Disclaimer: I don't own Call the Midwife. This is my first Call the Midwife fic, hopefully more to come. This is an AU story, taking place during the second season. Sister Bernadette doesn't have TB for the purposes of this story. Please be aware this story revolves around a sensitive issue, please read at your own discretion. This story involves a sexual assault against one of our beloved characters, so please read with caution. Rated: K+ to T

Chapter One:

Sister Bernadette loves to take walks in the dark, especially after a delivery before she went back to Nonnatus House. She never considered herself to be of the selfish sort, but from time to time she needed to be away from the nurses and her Sisters. She needed to clear her head, get herself back to norm; especially after a delivery involving Dr. Turner.

She often finds herself flummoxed in his presence and scolds herself for letting her thoughts become so consumed of him. No matter how often she would scold herself, it didn't matter he was still there. And just when she thought she was rid of him, there were moments where he popped back in. Like after Sister Julienne had given her Timothy's drawing. Now she found if she wasn't thinking of Dr. Turner, she was thinking about his young son with whom she found she bonded. She always assumed she was a natural with children, and Timothy was no exception. She felt this unexpected pull to him unlike she had with any other child. She couldn't pinpoint or name the longing she felt, simply a desire for something more. Something she knew the religious life couldn't offer her.

Sister Bernadette makes her way over to the waterfront and stares out into the dark calm. She tries to settle her mind by taking a deep cleansing breath. She closes her eyes, taking deep breaths and just as she's about to open her eyes and return home, she feels a rough hand come over and cover her mouth. She begins to scream and then everything goes black.

Eyes open. She feels nothing but pain. Pain in her head, pain in her stomach, pain in her pelvis, a pain unlike anything she had ever felt before.

She groans as she takes in her surroundings. Her skin is covered in dirt and specks of blood and fear begins to take root in the deepest pit of her stomach. She notices she is in an alleyway with no other person in sight. She lifts a hand to her head; pulling it away it is covered in blood. It's then she realizes her wimple is off and lying in mud beside her. She feels her hair is wild and out of place. Looking down she realizes she is horribly exposed, her skirts torn and lying in a heap at her feet.

Despite the pain throbbing in her head, she quickly slips back into her skirts, covering as well as she can. That's when she begins to shake and she chokes on her sobs as she realizes exactly what has happened to her. She had been violated. Her essence, her purity stolen from her.

She stumbles, her head spinning so wickedly she needs to clamp her eyes shut so she doesn't vomit onto the pavement. Once she's certain the nausea is at bay, she slowly begins making her way back to Nonnatus. The streets are deserted and for that she is grateful.

By the time she reaches the house she no longer has the strength; as she reaches for the door she slumps against it, pounding on the door. She knows Sister Julienne is on call tonight, and she is the only one she wishes to confide her personal tragedy.

"Sister?" The calming and reassuring voice makes itself known.

Sister Bernadette turns to face the woman she had come to know and love like a mother and simply pleads, "Help me."

She can plainly see the shock on Sister Julienne's face and she wishes she could spare her surrogate mother this agony. She hides her face again and tries to burrow inside herself, but to no avail.

"My dear. Stay right here," Sister Julienne goes to turn to get help, but Sister Bernadette reaches out to stop her.

"No, Sister! Please. Just you. Please."

Sister Julienne contemplates and ultimately decides to honor her wishes. She could not imagine the trauma Sister Bernadette had endured and if she were in her place, she was sure she wouldn't have had the courage to come home.

Wrapping her arms around her, Sister Bernadette leans heavily onto Sister Julienne, trying to acquire some of her strength. They slowly make their way up the stairs and into the bathroom.

"At least let me call the doctor."

"No!" Sister Bernadette pleads. What would he think of her? He couldn't ever know what happened to her.

"You need a physical examination, Sister." Sister Julienne kneels down in front of her with a warm washcloth and begins to clean her face. "Sister, where are your glasses?"

She hadn't even realized they were missing; she was so focused on getting home. "I don't know," she cries out and this time she makes no attempt to hold in her sobs. They wrack her body and she begins to wail, not caring if she wakes all of Poplar.

The door opens and Trixie's blonde curls make an appearance. "I was just about to pop down for some tea. What's going … oh. my." She covers her mouth at the sight before her.

"Nurse Franklin, if you'd be so kind as to help me clean up Sister Bernadette."

"Of course Sister." Trixie closes the door behind her silently as to not wake the rest of the house and lays a supportive hand upon Sister Bernadette's shoulder and with great care; Trixie and Sister Julienne wash away the blood on her face. Trixie moves away to the bath and begins filling it with warm water.

"Sister," Trixie whispers, "what's happened to her?" she asks after they have stepped out to give Sister Bernadette some privacy.

"I cannot be completely certain, but Sister Bernadette has been attacked. We must care for her. It is the least we can do."

"Shouldn't we call the police?"

"My main concern at the moment is Sister's well being and assurance of her safety."

"We should at least call Dr. Turner. She's already swelling to the size of a melon."

"She would not let me send for him, but perhaps we must. Call for him."

As Trixie makes her way back down to the phone, Sister Julienne knocks on the door before she enters the bathroom. The sight of the woman she considers to be a daughter nearly breaks her heart. There she is, sitting in the tub, her knees pulled close under her chin, arms wrapped around them as the tears flow endlessly down her cheeks.

"Sister, lean your head back," she encourages so she can begin to wash the blood from her hair. She's amazed to notice that even after ten years, her hair is still the beautiful auburn it was then. Now it is in disarray and coated in her thick blood.

Sister Bernadette complies and Sister Julienne takes up the canteen and carefully begins to wet the hair, rinsing out the blood. Sister Julienne prides herself on her experience and calm demeanor throughout all of the small tragedies she's helped others through, but now she feels anything but calm. There is a rage boiling through her at the person whom committed this senseless act against someone she cares for dearly. She thinks maybe she ought to give her words of comfort, however, they live their lives quite adept at silence, so she hopes her presence somehow will be enough.

It's then she noticed Sister Bernadette's clothes on the floor and that her undergarments are lined with blood.

"Sister, please forgive me, but are you on your cycle?"

Sister Bernadette turns to look at her through red-rimmed eyes. "No, sister."

"I see," Sister Julienne replies and blinks furiously to keep her own tears of sadness at bay.

A knock on the door alerts Sister Julienne as Trixie pops her head back in.

"Sister."

Sister Julienne rises to her feet and steps outside.

"Doctor is waiting downstairs. He seems very anxious."

"Nurse Franklin, I have reason to believe that Sister Bernadette has been raped. We must proceed with the utmost care."