A/N: quick little story based off tonight's episode. Sorry it's so short.
"I want to dance with you,"
"You are dancing with me."
"Yes – you and half of Poplar. I mean a foxtrot or a waltz. Even a tango."
"There isn't a place on earth where that would happen."
"There must be. Somewhere. And until we find it we'll just have to dance together in our heads."
With all the commotion caused by the emergency, and Doctor Turner and Nurse Crane rushing off, Patsy can't help but feel a little deflated. She knows she shouldn't; the event she planned meticulously has been a resounding success, aside from factors she could never have foreseen. She's watched as smiles radiated from people who she hasn't seen smile in a long time (Trixie included; though she's not entirely sure she wasn't just putting on a brave face), tossing their partners around the dance floor and showing off in their finery, and, most importantly, they've raised enough money. But she can't help but still feel a tinge of sadness.
She knows, with a quick scan of the room, that it isn't the emergency that's left that feeling. Her eyes find Delia, dancing across the room in a crowd of people, and she feels her heart sink. We'll just have to dance together in our heads.
If things were different, she would be taking Delia by the hand right now, and spinning her into the middle of the room, not caring who in the world should see them, or what they should think. If things were different, Delia wouldn't be Patsy's 'best friend', and she would be permitted to stay at the nurse's housing unit whenever she liked, to sleep beside Delia, instead of lying awake at all hours thinking about her.
But things aren't different. Things are the same as they always have been: for the almost-year that she has longed to kiss her and not been allowed to, for the almost-year that she has had to stop herself from taking her hand as they walk down the street, no matter how dark it is. She watches other couples getting to do all those things, and she tries to swallow down that longing, but it never goes away.
Mostly, Patsy's scared. Delia's not. Delia's bold, unafraid, taking her hand when she feels like it, wrapping her in her arms occasionally and not caring who sees. But then she lets go because Patsy tenses, or looks over her shoulder, or whispers that they mustn't. And she hates it. She hates that look Delia gets, the disappointment in her eyes, the way her mouth twitches, like it's taking all the effort in the world to keep smiling. She hates it because even though she knows it's not her fault, she somehow still feels like it must be.
But then, sometimes, maybe it is.
Her mind drifts back to the argument they had last week. Argument might be too strong a word. They don't argue. Delia is the first signs of sunshine on a rainy day, the first sight of home at the end of a long, painful week. She is the source of just about everything happy that has ever come into Patsy's life, and she doesn't argue with her.
Well, she was, until Nonnatus house, and maybe that's the problem.
Now, she has something so important, so precious, that she doesn't want to let go of it. And that's why she's cautious. That's why she inches away when Delia goes to kiss her, even behind closed doors, terrified that somebody will see, that somebody will know, and they will snatch all of that away from her in the blink of an eye.
Patsy's eyes meet Delia's across the room, and despite everything that's going on inside her head, her face lights up, like it always does. She can't help it. Delia smiles at her, and she goes weak in the knees. She wishes that the light, airy, warm feeling she gets whenever she sees her was the only one, that it wasn't so often quickly replaced with fear, or hesitation. She would take Trixie's raised eyebrows and teasing about the smile that almost splits her face in two, over that other feeling any day, but as much as she tries to swallow it, it never fully fades.
"Are you sure you don't need my help packing everything away? I'm more than happy to stay and do my bit,"
Delia shakes her head, smiling up at Fred as she continues clearing away left-over tables of food, "no no, you get off to bed, we've got everything covered."
As Fred heads out, grabbing a sausage roll off a not-yet cling-filmed plate, Patsy watches Delia bustle around, having quickly taken charge of the clear up operation, and not for the first time, thinks about how lucky she is. Delia's shooed away all over offers of help, Trixie and Barbara probably already tucked up in bed by now, and it's just the two of them left in the now eerily quiet hall that earlier held so much laughter.
"We'll need a ladder to get the streamers down, so I suggest leaving that til the morning," she says, collecting plates and cups, her back turned to Patsy, "I don't trust you up a ladder in that frock."
Patsy nods, but she isn't really listening. She's watching the way Delia's hips sway as she moves up and down the table, mesmerised.
"I say we leave all of it til the morning," she finally says, and her voice comes out unexpectedly softly, so much so that Delia does a double take when she looks over her shoulder.
"Well, if you think you can get it done before rounds..." she starts saying, but stops, as she feels Patsy's arms around her waist, "oh."
It's the boldest, the least afraid that she's been in forever, and it doesn't matter that they're alone, because it still means something, and when Delia turns in her arms, lifts her hands to her face, she doesn't flinch, doesn't check behind them, doesn't do anything besides relax into her touch. Delia's fingers trace along her jaw line, brush across her lips, and she smiles, gazing down at her, and wishing they could do this always, wishing she had the strength in her to do this even when the door wasn't locked, and the building wasn't empty.
"We should dance," she says, quietly, matter-of-factly.
"There isn't any music."
Patsy shrugs, pulling her closer, "there is, in our heads."