Hey :) I'm publishing this fic a little early, thanks to tonight's episode ruining my headcanon that Bernie knows absolutely anything about music! I've tried to integrate scenes from the actual episodes as much as I can here, though not all of it will follow the actual canon of the show, because I thought that gave it a good structure to follow.

The fic was originally inspired by James Blunt's '1973' (don't judge), and was intended to be reasonably short but has escalated considerably from there! I hope to update every Wednesday, which should work out at least for the first few weeks as I've written a lot ahead! There will be smut (more as it goes on) and a decent amount of angst too since I can't seem to write pretty much anything without it. They are both in their final year of Sixth Form as the fic starts, and most of it stretches from Feb-September 1983.

Hope you enjoy!

SIDE A

Track 1: In The Mood - Glenn Miller

"Engine been growling or whining?"

The second I heard that voice, I recognised it. My stomach went cold. My heart stopped. How could it be?

Then I remembered. Berenice. The new trauma surgeon on Keller. I never dreamt it would be her.

My Berenice...

:Holby, 1983:

It is difficult to comprehend that we weren't always friends. It was one of those companionships which seem to come out of nowhere; you can't remember life before them, can't even remember just how long you've known one another, purely because it's so natural that you could quite easily have been separated at birth.

Although I speak as though we were inseparable, the truth is that we, even during the lessons we shared, spent very little time together. Bernie was always on the sports field, playing rugby, running, or any other sport which was happening. She loved all things physical, and was 'one of the lads' in every way possible.

I, on the other hand, spent a large amount of my spare time teaching biology to the younger students. It was, believe it or not, my back-up plan should I fail to get into medicine. My passion for the human anatomy and it's intricacies never ceased, so it suited me well that I should ramble on about it to a bunch of curious Year Sevens three times a week. Other times I would study, always choosing the lonely seat in the far corner of the library, next to the large, darkened window, overlooking the vast sports field beyond.

It was at an open day for prospective medical students when I first fell into conversation with her. We were seated next to one another in the large lecture hall, waiting for a talk on surgery. She said how she recognised me from school, and I smiled in response, all too aware of the hours I spent ignoring my textbooks and watching her playing on the field. She was captivating, unknown, enigmatic and I wanted desperately for us to be friends.

"I saw you staring at the poster for that Glenn Miller tribute band," she said, a faint smile on her lips. "Is that your thing then?"

"I do rather enjoy it yes," I replied, somewhat taken aback by the level of conversation. Despite being in two classes together, we still rarely spoke; she was seated at the opposite side of the classroom to me, and we never had any reason to interact. Until now.

"Are you going to the concert?"

"No," I frowned slightly, beginning to feel slightly defensive at the amount of questions she was asking as I was so often used to being ignored.

"Oh," she said, a tone of surprise in her voice. "Well, if you wanted to go, we could always go together, if you'd like?"

My stomach twisted slightly with shock at what she had just suggested. Go to a concert? With me? I looked up at her, my eyes boring deep into her's, searching frantically for some ulterior motive. Unfortunately, due to my bookish ways and lack of regard for popular fashion trends, I had experienced some years of teasing by other students, and found it somewhat difficult to believe that someone like her, who was so popular amongst the lads, being the captain and only girl on the rugby team, and something of a 'jock' in our community, would truly be interested in this sort of thing, and even less so be interested in attending it with me.

She saw me gaping and looked down almost shyly. "If you don't want to that's fine. I mean, we barely know each other. I just..."

"No, no," I quickly interrupted her. "That sounds splendid. I was just... Like you said, we don't really know each other much."

She smiled to herself, before looking up at me with a grin.

"Maybe it's time we did."

::

I quickly snapped back to the present. She was talking to me about cars, engines, things I knew absolutely nothing about. My heart raced, and I fought to keep my composure.

"Definite intermittent."

I choked the words out, unable to think of anything more to say. She didn't seem to have recognised me; I had aged, after all, as had she. But still, the way in which she seemed to struggle to tear her eyes away from mine, on the small occasions when she allowed herself to gaze directly at me, told me otherwise.

"Funny, you don't look like a mechanic. Well, except for the fag of course."

"I'm not a mechanic, I'm a trauma surgeon."

I faked surprise. "Ah, you must be Berenice Wolfe. Serena Campbell. I think you're supposed to light it."

"I've had this cigarette for two years. My husband made me quit when British forces left Helmand. So I tore up every cigarette I had, except this one. Thought I'd keep it as a symbol of my... freedom."

And there it was. Husband. Present tense. It had been thirty years, after all - why should I care? I had, myself, been married too, and was dating Robbie, of course. But still that knowledge left me with an aching sensation in the depths of my heart.

"My old independent self," she added, wistfully looking straight up at me and into my eyes, and I saw everything. I saw her memories as clear as I saw mine. The long nights spent together, the dancing, the drinking, the laughing, the exhilaration. She remembered it as good as I, cherished it as good as I, but I couldn't let my guard down, not now. So I carried on, a brave face, cheerful, as if I were totally blind.

"As far as symbols of freedom go, that's a bit pants. A nice bottle of Shiraz, however..."

"Goes really nicely with a fag."

Again our eyes met, momentarily, and the memories came flooding back, flashing through my mind like an old film, reminding me of what I, what we once had...

:1983:

The concert was fantastic, still to this day one of the most enjoyable I have experienced - though whether or not that was down to the music or her, I'm still not sure, but we got on like a house on fire. Surprisingly, we seemed to have more in common than either of us had expected. We both liked the same music, same films, same books. I remember thinking just how unimaginable it was, after all these years, to find someone on completely the same wavelength as me, who seemed to see the world as I did, and I struggled to stop myself grinning for the entire evening.

At the end of the show, the band did an encore of 'In The Mood', during which everyone stood up and began dancing in their couples, so we did the same. I was somewhat nervous, but I had had a drink and so had she - proof of age wasn't much of a thing back then - so this dissipated quickly as she started twirling us around the aisle, our fingers interlinked, me with one hand on her shoulder and her with one on my waist. It was a surreal experience, dancing like this with what would become my best friend, on the very first night we spent out together, and the way in which she spun us round so freely, so enthusiastically - more so than any of the other couples who were politely swaying away - and still managed to gaze at me with only a slight smirk, had me losing myself in a fit of giggles. I almost broke away, but her arms were strong and remained guiding me around, somehow managing to be both firm and gentle at the same time. I remember resting my forehead against her shoulder in an attempt to calm myself, only to feel her jerking with her own bitten back laughter, and lifting my head up to see her grinning at me fondly, her bottom lip wobbling as she tried not to lose control. That was the first time I got the urge to kiss her, though I didn't take much notice of it at the time. Her eyes were soft and warm, and I felt such a connection with her that I wondered how we had ever been apart.

And then her face crumpled, and we were getting looks of distaste from the people around us as we laughed hysterically, clutching onto one another for fear our legs would buckle. When the band finally finished, and applause rang around the room, we were quick to grab our bags and head out, both overheating from the dancing and the hysterics.

The cold air outside felt like a slap in the face, and I quickly shrugged my jacket on, glancing quickly at my watch in the process.

"Well," I began. "That was a wonderful evening. Thank you for coming with me, I probably wouldn't have gone otherwise." I felt awkward as we stood there, unsure of what conversation to make. I had never been good at goodbyes, and a large part of me didn't want the night to end.

"It's my pleasure," she replied, smiling at me as buttoned up her caramel-coloured coat. We were silent for a few moments, and I was just about to speak again - though to say what, I don't know - when she asked, somewhat shyly, "Do you fancy another drink? Somewhere else?"

I took a breath, contemplating her proposal. We were both just seventeen at that point, though both turning eighteen in the next couple of weeks - just twelve days apart - and I wasn't entirely used to going out at night and drinking. But at the same time, I simply couldn't refuse her company, and knew that my parents would unlikely notice that I was gone as they often went to bed around half past nine and it was nearing eleven now.

"Okay," I replied eventually, my eyes locking with hers. "Though I must warn you, I'm not usually a big drinker."

She grinned at me, a wicked glint in her eye. "Oh, you will be by the time I've finished with you."

She was definitely right about that one.