Angst angst angst

They spent the entire festive period together, that year. On Christmas morning, they had discussed Bernie leaving and coming back later in the day, nervous of what Jason's reaction would be to her being there so suddenly, but just she was about to leave he came bursting into Serena's room in his dressing gown, acknowledging her with a simple 'Hello Bernie' before announcing that it was past time for him to open his all his presents. The two women shared a relieved glance, partly at his being so blindly accepting and partly at the fact that he hadn't burst in five minutes earlier and caught them in rather a compromising position on Serena's dressing table chair. True to his nature, the only thing that Jason did take issue with was the fact that Bernie hadn't brought and Christmas presents with her, and she promised that she had simply left his at home and would drop it round on Boxing Day after her early shift.

The rest of the year flew by in a haze. They were so wrapped up in one another, so violently and irrevocably in love that it was impossible to care about anything else. By June, they had moved in together. By August, Jason was calling Bernie 'Auntie'. By October, Bernie was considering proposing.

But then she got the call.

She would be lying if she said that she hadn't expected it. She was a soldier, had been for most of her adult life. It was in her blood, so she knew how these things went.

It started with an attack, escalated by an ill-thought out retaliation. Before anyone could stop to think otherwise, ground troops were brought in, and before anyone could halt it, they realised they were out of their depth.

It was no secret to anyone that Bernie was one of the most esteemed front-line trauma surgeons Britain had ever encountered, least of all to herself, and so each night as she watched the ten o'clock news bulletin, Serena nestled half asleep in her arms, her chest clenched with fear. They were losing. Even as the reporter tried to present the home forces in a positive light, she could see it, could read it in his face. Troops diminished. A couple lost rose to a dozen, to fifty, to a hundred, until she could hardly bare to watch as the names rolled across the screen. She knew, from her training and experience, that these were becoming desperate times. She knew that they would be re-recruiting all they could. No one wanted to lead a conscription army.

On the 16th November 2017, her mobile rang during surgery. Number withheld. She ignored it, expecting it to be a cold caller, but that evening whilst she was in the car it rang again. Again, she missed it, her handsfree disconnected after Jason had used it to put on some historical podcast the day before. The third time they rang she was in the shower, and didn't even bother drying her hands before grabbing the phone and greeting the caller, her stomach immediately dropping cold as she heard the official tone of her old commander.

"I've been medically discharged," she reasoned, her head screaming at her for being so cowardly, so disloyal to her country in not wanting to leave. Not wanting to leave Serena.

He let out a husky breath. "You know we wouldn't be asking if there was any other choice," he replied simply, genuine sympathy in his words. "We just need you for six months whilst we have time to train some more ground forces and you have time to oversee the new medical corps. Then you'll be out of there, I promise."

For more than a week, she had kept it to herself, her mind whirring on what to do, how to handle this. But there was only one option, really. She had a duty to her country and her comrades. She had to go.

But how could she tell Serena? How could she possibly reassure her, after all that the media had reported and they both knew was only the tip of the iceberg?

Perhaps if she had chosen her words differently, had approached her at a different time, things would have gone better.

"Serena, can we talk?"

It was a Saturday at the end of November. Serena had been out for the day with Elinor, and Bernie had spent the duration pacing back and forth in their living room, thinking over and over just how she would tell Serena that she was going to such a volatile area. How could she possibly reassure her? She thought of Serena alone all those months, her gut permanently twisted with worry as she waited for the phone call, the knock at the door, the letter. Would it progress so far, get so bleak that they would only have the manpower to deliver the news via letter? Or would an email suffice, these days?

She jumped half out of her skin when she heard Serena's car pull up onto the drive. She steeled herself. Just… say it.

"Oh, I wasn't expecting you up," Serena smiled as she wiped her feet on the front door mat, pulling off her scarf as she did so. "Everything alright?"

"Yes, of course," Bernie replied almost instantly. She halted herself. "Actually… just… come sit down with me, for a minute." She gestured through the doorway to the kitchen.

Serena frowned at her with half a smile. "That doesn't sound too good." She hung up her coat in the hallway, her bag landing on the floor with a soft thud. Though Bernie could sense she felt nervous, she knew that Serena wasn't worried about what she had to say. They had always said to one another, throughout their entire relationship, that nothing could tear them apart. After being so ridiculous with their feelings the year before, wasting all that time that they could have been together, they had agreed they would never allow themselves to do that again, to let their own stubbornness drive them apart. And it had worked perfectly. In almost a year of being together, they were yet to have a proper argument. Sure, they had minor disagreements, but these were resolved as quickly as they started. Usually.

By the time Serena had made her way through the doorway Bernie was already sat at the kitchen table, her hands clasped together and cheeks white.

"I'll just get us a nice glass—"

"No, don't," Bernie interrupted hastily. "Just sit down, please. I have something I need to say."

Serena hesitated, frowning again, before sighing and taking the seat opposite her.

"Okay," she said simply, an eyebrow raised. "I'm listening."

Bernie opened her mouth, then quickly closed it again. What words to choose? She took a deep breath, her eyes falling on her white knuckles.

"I… You know the…" She sighed at herself, her eyes squeezing shut tight. Just say it.

"I've had a phone call. From my old commander."

Serena paused. "Oh?" She said evenly, her face expressionless. Bernie continued, her breath catching in her throat.

"You've seen in the news the er… situation." She looked up. "It's really bad, Serena. More serious than they make out. More serious than even my commander was letting on."

Serena nodded, her eyes searching Bernie's face, no doubt in denial of what she was about to say.

"Well, they're… as you know they're running out of resources," she rambled, her fingers squeezing tight. Her chest tightened. "They want me back."

She looked nervously up at the woman sitting across from her. Serena was unflinching, frozen.

"What, advising?"

"No," Bernie replied instantly. "On the ground. Six months helping to train new medics in the field."

She held Serena's gaze for what felt like a century, watching for any sort of reaction. Grief? Shock? Fear? Serena was one of the most level-headed people she had even known. She knew that her mind would be whirring through all the possible outcomes of this. She knew that she would be picturing IEDs, injuries, funerals, as Bernie had herself when she had received the call. What she didn't expect, however, was what Serena said next.

"Well, I hope you told them where to stick it."

Bernie raised her eyebrows, her stomach dropping. She opened her mouth to speak, and Serena recognised that look instantly.

"What, you're not honestly considering going, are you?" She asked incredulously, her chair scraping as she leaned forwards intently, her eyes penetrating.

"I— I have to," Bernie stammered, her brow furrowing. "I'm needed. Surely you can—"

Serena huffed out a breath, her eyes raising to the ceiling exasperatedly. "And what about here? The trauma unit, the hospital needs you. I need you."

Bernie fumbled for her words. "It's only for six months, whilst I train them," she tried to stand her ground, but her voice wobbled. "After that I'll get a complete discharge. Nothing more, ever."

Serena stood abruptly, turning round to the cabinet above the microwave for a glass and snatching a half-empty bottle of wine from beside the sink. "I can't believe you'd even give this a thought, Bernie," she muttered through gritted teeth, her hand shaking as she poured herself a generous measure of Shiraz. "After all we've been through. You're not even in a fit state to join the army, you had a medical discharge for Christ's sake!"

"So they wouldn't be asking me if it wasn't absolutely necessary," Bernie explained, standing too. "It's only for six months, why are you making such a big deal out of this—"

"Because you'll die, Bernie!"

Serena slammed down the now empty Shiraz bottle on the counter with a loud clatter that made both of them jump. Bernie froze. Serena took a large swig of her wine, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she did so and her shoulders tight.

"I," Bernie began, her voice soft in the silence. "I have to do this, Serena. I have a duty. To my comrades, to my country… to you. Do you realise just how far this could escalate if we don't gather all the force that we have—"

"I can't listen to this," Serena butted in, her voice tight. "You've clearly made up your mind already, without me. It's good to know where I really stand."

Bernie sighed, her shoulders falling as she stepped tentatively towards the woman she loved. "That's not fair, Serena. You know it isn't."

But Serena wouldn't budge. She stares into her glass, avoiding Bernie's gaze entirely. "I'm going to bed," she announced finally, discarding it on the kitchen counter. "Feel free to make use of the sofa. You'll need to get used to sleeping rough again, especially, with your back, soldier," she added bitterly. She stormed past Bernie, making a point of allowing their shoulders to collide as they did so. Bernie caught her wrist.

"Serena," she whispered, looking up at her with tears rapidly threatening to form in her eyes. "Please… please, don't."

Serena paused for a few moments, her breaths loud in the otherwise silent kitchen. Just as Bernie thought she might be getting through to her, she felt Serena snatching her arm away, and cast her eyes downwards, the first tears of many beginning to fall as she listened to the hard thuds of Serena's footsteps on the stairs and the slamming of the bedroom door.

—

The next morning, they acted as if nothing had happened. They sat and had breakfast with Jason, as usual, and drove to work together. Serena even kissed Bernie on the cheek as they walked in, before they separated for a meeting. But there was a new air between them, a thickness. Their eyes couldn't meet, and they kept to safe topics. And again, in the evening, Bernie remained on the sofa without a word. Perhaps that was where it went wrong, passed the threshold between a petty argument and a serious separation, denying one another the connection, the intimacy that came with sharing a sleeping space.

But the amicability could only last so long. It started with a couple of little digs. Joking about her military background, about the mundaneness of the NHS and how she was only 'slumming it' with 'all us mere mortals' working there. Then she started to get more personal. Talk of the affair, clearly insinuating that she would be the first to jump into bed with one of her comrades the second she had chance, once back in the field. Bernie had overheard her talking, once, with Morven, gossiping about someone in radiology who had taken back their husband after he had cheated with yet another woman. "Once a cheat, always a cheat, that's what I say," Serena had said pointedly. "They don't care about us, not really. It's all about the thrill, the adrenaline." She would be lying if she said that she hadn't shed a tear at that.

Then came the arguments, blazing, furious rows over things as insignificant as leaving a mug in the living room overnight. Well it wouldn't matter much to you anyway, would it, seeing as you're not going to be here much longer. At first, Bernie had allowed it to wash over her, remained calm in trying to reason with Serena. But patience was a fragile thing, and it wasn't long before she was shouting back, slamming doors and clenching fists and grinding teeth. They could barely stand to be in the same room as one another without beginning a fight. Petty comments became the norm. Jason stayed in his room. Bernie worked all the hours she could, even sleeping in the on call room for a couple of nights, just to get away.

—

Christmas Eve, 2017.

"Jason, darling, would you pass me pepper? This casserole hasn't nearly enough seasoning in it."

Bernie slammed her fork down abruptly, gritting her teeth and huffing out a deep breath, before shaking herself and continuing her meal.

"So, Jason," she began, a false air of cheeriness in her voice. "How was your day?"

"It was okay," Jason nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I watched a few documentaries, but there weren't many interesting ones on so I just watched the gaming channel instead. What about you?"

"Ah, you know me Jason," Bernie replied, pushing her fork through a lump of chicken. "Same old, same old. Paperwork and RTCs."

"You just can't wait to escape us, can you?" Serena interjected bitterly. Bernie sighed.

"That's not what I said."

"You implied it."

"I'm not implying anything, I'm just saying—"

"I'm finishing this in my room," Jason stood, lifting his plate and juice. Both women stilled, listening as he disappeared up the stairs, before continuing.

"You need to stop this, Serena, you're upsetting him."

"I'm upsetting him? You started it."

"How did I start this? You're the one who can't resist a dig every five seconds!"

"Says you, little miss perfect."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Acting like you care about him, about any of us."

"Oh, here we go again. I've told you, I have to do this! I honestly cannot believe you're making such a ridiculous deal out of this, still!"

"Excuse me for giving a flying fuck whether you live or not," Serena seethed, shaking her head and pushing her plate away from her. "Maybe I should just stop."

"Well why don't you then?!" Bernie raised her voice, tossing her knife and fork onto the plate roughly and standing to take it to the sink. "Give me some fucking peace!"

"Maybe I should just stop caring at all," Serena spat, folding her arms. "Why should I be sat miserable at home watching the news waiting for your name like some sad, devoted housewife whilst you're out there having the time of your life."

"Having the time of my life?" Bernie couldn't help shouting now. "It's a fucking war, Serena. There's nothing I could enjoy less. Do you really think I'd want anything to do with it if I had a choice?"

"Well you enjoyed it enough last time, from where I'm standing," she replied harshly. "How long will it be before you've shacked up with one of your comrades this time? Or have they recruited Alex again, to spare you the energy of finding a new one?"

"Don't be a bitch, Serena. It doesn't suit you."

"Look who's talking!" Serena cried, her hands balling into fists. "You know, I don't think I've ever known anyone be so cold as you, that could just leave their family like that without a—"

"I've had enough of this," Bernie announced, slamming her palms on the kitchen counter before turning around. "If you can't accept this—"

"Then it's better for all of us that you just piss off!" Serena yelled finally. They both fell silent, her words hitting both of them like a slap in the face. Bernie was the first to speak, her voice husky from shouting.

"Is that what you really want?" She asked quietly. Serena's face remained stony, silent and resolute. Bernie let out a shaky breath.

"Well," she muttered, her eyebrows raised sarcastically. "Merry Christmas."

She stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Half of her bags were already packed; she was to leave after Boxing Day anyway. Carelessly, she tipped the rest of her things into a large hold-all they kept on top of the wardrobe.

When she opened the side pocket to pack some toiletries, she found a small Polaroid, assumingly from the last time they had used the bag on a trip to Barcelona in early October. She sighed as she picked it out, taking in their appearance. They were stood at the front of the Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya, their backs to the city, eyes squinted against the sun. Bernie allowed the corner of her mouth to twitch up as she remembered how they had been feeling particularly affectionate that day, stealing kisses whenever they had a museum room to themselves and nearly getting caught on multiple occasions, leaving them both flushed both with the thrill and with the hysterical giggles they had gotten into when on the way out they noticed the security guard at the door had a screen with CCTV of every room, and had no doubt been watching them the entire time. In the photo, both of them had brilliantly rosy cheeks, damning smirks on their lips as they fought back laughter as the photographer took the shot. She remembered his confusion as they both collapsed onto each other as soon as the photo was taken, their eyes streaming and legs weak with laughter.

How quickly things change.

She took a deep breath, blinking back the moisture that was building behind her eyes and zipping the pocket shut, stuffing the photo back inside quickly before going to check that she had retrieved everything that she needed from the bathroom, before lugging her bags out onto the landing.

"Auntie Bernie?"

Jason's voice came quietly from the doorway to his room. He stood there with a frown, his shoulders slumped.

"Where are you going?"

Bernie stopped dead, her heart twisting, her eyebrows knitted together sadly.

"I've got to go, Jason," she explained, stepping across to him. "I'm going back to the army, remember?"

"But I thought you were staying for Christmas?"

"I was Jason, but... I've had a change of plan. I need to leave tonight."

He hung his head gloomily. "Have I done something wrong?" He fretted. "Is this because I keep eating my dinner upstairs and not with you and Auntie Serena?"

Bernie's chest constricted. "No," she said firmly, reaching out and squeezing his arm reassuringly. "This is nothing to do with you, Jason. You are not to blame for this in the slightest. It's just..." She paused, deciding that it was best not to go into her and Serena's relationship. "My commanding officer called and they're leaving earlier," she lied, clearing her throat. "So I have to go tonight. But you can still have a wonderful Christmas without me. And you've got my email address, and when I know where I'm stationed I'll send you my postal address too, if you like?"

"Yes, please," he perked up slightly. "Can I come and visit you?"

"No, no, Jason," she replied, shaking her head. "You need to stay here and look after your Auntie Serena. She needs you. Promise me you'll do that?"

"I will." He nodded eagerly. His face fell. "What about my presents?"

She gave him a wobbly smile. "Don't worry about that, Jason," she reassured fondly. "They're all under the tree. The ones in blue are from me."

"But what about my present for you?" He asked. "You can't open it until Christmas Day."

"I know, Jason," she reasoned, her hand reaching out to squeeze his arm. "How about I take it with me?"

He heaved a heavy sigh. "Okay," he agreed, his tone sorrowful. "Promise you won't open it?"

"I promise." She offered him a warm smile, before pulling him into a tight embrace. "I love you," she murmured into his ear. "Now, you make sure to look after your Auntie Serena for me, won't you?"

"I did promise you," he replied matter-of-factly. She smiled, giving him one last squeeze before pulling away.

"Merry Christmas, Jason."

"Merry Christmas, Auntie Bernie."

Bernie felt tears stinging in her eyes, but quickly blinked them away. She watched as Jason disappeared back into his bedroom, her heart stopping momentarily as the door clicked shut, before carrying all her belongings downstairs and loading up the car. She didn't hear a word from Serena throughout, though she passed the kitchen doorway multiple times, and soon she was all set to go. With a heavy heart, she fumbled about under the tree for Jason's present to her, eventually finding a small, scruffily-wrapped package with her name in large letters on the label. She quickly put it into her bag, before straightening herself, clearing her throat and walking with purpose to the kitchen doorway.

"I'm leaving now," she announced to the silence. Serena didn't turn around, her shoulders tenses, fingers fiddling with a tissue. Bernie held her breath, waiting for any kind of response. None came.

"Goodbye, Serena."

She turned to leave, making her way down the hall, her hand on the door.

"Bernie," Serena's voice was husky, thick. Bernie froze. It was a few moments before she spoke again.

"Just..." Serena took a shaky breath. "Just... stay safe, will you?"

A tear spilled from Bernie's left eye. She could go back. Gather her into her arms. Whisper she was sorry. Tell her it would be okay. But what difference would that make? It wouldn't stop her from going away. And could she really face Serena again, after all that had been said?

She pushed down on the handle, the door slamming closed behind her.

By the time she was on the outskirts of Holby, Bernie couldn't see the road for tears. She pulled over, murmuring angrily that she should pull herself together.

The first chimes of Holby Cathedral sounded for Christmas Day.

She looked over at her handbag in the passenger seat, remembering her promise to Jason. Don't open it until Christmas Day. She took a deep breath, reaching over for the small package with trembling fingers and unwrapping it carefully, as though it would dissipate before her very eyes with one jolt.

It was a Swiss Army knife, with a red leather handle and gold detail. She smiled at the thought, turning it over in her hands. On the shaft, she noticed some engraving, and switched on the small light above her to read it.

To Auntie Bernie, From Jason Haynes

It was the first time she allowed herself to cry. Properly. Not a couple of tears escaping, not a few shaky breaths. Deep, guttural sobs that shook her very core until her chest ached and her face was raw. She wanted to turn back, to retract everything that she had said.

For the first time in her life, she would have done anything not to be in the army.

But it was too late.

She mentally scolded herself for being so ridiculous. She had to do this, she had a duty to her friends, her country.

She pushed down the handbrake, and continued on the motorway, to her fate.

The next chapter might be boxing day because I have accidentally had too much to drink.

Merry Christmasss!xoxoxo