A/N: Well, like many people, I've become deeply invested in Bernie and Serena. This is another one of those alternative 'Bernie's in Kiev' stories. I honestly have no idea where it's going, although I suspect future chapters may get angstier. You have been warned.

'You're drinking too much.'

Serena flinched. She hadn't heard Jason enter the living room but, that said, he wasn't always adept at announcing himself. Over the past few weeks, she'd deliberately tracked his movements through the house and, now that he was working as a porter, through the ward as well. It wasn't as though she was misleading him in terms of outright lies, but she was certainly bending the truth. Her hope had been that, despite the gossip and despite the fact that she was obviously not entirely happy, that Jason wouldn't notice. After all, it was in his nature to look for practical solutions and Berenice Wolfe was never going to be remedied by any practical solution Jason had to offer.

She threw him as much of a smile as she could muster. 'I assure you, Jason, I'm perfectly capable of monitoring my own intake of liquids, whether they're alcoholic or not. Now, I assume you want to watch the documentary you recorded while you were working earlier so I'll –'

'You're drinking too much,' he repeated.

'Now, Jason –'

'Why are you denying it?' he questioned.

'Because it is entirely without foundation,' she replied. She glanced at the glass in her hand and purposefully drained it. 'If you don't mind, I have work in the morning and I need to rest.'

The intensity of Jason's glare when she stood wasn't something she was prepared for. Of course, she was used to his moods by now. She knew when something had disturbed his equilibrium or when he was puzzled. Rarely these days did she find herself as the cause of his confusion, but this evening was different. It struck her all of a sudden that her attempts at shielding him from her recent emotional rollercoaster hadn't been as successful as she'd hoped.

Instead of admonishing herself, though, she found that unpredictable ball of anger in the pit of her stomach expand again. This was Bernie's fault. Bernie was the one who'd fled, leaving her to the mercy of gossip and to deal with AAU alone. There was the red phone, the olive branch she recognised now had been designed to cement Bernie's place in Holby. At the time, she'd swatted it away mentally as a pragmatic decision, something to enhance her unit whilst retaining the skills of a talented surgeon she was beginning of think of as a close friend. In hindsight, the colouring was altogether different, and she was almost embarrassed at her inner motivations. She might as well have stripped off and handed herself to Bernie Wolfe tied in a bow. That wasn't the way this was going to be, not any more.

'Jason, I'm sorry,' she said finally.

His frown eased. 'So you'll stop drinking as much?'

'Yes,' she promised. 'It's over, I guarantee you.'

Making a promise to Jason was akin to swearing on a Bible in court. As much as her body craved a bottle of Shiraz at the end of the day to numb the pain of another shift, she only succumbed to a glass. She knew Jason was watching her in that way only he could. On the ward, she was aware of him prowling and, really, she knew she was fortunate. Without his presence in her life, it would be easy to spiral right now. She'd dealt with enough patients with severe alcohol dependency to recognise the trap ahead. Although she might currently have been a million miles away from that level, much more dwelling on Berenice Wolfe and she'd be sailing closer than she was comfortable with. It was difficult, but she was determined. She loved Bernie, yes, but she wouldn't be ruled by it, not when it was patently clear that Bernie would rather run away than take a risk on them. Her decision to stay in Kiev had been the final straw. If she deigned to return now, Serena would barely give her the time of day.

There was always paperwork to do and she packed her days full. It was the evenings she found harder, although she kept alcohol out of the house on principle. Instead, she stared at the ceiling for hours until the exhaustion kicked in. It wasn't the ideal way to recharge and she worried on the ward. If Jason had thought a few months ago that she was delaying AAU discharges, her increased diligence now would have him filling in complaint forms and submitting them straight to Ric. She was petrified of making a mistake so she took her time to compensate for her slower response times. It was surgery that worried her more. So far, she'd been lucky. Today would be another day just like that; it had to be.

'Serena?' Raf's head bobbed around the doorframe. 'We've got a patient with severe abdominal pain refusing treating treatment. Could you have a word with her?'

She dropped her pen on the desk and followed him out. 'Did the ED send her up?'

'Yeah, she was in a car accident,' Raf answered. 'They think internal bruising, possibly bleeding, but she's making life difficult.'

'More for herself than us, I'd bet,' she murmured. 'Come on, let me have a look at her.'

'The name's Alex Dawson,' Raf said just as they landed at the bottom of the bed. 'Alex, this is Ms Campbell, I need you to listen to her for a minute.'

Serena's body had kept on moving in a tangible manner, though her brain was somewhere else in the ward. She might not have had contact with Alex Dawson during her brief appearance at Holby, but she knew exactly who she was. Not from Bernie, of course. No, Bernie had never mentioned her name. The jungle drums had done it for her so Serena had learned about the woman who'd aided Bernie in the break-up of her marriage through the rumour mill. That hadn't been brilliantly effective, and she was startled by how attractive Alex was – attractive and young.

'I don't want surgery,' Alex hissed.

It took a moment but Serena blinked her discomfort away. 'You're as aware as I am that needs must, Ms Dawson. Now, please may I examine you?'

'Where's Bernie?' Alex asked. 'This is her baby, isn't it? The trauma unit.'

'You're not a trauma patient,' Serena replied. 'Besides, Ms Wolfe is on secondment in Ukraine. Let me examine you.'

That threw Alex long enough for Serena to gain implicit consent and she began a detailed examination of the woman's abdomen and ribs. Her mind was galloping along with very little relation to the presenting illness, although it was fairly open and shut. She was more perturbed by the obvious physical beauty of the woman in front of her. With a sidelong look at Raf to check he hadn't put anything together, she stepped away and cleaned her hands.

'Right, Ms Dawson,' she said, 'may I ask how you sustained these injuries?'

'I fell,' Alex answered.

Serena exchanged a glance with Raf. 'With respect, these aren't the injuries from a fall, unless you fell on something akin to a fist or a boot. Were you beaten up?'

'I got into a fight, but, believe me, I deserved it. I don't need surgery,' Alex added with a grimace.

'You've got broken ribs, probable internal bleeding. We need to ascertain the extent of the bleeding and operate if necessary. In my expert opinion, you will need surgery.'

Alex blew out her breath. 'How likely is it that I can get Bernie back here to perform the surgery?'

'Quite unlikely,' Serena said through a false smile. 'I assure you, my team is thoroughly competent in all forms of surgery. You couldn't be in better hands.'

'I don't like putting my life in anyone else's hands,' Alex said. 'It's an army thing.'

Serena had to swallow down the jealousy bubbling in her throat. It was something she'd heard Bernie say on more than one occasion. Hearing it from someone else's mouth felt wrong, especially from this woman. The intensity of their connection made Serena reel all of a sudden, and she had to back away from the bed.

'Trust my team,' she said shortly. 'For heaven's sake, accept treatment. Martyrs serve no purpose. I would've hoped the army had taught you that.'

The comment had slipped out without much thought, although it made Raf do a double take. Perhaps he'd finally worked out how Alex knew Bernie, perhaps he was even rapidly putting the rest of the pieces together. As for Alex, her lips parted in a question that Serena was determined to suppress. She unnecessarily scrubbed her hands with gel again and looked to Raf with what she hoped was an air of authority.

'I'll be in my office if you need me,' she said before sweeping back across the ward.

With the door shut and the blinds closed, she allowed herself a wobble. She rested her palms flat on the desk – Bernie's desk – and squeezed her eyes tight. Had she really been this naïve? All her stupid, stupid hopes had been predicated on the idea that Bernie's feelings were as strong as hers, but how could that be the case in a straight battle between her and this Alex Dawson? Wasn't the truth that she'd been an older, altogether more available option for Bernie to flirt with? Surely, it couldn't be more than that, especially when Bernie's reaction to Serena's affection was to hotfoot it to Ukraine.

The evidence didn't quite stack up, of course. Thinking back on their friendship following their first frantic kiss in theatre, she'd conceded that the signs were there all along. Not only in the way Bernie treated her, but in the way Serena had given Berenice Wolfe chance after chance when, as she'd said more than once, she was an expert in life-long grudges. There were so many opportunities along the way to make an enemy of Bernie and yet she hadn't wanted to cross that line. Nor had Bernie wanted to let her.

But Bernie had still left. And Bernie's other option was the gorgeous younger woman currently receiving treatment on AAU for mysterious injuries. More than ever, Serena was starting to believe the joke was on her again. Perversely, she felt the stinging rejection more than she had Edward's adultery. How could she have been so foolish as to believe that Bernie would want a relationship with her?

With an effort, she dragged herself around to her desk. There was always paperwork to do in the NHS and this was an ideal time to try and submerge herself in it. For the next few hours, she was almost successful and then a rap on the door disturbed her.

She steeled herself then called, 'Come in.'

It was Raf again, as she'd suspected it might be. He slipped inside, closing the door behind him and standing awkwardly with his hands behind his back.

'Alex Dawson discharged herself prior to surgery,' he explained. 'No amount of persuasion could convince her to stay. I was going to get you, but she reacted badly to that.'

'Right,' Serena said. 'Well, that is her prerogative. Did she require surgery?'

'The x-ray showed broken ribs, the internal trauma would've required attention, yes,' he answered. 'With an injury like that, she'll need to seek attention elsewhere.'

'Right,' repeated Serena, unsure of what else to say.

Raf hesitated. 'What are the chances that she chose Holby ED because she wanted to be treated by Bernie?'

'Does it matter?' she queried.

'No,' he said with a grimace, 'I don't suppose it does. I'll leave you to it.'

She was grateful for a moment when the door slammed until she realised that she was left alone with her own thoughts again. If they'd been difficult to contain earlier, they were positively rampant now. On a professional level, she didn't like to see patients discharging themselves when they were so obviously in pain, but she found herself more intrigued by the Bernie aspect of proceedings. Raf was right – the obvious reason for Alex choosing this hospital was the Bernie factor. What had she said about that patient that had stabbed Fletch – that he had a bit of a Bernie obsession? It seemed like every did these days.

As the day wore on, she found herself unable to think of much besides the fact that Alex was the woman who'd prompted Bernie to leave her husband. Whatever had happened since, that had to be significant. Serena had been beyond foolish to think what Bernie felt for her could compare to that.

Jason had finished two hours prior to the end of her shift, so she made her way home alone. Given how she was feeling, stopping at the supermarket to pick up a bottle of Shiraz was inevitable. She almost felt guilty, but her intention was to hide it from Jason when she returned home. The argument simply wasn't worth it, and she didn't want to let him down. However, when she tried to sneak it into the house, he snatched it from underneath her coat.

'You promised,' he muttered.

'Give it here, Jason,' she insisted, swiping for it.

'No, you promised,' he replied.

'Look, I've had a difficult day – '

'That's no excuse,' he interrupted.

Once more, she attempted to grab it from him, but this time her efforts simply knocked it from his hands. The smash echoed around the hallway and Jason recoiled. She might as well have slapped him from the expression on his face. He turned and fled upstairs and her eyes drifted to the pool of red leaking across the floor. It was astounding how much she craved a taste of that wine making it inevitable, really, that she'd go back out and get another bottle.

The next day, she found that Jason was avoiding her. He left for work earlier that was necessary and, despite his duties, they didn't meet during her shift. Adding to her problems, the rumour mill was back in action. Alex's identity had obviously been confirmed by someone else in the hospital and the potential ramifications for the so-called 'crush' that Serena had on Bernie were widely discussed. Hiding in surgery barely kept her mind occupied, not to mention she was terrified of making a mistake.

She spent the day wishing to be out of the hospital, although the closer she got to the end of her shift, the more concerned she became about the night stretching ahead of her. She'd need to speak to Jason and make amends, along with which she needed to settle her raging feelings about Bernie and Alex. Perhaps it was time to develop another one of those lifelong grudges by whatever means necessary. Anything to remove this prickling acidic feeling from her entire body.

Following her final surgery of the day, she trudged back to the office. Her intention was to switch off her computer and make a dash for it. As she opened the door, however, she stopped short. A familiar figure was sat in her chair, blonde hair tousled and a holdall by her feet.

'Hi, Serena,' Bernie murmured.