This was originally published on AO3 last summer, I'm just transferring it over in the hope that I'll be able to pick it up again! In this timeline Serena and Bernie aren't together yet, and Elinor is still very much alive. Hope you enjoy it!
It has been two weeks since the car accident that left both her ex-husband and her daughter dead. Serena takes her to Athens.
She tries her hardest to negate what Cameron tells her so bluntly - that she is 'running away again' - but she knows that he's completely right. Her son has always been a little too good at reading her. He abstains from judgement, as she knows he will, and not for the first time Bernie feels that it would be better for him to just shut her out of his life for good. He has lost a father and a sister in one day, and now his mother is leaving him to fly across Europe with a woman he sees as Marcus' newest replacement. But the ticket was intended for Elinor, and it is only because she is at a festival that week that she cannot go, and Bernie is Serena's first port of call as they had agreed, and Bernie tells herself that she is doing a friend a favour by going. She's lying to herself of course, because that's what cowards do. She's a god damned coward.
On the day of their flight, Serena drives them to the airport. Bernie hasn't been behind the wheel for two weeks, not since the phone call that told her of Charlotte's death and Marcus' deteriorating condition in ICU. By the time she had reached the hospital his heart had given up. Bernie's hands tremble violently as she reaches for the seatbelt, and Serena reaches out to steady them with her own. The warmth of skin-to-skin contact startles her; she hasn't let herself be helped or comforted in such a long time, and the emotion that rushes through her is almost alien. Something begins to stir in her abdomen but she forces it down as the car rumbles to life and the image of Charlotte's mangled body makes its way to the front of her mind - the mortuary assistant had looked apologetic as he pulled back the sheet to reveal it for identification, and all Bernie could think about was the dance shows she had watched her daughter perform in, and the way her limbs had moved like ribbons across the stage. In death they look stiff and broken, and will not move ever again. Ms Wolfe is experienced enough as a medic to know that for sure.
She grits her teeth and Serena buckles the seatbelt in for her like she's a fucking child.
The airport is far too loud and far too bright, and Bernie hasn't felt this overwhelmed since her time in Afghanistan. The lights leave spots in her vision. Every sound sets her on edge. A man puts his hand luggage in a tray and there is the sound of shrapnel against the hard metal exterior of a tank; the tray is placed on the roller conveyor and all she hears is the rattle of gunfire. Eventually she goes to take refuge in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat and drawing up her legs to rest her head on her knees. Eyes closed, she only has the scrape of her jeans against her cheek and the occasional sound of a toilet flushing to worry about. Twenty minutes pass; Serena has to call four times before she answers her phone and numbly states her location. They speak nothing of it as they board the plane, another thing which lingers unsaid between them.
They arrive in Athens that afternoon, and Bernie cannot quite believe how hot it is. Her mouth is dry; the air she breathes in is warm and heavy. The streets are narrow and the buildings are tall and the glare of the sun bounces off the pavements into her eyes, making it difficult to see without squinting. Graffiti is the only colour that bruises the dull walls; the rest is brown and grey. Cicadas screech in the trees. Her senses are saturated, and she has to withdraw from herself for a few moments before she can finally understand what Serena is saying to her.
"We're in 12F. It's right at the top, and the air con doesn't work but Dmitri's lending us some fans."
Bernie just nods helplessly, and allows Serena to lead her through the door of the apartment block and towards the lift. Her friend disappears for a minute and returns with their two cases. Bernie barely notices her absence. Once the lift doors fold shut on them, however, Serena is all she can think about; the small size of the carriage is mostly taken up by their cases, and the two women are pressed together so that the soft and distinctly feminine curves of Serena's front brush against Bernie's back. Their body heat mingles in the already oppressive warmth of the enclosed space, and she can smell the heavy odour of floral perfume mixed with the scent of sweat. Women in the army didn't bother with perfume. Life in the army was easy. She wishes sometimes that she had agreed to that ten year contract, that she had never accepted the position at Holby, and then she wouldn't be stuck in this world of messy relationships and societal convention and perfume. It is too late though. Her head is spinning. The lift shudders to a stop and the doors wrench open.
It takes the two of them five minutes to unlock their apartment. Serena struggles with the key for four of them, before Bernie holds out her hand.
"Let me try." They are the first words she has spoken since they arrived at the apartment, and Serena looks a little startled. She hands over the key, however, and Bernie unlocks the door with relative ease. 'Big macho army medic' echoes in her head, and she desperately wants Serena to say it, to conjure up some pretence of everything being okay again. The other woman remains silent, though, and simply follows Bernie into the apartment. The space between them swells even as they stand together at the entrance. Serena moves away to explore, and Bernie sits stiffly down.
The apartment is small, consisting of only four rooms, and the walls have been recently painted white. The furnishings are at odds with each other, and it looks as though parts of the living space have been redecorated in different eras under the influence of different fashions; the glass coffee table overshadows the wooden desk, and the white chairs that accompany them do not match with either. Nevertheless, the apartment is clean enough, and it is as good a place to grieve as any. Serena unfolds the sofa bed, leaving Bernie in possession of the single bedroom. She does not protest; she hasn't the energy, and it would be a pointless exercise anyway, as both women know that Serena would win this particular argument. So she drags her case into the bedroom and shuts the door behind her. Bernie is sat on the bed two hours later when Serena tentatively slips into the room to ask what she'd like to do about dinner.
"There's a pizza place just down the road. I'll go - you can stay and unpack."
Bernie can only nod mechanically, guilt at her uselessness washing over her like a tidal wave. Serena is gone before she has the chance to reply, no doubt frustrated by her lack of response. She doesn't unpack.
Just an hour later they are sat on the kitchen balcony in two of those god-awful white chairs, eating pizza from the box and sipping wine. Bernie had been reluctant to leave the sanctuary of her room, but had eventually done so out of courtesy to Serena, who is supposed to be enjoying a family holiday with her daughter. Instead she is burdened with the maudlin presence of an ex-army surgeon who is only just clinging onto the will to live. It's somewhat tragic.
The sun is setting over Athens, staining the skyline a deep red and brushing each of the hundreds of buildings before them with a rosy blush. Their apartment offers them an unobstructed view of the Acropolis, and it illuminates before their eyes as the sky darkens. A million lights flicker in the sea of civilisation around it. The artificial lamp on the balcony hums, casting a blue sheen down upon the balcony.
"More wine?" Serena offers, and Bernie holds out her glass in response. She knows that her friend had been reluctant to buy alcohol in anticipation of the way it might affect their moods, but Bernie is grateful for any respite from the black hole of grief that has taken up permanent residence in her chest. The alcohol numbs her senses, dulling the sharp ache of bereavement and allowing her body to succumb to secondary feelings, namely hunger. She hasn't eaten properly in weeks, and although the pizza tastes wooden, it leaves her feeling significantly more human. Serena meets her gaze as she sets the bottle of wine down at their feet.
"Feeling any better?" she asks hesitantly. Bernie murmurs her assent, taking a deep sip from her glass. They sit in silence again, and she feels a sudden rush of affection for her friend; Serena has been incredibly patient with her, a trait she knows doesn't come particularly easy to the surgeon. She has also remained uncharacteristically level-headed, even at the airport when Bernie had pulled her disappearing act. Curious now, both at the depth of her own feelings and at such a contradiction of nature, Bernie studies Serena with a carefully directed gaze. She is staring out at the sunset, an unreadable expression on her face, and Bernie can see the lights of the city reflected in her eyes. She wants to say something, but she isn't quite sure what.
"We should go and see the Acropolis tomorrow," she ventures at last. Serena turns to look at her, visibly surprised. Her expression settles into one of sympathy.
"You don't have to make an effort for me, Bernie. I don't mind staying in."
"No, I... I'd like to," she says, lowering her gaze and pressing her lips together in some semblance of a smile. "I'll probably never get the chance again."
There is a tangible pause. "Let's see how you feel in the morning," Serena finally says, before draining the rest of her wine. Bernie watches her throat move as she swallows, follows the blue shadow of her shirt collar down to the space between her collar bones. She has made up her mind already; they will go regardless of how she feels. She owes it to Serena.
It is too hot to sleep with the covers on that night, and Bernie ends up sprawled across the bed with just a shirt and her underwear on. Serena visits her room briefly to wish her goodnight, wearing a simple white nightdress. She looks like a moth in the yellowy hallway light, the thin fabric dipping over her breasts and floating around her thighs. Her eyes drift over Bernie's body, lingering a little too long on her legs, and Bernie is far too tired to feel self conscious. She knows that it is the array of scars there that have attracted her friend's attention, all picked up during her time in the army. They range from faint and shimmery candy floss wisps to thick, jagged silver marks that span the length of her calves and disappear into the crease of her ankle. Marcus had been shocked when he first saw them and preferred not to look at them, going as far as to shush Cameron when he had asked about them once over. Serena, however, reacts with what appears to be intrigue, her brow furrowing a little and her lips parting as if she wishes to ask about them. In the end of course she doesn't, and mumbles a vague 'goodnight' before making a swift exit.
Bernie sinks back down into the covers, every pore protesting as the warm, thick air settles on her skin like a blanket. She cannot bring herself to stand and turn on the fan. The alcohol has slipped a pleasant mask over her consciousness, and her mind is free of Charlotte and Marcus for the first time in two weeks. She knows that in the morning, once she remembers the brief hour of liberation, she will feel guilty. For now though she is content to think of other things, such as the continual buzz of cicadas outside, and the flickering of yellow light in the hallway, and the floral scent of Serena's perfume.
She sleeps surprisingly well that night.
