Author: Regency
Title: Sweet Mother, I Cannot Weave
Pairing: Bernie Wolfe/Serena Campbell
Summary: AU. Bernie is the unfortunate dunkee in the dunking booth at the Holby Valentine's Fair. This was not her idea. (It was Serena's idea. It's always Serena's idea.)
Prompt: Drabble challenge - Berena – "Come over here and make me." [100 x 11]
Author's Notes: Come squee about Berena with me on Tumblr at sententiousandbellicose!
Disclaimer: I don't own any characters, settings, or stories recognizable as being from Holby City. They are the property of their actors, producers, writers, and studios, not me. No copyright infringement was intended and no money was made in the writing or distribution of this story. It was good, clean fun. [Title from Diane Rayor's new translation of the Sappho.]
Bernie sat on the dais of the dunking booth, face an uneasy rictus as the umpteenth staff member tried and failed to lob the ball at the launching pedal with enough force to drop her into the tepid water below. Tepid instead of freezing because they didn't actually want Bernie dead of hypothermia in bloody February. Would be terrible for future fundraising efforts, probably.
Serena was entirely to blame for her being here, lazing at the top of a dunking booth in a hastily-purchased one-piece, instead of splitting candy floss with Serena and winning her a stuffed bear at the bottle toss. Because Serena wanted AAU to be responsible for more fundraising than any other department in the hospital, she had lovingly, relentlessly pressed everyone to take on a role at one of the many booths being offered at the Holby Valentine's Fair. Raf got the bottle toss. Morven got to help on concessions, where she was making a killing. Lou was on face painting. Fletch got a waiver for bringing all the kids—Serena was a soft touch for his brood. Bernie got the dunking booth for lack of competitive spirit. And Serena was precisely where Serena would be during such an occasion: Serena was on the kissing both.
Bernie really should pay more attention when Serena got competitive. It always landed her in the thick of it right alongside her.
To make matters worse, Bernie had a perfect view of the kissing booth, situated directly opposite the dunking booth, meaning she got to see the lengthy line of fair goers up to kiss her partner. Bernie had gotten to kiss Serena twice today while some of them were easily on their third go-round. It was a bit galling, like a caged lion being prodded from outside the cage. It didn't help that Serena would blow her a kiss whenever she noticed Bernie watching. Poking. The bloody. Lion.
Serena was entertaining a visitor for easily the fourth time—Bernie may have been counting—and giving him an especially sweet smile to coax him into donating extra in addition to the raffle tickets he'd purchased upon entry. She was really turning on the charm to twist his arm. The poor bastard was putty in her grasp and so was his wallet. Bernie was convinced Serena would have made a devastating grifter in another life.
After being bestowed with another sound kiss, her admirer stumbled off toward concessions with a big peach-stained lip print smeared over his mouth. Serena put up her 10-minute break sign and gestured for Evie to do something. The girl, who'd volunteered to be Serena's kissing booth assistant, climbed onto a chair to write 'Limit: 3 kisses' on the hand-painted banner above the stand. There was some grumbling as those well above their limits shuffled out of the line. Serena and Evie waved them a cheery goodbye.
Serena settled in with Evie for a quiet chat. Bernie enjoyed seeing them together, knowing how much Serena wished she'd been in a position to dote on Elinor more at this age and took pleasure in guiding Fletch's eldest on her way. She also took immense pleasure in teaching her Serena's proven tricks. There was little doubt Evie would grow up to be quite the menace with Serena for a mentor. All things being equal, Bernie was looking forward to being around to see it.
Bernie eyed the line outside the dunking booth and was unsurprised to find it longer than before. She'd been dunked exactly once today, by the looming Swedish wonder Henrik Hanssen no less, and his success had only fueled others to try the deceptively simple challenge for themselves. Her booth had collected a rather hefty sum in the process, which she was sure he'd intended. Henrik was a sneaky sod when he wanted to be.
Once Serena's ten minutes were almost up by Bernie's internal reckoning, Serena began to fix herself up to get back on the grind. The fact that her patrons had been able to see her the entire time was part of the show. Serena finished off her water and applied fresh powder to her cheeks to give her face an extra pop of color. Then came the lipstick. Bernie knew from experience that applying lipstick was far from sexy as far primping experiences went, but Serena made it sexy.
She picked a single patron out of the line, a woman about their age, and gazed intently at her past her handheld mirror. She drew the silky lipstick across her upper lip, coloring it a deep rosy pink that would leave all kinds of lovely marks on a person. Bernie hadn't seen her in this one yet; she'd bought it on sale. The woman who'd become the target for her attention dropped her oversize fountain drink as soon as Serena began brushing the lip color over her bottom lip. Her lips pursed in a smirk as the woman babbled to the people she'd splashed as she tried to clean up her mess. Serena might have dabbled happily in innuendo to make her subordinates stammer, but she'd never needed words to steal a person's composure. Bernie had a little sympathy for the mere mortals subjected to Serena at her naughtiest.
She cupped her hands around her mouth and called out over the distance, "Behave yourself, Campbell!"
Serena squinted up at her in her aquatic enclosure. She seemed to like her chances very well if her grin was anything to go by. "Come over here and make me."
"That a request?" Bernie was due a break anytime now. She and Serena had learned to make ten-minute interludes go a long way.
"Think of it as an order, soldier. Hop to it. My assistant could do with some relief—and so could I."
Bernie didn't have to see that wink to hear the suggestiveness behind it. It was time for the sitting duck to take her leave. Just as she was signaling as much to Jasmine, her assistant for the duration, she spotted the next patron at the front of the line. Her son Cameron was rocking on his heels, glancing back and forth between Serena's antics and Bernie's position with a worn white ball clasped in his hand. His eyes were filled with mischief. He'd been an ace softball player as a cub; Cameron could pitch.
"Don't you dare." She'd been dry for hours.
"Now, mum."
"I mean it, Cameron."
He cocked his head and tutted. "It's for charity."
She had just enough time to swear before she plunged into lukewarm water.
Bloody Cameron.