Author's Note: I don't care that the sexy French university student is up to no good, as evidenced by this fic. How about you? Ah, well. I also don't own Orphan Black, in case anyone was wondering. And with that...

Undulations

It's the jittery, nervous fluttering that keeps you from sleeping tonight; the possibility of her disgust hanging on every thought. She practically ran away and you cringe, not sure what you'll do if you can't see her again, if you can't at least provide an explanation for your irrational behavior.

At this, a small voice in your mind cries out that it was anything but. With a cynical chuckle you give your head a shake. Being attracted to your monitor is irrational, you retort. You remind yourself that you were supposed to monitor her. But you played it all wrong. You got your wires crossed somewhere and whether it was the wine or the moment or those exquisite eyes of hers, you'll never truly know; acting on the impulse was wrong and damnit, you should have listened to that bitch Sarah when she told you to stay away.

You sigh, retiring your glass for some papers and a bag of weed. By the light of your computer you roll a small joint, though by now you could probably do it in the dark. Your eyes feel heavy behind your glasses but not because you're tired. No. You're disappointed. In yourself, there is no doubt, but outweighing that is the dissatisfaction with the outcome of your actions. And for some reason your logical mind can't grasp that you'd be more disappointed in an unrequited kiss than in yourself for initiating it. What is going on here? When did the subject become the scientist?

The joint almost gone, you're still awake and hardly feeling affected. It's almost like your brain has put up a mental block until… A few minutes go by and you allow yourself to finally relax and you come to the realization that if it were anyone else, you wouldn't have opened the door. You knew who it was by her gentle knock and when you invited her inside you felt a bolt of excitement by the way she looked at you in nothing but stockings and that revealing black slip. You'll never admit to anyone else but you that it took so long to choose an appropriate outfit just for her. And even after you'd perfected it, it wasn't.

Two 'o clock comes and goes. The apartment is dark except for the illumination of your laptop screen but you haven't done anything with that since you opened it. No wonder, then, that you keep listening for the soft rap of her knuckles upon your door. But it won't come, not while you're awake. Only while you dream, though you just can't seem to fall asleep.

You find yourself returning to the most familiar comfort you've ever found in your entire existence (except for her, of course).

"Just smoke another fucking joint and get over it," you mutter, burning and burning until you pass into darkness while the sun creeps slowly over the skyline.