A/n: I swear to you I have not given up on Banna. There was a brief diversion that grew a little.
Banna peeps be forewarned (insert me with a peg leg and eye patch), thar be lesbians here!
New Holby friends, welcome to the fray. Enjoy.
They hung back and pushed forward in turns. Each paying close attention to the other. Their snog and fumble in the office (that bloody woman's arse was hard - actually hard) was followed by hours of covert heart eyes and feigned professionalism. Serena resorted to wadding up toilet paper in her knickers. She thought about having it off in the loo, then thought about inviting Bernie to join her, and felt her cheeks go hot.
It was Jason who asked Bernie if she was coming to dinner, as she was prescribing him a muscle relaxant and analgesic, and signing him off.
"Jason, you've had a tiring day, I'm not sure that's the best idea."
"It's cottage pie night, Auntie Serena will need help with the cooking or it takes too long," Jason explained patiently. "I can't very well peel potatoes and slice mushrooms like this."
Bernie smirked and raised an eyebrow at Serena. "Your nephew makes a reasonable argument. What say you, Ms. Campbell? Are you as brave as all that, to call on my skills as a sous chef?"
"It is faster with two," Serena said mask of calm, friendly professionalism firmly back in place.
Bernie cleared her throat and tried not to smirk, to blink away the sensation of Serena's hands on her, pulling them flush, mouth to mouth, breast to breast, belly to belly, not caring who saw.
It was faster with two. Jason perched himself at the counter and wasn't shy about ordering Bernie about. They moved about Serena's kitchen easily together. It felt for all the world like no time had passed, even though everything was shifted on its axis.
Bernie peeled potatoes double time and had them all pared down, cubed, and into already boiling water, just as Serena was stirring a touch of flour into the cooked mince.
"That's to thicken the gravy, Bernie," Jason said cheerfully. "That's the secret. That and a nice Shiraz."
They were Serena's exact words if her grin and eye-roll were any indication. She stirred the pan, covered it, and turned down the heat.
"Do you want to watch an old episode of World's Strongest Man or something while it cooks?" Serena asked, squeezing Jason's uninjured shoulder. "You can eat in front of the telly if you like."
"Yes, but I shall set an alarm for the new episode of Doctor Who, I shouldn't like to miss anything. Do you want to watch it with me, Bernie?"
"Normally I'd jump at the chance, Jason, but your Aunt Serena and I have a bit of catching up to do. Do you mind if we leave you to the Doctor and eat in the kitchen?"
He eyed her for a moment. "You may, if you don't talk too loudly."
"Thank you, Jason. We'll try to keep it down." Bernie fought the smile that Jason always sussed out of her.
He nodded, attention already on the television.
If there was one thing she appreciated, it was his very literal, analytical mind. She'd missed him too. Thought of him nearly as often as she thought of her own children.
Bernie fussed over Jason's shoulder a bit, icing it with frozen peas. When she returned to the kitchen, Serena was busy mashing the potatoes. She bade Bernie hold the piping bag while she filled it (of course Serena would have a piping bag with various metal tips to choose from). Taking it from Bernie's hands, Serena methodically covered the meat and veg with perfect looking squirts of mash before returning assembled dish to the oven.
Serena busied herself cleaning up, washing dishes . Not that there was much. Cutting boards, knives, the pot for the potatoes, the piping bag.
"Let me help," Bernie said softly.
Serena looked at her. There was a wariness in her gaze. A caution that wasn't there before, not even during the awkward weeks after their post-surgical snog session.
Still, Serena acquiesced, nodded, tossed Bernie a towel.
Bernie took the items from her hands, and dried them and one by one, put them away. They set the table in silence. Neither arced far from the other in an slowly tightening orbit. Serena's eyes blistered her skin. Bernie wanted permission to touch, to search out the fires that seared and sparked between them. She didn't know how to ask. Words tangled in her throat, turned leaden and silent. Stood as close as she was to Serena, Bernie let her fingertips graze Serena's arm. The vascular surgeon flinched slightly.
"Bernie." It was spoken low, in a rumble, and sounded for all the world like a threat or a warning.
Bernie stepped back, but only a little. She caught a look that hummed with desire, though hers or Serena's, she wasn't sure.
"Why don't you open that duty free bottle?" Serena said, gentler, with a teasing smile.
Bernie cringed, the wine had been an afterthought. She didn't even know what she was thinking beyond the last minute panic of realizing she shouldn't return empty-handed. But then again what was the gift that was most appropriate for returning after pulling a thinly disguised runner because you were a coward and panicked? Bernie nipped her lips into a thin line and did as she was bid, poured two glasses and handed one to Serena who took a deep swallow and frowned.
Setting her glass down, Serena laid out cloth napkins, and a pair of candlesticks, which she lit with a single wooden match.
"I missed you," Serena said. It was spoken quietly, with a vulnerability that made Bernie's guilt feel like water, dripping cold and slow between her shoulders.
Bernie whispered. "I missed you, too."
"I got used to having you at my back," Serena said, frowning. "To us having each other's backs."
Serena reached out and took Bernie's hand, just stood and held it between her own for a moment before pulling Bernie towards her.
"Their destiny is about to be determined across six events!" the narrator of World's Strongest Man bellowed from the other room.
"Serena... I..." Bernie was silenced by arms that wrapped tight about her waist.