She was into her third month at the Sanatorium when she received a visitor. This was not unusual; Sister Bernadette was used to seeing at least one resident of Nonnatus House a week, but Sundays had been a day undisturbed by news from the East End; there was no post and no visitors.

It was past four o'clock when Nurse Peters, her boisterous and somewhat insensitive carer, had burst into her room after only one knock to announce a visitor. A sly smile was painted upon her face and her manner was one of excitement that didn't for a second falter when she'd seen Sister Bernadette lying face up on her bed, her own expression troubled.

"There's a visitor for you, Sister, due to arrive shortly. On a Sunday too! Not interrupting you prayers, I hope?" She stood at the doorway to make her announcement, waiting for recognition from the nun.

Sister Bernadette sat up on her bed slowly, trying to clear her mind of the troubled thoughts that she'd once again been dwelling upon. The thought of a visitor filled her with gratitude; a distraction was indeed a God send. Her first thought was that it must be Sister Julienne and her heart felt heavy at the idea; she had not spoken to her since her visit last week when they'd discussed the possibility of her leaving the order. Could Sister Julienne want to further the conversation?

"Not at all," she shook her head slightly, "I could do with some company."

"Where would you like to take your visitor, Sister? The living area or the gardens? Or perhaps I could just send them up here, if you're not feeling too well."

"The gardens would be preferable, thank you nurse." Sister Bernadette replied, pulling her dark gown over her shoulders as she slowly stood up.

"It is a lovely day" the nurse remarked, offering her arm out to the nun, who just smiled in response.

The gardens were mercifully quiet and Sister Bernadette thanked God for it; if her conversation with Sister Julienne was to follow on from their last, she wanted to be alone, where she was free to speak the truth and receive console from her dearest companion. She chose to sit on a bench that was away from the house, down the path to the spot where the view spanned out to all the greenery of the Sanatorium. This had been her favourite place to come and sit since she arrived; it was secluded and peaceful and when she was sat admiring the chrysanthemums, it felt like she was at home in the gardens of Nonnatus House again.

She had been sat alone only a few minutes, enjoying the warm late afternoon sun's rays against her face, when Nurse Peters approached her again.

"Your visitor has arrived, Sister. I'll send him down to you." She smiled, before turning on her heel and heading back towards the house.

Sister Bernadette felt her cheeks flush as the nurse disappeared into the Sanatorium; I'll send him down, him. Of course, she thought, there could only be one man that would visit her. She suddenly felt anxious at the thought of seeing him; the content of his letters had ill-prepared her for the gentle churning of her stomach as she saw him, for the first time in three months, ascending down the garden steps in her direction. She immediately saw that his gaze was fixed on her and she resolved to look straight ahead, out at the pond directly in front of her, until she heard his footsteps audibly approaching her. Then she turned to meet his gaze.

"Doctor Turner?"

He had stopped a few feet away from where she sat though he was still looking directly at her, taking in her appearance. "Sister, I'm sorry that I missed visiting hours… I was trying to choose an appropriate tie." He smiled meekly, thumbing the navy blue tie at his chest.

Sister Bernadette returned his smile, though somewhat hesitantly, and replied in turn, "It is most appropriate, Doctor." Their eyes met and the expression she saw caused the feelings she'd been trying desperately to suppress swell up inside her and so she turned away from him; for that was easier than to look deeper.

They fell into silence and Bernadette felt the air growing heavy around her. "Would you care to join me?" She questioned, her voice even and betraying none of the inner turmoil that was stirring inside her mind.

"Yes," he replied, releasing a breath of air that he hadn't realised he'd been holding, "of course." He sat down beside her on the bench, conscious of the distance between them, and studied her face with a look of concern upon his own.

"How have you been?" he asked softly, hoping that his tone didn't betray his deep concern and need to ensure her safety.

"Very well, thank you. The nurses are very kind and I'm feeling much better than when I first arrived." She responded, not turning her head to face him. It wasn't a lie; medically she had been told that her condition was steadily improving and the fresh air, so different to the murk of Poplar, was doing wonders for her lungs.

But she felt conflicted, still. There was a war being waged inside her; duty against heart, and she grew to fear the result more with each day that passed in this place of calm.

"I'm glad to hear that. I've been worried." He said, willing her to look over at him. He could see that she was distant, her eyes were fixed straight ahead and she seemed to be unsure of how to respond. He'd seen the expression before; when he'd first driven her out here what felt like a lifetime ago, before he'd left her. He felt so much more aged since that dreary afternoon, as though every day since added another layer of ache to his worn frame.

"That's very kind, Doctor, but I assure you; I'm feeling well." She turned to him, as though to reinforce her statement and Doctor Turner nodded, holding her gaze.

"You received my letters?" he asked, his voice slightly strained.

"Yes, they have been… a great comfort to me, Doctor, and I thank you for them." She replied sincerely, thinking back to the words he had written for her: words of comfort, words of concern and, what she feared the most; words of love, subtly woven in between the lines and yet so apparent she had almost wept at the sincerity.

"I needed to write them," he admitted, his voice open, "I wasn't sure whether you'd want to talk to me so they were the perfect way for me to let you know that I was thinking of you." When she didn't reply he continued, "I'm sorry to just arrive unannounced, Sister, and I don't have a reason for doing so other than that I wanted to see you."

She took a deep breath and replied, "That is reason enough." Then, in a voice so quiet that Doctor Turner almost missed it over the hush of the wind, "I-I have missed you too. And your letters- your letters were so very beautiful. I didn't know how to respond to them."

He looked across at her and every fibre of self-will he contained stopped him from reaching across and pulling her into his arms. She looked so beautiful in the late afternoon sun; she had her eyes closed and the light reflected off the rim of her glasses. The beauty he couldn't help but see in her was contrasted by her pained expression and shallow breaths. He felt his eyes grow moist at how helpless he felt seeing her with a pain that mirrored his own, and at how much he wanted her, to tell her how much he loved her.

"How do you feel?" He whispered, leaning forward as though gently urging her response, but he felt a pleading behind his words.

"I-I'm not sure I know myself" she replied, her voice hesitant, and after some moments she took a deep breath and opened her eyes again; they were dim and dry.

The gardens of the Sanatorium were calm, void of the organised disorder of the living area where the nurses and doctors blustered about, and a mild autumn breeze served only to reinforce the quiet of the surroundings as it whipped up ripples on the surface of the murky pond before them. Doctor Turner looked on, following the patterns, trying to calm his own mind. Sister Bernadette had fallen silent beside him and he was unsure how to continue; his own internal conflict raging within him. He wanted to simply take her in his arms and take away her suffering; confess his feelings to her. But she already knew them, had picked them up from the lines of his letters and their sacred shared moments that seemed to pass so quickly.

"All I know," she started quietly, keeping her eyes fixed on her hands intertwined in her lap, "is that when I'm here, and frightened, I think of you and I don't feel quite so alone anymore, even though you're miles away. I dream of leaving this place, and what might transpire if I ever do." A smile flickered briefly across her face, but was soon replaced by a look of sorrow. "But I know that it is wrong, Doctor. For me," she took a deep breath willing herself to believe her final statement, "it is forbidden."

He was quiet for several moments, absorbing what she had just told him.

"I understand, Sister. Of course." He said quietly, not trying to mask the heartache in his tone; that which matched her own. He wrung his hands out in front of him, unsure of what to say. The silence between them was tangible; the words each longed to say sat in the air all around, unspoken but never far from their minds.

He sat up slightly, turning his attention to her. "You don't need to be alone, Sister." He said after a few moments of silence, each consumed in their own thoughts, "I'm only ever a phone call away, for you."

She reached over to him and hesitantly took his left hand in her right. He looked imploringly at her, his eyes wide, searching her own for any sign that would indicate how she wanted him to respond. She just gave a slight smile, but her expression was one of remorse; her forehead creased and Doctor Turner thought she might cry. He responded as hesitantly as she had initiated, brushing his thumb slowly over her knuckles, willing his feelings into the gesture, his eyes boring into her own, though she didn't meet his gaze. They sat that way for several moments, until he noticed that she was shivering slightly. He held onto her hand a moment longer, savouring the whisper of contact between them.

"We should go inside," he murmured, his voice hoarse, "I'd not forgive myself if I aggravate your condition."

She nodded in response, pulling her hand away from his, which remained between them. She stood slowly, swaying slightly as she regained her balance.

"Let me help you." He stood and placed a hand against her shoulder as he helped to steady her, composing himself as she leant against him.

"Thank you." She murmured, and he led her back up towards the house, his hand still offering support as they walked slowly up the steps. It seemed to take hours for them to reach the doors of the Sanatorium, but Sister Bernadette felt a pang of emptiness at the thought of him leaving when they arrived.

They stood in silence at the closed doors and Doctor Turner, suddenly aware of his hand still against her shoulder, took a step backwards, offering a small, apologetic smile as he did so. He was about to say something, anything, when her lips parted hesitantly.

"I have spoken to Sister Julienne," she said to him quietly, "about a life outside of the order."

He opened his mouth slightly, trying to formulate a response to such a revelation. She was looking up at him, her bright eyes anxious, her hands wrung together at her chest. He took a steady step towards her, though keeping a small distance between them. The distance was the only thing left in existence, the small unabridged gap only an arm's length away, as the gardens and sand plaster building faded from his vision. "Is that what you want?" He asked quietly, his voice hoarse as he remained completely still, awaiting her answer with baited breath.

She was quiet for several moments, and she felt an overwhelming instinct to disregard the question and hastily excuse herself, to run back into the sanctuary of the Sanatorium. But her feet remained firmly planted to the ground, and she was sure that she had never felt so vulnerable in her life. Even she had not directly confronted her feelings and now here he was, the cause and cure of her conflict, asking her what she could not ask herself. She was experiencing a 'moment of confusion', Sister Julienne had told her, but in this moment, with his face tired and his eyes dim before her, she had an overwhelming sense of clarity. She thought for a moment, while the answer danced around her mind and when she replied, she was sincere and met his gaze.

"Yes," How could there be any other response? She had been lying to herself for months, had been lying to everyone for months and in a single word she felt a feeling of catharsis wash over her; the weight from her shoulders lifted and her mind clear.

Doctor Turner seemed to experience a similar feeling; he let out a ragged breath and his shoulders slumped as though a puppet released from his strings. The deep creases on his forehead seemed to fade over to mere lines as he closed his eyes and Sister Bernadette tried to remember a time when she had seen him look younger.

We he opened his eyes again, life danced within them and his tone was light, "then I hope we will have much to discuss," he said softly.

"I hope that too," she responded, as Doctor Turner took a hesitant step towards her and gently took a hold of her hand in both of his own. Her breath hitched as his fingers traced the scar on her palm and she wondered whether he would kiss her again. She wondered how she would respond if he did. She kept her eyes fixed at their hands, longing for him to do so; she had thought back to that moment in the kitchen of Nonnatus House in her dreams, and she could almost feel his lips pressed tenderly against her fingertips.

Suddenly, the doors before them were pulled open and the pair jumped apart as though stung. Nurse Peters gave them a knowing look and, raising an eyebrow, informed Sister Bernadette that it was time to come in for dinner. She cast Doctor Turner an apologetic look, and certain that her regret was almost tangible, allowed the nurse to lead her into the house.

Doctor Turner stood for some moments after the doors had closed and concentrated solely on the feeling of warmth that spread through his being; he felt light and though wanting nothing more than to follow Sister Bernadette, he turned and began to slowly walk around to the front of the building.

He got into his car, and started the engine, allowing the gentle hum to bring him out of his lapse of absent mindedness as it had done so many times in the past. He took a last glance at the sand-coloured building before pressing the clutch down and setting a gear. Uplifted, he started to drive.

The future looking brighter than it had in years.

I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed playing the scene over in my head! Please review if you have the time, any feedback is appreciated.