A/N: My first foray into writing for the Call the Midwife fandom. I just adore Patsy and Delia and I just had to write this sort of missing scene because I thought there was a little story here begging to be told. I hope that it's okay, I'm always so worried when writing for characters for the first time. Anyway, on with the show...
Doctor Turner had only sent you back for some old records that had been put into storage at Nonnatus House. Despite the awful situation, it has been a welcome distraction, assisting Nurse Crane and the Turners at the surgery. It had afforded you a little relief from the oppressive sorrow that seemed to have soaked into the walls of the building you call your home. The search for the records proves fruitful, and eager to get back to the task at hand, you readjust your cape and make to leave. The corridors are quiet, save for your footsteps as you make your way to the front door, but then a muffled sound stops you in your tracks.
You take a few more steps and then you hear it again, the unmistakable trill of Trixie's laugh and your curiosity gets the better of you. The records tucked under your arm momentarily forgotten, you poke your head around the kitchen door. You almost drop the brown envelopes at the entirely unexpected sight before you.
"Oh," you breathe out, trying fervently to mask the surprise on your face.
"Oh good evening Patsy," Trixie greeted, as she fussed around with the white fabric that cascaded down Delia's shoulders, "Doesn't Delia here look an absolute picture?"
It takes a moment for your words to come, because you're far too distracted. Delia, your Delia, is sitting there at the kitchen table, sweet as ever, with a bridal veil propped elegantly on top of her head. Her eyes flick up and catch yours, and a pink blush creeps up her cheeks. God she looks beautiful and you almost forget there are two other people in the room with you. But it takes all of 10 seconds to crash back to reality and it hits you like a ton of bricks.
"Quite," you agree monosyllabically. You manage to force a smile out and it's convincing enough that nobody but Delia will know it's not genuine. It hurts, but it has to be this way, because the words you want to say, the things you want to do in this very moment cannot happen.
"It's for Mitchell Anselm's fiancée" Barbara chimes in, "And Delia was so adamant that she's no good with the sewing machine so she agreed to be our model. You should have seen her earlier, stood up on that chair while we fixed the hem on the dress."
Your eyes widen at Barbara's words, and you glance over at the white gown draped over the chair in the corner. The thought of Delia wearing that dress is too much, and you turn on your heel, no longer trusting yourself to stay composed.
"I'm aggrieved to have missed it," you pray that you sound playful enough not to arouse any suspicions. But then you hear the sound of the chair scraping back and you know you haven't managed it. You close your eyes, tears straining against the closed lids.
"Patsy," Delia says, that delicate lilt that you love so much soaked in obvious concern, "is everything alright?" You can hear the worry in her voice, the little crack at the end and it breaks your heart because you know you're about to run out and leave her worried.
"It's just been such a ghastly day," the words stick in your throat as you supress the need to flee the situation for just one more moment, "and I really must get these records back to Doctor Turner. Mr Anselm's fiancée is a very lucky girl indeed."
You leave the kitchen without even daring to look back because the tears that you feared would fall have already begun to slip down your cheeks.
You find every excuse to stay as late as possible at the surgery, which isn't hard as they desperately need the help. You stay longer than Mrs Turner who has to return to the children, and Nurse Crane who had been awake since the early hours, but by the time it reaches 11.40pm you are struggling to keep your eyes open. Doctor Turner gives you your marching orders, despite your protests, and you grudgingly make your way back to Nonnatus House.
It's quiet when you push the front door open, and that's not unusual for this time of night and you find yourself quietly hoping that everyone is in bed or otherwise engaged. You're quite sure that the true source of your earlier distress had been successfully hidden from both Trixie and Barbara, but Delia was another matter entirely. She had sounded so worried before you had left and now you feel guilty for having stayed away so long.
Glancing at the board you can see that Sister Julienne and Barbara have been called out, and you're grateful when you see you're last on call tonight. You're exhausted and your hair has been up for too long and it's impossible to supress the sigh of relief that escapes your lips when you start to pull the bobby pins out of your hair. Once you've shaken out your hair, telling yourself that the hairspray can be brushed out in the morning, you take the stairs up to your bedroom.
You know that Delia's awake before you even see the sliver of light coming from under her closed bedroom door. You knew she would wait up for you and your footsteps falter as you hover outside your bedroom door. It would be so easy to just go in, to hide behind the relative safety of Trixie fast asleep in the bed next to yours. But you already feel awful and you just know you won't get any sleep if you don't sort this out now.
You tiptoe across the corridor before you have a chance to change your mind, and you take a deep breath before you knock lightly on the door. Four short taps that you know identify you to the woman inside. Delia opens the door, a neutral expression on her sleepy face.
"Patience Mount, if I didn't know better I would think you had been avoiding me," she whispers, and her tone isn't angry but it's not lightly teasing either and you know you have some explaining to do.
She takes your hand and pulls you inside, quietly pushing the door closed behind you. You stare at her for a moment, she looks so adorable in her pink cotton pyjamas, her hair falling in a silken sheet down to her shoulders and your heart swells. But then you see the frown on her face. It's barely there, the crinkle between her eyebrows, but it helps you find your voice.
"Oh Delia, I am so sorry about earlier," the words come out in a hurried jumble and you're afraid you might cry again.
She brings her hand up and rests it on your shoulder, while the other still holds yours and she rubs her thumb across your knuckles. The action is soothing and you take a deep shuddering breath. "You don't have to apologise Pats, I was just so worried. You looked so upset sweetheart, and you ran off so quickly" the frown vanishes and her voice is kind and you want to melt into her arms.
"I just… I couldn't… I didn't know how to react. You just looked so beautiful Deels," you say, tucking a stray lock of hair back behind Delia's ear, "I wanted so badly to kiss you, but I couldn't, and you were wearing that veil and it just reminded me of everything we can't have and it made me so angry."
You're shaking now, but Delia pulls you close, and she wraps her arms around you. Maybe it's the grief of the last few days, or maybe it was actually seeing Delia half dressed like a bride but you're usually much more adept at not letting the constraints that surround your relationship affect you. You're quite sure you've never been this vexed about it.
"Pats," you can feel Delia's warm breath on your neck, "if you give time to thinking about that it'll eat you up, believe me, I know. And it truly wasn't my idea to even put the dress on, or the veil, you know how Trixie can be when she gets a bee in her bonnet about something, I'm sorry that it made you sad."
You jerk away slightly at that remark. There is no way that Delia should be apologising, "Delia, it wasn't seeing you in it that made me sad, it was knowing that you'll never wear one if you stay with me. We'll never get married, we'll never be able to shout our love for each other in front of a hundred guests and your mother."
Delia chuckles at that, and you can't help it when a smile breaks across your face as well. She pulls you into a hug again and you can feel her shoulders shaking as she tries to suppress her giggles. It wouldn't do to wake up the other residents of the house at a quarter past midnight.
"I think giving up a wedding is a fine trade off just so my mother won't be involved in the planning," Delia whispers into your ear and you bite your lip, stifling your own sniggers. The laughter dies down but you stay there, wrapped up tight in Delia's arms, your face pressed into her neck and you can smell her perfume when you breathe in. It's jasmine and rose mixed with Milton soap and it's a familiar comfort.
"But Delia," you start, but Delia pulls away slightly, and presses her finger to your lips.
"Shhh. I love you Patsy."
You make to answer her, to say that you love her too, but she hushes you again.
"I love you so much sweetheart, and if I have to love you in secret then I will gladly do that for 100 years rather than have one second without you." Then she lets her finger drop from your lips.
Your heart swells at Delia's words and you realise that this evening you had temporarily forgotten what was the most important thing. Delia loved you, and you loved her. You adored her and you would do so until the end of your days. You didn't need a ring or a wedding or a veil. All you needed to do was look into her eyes and you knew.
"Oh Delia, I love you too. So very, very, very much." You punctuate your words with kisses, on her forehead, her cheeks and finally her lips and she sighs contentedly. You are lucky, so very lucky.
"Come on," Delia says, walking over to her wardrobe. She pulls out a pair of your pyjamas and you have no idea how they got into Delia's room but you're not complaining.
"You look exhausted Patsy, you need to get some sleep," she hands you the silky green sleepwear and you know without even speaking about it that you'll be spending the night in Delia's room. You've done it a handful of times before, when you've come in late and not wanted to disturb Trixie. There's another bed in here after all so it never raised any eyebrows.
You change quickly, sighing in relief as you rid yourself of your uniform. The silk feels good on your skin and you probably should have washed but Delia is right, you're exhausted and all you want to do is sleep.
Delia is already in the bed by the time you turn around and she pats the space on the next to her. You get in and curl up on your side, and she moulds her body around yours, pulling the covers up high. She reaches for the lamp and the light goes out, but you don't mind the darkness when Delia is holding you so protectively.
"Pats," she whispers.
"Hmmm?" your reply is lazy and you're not surprised that you're already fighting the lure of sleep.
"I have to believe things will change. They have to. I will marry you one day Patsy, and I'll be so proud to call you my wife."
She presses three kisses to the crown of your head and you feel your eyes fill with tears. You want to believe it too.
"Do you really think so?" you ask, and your voice wavers with a vulnerability you wouldn't dare show to anyone other than Delia.
"I do," her words are firm, "someday I will walk down the aisle with you and shout my love in front of 100 guests." she pauses, thinks for a minute, "maybe not my mother," she jokes, and you feel her smile on the back of your neck.
You reach behind you and grasp her hand, threading your fingers together and pulling it firmly across you. You kiss her knuckles; settle down more comfortably in her embrace and her lips ghost the shell of your ear.
"Someday," she whispers, "but for now my love you need to sleep. Goodnight Patsy."
"Goodnight Delia."
A/N: Thank you so much for reading, if you liked it, or maybe even if you didn't I'd love to hear what you thought :)