Authors Note: My first CTM fic in awhile! I enjoyed writing this one and I plan on writing a sequel of sorts in Patrick's point of view to ponder some of his insecurities that he may have. Hope you all enjoy part one and stick around for part two later! Don't forget to review! Warning: I have done very little proof reading because I am rushed to write and post at the moment, so please forgive any mistakes!

Shelagh had never felt particularly beautiful. Before she came to Nonnatus House and had started her journey as Sister Bernadette, she had no friends, no supportive parents around to tell her that she was pretty, or smart, or special. Her father had been a raging alcoholic, her mother had passed away when she was a young girl, near Timothy's age. The only time Mr. Mannion had ever said a word of kindness towards her daughter was at her mother's funeral, when a family friend had complimented her, tears in her eyes, saying that she favored her mother. He had smiled down on her, and nodded. "She's just like her mother." He had agreed. "I'm happy she took after her." She held those words close to her heart, and she had prayed that they would stick. That her mother's death would change him, and he would be a better man for her sake, for their sake. For her mother. But the moment they had arrived at home, he had poured himself a glass of whiskey, and the yells had started again. After that moment, the words of kindness stopped completely. She was called so many things by that man, and any sort of self esteem she once had was gone. And then, she said her vows to God, her habit and plain dress had become a shield, a cover. No one knew Sister Bernadette. No one saw her as anything but a nun, a sister. No one wondered what she looked like, what her hopes and dreams were, what her favorite song was, or what she liked and disliked. She was hidden, and she had grown to like her life that way. If she was hidden, uncared for by the majority of society, she would not face what she had faced as a young girl. If people simply ignored her, if she was never noticed..it would be better than being mocked and yelled at. She had learned to love being hidden and out of the lime light. She had no need for girl friends around her, telling her how beautiful she was in a dress as they were getting ready for a dance. She had no desire for a man in her life to tell her how precious she was. She had friends once before, and they abandoned her. Her father, the only man in her life, had shut her out completely. So she turned to God, and she was content.

Until Doctor Turner came to Poplar.

It had started out innocent, truly. He was married when they first met, with a young son, Timothy. And, despite seeming stressed and exasperated over something or another nearly all the time, he had seemed to be quite in love, and quite happy. She had respect for him as a colleague. He was a wonderful doctor, very intelligent and humble, and he made a good partner in crime. He appreciated her love for nursing, and he saw her potential. She was his best nurse, and he was her favorite doctor. They weren't friends, no, the habit kept him away just like it had kept everyone away. There were times when the both of them wished it wasn't there so they could be true friends, and talk like normal friends would. But alas, it was there, and nothing would change that.

Then, Marie Turner passed away after a terrible battle with cancer. Doctor Turner had been overcome with grief and anger, left with his son, then only nine years old, and a very busy job. He was needed by Poplar and by Timothy, and he felt alone. Shelagh, or, Sister Bernadette, understood. A few months went by, and every time she saw him, she felt her heart ache, then begin to beat faster, and faster, until she was sure that it would beat right out of her chest. When they made eye contact, she felt faint. When he smiled at her, she felt like a teenage girl again. Like she had felt when she had her first crush on a boy at her school, except twenty times stronger. And he had kissed her hand, and she felt beautiful for the first time in years.

Except Sister Bernadette wasn't allowed to feel beautiful.

She went through months of emotional turmoil, not knowing that while she was fighting her illness, Patrick Turner was fighting his own demons. He was in love with a nun! She thought back on the times she spent in her room alone, with her door cracked ever so slightly, just enough so that she could catch words in the songs that the girls would play. So she could hear their giggles, their happiness. She would sit there imagining that she could be there as well, wishing away her habit. She wondered how it would feel to be in there, one of the women. A normal woman. How it would feel to join in on their conversations. When they talked about whatever man Trixie was currently pursuing, when Cynthia was blushing, when Chummy was bragging on Peter…how would it feel to talk about Doctor Turner? To admit that she had the biggest crush known to man on the GP, who dressed terribly, who was always late, who loved his son and Poplar and everyone in it so fiercely she was overcome by emotion just thinking about it. How would it feel to be able to admit that? To have the freedom to admit that with women her age without feeling so..so terrible? To take her rightful place there as a woman?

She saw them get ready for dances, for dates, for a night out in the town. She saw them look in the mirror, Trixie taking minutes to finish her makeup, to curl her hair just right. To feel beautiful. How would it feel to look in a mirror and see beauty? How would it feel to be like Chummy, walking down the stairs of Nonnatus House to meet a man like Peter who would gaze at her and be so taken aback by her beauty, unable to see any sort of imperfection because of love?

Shelagh Mannion had given up on her hope to feel beautiful or special until that day came along. A misty, rainy day that she had found so frustrating just minutes before. First, Doctor Turner had been torn away from her, leaving her alone to her own devices. She didn't blame him, but still..she had looked forward to seeing him. She could not be delayed, so she left. She had taken the wrong turn, it had started growing colder, so foggy that she could hardly see..she had been complaining under her breath, praying to God that He would provide a way home for her and then, she saw a familiar car.

"Dad! That's her! It's her!" She had heard Timothy yell, head sticking out the window. And Doctor Turner ran out of his car, making his son stay put, and Timothy's groan of impatience made her smile for the first time since she had started walking. "I see her!" He had replied quickly, not even bothering to glance back at his son, or even close his car door. He went to her, walking as quickly as he could. He didn't have it in him to run, he felt as if his knees would give out just out of sheer shock at seeing her out of her habit, her hair – blonde! – revealed to him, her face not half covered as she leaned down in slight embarrassment. She was there, she was real. They talked, he found out her name was Shelagh, and they eventually made their way to the car. Timothy jumped into eager conversation, but eventually, he fell asleep, the long drive there and the car gently driving down the misty road lulling him to sleep.

They were alone, and she was free. They were free.

"You're blonde." Was the first thing out of his mouth, and he regretted it when he said it. Way to state the obvious, Patrick. How about real conversation? Asking how she is? Telling her how much you missed her? But before he could say another word, she laughed, and he was frozen. "I am." She glanced at him, her Scottish accent making his heart do flips, as always. "Did you expect something different?" Had he?

"I'm..I'm not sure. I suppose I didn't think about it." Shelagh was surprised; after everything he had said in his letters, which she had finally read after Sister Julienne had left and she had changed out of her clothes and became Shelagh Mannion again, after him telling her how he felt in as little words as possible, so she wouldn't feel uncomfortable or pushed, she had expected some sort of expectations, and she had been full of nerves. What if he wanted a brunette? A redhead? What if he wanted a curvier woman? A taller woman? What if she wasn't his type? He had fallen in love with her as a nun, but surely, he wouldn't be content with a plain woman for so long. Had he not thought about this? About what he would do if she didn't meet his desires?

"You-you didn't think about it?"

"No, I didn't. I was so focused on trying to tell you how I felt without…without pushing you too hard, or saying too little. I didn't have time to think about those minor details." He smirked at her, his trademark smile, eyes crinkling. She loved his smile.

"Minor details? How is that minor?"

"Hair color is quite minor." He stated simply. "Shelagh, I wouldn't care if you were bald..as long as you're with me." She was taken aback, to say the least. She was used to men being very concerned with physical beauty. She had seen many women stress nearly to death after labor over how they looked when their husbands were allowed to return into the room to meet mother and baby. How could he not care?

"Doctor Turner-"

"Patrick. I'm Patrick now, no more Doctor Turner." She turned a shade pinker, and continued. "I hope..I hope I haven't disappointed you." Was all she could say. She wanted to apologize in case she had indeed disappointed him. He was a good looking man, one of the finest men in Poplar, even with his looks aside. How often had she seen women –even married women!- throw themselves at him, shamelessly flirt with him throughout their appointment? He was one of the few men in the city that was truly kind, who worked hard without complaint, who was gentle and loving to anyone who went his way. Suddenly, she felt very unworthy of his attentions and devotion to her. He turned to her, her head now facing the window, staring blankly outside as the trees, nearly hidden by the fog, went by. "Shelagh," He started, then realized she was now trying her best to ignore his presence. "Shelagh, look at me." And she did. Her blue eyes were filled with tears, her body felt jittery with nerves. What would he think of her? She felt pathetic and weak. Why couldn't she be like Trixie? Or even Jenny? Why couldn't she be beautiful? Why couldn't she feel confident? She wanted to blame the years in a convent, but she knew her feelings went much further into her past.

"You are one of the most beautiful women I've met. Inside and out. I felt that way even when you wore a habit. Shelagh, I fell in love with a nun, and for good reason. I wouldn't have..I wouldn't have sent those letters or driven all this way to find you if I didn't care. I wouldn't have kissed your hand that day if I didn't feel something for you. You are no disappointment." His last four words were spoken with such conviction, she felt like Timothy must feel when he was being scolded for something. Except this..this wasn't like getting in trouble, although she did feel a sense of grief, knowing that they had only been..a.. a couple? For not even an hour. His words, although scolding, were heartfelt, and she knew that he was simply trying to do anything, to say anything, to make her believe that he did care for her.

They drove in mostly silence for the next several minutes, Patrick only breaking it every so often. It wasn't awkward, they had spent the majority of their time together in silence, after all. Both of them thinking, pondering about the future. Time went by, how much, Shelagh wasn't sure. But eventually, he slowed the car to a stop, and she adjusted herself. Why were they stopping? He was taking her to Nonnatus to speak with Sister Julienne about, well, about becoming Shelagh Mannion again, completely, but they were still a ways from there. He had stopped them outside of the city, very few cars passing by. It had started misting outside, and she shivered. As she opened her mouth to speak, her brows crinkled with confusion, he spoke. "Shelagh, you are beautiful." And when she met his gaze, she felt it. She felt every ounce of love that he felt for her, she felt every ounce of attraction and care and devotion. And for the first time in her life, Shelagh Mannion did not question a compliment, or thank them awkwardly, not believing their words. She felt beautiful, in his eyes, at least.