GOING UP?

Serena stares at the number displayed on the wall and wills it to change faster. Begs the lift to get a move on so she can escape, find room to breathe, away from the one person she doesn't want to see. The only person she's thought about all weekend.

If only she hadn't taken that detour downstairs to get coffee. Hadn't run from the queue in a panic at the first sight of messy blonde waves marching through the front door. If only she'd pressed the button just a little quicker, or taken the stairs. She wouldn't be stuck here now. Trapped in a big metal box of awkwardness. Over-sensitized and attuned to every inch of the infuriating trauma surgeon.

Every second drags on for a lifetime and she wants to lean forward and jab the button again, to make sure it's not faulty. To give restless fingers something to do.

And when Bernie wrings nervous hands in her periphery, her anxiety spikes. Makes it clear she's not the only one feeling this way. It prompts a sharp inhale and - oh god - dark eyes roll up and close momentarily as Bernie's scent fully assaults her senses. Short of placing a hand on the wall to steady herself, there's nothing she can do but tighten the grip on her files.

Then Bernie coughs, unusually timid and controlled behind a demure fist. Readjusts the strap of her satchel, which, Serena notices, helps to camouflage but doesn't entirely hide the tiny side step she takes toward the wall.

When Bernie's head falls forward, eyes no longer facing front and blonde waves hiding rosy cheeks in a veil of apparent embarrassment, Serena decides enough is enough.

"Well, this isn't awkward at all," she says, very matter-of-fact as she exhales a sigh. Winces internally as the sharp edge of sarcasm slices the delicate atmosphere between them.

A short burst of air leaves Bernie's nose, her tone as equally sharp. "Of course not, why would it be?"

Serena's eyebrows lift. "You kissed me!"

"You kissed me back."

"Yes, well…" She pauses, blinks. Wonders if Bernie's stomach is twisted and bubbling in the same way. "Neither of us were thinking strai - um, very clearly."

Bernie turns, stifles a smile at the almost slip. "Nice save."

"Thank you," Serena replies without missing a beat. Turns and meets warm chocolate eyes that crinkle at the corners, that melt her insides and send heat between her legs and she wishes things could be different, but -

"Emotions were running high," she says with a haughty sniff, eyes quickly finding the wall again. "That's all there is to it."

Bernie sighs hard and Serena can practically feel the woman deflate beside her.

"I just think…" Bernie squints and rubs shaky fingers at her forehead.

"What?" she snips.

Another sigh and Bernie softens. "We should at least talk about it, Serena."

And though seeing the blonde look so defeated is borderline painful, her headshake is emphatic. "I don't think that's necessary. We're both adults, we can just -"

"Oh, sod it." Bernie blurts, before reaching across the space between them to jab at the emergency stop button.

"What are you doing?!" Serena demands. But then there's a hand on her cheek, and then at her neck, creeping up into her hair. A puff of breath on her face, as if in answer, and it was a bloody stupid question to begin with.

This time, Bernie's kiss isn't desperate or urgent. It is sure, but gentle. Hot. And searching.

But when their lips part for tongues to meet, Serena pulls back. Peers at Bernie's mouth – then eyes – then mouth just long enough to slide a hand of her own into golden hair. Gets her first feel of the glorious, unruly mess that has fascinated her since they met.

It is soft like silk. And it is her undoing.

With a moan, she pulls Bernie's mouth back to hers. Lets her tongue caress and retreat in a passionate ebb and flow that feels more natural than breathing. Effortless.

When they part, she is breathless. Rests her forehead against Bernie's and licks her lips. "You have to stop kissing me."

"I will," Bernie whispers, releasing her and stepping away. "When you stop kissing me back."

Bernie's gaze burns, weakens her knees even as the blonde reaches again to restart the lift and she'd swear it was the jerking stop-start that had her so off-balance and not the woman, but it would be a lie.

Serena clears her throat, dislodges a lump and swallows her pride. "I suppose you are right. We should probably talk."

"When?" Bernie asks. Brusque. Demanding.

And something about the simplicity of her directness, of how she cuts to the core of matters so easily lightens the weight on Serena's shoulders. Emboldens her.

"My place. Eight o'clock."

Bernie nods as the lift dings and the doors open. "I'll be there at ten to." She flashes a smile that makes Serena's heart skip, steps out and strides away. "Have a good day, Ms. Campbell!"

"Um, yes." Serena stutters a breath and smoothes down her shirt. Clutches the files to her chest as she steps out. Checks left and right for onlookers but finds none.

Lets her eyes trail the retreating figure without shame as she murmurs low. "You too, Ms. Wolfe."