I got the idea for this from an extract from the Call the Midwife books which was posted on Tumblr. It is strange and I've altered the extract a bit; but nevertheless I hope you like it. It's a oneshot at the moment but I'm on holiday for another week so I could go on. Also, I've chosen to set it after the kiss on the hand but before the TB diagnosis.
He stood back for a moment, surveying Mrs Matthews sitting up in with her new little boy in her arms quite contentedly. It had been a painful birth and he was happy that this time it had come to such a happy end. Of course, he had had the best of help, Sister Bernadette as always had been truly indefatigable- crouching on the hard floor beside the mother for the duration, murmuring words of encouragement, in effect making sure they all got through it.
Looking away from the baby in her arms, Mrs Matthews smiled at him, then turned to Sister Bernadette, frowning a little.
"Sister are you alright?" she asked.
Patrick turned in slight alarm in Sister Bernadette's direction. He had been so busy minding Mrs Matthews and the baby that it had escaped his notice that Sister Bernadette had not got back to her feet since the baby had been delivered, she was still kneeling in the same uncomfortable position.
"What is it, Sister?" he asked, concerned.
"Doctor, I'm stuck," she told him, looking up at him from the floor, quite calmly but nevertheless betraying a slight hint of discomfort and embarrassment, "My legs have gone completely to sleep. I'm sorry but, you'll have to help me up."
He hesitated for a moment. What she said should not have been surprising; she had been kneeling on the floor in the same position, focused intently on her work, for the best part of half an hour. It would have been nothing short of a miracle if she had been able to spring back up.
She smiled up at him again, her eyes wide; smiling but looking rather helpless.
"I'm sorry, Doctor," she told him again, as if it were to much to ask.
He did not know why he was hesitating. Nothing she could ask of him was too much. Perhaps that was the problem. If he had been asked to help any of the nurses up, or Sister Julienne, Sister Evangelina-... he would have tried his level best and perhaps been more of a hindrance than a help, but he would not have dwindled liked this if asked to help one of them. But it was Sister Bernadette... Sister Bernadette who was ever more frequently lingering in his thoughts, who he had foolishly kissed on the hand, who was too beautiful for either of their sakes.
"There's no need to be sorry," he told her, extending his arms towards her, "Come here."
Leaning forwards, he wrapped his arms as precisely around her waist as humanly possible, trying to avoid making her uncomfortable. But even this was enough to make him palpably aware of her physical presence under his bowed body, the top of her hip bone under his hand, the tired curve of her back brushing against his legs. Bent nearly double, his head was at a level with hers and unless he was very much mistaken, he heard her breath hitch quietly. He wondered if she was close enough to hear his heart hammering through his shirt. She was of a slender build, but nevertheless the feel of her, her presence under his skin was firm, solid, comfortingly so, he thought in the brief moments before he caught up with his own wandering mind and told it very sternly to stop.
He pulled hard, and it made no impression, she remained stuck on the floor. Bracing himself, moving his legs slightly further apart to steady himself, he pulled again. Nothing. She was a dead weight, she really did have no control over the lower part of her body, she was completely stuck. He loosened his grip on her a little, but did not withdraw completely.
"Your legs must be hurting a lot," he murmured to her, quite concerned by now, "Why didn't you say?"
"I didn't notice until now," she replied quietly, "And they aren't painful. I can't feel them at all. Even if they had been... there were more important things to do."
He sighed; her selflessness, though it did not surprise him, was a little alarming; it was so absolute.
"She's stuck," he told Mrs Matthews, rather inanely, not able to think of anything else to say.
"So I see," the mother remarked a little wryly, somewhat recovered by now, and then, kindly, to Sister Bernadette, "We've both been in the wars, haven't we, Sister?"
"Quite," Sister Bernadette replied, smiling in spite of her obvious discomfort, " Though you've come out of them more gracefully than I have, Mrs Matthews. Dr. Turner..."
"Yes?" he asked her.
"Your..." she nodded towards her own waist, where his hand was still lodged, though it would obviously be foolish for him to try to pull her up again. Her voice was soft and carried no hint of a reprimand, only she still sounded a little strained and uncomfortable. He had just settled naturally back into this position, he had almost forgotten that he was touching her. She, obviously, had not. He withdrew quickly.
"Sorry," he told her before straightening up and taking a step back.
She made no reply.
Mrs Matthews, however, was rather more in control of the situation than either one of them were.
"Sit her down with her legs stretched out, Doctor," she told him, "That'll do the trick. Get the blood back to her feet."
"Yes," he nodded curtly, "Good idea."
"I'll just stay here on the floor," Sister Bernadette told him, "If that's alright with Mrs Matthews."
"Certainly, dear, you stay there just as long as you like."
She attempted to kick her legs out from under herself, failed, and, in some frustration now, looked at him rather pleadingly.
"You'll have to help me," she told him.
Her eyes were still wide, oh so wide and uncertain; embarrassed, tired, uncomfortable, willing him to just help her.
"Of course," he replied, "If you grab onto there," he indicated to the iron bed post that was just near enough for her to reach, "Lift yourself with your arms and I'll see to your legs."
There was a slight pause.
"If I may," he added, a little sheepishly.
She nodded a little brusquely, doing as he had told her.
"Let's just do it," she told him, her discomfort starting to wear her patience down a little.
"Right," he agreed, "Are you ready?" bending over again, ready to take hold of her ankle, "Right, lift."
She lifted herself up as he told her, and, as easily as anything, he slipped his fingers gently, right around her ankle, straightening her limp leg as carefully as he could so it stretched out before her. He heard her hiss slightly; her face was taught as she tried to control herself.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"It's just tingling a lot," she told him, "I've never had such bad pins and needles. The feeling's coming back."
As she spoke, her eyes moved smoothly to rest on where his hand still lingered by her ankle. Again, he withdrew his hand quickly.
"Just do that again," he told her, "And we'll sort the other leg out, then you'll feel a lot better."
She nodded, and lifted herself up again. Once she sat with her legs out in front of her, she leant forwards and sorted out the habit that had ridden up under her legs to expose her knees. Trying his best to be courteous, he averted his eyes as she tidied herself up. Turning away, he looked straight towards Mrs Matthews. He was not expecting her to be looking back, or for her to catch the look on his face, that he had just turned away from Sister Bernadette on the floor. The woman's face softened somehow, and he knew that she could tell how he was feeling.
He looked at his feet. He could not stand it; to not be allowed to touch her and to have to touch her like this. His body was reeling from it; his chest felt tight, his pulse high and he was struggling to keep his uneven breathing under control. His heart felt ready to explode; he could not look at her, at the beautiful girl on the floor whose body he had just circled in his arms. Still, he stared at his shoes.
"Dr. Turner," Mrs Matthews spoke quite gently to him, "Would you mind going and telling my husband it's alright for him to come up now?"
"Not at all, Mrs Matthews," he replied, more than grateful for the chance she was giving him to escape.
He left the room as quickly as he could, taking a deep breath only when he reached the stairs.
Please review if you have the time.