A/N: I tried to use a few people's prompts in one story as a lot of them were similar enough. I hope it's at least sort of what you all wanted.

"Are you absolutely sure that this is a good idea, only I still feel like we should have mentioned something to her..."

Trixie, her arms full with a rainbow of knotted streamers, turned to scowl at Barbara, "mention her surprise birthday party to her?! Yes I am absolutely sure we should not have done that. Besides, we could all do with cheering up, couldn't we? Now, make yourself useful and pass me that roll of tape."

Doing as her friend asked, Barbara returned to blowing up balloons, all the while wondering whether this party was really for Patsy, or purely to take Trixie's mind off of Tom. They'd called off their engagement only a week ago. In true Trixie fashion, she was pretending everything was fine, a huge smile plastered on her face to ensure nobody asked any questions, but every so often it would slip. She had heard Trixie crying one night, whilst Patsy was out on call, through the thin wall separating their bedrooms, and even over Nurse Crane's snoring, but she knew better than to interfere. Trixie would have probably just sent her packing, anyway. Even so, she was becoming increasingly worried about her. She couldn't help but think that Patsy's birthday was merely a welcome distraction, something to focus her efforts on and keep her busy. She still wasn't entirely convinced Patsy would even want a surprise party. She hadn't mentioned her birthday at all; Trixie had only known it was approaching from snooping through her things. Even in the short time she'd known them, Barbara had learnt how much Patsy valued her privacy, and she herself had always known better than to pry. She wasn't sure she liked being Trixie's accomplice.

"Now, which goes better with the buttercup of the walls? White, or this baby pink? Or maybe both?'

"Oh, I think they're both lovely," Barbara said, through a forced smile.

"Although, I quite like the blue. Or perhaps even the mint green. I had asked Fred to fetch some new, but he pulled this box out of the attic, crammed with doilies and ugly tablecloths, and these were the only salvageable part so I suppose they should do, so long as I manage to untangle them... Perhaps I ought to use all of them; I'm not sure we'll have enough of any one colour," she paused, seemingly realising that Barbara had tuned out of her monologue, and stared sternly at her, clapping her hands together, "this is important! The balloons must match the streamers, or the whole aesthetic will be off!"

The sudden noise made Barbara jump, accidentally letting go of the balloon she was attempting to knot. It flew across the room and she ran after it, leaving Trixie on the step-ladder, rolling her eyes.

It was approaching seven o'clock in the evening when Patsy eventually headed back to Nonnatus House, exhausted and probably not smelling particularly pleasant. Mrs Hardy had telephoned when her waters broke in the small hours of the morning, and had finally given birth shortly before six, but both mother and baby were doing well, despite a strenuous labour. It had been a long, tiring day, but Patsy was glad of it. The distraction had certainly been a welcomed one. She had almost managed to go the whole day without thinking about what it was, and now she could go right to bed (after fetching herself some dinner) and tomorrow would be a new day. One not tarnished by bad memories and foolish longing.

As she pushed open the heavy doors of Nonnatus, she noticed the day's post stacked neatly in a pile, but didn't pause to look through it. There wasn't any point, and she could do without the disappointment. She had rather hoped she could have at least seen Delia today, but unfortunately she was working all night at the London. Still, that was probably for the best. When they had first separated – Patsy deciding to move away, that is – it had been because it was for the best. It had been because they were spending too much time together, and she had feared that people would get suspicious. Lately, she had been sneaking every last moment she could with her, and those old moments of panic had crept up on her again. What if someone should see and ask questions? How would she explain their sudden closeness again?

It was better for them both that they begin to spend more time apart, again, even if it did make her heart hurt. Then again, she had grown accustomed to living with such a pain.

Nonnatus was unusually still, and empty. As Patsy went into the kitchen, she was surprised to find that even Sister Monica Joan was absent. She had half expected to find her at the table, scoffing a hidden away pastry, or a slice of cake, but instead she found nobody. It was quiet. Almost too quiet. She couldn't hear the usual footsteps on the stairs, or Trixie's music playing up in the bedroom. She hadn't quite missed supper time, and yet nobody was around to eat. She concluded that everybody must have been called out, and that Sister Monica Joan was probably in her bedroom, reading, and hadn't heard the door.

She was halfway through fixing herself some leftovers from the night before's meal, when she heard the front door close heavily, and Nurse Gilbert's voice filling the hallway, calling her name. Patsy gazed down at the mountain of food she was about to tuck into – a lot, given she hadn't eaten all day - and sighed, replacing it in the refrigerator, and running towards the commotion.

"Whatever's the matter?"

"Oh, thank God you're here! There's an emergency! At the community centre!"

Patsy raised her eyebrows, "what kind of an emergency?"

"There's been an accident! I didn't stick about; Trixie asked me to send for you so I did..." she was somewhat out of breath, her face flushed.

They rushed to the community centre, all the while Patsy's heart was pounding in her chest. Any hints of exhaustion were gone as she cycled as fast as she could, Barbara barely catching up behind her. They arrived outside, and she dismounted, rushing up the front steps of the building and swinging the door open, ignoring the sweat sticking the loose strands of hair around her face to her forehead, and the aching of her tired limbs.

"Surprise!"

For a moment, all the blood rushed to her face. Patsy knew her cheeks were tomato-red, and that if anything, her heartbeat heavier, louder. She stared around her, angry, confused tears building in her eyes. No no no no no. Her eyes darted from each cheerful face of her friends so fast that the room begun to spin.

"Oh, Barbara, you could have at least told her to get changed!" Trixie said, angrily, before looping an arm through Patsy's, forcing her to walk. Her legs felt like lead as she moved towards the table of food, and the small bustle of people, smiling so hard their faces might split.

"There's no emergency," she stammered, feeling like she might be sick. She closed her eyes, forcing tears back, opened them again, and stared at Trixie, "it was a ploy to get me here... for..."

"Well, we couldn't just let your birthday go by unnanounced!"

Patsy's mouth was dry. She knew this reaction wasn't what people expected, what they wanted, but she couldn't even force a fake smile. She just couldn't understand how they'd found out. She had always been so careful not to let it slip into conversation, not for anybody to know. But they'd found out all the same.

"Happy birthday," Sister Julienne said, quietly, a warm, inviting smile on her rosy face.

Patsy tried to gulp down the sick feeling in her throat, but it was no use. Shaking her head in an attempt to will back the tears, she fled.

She was sitting on the steps outside, cheeks wet with tears, hands awkwardly folding and unfolding in her lap, when she heard the soft footsteps, and eventually felt somebody sit down beside her. She didn't dare to look. It was probably one of the nuns, hoping to offer her some words of kindness, inspired by a God she didn't believe in. Patsy wasn't in the mood. She knew it couldn't be Trixie because there was no way she would ever be so quiet about it.

"Hey."

It was the one person she hadn't expected, and she looked up, immediately regretting it when she saw the worried expression on Delia's soft features.

"Delia?" Patsy whispered, reaching for her, and immediately pulling away, remembering where they were.

"I'm so sorry. I knew it wasn't a good idea, but when Trixie suggested it... well, I didn't think there was any harm," she sighed, "it was coming from a good place... with good intentions."

Patsy nodded, wiping at her face, the feeling of guilt and shame creeping in, "I know, I know... I just... I hate it. Today. The thought of celebrating it..."

"I know, sweetheart."

They sat in silence and Patsy ached so much to touch her, to get buried in her and never let her go. She needed the warmth and safety Delia's embrace offered her so much, but she knew she couldn't, not here. Not with people watching.

"I wish it were different," she whispered, instead, gazing at her, enjoying the way the soft light of the street lamps highlighted her face, "I wish I could be normal,"

The heaviness of her words hung between them, and Delia wished there were something she could say, something that would take away that painful look that lingered in Patsy's gaze. She placed her hand gently over the top of the other woman's, and squeezed, not caring if anyone else should see.

"You are so good at putting on the brave face. An expert. We don't have to stay here all night, just for a little while. They're your friends, and they mean well."

Patsy nodded, not wanting to move. Delia's touch was warm and soft and felt like home, and she didn't want to have to let go, didn't want to have to face reality. She knew she had apologies to make, and that Trixie would be absolutely mortified at having upset her. It's not like she could have known: the horrible memories, or the reason why she hadn't even thought about celebrating her birthday in years.

Trixie was nowhere to be found when Patsy eventually made her way back into the party, until Barbara pointed her towards one of the side rooms. Her heart was heavy in her chest, as it always was when she knew she had upset somebody. For much of Patsy's life, she had not cared about hurting other people's feelings. It was easier to be stubborn, hard, uncaring. It meant you didn't get hurt. She'd spent a lot of time building that up, but Nonnatus House, and the friends she had made there, had worn it down.

She rapped lightly on the door, and to her relief, heard Trixie's voice call for her to go in, between sniffs.

"I wanted to apologise."

Trixie turned to look at her, her eyes red from crying. She said nothing, and Patsy took that as her cue, sitting heavily next to her

"I don't celebrate my birthday," she said, slowly, "I haven't. Not for years."

"Because you're afraid of getting old?" Trixie said, "I am afraid too, but not celebrating doesn't change it. And, if you're going to get older either way, you may as well do so with your friends around you, giving you lovely things..."

With a soft chuckle, Patsy shook her head, a lump forming in her throat again, as she prepared to tell Trixie something she hadn't told anybody in a long time, not since Delia. She swallowed, closing her eyes, promising herself she wouldn't cry again.

"On my eleventh birthday, my mother died," she said, quietly.

Trixie turned and stared at her, her eyes glossy with tears, "Patsy... I had no idea..."

"How could you? I don't talk about it." It had taken a lot for her to tell Trixie about her childhood, about losing her mother and her sister. She hadn't wanted to elaborate.

"But... this was such a horrible idea..." Trixie lowered her gaze, fiddling with her fingers, "I was so selfish..."

"Selfish?! Trix, you wanted to give me a nice birthday. What on earth is selfish about that?"

Chewing her lip, Trixie looked again at her, shrugging her shoulders, clearly trying not to cry, "I used your birthday as a... I don't know... a distraction, I suppose. Since Tom and I... well, I haven't had anything to put my attention to besides work and I do so love parties... I guess since I had no wedding to plan, I thought I'd plan this instead. I didn't even take into consideration your feelings, not at all."

Patsy shook her head, "of course you did... You even got Delia to come."

"I know she means a lot to you," Trixie said, uncertainly, "but that doesn't change the fact that I am a lousy friend."

"Trixie Franklin, you could not be a lousy friend if you tried!"

She laughed a little at that, before sobering, "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I ruined everything didn't I?" Patsy sighed.

"You did not. I shouldn't have snooped..."

She shook her head, "look, let's agree to forgive each other, and forget this ever happened. It's nothing a slice of cake can't solve," she hesitated, "there is cake, right?"

Trixie looked a little sheepish, fidgeting, "there was a cake, but I left it unattended and..."

Rolling her eyes, Patsy laughed, hauling herself to her feet, and offering Trixie her hand, "let me guess, Sister Monica Joan?"

"Got it in one. There isn't a crumb left!"

Even with the absence of cake, and a more than slightly rocky start, the party was a resounding success. Patsy had spent much of it dancing with Trixie – if for no other reason than it ensured she stayed away from the punch bowl, and she had a lot of making up to do to her – but she couldn't help but cast some longing looks in Delia's direction every so often. She was relieved to find her mingling with other guests relatively happily, especially having a lengthy conversation with Dr. Turner's wife, and Timothy, before they left to tuck him into bed. That wasn't at all surprising of course; Delia got on with everybody and everybody loved her because she had such a cheerful presence about her. But still, there was something about seeing her with the rest of her friends which was overwhelmingly comforting. They had been so kind to her already, inviting her to Trixie's engagement supper, and making it clear that she was always welcome at the dinner table (though this was an offer they seldom took, as Patsy was convinced someone would catch them out, even if they did nothing untoward). A small part of her had almost convinced herself that they would be accepting even if they did know the truth. But she knew that could never be the case.

As the party began to fizzle out, and the song Patsy and Trixie were dancing away too faded into the next, the blonde lay a hand gently on Patsy's shoulder, and motioned towards the buffet table.

"I'm going to clear some things away... I think there's somebody you probably want a quiet moment with, if I'm not mistaken?" she nudged her, glancing towards Delia who was now alone.

Patsy looked across at Delia, and then back at Trixie, meaning to ask for some sort of explanation, but her friend had disappeared. She was quite aware of the flabbergasted expression on her face, but softened as her eyes met Delia's, a soft smile playing on her lips. She would have to have a talk with Trixie, but that was a conversation for another time.

"Hello, stranger," Delia teased, as Patsy approached.

"Sorry, you haven't been awfully bored here, with my friends, have you?"

She shook her head, "no, I quite liked it actually. It was nice to watch you dance... you look happy."

"I am," Patsy admitted, swallowing, "may I?"

She took Delia's hand, and moved her further into the middle of the room, looping her arm around her waist. It was the most intimate they had allowed themselves to be in weeks – since the night Abigail Bissette had lost her baby – and certainly the most they had in front of other people. The room had mostly cleared though. Trixie was still tending to the buffet table. The Sisters had gone to evening prayer. Barbara sat in the corner nursing a drink, listening to Nurse Crane rabbit on about something or other, and Fred was still scoffing down a plate of sausage rolls. If anybody was bothered by two women moving slowly around the makeshift dance floor, bodies pressed tightly together, they weren't showing it.

"This is nice," Delia said, her voice low, her eyes wide.

"Yes," Patsy agreed. She didn't want to talk for fear it might ruin it, that it might draw attention to them. She hummed along to the music instead, drifting along to it, barely paying attention to anything besides the soft rhythm, and two heartbeats keeping time alongside.

"Happy Birthday," Delia breathed.

And, for the first time, it was.