Here it is; written for my lovely people on tumblr, particularly for anyone who found my last story in any way upsetting. This may take some explaining: this is an AU from the world where Turnadette genuinely are nothing more than good friends and colleagues (difficult to imagine, I know). This is Dr. Turner/Sister Julienne, a crack-ship; I can't stress that enough. Failure to accept this may well cause your mind to be blown.
The first time it had happened it had been a genuine accident. She had never meant it to happen. She hadn't wanted it. Well, perhaps want wasn't the easiest thing to deny in her situation, obviously there had been times when the idea had not been entirely repugnant to her, or it would never have happened at all. But she wasn't supposed to want it. She thought that even without the- rather substantial- obstacle of her vows, the idea of what they were doing would still have shocked her. And even in spite of this, stopping was proving something of a difficulty.
She would like to have been surprised that it had happened with him. But really she couldn't be, it was impossible; she wasn't sure if this was something that could have happened between her and anyone other than Patrick Turner. She had always liked him, perhaps not always in this way, but she had always been able to work well with him, always respected him, always thought he was a good man. And then there was always his good looks, his handsome smile, his undeniable resemblance to...
She cannot pinpoint the exact day when the simple gladness or relief to see him turned into the unmistakeable fluttering in her stomach. She knows exactly, though, the day when that fluttering turned into something distinctly other, distinctly more; an almost painful, aching, hurting, longing that filled the whole of the middle of her body up to the hollow cavity of her chest.
The first time it had happened, and not only the first time either, they had been in his office at the maternity hospital. Well, really it had started at Nonnatus House; but for Sister Julienne, the whole of life and death started at Nonnatus, so that was nothing particularly extraordinary. And at Nonnatus something had held her back, something...
He had come to see her about a patient; Cynthia had reported a case of suspected neglect relating to one of the families she looked after, but she was out on a call, so he had had to make do with her. Not that he made her feel as if he was making do with her, he settled graciously into the chair on the other side of her desk and they were able to discuss the matter calmly and thoroughly.
Increasingly she noticed a deep frown on his brow. His elbow rested on the arms of his chair and his hand rested tiredly against the side of his face.
"Are you alright, Doctor?" she asked him gently, her own face creasing a little in concern. He looked exhausted.
"Yes, Sister, I'm fine," he replied, and then- when the tone of her silence indicated she was far from convinced by this response- "I'm just a little bit tired, that's all. This case is getting me down a little bit."
"More than a little bit, by the look of it," she judged levelly, "If you don't mind me being frank, Doctor."
"No, it's fine, Sister, really," he told her, "I don't mind you saying, as seen as I'm here, bothering you with a problem that isn't really yours."
"You're not bothering me," she told him in reply, giving him a small smile but maintaining a largely serious gaze so he knew that she meant what she said sincerely "I'm here to be bothered. You know that we work as a team and if you have a problem then it is my concern too."
He smiled at her rather gratefully in reply.
"It's just I feel so responsible," he told her, his face showing significant distress, "I was present at the child's birth with Nurse Miller. I should have known-..."
"You could not have known from the birth alone the difficulties the parents would have and the neglect the child would suffer at the hands of the parents," Sister Julienne told him simply, "There is no way you could have known. The birth took place almost two years ago. None of this is your fault, Doctor. And I must say," she added more softly, giving him what she hoped was an encouraging smile, "That I think your professional conduct since the problem came to our attention has been exemplary."
He had been examining the edge of her desk very carefully as she spoke, but these last words made him look up at her. He gave her a warm and- she had to note- rather handsome smile.
"You're very kind to say so, Sister," he told her.
A very handsome smile.
"I speak nothing but the truth," she replied, a little curtly but kindly nonetheless, "What I feel ought to be said. I have nothing but the highest regard for you, Dr. Turner," she told him plainly, and then wondered why, a moment later, she felt herself blushing.
His eyes, removed from the table, had now settled upon her, and were examining her very closely. They were dark brown, of unknowable depth, and she thought this gave them quite an unnerving all-seeing quality. It made her feel a little uneasy.
"You haven't been losing sleep over this, have you?" she asked him, more quietly, more carefully than before.
He gave a sigh.
"Not over this specifically," he replied, sounding rueful in the extreme, "But you don't want to be bothe-..."
"I want to be bothered," she countered before he could say it, looking at him very firmly, "And you're not bothering me."
There was a pause, and then finally her conviction wore him down.
"It hasn't been easy," he confided in her, "Since Sarah died. Timothy's coping admirably. Sister Bernadette's a big help, she lost her own mother when she was very young."
"Yes, I know," she replied, "She's a good girl."
"Yes, she is," he agreed, "She gets on very well with Timothy."
There was another pause.
"But who is there for you, Doctor?" she asked him softly.
She saw his mouth twitch and his lips tighten a little.
"I manage, Sister," he told her, with rather a hollow effort at a smile.
She could not help but raise her eyebrows a little. Do you?- she wanted to ask him.
He looked up for a moment into her eyes and they exchanged a very honest look. She saw incredible sadness in his eyes, and didn't dare to wonder what he saw in hers.
"We are here for you, Doctor," she told him, "The whole of Nonnatus House. And I am here."
His smile grew more warm now, and their eyes met again.
"It's wonderful to here you say that, Sister," he told her, "It's wonderfully kind of you to say so."
"You're our friend," she replied by way of an explanation.
For a few moments, he simply sat their across the desk from her, looking at her very thoroughly. It made her feel most unusually self-conscious. She looked down at her clasped hands in her lap, and realised that she had been gripping her fingers very hard. Her ring had left a mark.
She looked up and found him still watching her. There was another pause for a moment. She had the distinct feeling of being a little short of breath. She had no idea what was affecting her like this.
"I must go, Sister," he told her, "I cannot detain you any longer."
"Nonsense," she told him as they both stood up at the same time, "You are always welcome. You must come back," she added, a little abruptly, "If you have any more difficulties. Or if you only need someone... to talk to. You must come to me."
She felt it would hurt her deeply if he needed to and he did not. She felt herself urgently trying to impress this upon him with out having to say so. They lingered by the door.
"I will, Sister," he told her, "You are the first person I would come to. I promise you that."
They smiled at each other, both seeming to be a little nervous. She could feel her own heart hammering in her chest and she could not explain why, but for the way he was looking at her.
"Thank you, Sister."
He leant forwards, planting a kiss on her cheek, obviously not thinking about it. Their conversation, had it taken place between two different people, had been the sort that might have led up to such a gesture. But somehow, his kiss felt a lot firmer, a lot more tender than a normal kiss on the cheek. When he pulled away, realising what he had just done, he pulled away, looking abashed.
"I'm sorry, Sister," he told her, his head sinking a little, avoiding her eyes, "I didn't-..."
"Shhh," she told him, staring at him in sheer surprise, "It doesn't matter."
His eyes raised once more, returning to hers. They were standing very close together. She knew exactly what he was going to do before he did it, and yet she did not tell him not to. He leant forwards again, kissing her lips so tentatively and chastely. She did not respond, but that did not put him off, and his persistence was what broke her down after the slightest of seconds. She kissed him back, trying not to think how unsure she was, because tied in with that was the reason that she should certainly not be doing this. Her hands hovered timidly and then finally rested upon his shoulders; she became lost in the way they were kissing. She couldn't stop, she wanted more. She pulled her head back.
Their eyes met; real shock in both their eyes now. What was happening to them, what were they doing? They were both out of breath. She took a step backwards away from him. Her hand was shaking, as she reached for the door handle.
"You should probably go," she told him.
"Yes," he agreed, "Sister, I'm-..."
"Don't be," she told him, "It doesn't matter."
He was still looking at her, looking shy, ashamed of himself, looking so very confused.
"I will see you later," she told him randomly, searching for something to say.
"Yes," he seemed not to take in her comment either, and merely nodded.
She opened the door.
"Goodbye, Doctor," she told him, closing the door after him as he went and leaning back against it, her mind, and her body, reeling.
…...
For the rest of the day, she could make neither head nor tale of what they had done. She couldn't understand it; nothing like this had ever happened to her before. Not while she'd been a nun, at least. The more she tried to understand it, the more she was unsuccessful; but perhaps that was because thinking about it meant thinking about him. It was only a foolish moment. Neither of them had thought, they had forgotten who they were, they had got carried away. She hoped, she prayed, that God would forgive her.
But that was wrong. Perhaps they'd been carried away, but they hadn't forgotten who they were. She hadn't. Their preceding conversation had been so deeply rooted in who they were it was impossible to forget.
And she had wanted him to kiss her. She hadn't pre-empted it, but when it had arrived it had felt welcome and natural. Knowing that, could she really ask or expect God to forgive her.
It was no sin to love, and wearing a habit did not change the fact that she was a person. She knew this; she had told Sister Bernadette this a few months ago, when it seemed that one of the sailors who the young nun was helping to treat for mild pneumonia had taken rather a shine to her. Thankfully, Sister Bernadette had giggled a little and told her there was absolutely no chance of her giving up the religious life to be the wife of sailor. She told others these things, and yet she was having the greatest of difficulty accepting them herself.
Perhaps because it is distinctly easier to forgive what happened in the past and what is over now. Her... feeling, her- she could scarcely dare to call it- desire, for Dr. Turner was very much a present issue.
She felt that she had to see him, and did not quite know why. It might do good to talk to him, but what on earth could they say to each other? Where would they begin? It would not do good to kiss him again, no matter how appealing she found the thought.
In the end, her motivations were too unclear to separate. Too unclear and too dubious. But, whatever they were, her actions were apparent. That evening, she found herself cycling over to the maternity home to see him. Her bag was full of papers, notes on the family they had discussed which earlier he had expressed a vague curiosity in seeing, but if she was honest with herself, this was nothing more than a ruse. She just wanted... she did not know what she wanted.
He looked up, his eyes full of surprise when he saw who had come into his office. Graciously and with obvious self-consciousness, he stood up, inclining his head politely.
"Sister," he told her, "I'm so glad you're here."
"Are you?" she asked, surprised.
He did not seem to have a reply; his statement seemed to have surprised him a little too.
"I've brought the papers you said you'd like to see," she told him, "I just thought they might be of interest. They're in my bag," she told him, indicating rather foolishly.
He nodded.
"That was very kind of you, Sister. You needn't have troubled yourself. But I'm glad you did," he added hurriedly, seeing the look that must have passed over her face, "Really, Sister, I'm very grateful."
"I didn't think that you weren't," she told him, not looking up, setting her bag on the desk between them and opening it to lift the papers out, "There are quite a few. This is not their first child. None have survived past infancy. It doesn't look good for the parents, I know, but I believe their living conditions-..."
"Sister, are you alright?" he asked her, watching her hands, shaking as she took the papers out of her bag and placed them flat on the desk.
She did not say anything, only continued what she was doing. Frustrated by her silence, he took hold of her hands and stopped her mid-action. She would not look up at him.
"Sister?"
He was still there holding her hands. Finally, she looked up at him. The look of pity, of apology, that he was giving her brought tears to her eyes, and she had no idea why.
"I don't know," she replied softly, in little more than a whisper.
"You're not," he stated firmly, crossing around the desk to stand before her, "It's because of me, isn't it? It's because of what I did."
"No," she whispered in reply.
"Yes," he insisted, looking appalled with himself, "I didn't know what I was doing, Sister. It will never happen again. I never meant to upset you."
"No, Doctor," she told him firmly, "Listen to me. What you did didn't upset me. What's upset me is that I wanted you to do it. And it is very wrong of me to want it."
The present tense did not escape him. They looked at each other for a few moments, his eyes searching hers for an answer.
"What I did was unforgivably foolish," he stated simply, then, seeming to correct his own thoughts a little, "It was unforgivable."
"I have forgiven you," she told him, truthfully.
"You're an angel," he told her bluntly.
"I'm not," she replied, more brusquely still, seeing the irony all too well, "I'm not. Not by a very long stretch, Doctor."
She let out a long low breath. They were standing close enough for it to brush gently over the lower part of his face, his lips. His eyes fell shut.
"Sister," he murmured.
His tone was so treacherous; it betrayed everything he was feeling. Sadness, foolishness, tenderness, longing. She felt herself swallow.
"What?" she asked him.
The silence which followed felt long.
"What would you feel if-..."
He could not finish.
"If ?" she prompted him, thinking she knew what he was going to say.
"If I-..."
The words stuck in his throat again, but this time he leant forwards, cupping her cheek softly with one hand, kissing her lips again, so carefully, as if she was fragile, breakable or volatile. She felt all three, but then she ceased to feel anything other than his mouth on hers. The feeling where they made contact seemed to burn, but burn in an inexplicably gentle way. She could not resist it. She had forgotten what it was like to kiss. She liked it.
They broke apart again, both breathless. She wanted more closeness, she wanted more of the wonderful forgotten comfort it yielded. It felt like finding herself in a former life, like being born again.
"Sister," his voice trembled a little as he spoke, "I don't think I'll be able to stop, if we don't stop now."
Their eyes met almost fiercely. She had already passed that point; it was like falling off a precipice into a deep insurmountable void. She kissed him hungrily.
"Oh, my darling," he murmurs between hot-mouthed kisses, and she wonders if he is thinking of her.
But his eyes are open, staring into hers. She thinks he might be.
It's a wrench when he removes her veil, but he does it ever so gently, lying it over the back of his chair. He removed the band and her little cap too. She wonders how he feels, seeing her hair for the first time. Perhaps it's a strange thing to wonder about. It is her old brown-blond in part; some of it remains, but she is noticeably streaked with grey now. But he takes her hair pins out reverentially, lays them on the seat by her veil. She shakes her head and her hair tumbles down her back like it has not done for years.
His patience has waned a little by the time it comes to removing her habit and his clothes. Buttons are torn off, mainly his, and she thinks she must find a way to sew them back on for him, because no one else will do it. He removes her garments a little roughly, but she knows she never would have shed them otherwise, and in the end she is glad that he does.
They kiss each other all the while, their hands roam each others bodies. She feels clumsy- she has always hated that feeling- and unable to match him, but he seems not to mind. He kisses her neck, her collarbone, and her breasts. No one has ever kissed her breasts, no one has ever touched her like this. Long ago she lost the ability to think. All she can do is kiss him fiercely, and clutch at his back. She wants this man. She hasn't wanted anyone in years, so why does she want so much from him?
He rolls her back onto his desk, pushing papers everywhere, and it strikes her that they are actually going to do this, this is going to happen, they are about to make love on his desk. She is about to try and formulate a thought, good or bad, in her mind, when he touches her between her legs, pushing her knee up a little to bend snuggly around his waist, and she is lost.
She can feel herself sweating as his body moves over hers, hear herself making sounds that she'd never have known herself capable of, little lustful moans in his ear, arching her hips up to him, all the while clinging to his shoulder with her hand. She throws her head back with a wail as she feels herself finish, shuddering and jutting so wantonly under him, and him kissing her neck as he spills himself inside her.
When she regains her senses she finds that she can hardly move. She hardly knows what has happened. She feels the heat and comfort of her release fading from her body. He is holding her and she wants to stay. But she knows very well that she can't.
He has to help her off the desk. The look on his face when she says she has to go wounds her, she feels it like a physical pain in her chest.
"But I'll come back," the words slip from her mouth before she knows what they are, "If you want me."
He pressed a brief and tender kiss of thanks to her mouth.
That's always how it is, whenever they meet, whenever they make love. She will always come back if he wants her. Except, she knows very well that one day soon this is going to have to stop.
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