However, she overestimated exactly how much time that was.

But Shay can pass it along to Cosima. The obscene curiosity will be of interest to her; she will be only too eager to look at it, to investigate. Delphine can imagine her now, hands in energetic motion as she exclaims over the genius of the invention, becomes lost in the science of it all.

She holds this image to her heart as Shay steadies her against the car and bends down to retrieve the bag. Draws upon it for strength as the other woman rises once more and wraps an arm around her for support.

"OK, let's do this."

...

A/N: So what did you think? And what the fuck was Shay doing at DYAD?