A/N: This ended up getting a bit angsty in the middle, but hey. Hope you like!


Patsy knew Delia wasn't going to settle for no dance at all, and frankly, she didn't want to either.

They'd managed to sneak in little moments throughout the evening, standing next to each other whenever possible, making sure they were the ones holding hands in various line dances, sitting a tad closer than normal whenever they weren't dancing. It was a merry atmosphere, and nobody paid too much attention to them, allowing them both to spend pretty much the full four hours together.

Delia had been asked to dance by one of Fred's friends, and had agreed out of politeness, leaving Patsy with a few minutes to herself. Well, almost.

"She means a lot to you, doesn't she?"

Patsy looks up to find Trixie has approached her, sitting down.

"Well, yes, she's a very good friend-"

"I'm sure she is."

"Trixie."

"What?"

Patsy sighs, hoping her evening wasn't about to plummet. "I know what you're insinuating."

"I didn't say anything, merely stated an observation," Trixie drawls, looking at Patsy with one eyebrow slightly higher than the other. "I'm right though, aren't I? That she means a lot to you?"

"Yes, she does. I've known her since before I came to Nonnatus. We just bonded, really, and she's still a close friend."

She receives a rather pointed look over the top of Trixie's wine glass, the eyebrow travelling slightly further up her forehead. "Patsy, I don't mean to be vulgar, but if you choose to stay out a bit longer, all I'm saying is I'll cover for you."

And with that, she gets up and leaves, back to the tangle of dancers, leaving Patsy more than a little shocked. Trixie has always been quite intuitive, but she thought she'd always been incredibly careful where Delia was concerned - she had to be, it wasn't as if there was any other option. But if Trixie had begun to cotton on, it meant there was a possibility that someone else had too.

"You alright, Pats?"

She looks up once more to find Delia looking at her concernedly.

"I'm fine. I just need some air."

Patsy doesn't even bother to look at Trixie as she leaves, Delia next to her. She already knows exactly what the blonde is thinking, and really, she can't be bothered to go through the whole suggestive staring fiasco. She loves her friend, she genuinely does, but the fact that Trixie might be on to them has rather ticked her off, and right now she just wants a few moments alone with her sweetheart.

She feels a hand on her arm and slows her pace, not realising that she was practically marching in her haste to get away. They're almost at the docks already, and Delia looks positively distressed, having known within seconds of looking at Patsy that something wasn't right. Delia doesn't say anything, just squeezes gently and leads her towards one of the sheltered huts by the bus stop. It's the perfect spot, really, since although they're out in the open, they can't be seen from any houses nearby. Open enough to avoid suspicion, and hidden enough to avoid capture.

Delia's reaches out to gently stroke her cheek. "Pats, tell me what's wrong. You were fine five minutes ago, until Trixie arrived. Has she said something?"

And Patsy cries.

She doesn't know why. Perhaps it's the pent-up stress and worry of being caught, especially since the case with poor Mr Amos came to light. Perhaps she's tired, perhaps it's nothing to do with anything, perhaps she's going mad.

Perhaps the idea of Trixie finding out is cutting closer to home than she likes to admit.

Delia does a quick check to make sure there's nobody nearby to see them, before shuffling closer and wrapping her arms around her girlfriend, guiding her head to her shoulder. "Patsy, darling, what's she said?"

"I think she knows. About us. In fact I'm sure she does."

Delia's hesitation doesn't go unnoticed, the way she stiffens momentarily before tightening her hold even more. The dread that Patsy's been feeling for the last few minutes feels as if it multiples. If it's shaken Delia, it seems to solidify even more that it could become a problem.

"What's made you think that?"

"She didn't mean it to sound badly, I don't think. She just commented on how you mean a lot to me, and kept making little innuendos, saying she'd cover for me if I needed to stay out a bit longer. I understand she didn't mean it cruelly, but it's as if she doesn't realise just what the implications of that are. It's alright for her, she can stay out for as long as she likes with one boyfriend or another and nobody questions it, and it's as if she doesn't realise that we can't do that, we might not ever be able to do that."

Delia says nothing for a few moments, letting Patsy calm herself down first. It takes a while for her choked sobs to become sniffs, and then just quiet breaths, burrowing her head a little deeper in to her girlfriends shoulder. Trixie doesn't mean any harm, and Patsy knows she's taking things a little out of proportion, but she doesn't care.

"I think it's just Trixie being Trixie," Delia begins. "She isn't stupid, she knows that people like us rarely have a chance at being in relationships, and I honestly don't believe she was thinking about what she was saying. You know as well as I do that she's been living here longer than either of us have, she knows how things work. I just think she's phrased it in a way that was a little unnecessary, she might have even had a bit too much to drink."

Patsy nods, sniffing. "You're right. I know you're right. I just...I hate it. Having to live like this because we love someone who's gender isn't different to our own. I can't help feeling bitter whenever I see couples on the street, because it's okay for them, they're respected. Yet if we were to act like that, we'd be scorned and shamed, and God knows what else. It just worries me that Trixie's caught on, because if she has, who's to say someone else hasn't?"

And Delia doesn't have answer to this, so she just holds Patsy tighter, resting her chin on top of her girlfriends head. "We never did get to dance."

"You know we wouldn't have been able to, not properly."

Delia gently removes Patsy's head from her shoulder, standing up and extending a hand. "So be it. Miss Patsy Mount, will you do me the honour of dancing with me?"

Patsy's hand reaches up to take Delia's, a smile having plastered itself across her face. "I will."

Once they're both stood up, Delia lets go of Patsy's hand, letting her own slide up around her shoulders. Patsy's arms to go to her waist and, although there isn't much room in the small shelter, they manage, swaying gently, pressed close together as Delia rests her head in the crook of Patsy's neck. There's no words, there's no need for words, they don't want to waste energy on words when they could spend it holding each other just that bit closer. Patsy swears there's not a single bit of space between them, she can't say how long they stand there, swaying contentedly. At some point, she notices that Delia's started humming to herself, a tune much slower and quieter than any of those played at the dance.

It must be nearly midnight by this point, lowering the chances of them being caught quite significantly, so she gently lifts Delia's head up far enough to kiss her, taking great pleasure in the immediate reciprocation. She's heard all the cliches before, how it's meant to be like fireworks, like stars, all the other metaphors people come up with, and it is, it always is. But kissing Delia is more than that, it's more than the lust and the fireworks. It's warm, and safe, and welcoming, it cheers her up and puts a smile on her face, it makes her feel like a teenager again, all giggly, as if she wants to jump up and down for several hours in delight.

Delia makes her feel safe, which is tragically ironic really, considering the world they live in. But Patsy knows she'd take having Delia in the world they're stuck with over a perfect world without her love in it any day. She knows she wouldn't trade this moment for the world, the feeling of having Delia clasped so tightly to her. Even if they're caught, if the unimaginable happens, she likes to mentally address the situation with a line from her favourite poem, one her mother used to recite to her whenever she couldn't sleep as a child.

'Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.