Based on the prompt "Dr Turner and Sister Bernadette have to stay in the same room at a hotel after Dr Turner takes the wrong road after a meeting and gets them lost late at night with only enough money for one room" from Anon on Tumblr.
It's pouring when they leave Alder Hey Children's Hospital, the meeting regarding the Allerton baby having gone on much longer than anyone had expected. When they had finally left the neonatal unit and returned to the tiny car park Doctor Turner rubbed a hand over his eyes, sighing as the rain pounded on the windows. They had left Poplar just shy of five o'clock that morning and although he was used to working long hours, he wasn't keen on the idea of a minimum four hour's drive back from Liverpool.
"Are you all right Doctor?" Sister Bernadette queried, regarding him with a concerned expression as he started the car, putting it into gear.
"I'm fine Sister. Just not really looking forwards to such a long journey. We're not going to get back until at least half past nine," he explained, noticing how she nodded, squinting at the windscreen as he clicked the wipers on.
"I'm sorry Doctor, if I knew how to drive I would offer to take turns, but as it is I think I would do more harm than good," she said.
"It's all right Sister, you've been up quite a bit a bit longer than I have. I at least got a few hours sleep last night. Although, teaching you may be a good idea if we start having to do more trips like this," he smiled. He couldn't admit it to her, but he loved this; spending time along with her, listening to the soft humming that came from her when she wasn't paying attention to anything except what was occurring outside the windows of the car as the land sped by. He wondered if she was even aware that she was doing it. He had heard the sisters singing together on rare occasions but he had never heard her on her own. He wondered if she would sing if he asked her to, but he couldn't find the courage. There were boundaries between them, some that he wanted to cross but knew he never could.
"I'd like that," she responded, voice so quiet he barely heard it over the rain. He couldn't help but glance at her again, still in awe of the woman who looked almost as tired as he felt.
"Why don't you try and get some sleep?" he suggested, watching her try to stifle a yawn.
"I'm all right Doctor –" she stared to protest.
"Doctor's order Sister Bernadette," he interjected. She let out a little huff of laughter at that, shaking her head.
"Well, I have been up since tea yesterday. And I suppose I am a wee bit tired," she admitted, yawning again. He's very glad in that moment that he insisted they get something to eat in the hospital canteen before beginning the drive back. She gave him a small smile before closing her eyes and relaxing back against the seat.
He's surprised she hadn't passed out the second she sat down, supposing that she had been running on adrenalin. Mrs. Allerton's labour had been traumatic and the infant so very poorly. Sister Bernadette had done everything in her power before sending for him, waking him up just shortly before four in the morning. Patrick had feared his choice from the second he made it, knowing that the only chance the child had was at the hospital in Liverpool. He had made a judgement call, unwilling to wait for an ambulance. Sister Bernadette had barely delivered the placenta when he had grabbed her and told her they were going to make the four hour drive to Liverpool themselves. Her response was to seize her things from the bedroom, tell Mr. Allerton to call Nonnatus for another nurse, and follow him out the door, the baby clutched to her chest from the minute they left the house until the minute the little boy had been taken by the doctors at Alder Hey. It was a miracle that the newborn had survived the journey and he credited the woman next to him for the child's survival.
Patrick sighed to himself, squinting in the darkness to attempt to see the road signs. He had been fighting his feelings for months, having noticed himself being more and more drawn to the woman he was sharing the car with. The quiet way she went about her job, strong and compassionate, utterly competent, and so caring about everyone around her. She tended to his son in his absence with such devotion that it made his heart ache. He had worried so much about Timothy after his wife's death, fearing that he wouldn't again feel the care or love of a mother figure, and yet, probably without realising it, that is what Sister Bernadette had become. The first time he saw the way she cared for Timothy he had to fight the urge to pull her out of her crouched position so that he could kiss her.
He hated himself for wanting it. For wanting her. It was against all logic; against her religious, but oh, how he wanted her.
He winced, noticing how in his state of introspection he had somehow gotten them very, very lost. They had been so frantic on the drive up that he had only really paid attention to road signs that were directing them to Liverpool, ignoring those for the surrounding area, but now he was paying for it, having no idea where they were. He swore under his breath, trying to see through the rain as he turned down a winding road. They'd only been driving about an hour and he'd managed to get them lost, the area full of dark, looming hills and craggy valleys. The rain seemed to be coming down harder than it had when they left, the wipers doing little to clear the windscreen as they flew frantically across the glass. He didn't have a map in the glove-box of this area, only one of London and Buckinghamshire, but it wouldn't have done him any good anyway, as the only light came from the headlights of the car and even that was murky at best, the darkness having completely enveloped them. He yawned, hating that his exhaustion was making him more irritated than he had hoped. He wanted nothing more than to just crawl into bed and sleep for a week. He wanted to pretend that he didn't have feelings for the woman next to him for a few hours. He wanted to relish in them, ignoring the reality of their lives and delve into the recesses of his mind where lewd ideas ran rampant, fantasy taking over his thoughts.
"Shit!" he swore, jerking the car to the left when he realised he had drifted towards the edge of the road, the car struggling to keep traction as it nearly skidded off the pavement and into a steep valley. Sister Bernadette jumped, eyes wild as she looked around. Patrick stopped the car, his heart pounding at the reality that he could have very well just killed them.
"Doctor, is everything all right?" she asked, her own pulse racing beneath her skin. He put his forehead against the rim of the steering wheel, breathing rapidly until he managed to calm himself.
"I'm sorry Sister. I shouldn't be using such language," he muttered.
"Let's not worry about that," she admonished, concern written over her features. "What I am worried about, is you. What is going on?"
"To be honest Sister, I haven't a clue where we are. And this rain has gotten so bad... I think the safest thing for us is to find somewhere to spend the night. I don't think my old heart can survive another near-death experience in such a short period of time. These blasted country roads are dangerous at the best of times," he explained.
"Of course," she agreed, trying to fight off the urge to put her hand on his arm. She watched him take a deep breath before pressing the gas pedal again, moving them forward into the darkness.
"Keep your eyes open for anywhere we could get some accommodations," he instructed, noticing how she turned her attention to the outside, peering out into the black abyss.
It took another half an hour of slow driving before Sister Bernadette let out a yelp of success, pointing to a sign a few meters away advertising a bed and breakfast.
"Thank God," Doctor Turner murmured, carefully turning into the drive and steering them up to the front of the house. He blinked when he stopped the car, noticing how it was more of an ancient mansion-type building than a house. "Goodness," he added.
"I'm sure we'll do just fine Doctor. Unless they require us to dress for dinner," she said, trying to lighten the mood. The stress from their near accident was still lingering around his eyes, increasing the exhaustion he was clearly feeling from their day. She vaguely wondered if the owners had a phone she could use to call Nonnatus and let them know what was going on, but pushed it to the back of her mind as Doctor Turner grabbed the umbrella from the back seat, exiting his side of the car and coming around to collect her before they made a mad dash up the front steps, knocking on the door. The wind was freezing, whipping around them in a way that soaked them, the umbrella only serving to keep their heads dry. It took a few moments before an older woman opened the door, jumping back as they tumbled in from the rain.
"Goodness me dears, you must be frozen to the bone! What brings you out to the Peak District in such wretched weather?" she queried, looking them up and down, seeing how they were dripping on the carpet, Sister Bernadette shivering involuntarily.
"I'm sorry Ma'am. We were on our way back from Liverpool and seem to have gotten... quite lost," Patrick explained, trying in vain to wipe the water from his face. "We were hoping that we could attain some lodgings for the night?" he added.
"Of course me dears," the elder woman answered, walking around behind the desk by the door and pulling out her log book. "I'm afraid I only have the suites left, they're six pounds a night each, with breakfast included." Patrick couldn't help but gawk at her.
"Six pounds? Each?" he stammered, grimacing when they woman nodded. He dug his wallet out of his coat, counting the notes and change within. He only had seven.
"Doctor?" Sister Bernadette asked quietly, touching his elbow. She knew she was overstepping a boundary she had set for herself some time ago, but she couldn't help it. The worry, exhaustion, and hesitation were radiating off him.
"I'm sorry Sister, we'll have to find something else, I don't have enough money with me," he muttered. She hated the underlying shame that she could detect in his voice, self-deprecation setting in.
"I don't think either of us are capable of driving any further in this weather. I'm sure we can manage with just one room," she responded.
"People might talk," he whispered.
"I'm more worried about us plummeting to our death over a cliff than some nosey women speaking about things they know nothing about," she smiled. He couldn't help but feel warmth spread through his body at the sight of her grin, making his heart beat a staccato rhythm.
"We'll have to just take the one. Apparently I didn't plan ahead when we left London this morning," he said, trying to joke with the woman who reached behind the desk for a key.
"Just write down your details here please Sir, you'll be in room seven. I'll show you up once you're finished," she replied, pointing to where Patrick needed to fill out his information before he passed her the money. "Breakfast is served between six and nine in the solarium. Just go back down the main stairs and it is the first door on the left at the bottom, just through the parlour. I'll bring up some extra towels shortly," the inn keeper added as she showed them up the stairs, wandering down the dim hallways with their vaulted ceilings and historic architecture. Patrick could feel Sister Bernadette trailing behind him, hyperaware of how she shivered every few moments. The woman waved them into the room, passing Patrick the key before disappearing back the way they had come.
The ceilings even in the room were vaulted, the beams exposed amid the plaster. A large four-poster bed filled the centre, the window at the end looking out over the grounds but providing no light in the midst of the storm. The far wall boasted a small fire place which Patrick instantly went to after removing his coat, looking in the basket on the floor for kindling and some matches before he went about lighting a fire. There was a chair in the corner covered with a throw blanket which he noted out of the corner of his eyes while watching the small flames dance as he blew on them, the logs thankfully igniting on the first attempt.
"I'll sleep in the chair," he said, not bothering to look up as he stood, damp clothes sticking to his skin as he winced, his knees cracking. The younger woman was about to say something when the inn keeper reappeared in the door, carrying a stack of towels which she deposited on the small table next to the chair.
"Will you be needing anything else? I can find you some supper if you'd like?"
"I think we're all right for the night. Thank you," Sister Bernadette said, giving the woman a small smile as she exited the room, closing the door behind her. "Come now Doctor, that chair isn't comfortable enough for someone of my stature, you'll be positively in agony should you attempt to sleep there. I'm sure that as adults we can suffer through sleeping on the same mattress."
"Please Sister, I don't want to compromise your integrity," he rushed. She raised an eyebrow at him, shaking her head as she reached for one of the towels and the throw blanket.
"I'm sure we can maintain our boundaries," she replied, ducking into the lavatory. Patrick flicked off the overhead light before he sat down heavily in the armchair, chewing his bottom lip as his mind raced. He had never imagined this being the outcome of attempting to help a child, and part of him still believed that he was dreaming. He deftly went about laying their coats out near the fire, hoping that the heat would dry them before morning. Despite the flames the room felt cool and damp, impacted by the architecture he was sure of it. The Renaissance era was not best known for its insulation. If he was being honest with himself he was desperate to get out of his wet clothes and crawl beneath the covers but he wasn't sure how much he could remove while maintaining modesty for Sister Bernadette. Surely she wouldn't object to his removal of him jumper if he kept his Oxford on? He was fighting his way out of the damp wool when she came back into the room, the throw blanket wrapped around her shoulders, oddly bereft of her habit. Patrick struggled not to choke on his own saliva at the foreign site of the young woman in nothing but her slip and the throw blanket. The wool covered the majority of the silky fabric, coming almost all the way to her knees, but it was still such an odd sight.
He bit his tongue, suddenly needing to keep the 'You're beautiful,' he wanted so desperately to proclaim from meeting the damp air of the room. She looked so similar, her hair still covered by her cap and her glasses still resting on the bridge of her nose, but at the same time she was so different. Without the dulling fabric of the habit he could see the slight dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts beneath the blanket, how her legs looked so achingly soft in the dancing fire light, the red and orange embers painting patterns on the pale flesh with an artistry he had never known.
"Do you have a preference for what side of the bed you would like Doctor?" she questioned, a blush painting her cheeks as she asked. He noticed how she wouldn't look at him, seeming instead to focus on the ground beneath her feet, her fingers teasing at a loose string at the edge of her blanket.
"No, not really," he managed to reply as she finally glanced up at him when he did not respond instantly. She looked confused for a moment before shaking herself out of it, moving to the right side of the bed.
"Are you going to be comfortable sleeping in wet trousers?" she muttered, again not able to look at him.
"I don't want to make you uncomfortable Sister. I'll be just fine," he answered. She crawled under the blankets, making sure the throw stayed about her shoulders while rolling her eyes.
"Doctor Turner, please don't be daft. The last thing we need is you getting trench foot, I don't know how I would explain to Timothy why his father suddenly has gangrene," she chastised gently, her accent thick, making him chuckle under his breath.
"All right, let me go hang them over the bath," he agreed, ducking into the bathroom and closing the door behind himself.
Sister Bernadette let out a shuddering breath the minute the door closed, feeling her face heat up. She knew she was being ridiculous. He was so proper around her, wanting to keep his distance as was required for having any sort of friendship or working relationship with a nun, but she couldn't help but fantasise that things were different. That he saw her as a woman instead of just another follower of God.
"Get yourself together," she scolded herself, shaking her head as she attempted to arrange herself in the bed in a way that wasn't revealing. She never thought she would be sharing a bed with a man – especially Doctor Turner – even if it was in a completely platonic way. She had hated the look of self deprecation on his face when he realised he didn't have enough money to get them each a separate room. A GP's salary wasn't the best and even if it had been slightly more, the rooms here were extravagantly priced to say the least. She supposed it was the fact that the manor was so old and decadent, combined with the private lavatory that made things expensive, but regardless, it was a cost she would have rebutted even if he had the money. It was daft to waste so much on a room where they only intended to sleep for one night.
Swallowing hard, she wondered how she would be able to get through the night. Yes, she was utterly exhausted, but the reality of knowing that the one man who had sparked unsettling feelings in her was going to be sleeping next to her made her adrenalin rush, the tiredness slipping away to be replaced with tachycardia. How was she to lie next to him all night and not touch him at all? She had already crossed that boundary when she touched his arm earlier when they were both fully clothed and soaked to the skin. Could she really resist doing so again when he was but a mere few inches from her? She cursed herself in her head, trying to recite a prayer to distract herself from the notion of how much she wanted to know what it felt like to be wrapped in his arms.
She'd been fighting her attraction to him for months, trying to suppress it until it no longer mattered. Until she no longer woke up every morning questioning her calling in life, questioning her vows, her devotions. Her attempts so far had been in vain, as every moment she stopped forcing herself to think of other things, her mind shifted back to the utter desire she felt for him and the yearning to be his. She had a vague enough notion of what happened between men and women, and although the thought made her blush and feel the need to go to confession, she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to kiss him. To have him touch her. Hold her. His hands on her waist and lips pressed to her neck. She fanned herself with her hand, suddenly feeling light headed. She needed to stop this line of thinking before he came back.
'Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name...' she started in her head, closing her eyes and focusing on the prayer, not noticing when he returned to the room clad in only his vest and pants. He climbed into the bed next to her, careful to stay next to the edge, not wanting to touch her for fear of compromising her integrity. The only light in the room came from the fire, the wind whipping against the panes of glass in the window was startling ferocity as the rain pelted against them.
"Goodnight Sister," he said, startling her out of her reverie. With slightly trembling hands she removed her glasses, placing them on the nightstand and lying down completely.
"Goodnight Doctor," she responded, trying to calm the racing in her heart enough to fall asleep. She recited as many psalms as she could think of until she managed to drift off, her eyes heavy as she slowly passed out, the heat of the fire and cool air lulling her into slumber. Patrick stayed awake only slightly longer, the sound of her breathing eventually pulling him under.
XxX
She woke up with a jolt at the sound of thunder rolling in the distance. The rain seemed to have somehow increased, sounding as if the window may explode inward at any moment from the force of the gale. The fire has burned down to embers, only emitting a faint glow now from the ashes, the room quickly cooling until the only heat was that which is coming from the other occupant of the bed. It took her a minute to realise, but they were no longer ensconced on their own sides of the bed. If she stretched out she could still feel the edge of the mattress, but it seemed that in their sleep they had both drifted towards the middle. The bed was much softer than what she was used to at Nonnatus, the mattress pliant under their bodies and more comfortable than she would like to admit, fearing that it would encroach on her vow of poverty. The affection she had for the mattress, however, was the least of her worries.
Doctor Turner was completely pressed against her back, his arms wrapped around her, his hands invading places they shouldn't. She wished she had the strength to push him off, but a twinge of his right hand makes her gasp, forgetting that she shouldn't want this – that she should put a stop to it.
Somehow, his right hand has pushed its way up under her slip, his fingers pressing against her womanhood in a way she'd never felt before. His left hand, also traitorous, has slid under her chest, his palm cupping her breast. He's kneading the flesh slightly, warm breath against her neck, causing her nipple to harden under the ministrations. She could almost ignore that, almost pretend that it wasn't happening, despite how good it felt, but his right hand wouldn't allow it. It had started moving now, slow meticulous circles against her, causing wetness to pool between her legs. She could feel herself blush, torn between wanting to pull away and to press herself to the seeking digits, a small moan escaping her when his one finger shifts down even further, parting her and pressing into the heat there. She's dizzy with the sensation, unconsciously rocking her hips backwards slightly until she felt the long, hard weight of him pressing against her backside. She felt her skin rush from hot to cold and back, cheeks flaming in the darkness as she bit her lip, only now noticing the gentle rhythmic pushes he's making with his hips, his lips suddenly pressed against her bare shoulder. She isn't sure when her slip moved, nor when the throw blanket had been discarded, but all she can feel is his warm breath and teeth against her skin, nipping along her neck and shoulder, making her gasp into the darkness just as another boom of thunder sounded, shaking the room. Lightning flashed a second later and she dimly saw the blurry outline of his hand against her breast, fingers clenching the cream coloured silk, her nipple caught between his thumb and forefinger.
She had never felt anything like this. Never imagined that this was what it felt like for two people to be together, even if one was not aware of his actions. The doctor let out a hum of approval from behind her, his hand cupping her between her legs as a finger delved inside of her, moving in and out in an agonizing rhythm, his teeth grazing her the tender flesh where neck met shoulder as he sucked it into his mouth, ripping a moan from her that she couldn't control.
"Oh please," she groaned, unable to restrain herself. She felt him still behind her at her exclamation, his finger ceasing its movement between her legs and his other hand dropping from her breast.
"Oh my God, oh my God, I'm so sorry," Doctor Turner scrambled, pulling his hands back, hyperaware of the wetness on his fingers and the taste of her skin lingering on his tongue. She rolled over to face him, attempting to see his eyes in the darkness as thunder crashed again, lightening illuminating his features. He looked unlike anything she had ever seen. Face awash with horror at his actions, but pupils dilated in arousal, his hand held a few inches from her arm, his uncertainty palpable in the stillness of the room. For his part, he was waiting for her to slap him. For her to condemn him. To call the police. He had practically assaulted her in their mutual slumber, his fantasies of her taking over his actions. How long had it been since he had been with a woman? It was years – his last slew of months with his wife having been celibate. It was only under the guise of sleep that his body betrayed him, pushed his desires to the surface until he attempted to enact them with the woman who now consumed his every thought. He swallowed hard, gearing himself to apologise, despite how his body had yet to understand the need to repent, still running rampant from the closeness of her body and the desire he felt. "Sister Bernadette –"
"It's Shelagh," she said, voice so thick in the darkness that he barely recognised it. She launched herself at him, crowding into his space and pressing her lips to his in a frenzy. He froze for only a heartbeat, feeling her inexperienced kisses against his mouth before he began to eagerly return them in kind, his hands carding up to her neck, pulling her hair free, the cap falling off the edge of the bed in their haste. In the farthest recesses of his mind he never imagined this, rolling onto his back and bringing her with him. She slid one leg over his hips, straddling him as they continued to kiss, their tongues battling inside her mouth as he leaned up, hands sliding down her ribs until he was able to clench the edges of her slip, pulling the material up until he managed to bring it over her head, tossing it into the abyss of the room, their lips having to separate as he removed it. She was panting, the next flash of lightening lighting her body for a split second, just long enough for him to truly see her for the first time. Her hair shone gold and silver with the static illumination, her eyes practically glowing in ethereal beauty from her place astride him, her chest heaving and pushing her breasts out with each shuddering breath she took.
"You are absolutely stunning," he croaked, attacking her neck with kisses as he felt her tiny hands go to the hem of his own shirt, tugging it away from his body as he managed to wiggle around enough to shove his pants down, lifting her hips slightly until he was freed from the fabric. When she resettled against him he hissed, now feeling the true impact they were having on each other as her wetness came into contact with him. "Are you sure?" he managed to query, wanting nothing more than to sink into her and let the world fall away, the wind whipping against the window as thunder crashed again, the storm moving closer.
"Yes, completely," she replied, huffing out a surprised breath as he took her hips in his hands, kissing her as he guided her body against his, grinding them together and pressing soft bruises into the pale, delicate flesh that spanned across her pelvis. She was biting her lip, eyes closed as she tried to memorise the sensation, the feeling of his cock dragging across her womanhood making her dizzy as she felt him duck down, capturing a nipple in his mouth and suckling at her before trailing his lips through the valley of her breasts and repeating the treatment on the other side. "Oh, oh goodness," she whimpered, hips jumping at the sensation as she felt him chuckle against her, the noise sending a new wave of arousal through her.
"Let me take care of you," he said, releasing her breast and looking up into her eyes. They could barely see one another in the dark, but she nodded anyway, feeling his hands tighten slightly on her hips as he lay back, positioning her slight form over him. "Tell me if you need me to stop," he added, eyes glancing back and forth from her face to where he slowly began to join them, lowering her down onto his erection with aching slowness, letting her adjust to the feeling. When he first began to penetrate her she released a needy moan, her head falling back at the sensation, her breathing ragged. He could sense the slight tension in her body as he lowered her down the last few inches, letting her body meet his completely as he waited for her to adjust.
"Oh, oh God," she hissed, squirming slightly and causing him to buck up into her. When she shifted her own weight a few times he took it as a sign she was comfortable enough and he began to slowly move within her, lifting her slightly so that he could thrust up into her. She braced her hands on his chest, her nails raking against his skin and raising small red lines, occasionally catching one of his nipples and making his hips jerk more forcefully within her.
She couldn't believe they were doing this, but at the same time she had never felt anything more right in her life. The sensation of him within her, filling her, brought her a completion she had never known. The movement of his body against hers drew out a string of soft exclamations and the occasional unintelligible curse, her hips slowly learning the movements of their joining until she was raising and lowering herself enough that he could move one hand from her hip to her breast, palming the flesh.
"You're gorgeous like this," he sighed, allowing the storm to bring another flash of her above him, sweat starting to appear on her body as they moved together. He lifted his torso off the bed, changing the angle of penetration and causing her to cry out as he quickly flipped them over, settling between her thighs. He panted, slowly starting to move in and out of her in their new configuration, his hand going to her calf until he could bring one leg up over his shoulder, her other wrapping around his back on pure instinct. He revelled in the softness of her skin, now knowing how the fire-painted flesh felt against his hands, his arms, his ribs.
She was a constant litany of sounds, from soft breaths to erratic moans and gasps, lifting her hips to meet each of his shallow thrusts that were building into a deeper and quicker rhythm. He pressed his nose into her hair, managing to find a spot behind her ear that made her let out a cry, her heel digging into his side as her hips bucked against him.
"Oh, yes, please," she begged, head thrashing on the pillow as she craved something she had never known, her muscles tightening as the liquid fire between her legs increased tenfold, suddenly washing over her in a crash, lightening flaring through the window as she peaked, allowing Patrick to see the look of pure ecstasy on her face, the thunder drowning out the wail she released to anyone other than him.
"Shelagh," he moaned, unable to hold back any longer. He could feel her thighs trembling against his hip and bicep, whimpers shuddering out of her every few seconds as she gasped loudly, clinging to him as she shook through her orgasm. He scrambled for purchase on her hips, the bed, the sheets, anything; pulling her as close as possible as he came, spilling into her with abandon, teeth sinking into her exposed shoulder so as to stop the scream that wanted to rip from his lips.
When he felt as if he could breathe again he forced his eyes open, taking in the sight of the sweaty woman beneath him, the red bite mark on her shoulder turning into a bruise almost before his eyes even in the darkness. Her chest was heaving, minute tremors still passing beneath her skin as she attempted to calm her breathing. She looked fully debauched and he loved it. He leaned forward, peppering her face with butterfly kisses as they calmed down together, their breathing returning to normal and their sweat cooling in the damp air of the room. The storm seemed to dissipate as they lay together in the darkness, still joined, his hips cradled in her thighs.
"I love you," he confessed softly, pressing a last kiss to her temple before pulling out of her. She winced slightly before reaching up, carding her fingers through his sweaty bangs.
"I love you too," she replied, emotion thickening her accent and bringing tears to her eyes. He smiled at her, his grin goofy even in the darkness, before the silence was shattered by her giggle. "Can... can we get the duvet back? It's freezing," she said.
"Of course," he answered, tugging the blankets up and covering her with them. "Let me light the fire again." With that he rose from the bed, wandering around the foot of the mattress until he managed to locate the kindling again, striking a match against the fireplace and illuminating the room in the soft glow of the flames again. He looked over his shoulder to find that she was watching him, having grabbed her glasses from the nightstand so that she could see him clearly. He raised an eyebrow, loving the blush that coloured her skin at being caught looking at his backside.
"Sorry," she muttered, now fully able to see his masculine form. It was slightly odd, she realised, to only be seeing him naked after they had made love, but somehow it felt so right and normal for them that she didn't question it, loving the feeling of his body curling around hers as he slid back into the bed, his own skin chilled from the night air.
"Shh, you've nothing to apologise for my love," he whispered, kissing her temple as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back to his chest. "Get some sleep." She let out a soft hum in response, quickly succumbing to slumber once again.
Patrick lay awake for quite a while after she fell asleep, his thoughts racing despite how they were now tinged with the colour of rose. He hoped and prayed that this wasn't a dream, that she wouldn't regret it in the light of day, that they could somehow make it work together, even though odds were stacked against them. Eventually her breathing and the smell of her skin lulled him back to sleep.
XxX
She awoke to sunshine streaming into the room, casting a golden light across the bed. With a sigh she stretched slightly, realising how she felt sore in places that she barely ever thought about normally, a small smile spreading across her face at the feeling of an arm wrapped tightly around her waist, Patrick's nose buried in her hair as he slept. Squirming she managed to turn around, glad that she was able to see well enough close up that she didn't need her glasses to take in the sight of the man behind her. His hair was a tousled mess, sticking up in random places, faint red scratches present on the parts of his upper chest that she could see, making her blush when she realised they were there because of her.
"Good morning my beautiful Shelagh," he whispered, cracking his eyes open and capturing her lips in a gentle kiss.
"Good morning," she answered, loving the flutter of emotion that rose in her stomach at the compliment and endearment. She adored hearing him use her real name, the harsh sounds she had always hated suddenly blending together into something she wanted to be called once again. "We should get up if we want to get breakfast before we head home," she said. He groaned, pulling her tightly into his chest.
"I think we should just stay here," he groused, making her laugh. She wiggled free, kissing him on his nose before standing up, grabbing her glasses as she looked about the room.
"I would love to, but I don't want that inn keeper to come looking for us. It's already almost half eight," she explained, stepping carefully across the area rug in search of her clothes, finding her slip on the windowsill. Patrick propped himself up, watching her intently as she stretched, pulling the fabric on over her head. She tossed him a shy smile, her expression only faltering when she noticed her discarded cap on the carpet.
"Shelagh?" he asked, sitting up properly until he could see where her gaze had landed, feeling his heart seize in his chest at the realisation. "Oh."
"I should go get ready," she muttered, dashing into the lavatory then, leaving him alone in the bedroom, the sheets tangled and pock-marked from their love making. He scrubbed a hand over his face, standing up and searching for his own clothes, dressing in silence before sitting in the armchair, waiting for the woman to reappear.
XxX
The drive back to Poplar was spent in complete and utter silence. Patrick tried to think of something to say, some way to beg forgiveness for something that he had evidently done. He wracked his mind, knowing that he had asked her if she was certain the night before but suddenly terrified that she had changed her thinking about their relationship. Did they even have a relationship? He knew, without a doubt, that he was madly in love with her but he wasn't sure if she felt the same. Things said in the heat of the moment, answers given simply because they were thought to be the response sought after, were too common.
When they got to Nonnatus she slipped from the car before he had the chance to open her door for her, grabbing her bag and bolting into the convent without a second glance backwards. He would have been lying had he said that it didn't break his heart, his stomach in his mouth the entire drive home. Timothy had a million questions once he was back in the flat, asking where he had been, what had happened to the baby, what they were going to do that weekend. He answered on rote, 'I was in Liverpool, the baby is getting the best care possible, why don't we go to the seaside for the day?'
He buys a ring the next day. Hiding it in his bedroom amidst his hoard of ties, far enough back in the drawer that Timothy won't find it. He's not sure what compelled him to do so, they had made no promises to one another, no real intent of where they could go from here, but he couldn't stop himself. He had seen it in a shop window and had to purchase it. He loved her. He wanted to marry her. He just didn't know how.
He spent the next few weeks in a state of half-awareness, treating his patients with clarity but feeling as if he's lost touch with all else, the emptiness that fills him creating an ache he never thought he would feel. When he closes his eyes, he can picture her face. Picture her in the throes of passion, so beautiful in the light from storm. Picture her in the soft glow of the fire as he held her close as they fell asleep. Picture her with her hair glowing in the morning sunlight as she had wandered across the hotel room, glorious in her nudity, in order to find her clothes, not seeming to mind his eyes on her.
He sighed, dropping his head into his hands, knowing that it was highly unlikely that he would ever have that again. He hadn't seen her since that day. Hasn't been able to apologise, to ask forgiveness for his actions or whatever has caused her to withdraw from him in such a way. Hasn't been able to make sure that she knows he loves her still, not simply due to one action they had taken together, but because of all that she is.
None of the other nurses or nuns seemed to want to say anything and he loathed to admit it, but he was too scared to ask. Too nervous about what their responded could be. That she had left Poplar. That she never wanted to see him again. That they had shunned her. The last was the worst to think about, for he never wanted her to be hurt in this. He could live with his own agony, but knowing that she may be cast out by her family was something he couldn't handle. He jumped at the sound of front door, wondering who was coming round at such an hour. It was late, long past tea time. Timothy was on a pretend camp-out with the Scouts at the Parish hall, leaving the doctor to his own devices as he dragged himself out of his chair and crossed through to the hallway.
Pulling open the door he stumbled back, finding Sister Bernadette before him. Gone was the habit, replaced instead by simple clothes that fit her tiny figure enough to note her femininity without drawing too much attention to her body.
"Hello Patrick," she said, voice quiet in the evening air. She looked so tiny on his doorstep, a nervousness about her that he had never before associated with such a woman. He wondered where she had learned his given name, assuming that one of the other Sisters had told her. He hated how much he loved the way his name rolled off her tongue.
"Sis-" he started, stopping himself when he saw the slight wince in her eyes. "Shelagh," he said instead, eyes roving over her, needing to memorise her again, drawing her image into his mind.
"I'm sorry I haven't spoken to you since we went to Liverpool. I just... needed to get myself sorted," she muttered, shifting from one foot to the other. "May I?" He instantly backed up, waving her into the flat before shutting the door. Part of him demanded that he lock it and refuse to let her leave, while the other part knew he could never do that. He could never deny her anything. If she asked him to never speak to her again, he would obey, no matter how much his heart broke at the though. And if she asked him to let her stay, he would do so without hesitation, wanting nothing more than to call her his forever.
"I understand," he replied as he followed her into the parlour, watching her gingerly sit down on the edge of the sofa, fiddling with the hem of her skirt. It came just to her knees, the fabric complimenting her skin tone.
"I... I needed to speak with Sister Julienne these last weeks. You see, there is paperwork involved and she wanted to make sure that my decision was resolute and not simply made during a moment of passion," she started, seeming to struggle with her words. He wanted so badly to reach out and grab her hand, to assure her that he was there and that he was listening to her, but he didn't, instead choosing to sit back in his chair so that he didn't have to fight the temptation of touching her. She let out a sigh then, eyes back on her hands.
"Shelagh?" he pressed.
"I've left the convent," she blurts, cheeks turning pink at the admission. He can't help it, his jaw dropping.
"Why?" he queried, jaw snapping shut at the look she gives him.
"Because I love you," she whispered. He was across the floor in a heartbeat, pulling her to her feet and showering her with kisses.
"I love you too, so much," he said between presses of their lips, breaking away from her with a giant smile on his face. "Stay here," he rushed, "don't move!" She blinked in confusion, watching him dart down the hallway, his footfalls on the stairs echoing through the house. He was back within a minute, panting slightly as he skidded to a halt before her, eyes dancing in the lamplight. He took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles before dropping to one knee. She inhaled sharply, eyes wide as she saw him draw the jewellery box from his pocket.
"Patrick?" she asked, heart pounding in her chest.
"I know that... that our feelings haven't been out in the open very long. That we still have so much to learn about one another, but I cannot fathom another day without knowing that you will be mine. My wife. My love. My everything. I love you Shelagh. Will you marry me?" He got the words out in a steady voice despite how he could barely think with the blood rushing in his ears. He watched as tears gathered in her eyes, her head nodding slightly.
"Yes," she breathed, a smile splitting her face as tears slid over her lashes. He took the ring from the box then, sliding it on her finger before standing and sweeping her into a kiss, her hands tangling in his hair while his pressed into her hips, a spot he couldn't help but think of as his from that first moment his fingers landed there.
"And to think, had we not gotten stuck in the Peak District, this may not be happening," he murmured into her hair when he pulled back, tucking her into his chest as they stood together in the parlour, swaying slightly. She chuckled against his chest, arms tightening around him.
"Thank goodness for that storm."
"Thank goodness indeed," he agreed, kissing the crown of her head.
"Patrick... there's one more thing," she said, fingers tracing soft patters on his scapula.
"What is it my love?" he questioned.
"The wedding is going to have to be fairly soon," she said.
"Why's that? Is there a stipulation for something like that when you leave the church?"
"No," she replied. "I'm pregnant."
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