Call the midwife does not belong to me at all. It is entirely the property of Jennifer Worth, her family, Heidi Thomas and the BBC.
For Ali, Sarah, Hannah, and Ashley.
He stared at her, his eyes raking over her body that was splayed on her bed. He grinned, and her eyes could barely tear themselves away from his lips. As his tongue slipped to moisten his lips, so did hers.
He crept towards her, and his mouth caressed hers almost preciously, brushing against her lips, his tongue barely parting them but gently stroked them, touching the tip of hers.
Her mouth responded, and her tongue met his, exploring the feeling of his mouth against hers. His hand brushed her cheek, held it as if it was the most precious thing in the world to him.
The room was dark, but it mattered not, for they could see each other easily in the dim light, and what they couldn't see, they could eagerly feel instead.
Their hands roamed across each other's bodies, becoming acquainted with each other. Every smooth curve of her body, every muscle in his. He shifted to be above her, laid her body on top of hers. Thrust in to her gently, kissed her as their bodies met. She tilted her body to meet his, and he enthusiastically responded, his hands holding her body to his before gently releasing her.
He reached up.
Removed her wimple.
Sister Bernadette awoke, sitting up violently as her hand almost flung itself to her chest in an effort to calm her racing heart. Her cheeks burned with bitter humiliation as she stared at the wall through the gloom of her cell.
She had dreamt of sex. Wild, carefree, sex, in which she had been an enthusiastic partner. She, a nun! And with the local GP!
She would never be able to look him in the eye again. Not when she had had such a vivid dream of his naked body, lying on top of hers, thrusting in to hers... She shook her head violently, trying to clear her thoughts. She had heard the nurses; Trixie and Jenny in particular, giggling about dreams like she had just had. But while they were free to gossip the following morning, she was restricted. By her vows, by her wimple and habit. She could not broach the subject. Not normally, and definitely not when it involved Doctor Turner. She could trust her friends, but she could not consider humiliating herself by telling them. And she didn't want them to be put in the same awkward position as she now was. Not when one of them inevitably saw the man every day.
Instead she must hide it. Never let it cross her mind again.
The nun dressed herself, set her shoulders as she proceeded down to join her Sisters. She would hide behind the habit. She had no other choice. Sister Bernadette had pledged her life to God. Not to fanciful illusions of men and nudity. She had a vow of chastity, and she had promised herself to never break her vows.
A year later, she had surrendered herself to the inevitable and had left the Order, slept instead in Patrick's arms each night. But that morning, she was still a nun. She still wore a habit. Still protected against men by her utter, 'unwavering' faith. Her dream could only remain a dream, although it was a dream she should not be having in the first place. Not her. Not Good Sister Bernadette.