Summary: Patsy's POV, explaining the missing letters. One shot

Disclaimer: Call the Midwife belongs to Heidi Thomas, the BBC and lots of lucky others.

Author's Note: Two ideas collided in my head and produced this story - why Patsy didn't write to Delia and why did she look so unsure, her clothing so mismatched, when she arrived back in Poplar.

Not beta'ed. Apologies for grammatical and/or typographical errors.

From her position, pinned on Delia's bed, the edge of her suitcase resting at the foot of her bed caught Patsy's eye. If the others gave it a thought, in the midst of the celebrations, they probably supposed that she was unpacking it, she mused, but lying here with Delia, she couldn't raise any enthusiasm for the task.

Anyway, she rationalised, it wasn't as though there was much in the case. Some bittersweet memories kept in the careworn box that had travelled with her to Hong Kong; some delightful new memories in the form of the precious letters she had received from Delia whilst she'd been away, letters that were carefully tied together with Rue's faded hair ribbon; and the letters she'd written to Delia whilst she was on her way home.

Clothes she deliberated, however, were there none. Well, virtually none, she temporised thinking of the few remaining outfits that earlier that day she had repacked into the bottom of the capacious case. At the time, she had folded them carefully in an attempt to keep them from becoming too wrinkled. In spite of that effort, as they were probably now residing at the bottom of the case, she acknowledged to herself that it had probably been a completely futile endeavour.

As they lay there, Patsy's thoughts had meandered further back than that morning, to when she had arrived in Hong Kong earlier in the year. Despite his advancing paralysis, or perhaps in some strange way strengthened by it, at first her father had maintained the cold, withdrawn, prickly persona she remembered from their all too brief reunion, before he had unceremoniously shipped her off to boarding school in England as, she had supposed, an unwanted reminder of all that he had lost.

If he had chosen to remain like that, Patsy felt she would have just kept her well-practised, 'brave face' facade in place, and continued to care for him as she would any one of her patients. However, as the months went past, and as his health had continued to deteriorate, his demeanour had softened. Patsy thought that, conceivably, the guilt-ridden memories he no doubt carried, coupled with the little time he knew he had left, had started to weigh heavily on him. Alternatively, she pondered, perhaps as he had approached the end of his life, he had decided to try to make his peace with her in an effort to rekindle a relationship with his only living family, trying, in his own mind, to go back and recreate the person that her mother must have loved all those years ago.

At first, he had started by conversing with her about the newspaper articles she had read to him that day from 'The Post'. Then, as the months went by, they had slowly graduated into more in-depth discussions that had covered a wider range of topics, before finally, they had ventured into truly emotional heart-to-heart conversations. Those discussions had ultimately led to him, much to Patsy's amazement, seeking her forgiveness for abandoning her in the face of his own demons, and Patsy eventually feeling confident enough to risk revealing to him her love for Delia and her essential role in Patsy's life, much to his surprise and avowed delight. In the end, whatever the motivation that had precipitated the change, Patsy simply did not care, she had her father back.

Originally, through the trials and tribulations of those wretched early months when there had been only her reclusive father and Beatrice - his nurse - for company, Patsy's main solace had been writing to Delia. She had delighted in crafting her letters, endeavouring to entertain Delia and taking time to try to accurately describe the sights and sounds of Hong Kong, something that had provided her with an, all too temporary, escape from her frustrations and loneliness. She had also derived a subtle form of entertainment from striving to create the perfect carefully worded allusions to tell Delia how much she regretted their separation and to let Delia know, without using the actual words - in case of prying eyes and inquisitive minds - how much she loved and missed her.

Equally, she had treasured receiving Delia's letters in return, intently poring over the details of her midwifery studies, the entertaining tales about the adventures of Trixie, Barbara and Phyllis, and the Sisters at Nonnatus House, and even the cubs' antics, as dutifully relayed to her via Akela Crane.

Reading and re-reading those stories of the life she had left behind had helped her to cope with her feelings of abandonment, and had allowed her clearly visualise the place where she knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life. She wanted to be standing by Delia's side, and that's what she had been determined would happen, just as soon as she could leave behind the confining expectations of her father's home.

Patsy heaved a huge mental sigh, being careful to keep it squashed deep inside, cautious not to disturb the head that was finally resting so peacefully on her shoulder. She knew that Delia deserved to know why she had stopped writing so abruptly, and although easy to explain on the surface, the underlying emotions were anything but easy… but then when in her life had anything emotional ever been straight-forward she thought with a wry grimace.

"Wanda...", Patsy silently mouthed the word, thinking it strange how much of an impact Wanda had had on her life.

The typhoon had ripped through Hong Kong in early September, destroying houses, wrecking livelihoods and, worst of all from Patsy's point of view, hurting people. From what she had been able to gather from the articles in "The Post", the brunt of the impact had been taken on the mainland in and around Tolo Harbour. Nevertheless even the so-called 'lesser' winds that had battered Hong Kong Island had severely damaged large numbers of the resident's fragile houses; leaving people injured, homeless, and without clean water or sanitation.

Patsy had decided, even though she knew her Cantonese was limited, that she was still the best person to undertake the daily task of trying to obtain fresh food and water for their household of three. However, that in itself was an ordeal as, once again, she had felt like a powerless child, who had to scavenge around for food to try to feed her family. Leaving the house every day to try to gather those vital provisions had felt like walking straight back in time, into the camp, when all around her there were desperate, scared and hungry people, who were living in terribly unhygienic conditions, some with serious injuries that needed medical assistance, something that was not readily available to them.

Unsurprisingly, Patsy reflected, with the steadily deteriorating condition of her father, and the destruction and devastation of the surrounding area, her nightmares had come back with a vengeance. Her dreams were riven with dark images from the long years in internment, reliving night after night the deaths of her mother and sister, but with the additional torment of now seeing her father and her precious Delia appearing in those dreadful places. Everyone she loved being repeatedly and cruelly abused, beaten by faceless guards, dying in front of her; whilst she was held captive, paralysed by invisible forces, helpless to intervene.

To try to allow her to regain control of her wayward emotions and to put an end to the harrowing dreams, at first Patsy had put her mind to doing whatever she could to help. Though, even now, she felt that it had not been enough. She had opened the house as a refuge providing shelter for as many people as they could; assisted in the different civilian-led medical efforts; and had even donated their clothes to the collection for the worst affected, reasoning that her father would never need his again and she could always replace hers once the local shops reopened.

When those measures had proved ineffective in reducing the nightly terrors she was facing, Patsy had decided she just needed to make sure she worked until she was completely exhausted. As luck would have it, the circumstances dictated that was not such a difficult task to achieve as it might have been at any other time. Between helping Beatrice with her father; organising the new members of the household to ensure there was sufficient food and water for everyone; assisting the various groups of people who were trying to provide medical aid in the area and pitching in where she could with the efforts to clear up the debris left after the typhoon, being bone-weary became a normal state of affairs. Still, more times than Patsy liked to remember, she had found that even reaching a state of complete physical exhaustion was not sufficient to permit her to sleep soundly.

As the unrelenting, daily grind continued, the days flew by and, before Patsy had any time to realise it, September had become October. That's when it become apparent to everyone who had remained in Queenstown House that it was time for Patsy to cease her other labours and dedicate herself full-time to her ailing father.

As those weeks passed, Patsy knew the end was close. Sadly, that realisation did not require any of her specialist nursing knowledge because, as her father's physical state had reached its nadir, his mind had also altered, becoming a fragile, shell-like object that allowed him to drift away from them. Like a small boat leaving the harbour, he had slowly moved so far from the shore that he no longer recognized the people that cared for him and loved him in his final days.

Sitting by his bedside, Patsy had thought that it was odd how she had felt almost a strange relief when, after seemingly endless days and nights watching and waiting as his life ebbed away, early one morning the disease had taken the remaining part of him from her, allowing him to finally escape to join her mother and sister. His death had the effect of intensifying her desire to flee Hong Kong, until it had been almost a physical force pushing at her and, as the sunlight had crept into the window of his bedroom, she had moved swiftly to put into action the plan she had formulated over those last weeks.

Fortuitously, Patsy had reflected grimly after making all the arrangements, the climate in Hong Kong meant that burials had to occur within 48 hours of a person's death. That had meant she had been able to arrange her father's interment with what would have been seen as indecent haste, had they been residing in England. Being able to hold the burial so quickly also meant she would be able to leave Hong Kong on the SS Chusan, the fastest ship travelling back to England, which left on Sunday, the day after the funeral.

When she had been discussing her travel options with the tour agent that morning, Patsy had seriously considered whether she could afford to take the aeroplane back to England. Unfortunately, she knew that any money her father might have bequeathed to her would not be available for several weeks and her own savings, which had been seriously depleted by the purchase of her return passage to Hong Kong, would not be able to cover such an expense; however welcome a speedier return might have been.

Patsy knew the rapid timetable she had put in motion meant that there was no time for her to rest, that would come later she had promised to herself. For now she knew had to focus on dealing with the well-wishers that seemed to keep arriving at the house to talk to her about her late father; visiting the lawyers to listen to the reading of his will and putting in place the legal paperwork that was needed to allow Beatrice to continue to manage the house in her absence; and finally, equipping the remaining people, that had stayed with them to help during her father's illness, with stipends to try to thank them for their staunch support.

Dealing with all of the many and varied duties that arose in those crowded days, meant that Patsy was utterly heedless to the now deplorable state of her wardrobe. It wasn't until the morning of the funeral, when she was examining her few remaining outfits with a very critical eye, that she realised she had exactly one suitably formal outfit that she could wear to the service and then she had almost nothing for the journey home. She had turned away from the wardrobe, unusually unable to summon either the energy or the inclination to try to resolve the situation.

Her father's funeral at the Hong Kong Colonial Cemetery had gone as well as any funeral could go, Patsy had thought morbidly. She had waited patiently as the other mourners left after the ceremony, shaking their hands and accepting their platitudes until she alone stood looking at the carved headstone. It had almost been obscured by the many floral tributes, but she didn't need to see the epitaph to know what it said.

"In Loving Memory of Thaddeus Gabriel Mount, Born 1st February 1906, Died 1st November 1962 – Together again" and below that were the two lines she had asked to be added in memory of her mother and sister, so that they could all be reunited in death, as they could not in life. "Elizabeth Alice Mount, Born 17th March 1911, Died 1943" and "Prudence 'Rue' Alice Mount, Born 7th May 1936, Died 1944 - Taken too soon, Beloved Forever. Rest in Peace".

Standing there Patsy had known that in all likelihood she would never return to this place, so she had taken the time to say her last goodbyes, wiping the tears from her face, before kissing her fingers and tapping them lightly against the headstone. Then she left without looking behind her.

The next day, as she had settled into her cabin on the SS Chusan, Patsy had been surprised. After she'd had to book at such short notice, the tour agent had warned her not to expect much, so she had thought the room might be cramped, but it was a more than adequate size. She had actually thought it was only slightly smaller than the nursing accommodation she'd lived in during training and the small issue of the current view from the porthole would obviously improve considerably once they'd left the quayside.

She had quickly unpacked her few belongings and then had to sit down on the bed as a wave of dizziness swept over her. Although it was still daylight, and there would soon be, she was sure, the usual social meetings to familiarise everyone with the ship's schedule and itinerary, Patsy was unable to summon enough energy to move. The headache that had been building since morning had started to pound at her temples and lying down on top of the blanket; she had fallen into a deep sleep.

Looking back on that period, from within the safety of Delia's embrace, Patsy could see that she had been exhausted and grieving, but at the time, it hadn't seemed that way at all.

The first thing she had noticed, when the headache had eased somewhat, was that several days had passed; at least Patsy had thought it had been several days, as somewhere along the way she had managed to lose track of time. Being on board ship had resurrected the traumatic memories of her first voyage to England, as a post-internment waif with few belongings, malnourished and scarred by the years spent growing up in the camp. She had felt completely listless and could barely find the energy to get out of bed. The accidental discovery, that sleeping during the day helped to reduce the intensity of the nightmares brought on by the memories, provided her with the additional incentive she needed to isolate herself in the cabin. When she had been sleeping there, nothing could trouble her.

More days had floated by and, as the time had passed, Patsy had found that whenever she was awake, she had spent the time going round in emotional circles. She had endlessly vacillated between being angry with her father for being, for so many years, a remote presence in her life; wretched because, as she had berated herself, she should have tried harder to broach the gap between them; miserable that her father, the last connection to her family, was dead; and, worst of all, dreadfully guilty, that she felt she had not been so upset when her mother and little sister had died. It had been irrelevant to her that in the camp she'd not been in a position to mourn for them as she could now, she'd been too busy trying to survive, and by the time she was free to grieve, she'd suppressed her feelings so much that she simply didn't know how to access them again.

Fortunately for her welfare, when the room stewards had noticed that Patsy wasn't going to the dining room they had taken her under their wing and brought ever more appealing dishes to her cabin to try to tempt her appetite. Even though the food looked delectable, Patsy found she just wasn't feeling hungry and she could barely manage to pick at it.

Over a week more had gone by before Patsy had come to the unpleasant conclusion that, although the headaches had abated and she needed to sleep less; actually she was not feeling like herself at all. Somewhere along the line, as well as her appetite, she had lost her ability to focus on anything. She would start reading one of Delia's letters and then find herself several hours later staring at the same page, or she would drift off into memories of her childhood in Shanghai and Singapore, where she was surrounded by her family.

She'd even tried giving herself a pep-talk, several in fact, but her usual 'Buck up old bean' monologue just didn't seem to be doing the trick this time and all the willpower in the world couldn't seem to cut through the lethargic fog that seemed to engulf her.

Almost 3 weeks had gone by since leaving Hong Kong before Patsy had started to feel better. Of course, it was then that she had the awful realisation that between the typhoon, looking after her dying father and then leaving Hong Kong so quickly after the funeral, she hadn't written to Delia in… she blanched when she realised, in over 10 weeks. Patsy railed at herself; she could not believe she had been so careless; Delia would be absolutely frantic with worry. She had immediately gone in search of one of the room stewards to find out when the ship would arrive at the next port. At least then she would be able to send Delia a letter, or even a telegram, to let her know she was OK and on her way home. However he had told her that, regretfully, there were no further scheduled stops, they were now on the last leg of the journey from Naples to London and in just under 5 days, they would be back in England. Patsy's heart had dropped when she'd realised that meant she would have absolutely no opportunity to rectify her gaffe, she was stuck incommunicado until they reached London.

Patsy knew she could have spent her remaining time on board brooding over her stupid blunder, but she had been determined that she had spent enough time living with regrets, it was time to break out from her self-imposed seclusion. When she had ventured out, however, she had been reminded that unfortunately, a certain standard of dress was expected, so any expedition had been marred by whispers or in some cases bald-faced, blunt observations on her "inappropriate" dress. In her still fragile state of mind, she had found it difficult to ignore the harsh comments and, as the clamour and joviality of other people still grated on her nerves somewhat, she had resolved to keep out of everyone's way. Instead, she had spent her time re-reading Delia's letters and finally penning the unedited love letters she'd been longing to send to Delia, patiently waiting until the sun had gone down and everyone had retired to their cabins or into the dining room before she had hazarded pacing the decks.

It wasn't until they had travelled across the Bay of Biscay that Patsy had an opportunity to explore some of the more communal areas on the ship. The ship had run into some awful weather, but it was a godsend to Patsy, as it made sure everyone, apart from those with very good sea legs, stayed in their cabins. For once, her limited wardrobe didn't matter, as no-one was paying her any attention, they were all too busy just trying to stay upright. For Patsy there were no such difficulties as the rubber soles of the plimsolls she had taken from her father's wardrobe had proved to be as good at gripping the wet decks, as they had been on the pedals of the bicycle she'd used to get around on the island in the wake of the typhoon.

Patsy had impatiently counted down the days until the ship had docked in Tilbury on November 29th. At the appointed hour, she had been waiting, packed suitcase in hand, so that as soon as the boarding ramps had been placed against the ship she could disembark. She was eager, excited, nervous, apprehensive, and all of it had been roiling around in a big ball in her stomach since she had awoken that morning. However, the main emotion that had been overriding all of those other feelings was the one that was compelling her to get off the ship as quickly as she could, a yearning to see Delia.

The taxi had dropped her just outside the square. Standing in the street light, Patsy reflected that it had all seemed so clear when she had been on board, but now, as she stood looking through the arch of the bridge at the magical scene in front of her, she felt ill-at-ease and uncomfortable. It looked like everyone was having a truly wonderful time, life had continued perfectly well in her absence and, she suspected, she was simply a pleasant memory to be brought to mind occasionally.

Then, as the snow had started to fall, she saw her. Her life. Her redemption. Delia had been walking alone around the edge of the carousel, threading her way through the throng with her hands thrust in her pockets, her gaze introspective. She looked terribly sad and alone within that joyful crowd of people, and Patsy had never seen a more wonderful sight. Patsy's eyes had latched onto her face, willing Delia to look up and see her, to complete their circle, allowing her finally to come home after so many months of separation.

Delia had glanced over and then stopped, just staring at her. Patsy had wondered if perhaps Delia hadn't seen her, so she cautiously raised her hand to wave, careful not to make too large a gesture, to avoid attracting everyone's attention. That seemed to break the spell Delia was under and Patsy had watched eagerly as Delia made her way swiftly under the bridge towards her. Patsy had quickly placed her case on the ground, anticipating with longing that beautiful dimpled smile that could light up even her darkest days. So she had been startled when Delia didn't stop in front of her; but instead had grabbed the hand nearest to her, dragging Patsy along with her and into the shadows by the side of the bridge. Patsy had been shocked; she had felt just like a naughty child about to be scolded by their amah; something she had experienced more than once as a child.

She had stared down at the pavement, not seeing it, but struggling with her unexpectedly unruly emotions, abashed at her inability to speak. She had been practising for nearly a week what to say to Delia, but all those words had disappeared at Delia's touch. However, it appeared Delia wasn't in the mood to let her get away with such avoidance for long and she'd tugged impatiently on Patsy's hand.

Mentally berating herself, Patsy had steeled herself and finally looked into Delia's eyes, feeling almost as a physical blow the anguish that she must have caused her, as she had perceived the pain and worry that she saw etched on her love's face. Deels deserved more than another apology from her and perhaps the most important part that Delia needed to know was that she had come back as soon as she could, "I got on the boat the day after his funeral."

"I didn't know. I didn't know you were coming back." Delia had said reproachfully. Her eyes glistened in the lamplight with unshed tears, and in that moment, Patsy relived all the awful moments she'd experienced since leaving for Hong Kong, when the thought of returning to Delia had been the only thing that had allowed her to endure them.

"I did. I always did," Patsy had said with fierce determination. Then she had continued, nodding slightly as she made a solemn pledge to both Delia and herself "and wherever I go next, you're coming with me."

Patsy had pulled Delia close to her and placed on her lips a kiss that she had hoped conveyed all of the pent up longing she'd felt since leaving her; the kiss that she'd wanted to give Delia since they had been so cruelly interrupted by Fred all those months ago.

The feelings that had been coursing through her as they kissed were almost painful in their intensity, but Patsy still felt Delia touch her face. She was shocked at how strange it felt. Feeling oddly off balance, she had tentatively reached up to put her arm around Delia's shoulders. Why did a gesture that had been as natural as breathing suddenly feel so awkward, Patsy questioned herself, then it occurred to her that apart from a few rare occasions, she hadn't touched or been touched by anyone since leaving London. Relieved at finding the source of her nervousness, she'd regained her confidence and pulled Delia closer to her.

Delia had slowly opened her eyes and pulled away from her reluctantly, before walking over to Patsy's suitcase and picking it up. Patsy followed, but she had needed to push her hands into her pockets to keep from reaching out and grabbing hold of Delia's free hand. Now that Delia was within her grasp, she did not want to let her go. A small hesitant smile had graced her lips, as she meekly followed Delia back towards the festivities and their home.

It took some finagling and, Patsy thought, some downright lies, but after saying hello to, and being welcomed back by, everyone, Patsy had been trying to come up with a way for them to escape without appearing too ungrateful. So she had been surprised when Nurse Crane had told her that she looked 'a mite peaky' and suggested to Delia that she should 'take Nurse Mount upstairs and show her the revised rooming arrangements. Make sure she unpacks and perhaps make sure she has a bit of a lie down after her long journey'.

As they had climbed the stairs, Patsy had at last been able to take hold of Delia's hand again, but to her surprise Delia used that connection to draw her past the room she shared with Trixie and had instead opened the door to Phyllis and Barbara's room. Once inside Delia had proceeded to take her coat and suitcase, and placed them by one of the beds. Then, as Patsy had looked on in bemused fascination, she had wedged their sacrificial book under the door before returning to stand in front of her. Patsy had loved seeing the glow of desire building in Delia's eyes as she gazed longingly down at her gorgeous smile, the one she had ached to see for so long. She took Delia's hands in her own and had slowly moved closer, feeling as if she were being branded by every inch of Delia's body as it had pressed tightly against hers; before she leant down to kiss her. Long seconds had ticked past as they kissed, oblivious to everything else, and as they did Patsy slowly felt her world finally right itself again. She was home.

Numerous kisses later Delia had informed her that Phyllis was right; Patsy really should take some time to rest, as she pushed Patsy backwards onto the bed, crawling on top of her. She waited as Patsy had settled herself before cuddling up comfortably by her side, wrapping herself around Patsy and sighing in deep satisfaction. Whilst she was getting comfortable, Patsy had taken the time to look around the unfamiliar room and raised a questioning eyebrow, before asking, "So Deels, how come we're making out in Phyllis's room?"

Delia had laughed softly and placed a quick, loving kiss onto her eyebrow saying, "How much have I missed you", before explaining, with a certain amount of trepidation, that Phyllis knew about them.

At Patsy's perplexed expression Delia had clarified, about a month after Patsy had left, Phyllis had confessed to Delia that she had accidentally seen them together just before Patsy had left for Hong Kong. Those suspicions had then been confirmed by Delia's inability to mask her distress the day Patsy had actually left.

Delia had told Patsy that after Val had arrived at Nonnatus House, she had seemed to supplant Patsy's place - both in Trixie's room and as a midwife. Unfortunately, that misconceived notion had been reinforced by the sudden lack of contact by Patsy. Delia hadn't been able to get it out of her head that Val had been employed because Sister Julienne didn't think Patsy was intending to return and that idea had grown until it had started to prey constantly on her mind, affecting both her work and her normally sunny disposition.

During this confession, Delia's face had grown stormy. Hugging her close, Patsy had placed a comforting kiss on her forehead, before she had taken a deep breath to fortify herself so she could explain her silence but, as she did so, Delia shook off her despondent mood and continued her narration. When it became clear that Barbara was intending to get married, and sooner rather than later, Phyllis had come to her with the plan that she and Delia should swap rooms. Phyllis had professed to Sister Julienne she would be more than happy to move into Delia's single room, where her desire to practise her Spanish would not disturb anyone, thus leaving the 'younger ones', Delia and Patsy, to room together on Patsy's return. Sister Julienne had though it a splendid idea and given it her blessing and, as it had worked out, Delia beamed a truly delighted smile as she looked up at Patsy, that room swap had happened that very morning. This was now their room.

Patsy couldn't believe how well the arrangements had worked out "Gosh Deel's you are a marvel and Phyllis is an absolute brick" she said, giving her a delighted grin.

Pulling the still beaming Delia even closer to her, Patsy kissed her several times for good measure and then settled back onto their bed enjoying their closeness. Before her trip to Hong Kong, she knew she would have panicked and would undoubtedly have snapped at Delia for letting Phyllis know about their secret. However, here and now, with Delia snuggled up against her, she realised she couldn't raise even a flicker of concern. In that moment, Patsy realised that her experiences in Hong Kong had had more of an impact on her than she had thought. Somewhere along the line, she had finally understood that there were much more important things in life that what people thought of them. If she had Delia by her side, she could weather any storm.

And that's when her suitcase caught her eye...

Some background info:

Typhoon Wanda struck Hong Kong on September 1st with 10.4 inches (26.4 cm) of rainfall, producing gusts of 161 mph (259 kph) in combination with a high storm surge which was at least 17 feet (5.2 metres) above normal. According to some sources, the storm damaged thousands of homes leaving 72,000 people homeless, causing 434 deaths and over 2,000 boats in the colony were either wrecked or damaged

In 1962 a staff nurse's wages (which I have guessed would be equivalent to that of a midwife working for a convent) varied between a minimum of £345 and a maximum £476 per annum.

SS Chusan – cruise liner working for P&O-Orient Lines
Hong Kong - Sunday 4th November 1962
Singapore - 7th/8th November
Penang - 9th November
Columbo - 12th November
Bombay - 14th November
Aden - 18th November
Port Said - 21st/22nd November
Naples - Saturday, 24th November
London - Thursday, November 29th