A/N: I'm having rather a lot of fun with this fic, so I'm going to be splitting Patsy's time on the show into multiple chapters, as so much happens - yay. This runs from her introduction to the show through to part-way through series four. I had to interpret the timeline myself, as the show tends to give us the year and then only the weather to go on, but if you know I've got my months mixed up, please tell me. Do enjoy!
Three Monastic Vows
June, 1959.
Living at Nonnatus House had been a far smoother affair than she had ever expected it to be. Her reservations about the nuns had quickly dissipated – in fact, not one of them resembled Mother Gertrude or worse, Sister Margaret Mary, even in the slightest. Sister Evangelina was rather straight-laced and stern, but she could see that she did not harbour the tendency to whack children over the knuckles with rulers, in fact Patsy had seen her with children, and she was rather sweet. Neither did she seem so inclined to send any of the midwives to bed without their supper for minor misdemeanors; rather she simply let her – usually reasonably placed – displeasure be loudly and widely known. She had done very little to earn her keeper's ire so far, bar apparently lacking a sensitive touch with the mothers, and being delegated to district rounds. But she supposed there were always going to be bumps in the road, learning curves, and she was rather pleased that this one didn't involve the discussion of her own curves as it had on the male surgical ward, by patients and doctors alike. The fact of the matter was that she had learned, that she was still learning, and that her love of this profession was returning full force.
She had been mistaken in thinking that Nonnatus would be stricter than the nurse's home, as the personal touch that came from there being so few of them meant that late nights that would be way past the curfew at her old residence could be bargained for, that loud music wasn't met with a warning note in one's pigeon hole but a gentle suggestion that next time it be played a little quieter, and nightcaps and tomfoolery were viewed fondly as the joyous pursuits of young women simply having fun – or at least, that was what Trixie had told her. She had yet to get a proper night off, but the her roommate informed her that it shouldn't be hard to arrange, should she want to stay out later. The woman she shared her lodgings with was a delight – bundles of fun, energy and personality. She was sure they would be very good friends in no time, already sharing advocaats and scotch after their workday, listening to records, Trixie talking about men, and Patsy trying to fill the space in between. She didn't mind so much, she was used to the chatter of other women – this was like boarding school again, but much more fun, since she felt happy and as if she possessed a purpose.
It was hard though, to talk to Deels. Most of the time they had spent together before had only been possible because of the close quarters they were in – nattering away in the hallway, or when luck would have it, being on the same ward, and then spending the evenings together when they'd both worked during the day. They had rarely had the chance to go out, but now that was all they could do. Using the phone for personal use was frowned upon, and she had to limit herself, not that she could talk any more honestly than Delia could. When they got the chance though, they filled each other in on their day, what they'd been doing, in short conversations that would garner no questions – particularly on Patsy's end. She wouldn't want to be asked if she had a gentleman, and when replying that she did not, asked why she still pined for her 'best friend' like a teenage girl. So they wrote to one another, saying all the things that they couldn't in the hallway of the nurse's home, or in clear earshot of all of Nonnatus house.
Spending time with new women, living with a group of them far smaller than she ever had, so she was by proximity forced to become close to them, made her realise how the relationship between her and Delia must have been starting to look to others. It wasn't even her usual paranoia, she thought, to observe the marked differences between their behaviour with each other, and her behaviour with say Cynthia, or Trixie. Whenever she was beside herself missing Deels, she reminded herself of that, reminded herself that it was only a matter of time before a stumbled upon kiss, being discovered in each other's beds, wasn't even necessary for the people around them to piece together what was going on. She couldn't help looking at her the way she did, and Deels could help it even less. She placed her pen down when Trixie walked in, folding the half finished letter, already filled to the brim with all the things she would say softly into the receiver if only she could, and placed it in the drawer of her bedside table.
"Have you got any plans for your day off then?" Trixie asked, sliding gracefully toward the record player, a Sobranie clamped between her lips – the only brand she had ever see her smoke, placing the needle on her copy of the new Platters album. "It's a shame I'll be on the night shift – we could have gone out on the town." She sighed.
"As far as I know I'll be leading an excursion for the cubs." Patsy said. It wasn't that she was disappointed about it, she adored those little scamps, but it was a shame that she couldn't spend it with Delia – not that she'd broken the news to her yet. It was a fortnight away, so she had time, and she knew that the other woman wouldn't be all too happy about it.
The blonde sighed as she tended to her hair for the night in the mirror, "Honestly, Patsy. If you could change the trip to another day I'm sure Sister Julienne wouldn't object to taking you off the roster. It's kind enough of you to volunteer with the little devils as it is, and its community service. All you did last month was spend all day milling around here only to go to the dinghy café around the corner. You deserve to have a bit of fun." She took a drag of her cigarette, turning to give her a stern look.
If only the other woman knew why she'd 'wasted' her day off in a dirty old café with a dodgy jukebox and tepid tea. She had been desperate by the time she'd managed to see Delia, barely able to contain herself as she sat across from her, the excitement so much she couldn't even eat the iced bun before her, she could only stare, snapped out of her daze every time Deels finished a sentence and looked at her expectantly, only to begin laughing at her lovesickness. She smiled to herself, realizing that Trixie was giving her a similar expectant look, waiting for her reply. She rolled her eyes playfully, "Trixie, the date's been arranged now – the boys have already started handing in their slips. I don't mind, really, besides, it might not happen. Fred can't come that day, and if I don't have support, it can't go ahead. I couldn't imagine ferrying them to the British Museum on my own, let alone controlling them inside of it." She shuddered at the thought of the unruly boys swinging off ancient artifacts and 'embellishing' masterpieces. She paused for a moment, "You don't want to come, do you? Like you said, it wouldn't compromise your actual day off if you were allowed, and I could so do with the help." She gazed at her pleadingly, but the look that crossed the other woman's face gave her enough of an answer.
"Absolutely not. And even if I wanted to I don't think I could be spared. Why don't you ask one of your nurse friends? The parents would have no objection to that." She suggested.
"Trixie, you wonderful thing. That's a marvelous idea!" Patsy exclaimed, the other woman looking quite surprised at the level of her enthusiasm her innocent suggestion was being met with.
"Well, don't say I'm not full of them." She smirked, filling two glasses with her chosen tipple of the evening. "Cheers to that then, since you clearly already have someone in mind." She handed her a tumbler, and Patsy chinked it against hers heartily, trying to dampen her smile. What a way to spend not only this day off, but also all of her time volunteering with the cubs, with Delia by her side. She just knew the other woman would say yes – she had such a way with children, in fact she was leaps and bounds ahead of her when it came to understanding the little things. Must be because of her abundance of cousins, Patsy thought. Later that night, when Trixie looked deeply absorbed in a magazine enough not to ask who she was writing pages upon pages of squashed letters to, she whipped out her partway finished correspondence to Delia to tell her of her roommate's suggestion. It wasn't quite spending the evening in each other's arms, but she supposed it would hark back to the times they had spent exploring London together – including the British Museum – albeit with their romantic nostalgia for the place a little diminished by the small matter of acting in loco parentis to twenty little boys, but what fun it would be anyway.
November, 1959.
"If you have to go, Pats, I can finish up." Delia said as they stacked chairs, speaking over the sound of their legs grating across the floor. She wasn't quite ready to leave the other woman though, despite her prior engagement. It was the last time, unless there was a miraculous stroke of luck with their respective schedules, that she would see the other woman before she left to spend Christmas with her family in Wales. Delia perhaps knew that she needed a little encouraging to get on her way as well, dreading the evening she had ahead of her. She lifted yet another pile of chairs, and carried them into the storage room.
"Its fine, Deels. In a stitch, I can get a cab." It would be easily paid for. "And remind me to make the cubs sit cross legged on the floor next time we do first aid." Patsy called over her shoulder, wiping her brow.
She almost jumped as she sensed Delia behind her, setting down another stack, wondering how on earth the other woman was so stealthy – perhaps it was that which led to her more nonchalant attitude toward risking displays of affection in fragile situations. Deels chuckled at her shock, "Your cheeks are all red. And that's the last of them," She referred to the much larger stack than her own, and Patsy wondered if it was the cigarettes that were preventing her from keeping up with Delia, or if she was just surprisingly strong for her size. "Let me roll up the bandages, I'll take all the instruments back to Nonnatus. You have to get ready; you can't go to a fancy hotel all hot and bothered. I'm sure I'll catch you before you've left."
"But everyone will be th-" She caught sight of the other woman's understanding turning into something else, as Delia glanced behind her at the door of the dark storage room. The community centre was empty, and it was almost certain no one was going to walk in at this hour. "Deels…"
She only had it in her to warn her gently. What if one of the boys had forgotten something and charged in looking for it? What if Fred had picked this very hour to do an odd job? What if-oh. The other woman's fingertips grazed the sides of her neck, tracing upwards until she cupped her face, thumbing each cheekbone in a familiar motion. She didn't want to resist her, and ultimately she couldn't. Out of reach – a sometimes-useful fact, for the sake of preventing Delia from being able to launch an attack on her at an inappropriate moment – she relented this time, angling her face down and meeting the other woman's lips. Kissing her was blissful, and it made a telltale blush sprawl across her cheeks and chest even thinking about it, let alone reveling in it for real, but she had to pull away. It was for the best, and she hated that setting limits on what they could and couldn't do was for their own good, that it was the only way they could survive this world.
"Right, that's your first Christmas present." Delia grinned, "Couldn't not give it to you before I left, could I? Your other one will be in the post soon." She said, while Patsy tried to kick-start her brain back into action. "Oh, I don't think I've helped you in the hot and bothered department." She laughed, and Patsy felt her cheeks burn harder, chewing her lip between her teeth. Hopefully the nippy weather on her journey back to Nonnatus would explain away the tinge to her cheeks that would no doubt linger for some time.
"No," Patsy glanced down, her hand nervously fiddling with the sleeve of her cardigan. "You haven't." Deels could only chuckle at her bashfulness, reaching out to give her hand a quick squeeze before they emerged from the storage room, packing her off to Nonnatus to get changed, insisting she'd be fine to finish tidying up. Patsy yielded, not wanting to leave her just yet, but knowing that if she was going to get to the hotel on time she really had to dash. So she set off on her bike, weaving through the Poplar streets until she got home, shoving the trusty old thing into the rack and dashing up the stairs in a rush.
She got ready, entertaining Trixie's chatter about how lucky she was to be dining so luxuriously tonight, and genuinely appreciating her input on how best to pin her hat to her head and on what to wear. Patsy owned a handful of nice dresses, but she didn't live frivolously, preferring slacks and a shirt on her casual days. She could do, if she wanted to, if she asked her father for an allowance – but she didn't, and she wouldn't, so that was that. She didn't think she'd gotten ready for something like this so quickly in her life, not having wanted to miss a moment in relative privacy with Delia. But if she'd had any doubt that she didn't look near presentable enough, it went out the window when she saw Delia at the bottom of the stairs, box of stethoscopes and sphygmomanometers clutched in her gloved hands, gazing up at her completely dumfounded, her lips parted in such awe that Patsy felt heat prickling in her cheeks again.
"Doesn't she look marvelous, Delia?" Trixie exclaimed, clambering down the stairs behind her, clapping her hands together.
Deels adjusted her grip on the cardboard box, looking as if she was about to drop it, and then appeared to snap back into reality. "Quite." She said measured as she could, trying almost too hard to take control of her features, to mask the longing that was so desperately trying to escape.
"You should go and get those sterilized and put away before Sister Evangelina has both of your heads on a plate and Patsy misses her dinner at Claridge's." Trixie said, far more excited over this whole business than she could ever be herself. Delia agreed, and Patsy bit her lip as she turned, heading for the autoclave.
"Have a lovely Christmas, Deels." She said, faltering on the stairs. Could she hug her? Would that be okay?
The other woman smiled warmly, her gaze still taking her in, "You too, Pats. I'll see you soon, alright." Their eyes conveyed all they could with Trixie still hovering in the stairs, and nuns wandering around the place, but it was enough, after their kiss in the community centre, after an evening of messing around, exchanging technical banter about each other's medical technique to a crowd of baffled nine to eleven year old boys. It was the best farewell she could have hoped for, given the distance between them now, and she was so thankful that Trixie had inadvertently suggested she bring in Delia's help with the cubs.
Still reeling from her delightful evening, she had just enough time to catch the bus into Mayfair, not wanting her father to foot the bill for the cab she would have had to get if she'd taken just a minute longer, not that it would be a drop in the ocean for him, but still, the idea made her uncomfortable. Hopefully the bus driver was feeling particularly lively today, she considered after glancing at her watch – it was too late to change her mind about public transport though, she'd already hopped on the back. It was alright, her father was probably enjoying an extra scotch or two at the club knowing him. It was always like this when he visited London – there was a reunion of some sort, an old friend was sick, he needed to visit his preferred tailor – and they would meet, in Claridge's, have dinner, then he would gladly slink back to his gentlemen's club, and she back to work. She was fairly sure that it was only by her aunt's insistence that he let her know he was in town at all, and she wouldn't be in the slightest bit put out if he never thought to tell her. She did however respond well enough to the obligation to meet with him.
Climbing off the bus and trotting down the street in her heels at a reasonable pace towards the hotel, she looked much more in place here than she had when she had stepped on her transport for the evening, but still felt somehow as if she didn't fit. She would have, in another life perhaps – popping down to London with mummy and Nancy for shopping trips, social events, while daddy disappeared into a cloud of cigar smoke in Clubland. Her father had done his hardest to make this her world – he had gotten her a governess, sent her to a fine boarding school, suspected that while he funded her 'silly nursing training' that she would really be spending her evenings effortlessly charming all of Knightsbridge as her mother had, instead of curled up in bed next to a certain Welshwoman. She knew though that it had been far too late for her to have any hope of finding pleasure in all of that kind of thing, it all seemed beyond excessive. She could play the part for an evening though, remarkably well, according to Delia, who'd had an absolute blast poking fun at her the last time her father had visited when they had been in the nurse's home, and a fair bit of fun more openly eyeing what she had worn that time.
She slowed when she arrived at the hotel, knowing well enough that it wouldn't do to be seen practically sprinting through it her mother's favourite haunt, past the Christmas tree and towards the restaurant. When she spotted her father, just as her coat was being taken for her, she remarked that he hadn't changed much in the ten months it had been since she had last seen him. His hair was salt-and-peppered still, his shoulders broad and healthy, the result of years of school and university rugby. He stood when he saw her, adjusting his bow tie – the colours of his alma mater, so he must have been meeting friends at the Oxford and Cambridge Club, she thought – and smoothing his tuxedo. He smiled politely, the dimples she'd inherited from him appearing on his well-aged face. She had always taken after her father – tall, strong, blue-eyed and stoic. Not like her waifish, delicate, glamorous mother, with her pixie features and platinum blonde hair and open and endless zest for life. Her own flaming hair was down to a mysterious great-grandfather she had never met.
She head towards their table and greeting him with a kiss on the cheek. "Hello, father."
"Good evening, Patience." He pulled her chair out for her, and she sat down, acknowledging the waiter as he placed two menus in front of them.
"I'm not late, am I?" She asked.
He shook his head, "Not at all." She resisted the urge to chew on her bottom lip as she usually did in these situations, and glanced at the menu to fill the space between them. "Patience," She glanced up, "I have something to tell you. You haven't asked why I'm in London." Should she have? It had never been for more than a handful of similar reasons.
"Oh?"
"I've been hiring a lawyer." He started.
Patsy tried to feign intrigue, "But you have a lawyer – Mr. Jones."
Her father paused for a moment, setting his menu down to discuss wine with the waiter. When he returned to her, he had a spark of something in his eyes that almost looked a little like excitement, "This is rather beyond Mr. Jones' reach and expertise. Patience, you know that there are many Jewish groups that have been set up to recover things stolen from them during the war. Well, they spotted something, while not of their concern, that they thought suspicious – three paintings on the market whose last legitimate owner was a long time dead. A British woman who died in Singapore during the war's paintings being peddled by an unrelated Swiss black-market dealer didn't seem to add up to them, so they reported it. Thank goodness they were in your mother's name and not mine, otherwise it wouldn't have seemed odd at all, really."
He waited for her reaction, breaking eye contact to sample the wine the waiter had poured, giving him a nod of approval. She let her own glass be filled before answering, "Are we-are you getting them back?" She asked slowly, a surge of emotion overwhelming her. There was very little in this world she had to remember her mother by – everything that meant anything to them was in Singapore, and it had all been taken. Of course, when they had returned to Berkshire, there was a house of furniture, a few pieces of jewelry, a handful of sentimental items, but she had never attached her mother to those things in the same way she had everything that existed in their life before.
"Yes, they've been seized, they're being shipped to England immediately." He said with a smile, taking a sip of wine. She hadn't seen her father so energized since before the war. The man she knew then was an English enough father, but never truly distant – he valued his work immensely, and spent most of his time devoted to it, but above all he loved his wife and children. He had played with them, sleeves rolled up, hands in the earth as they gave the gardener an heart-attack pulling up flowers for mummy, urged her to join in their game of simplified cricket as she reclined in a sun lounger, satisfied to sunbathe and flash her kilowatt smile at their fun, scooping up Patsy and Nancy and carrying them off to bed while she managed to secretly swindle story after story out of him simply by pouting. She supposed this meant more to him than maybe it even meant to her – he hadn't seen her mother since they all waved him off on the boat to England, expecting to return soon, and then expecting that once things got messy in the Far East that they would all arrive in Dover to wait out the war, and then that after three long years he would collect them all from Singapore, worse for wear but all together again. Patsy wished she could tell him what mummy had been like in the years that he had lost with her, and Nancy too for that matter. She wished she could tell him how in the first week her mother had bargained with locals through gaps the fence for medicine with her prized possessions, not for her own children, but for the sickly baby of another frantic mother, and had taken the punishment for it with more strength than she thought it possible for someone to have. She wanted to tell him that mummy had employed her charm, her beauty that was such that if she hadn't been born to the family she had, she may have been permitted to pursue a career in film or modeling, to keep everyone cheerful, organizing a variety show for the first Christmas in the camp. How her disposition hadn't faded as her body did, not for one moment, as she continued to distribute her share of food between her and Nancy even though it was killing her.
"The lawyer is to prosecute the devil that stole them." His tone turned a little bitter then.
"Father, he's dead. He was hung." She said softly – it had turned out that the Japanese general who had enjoyed their residence for the period of the occupation had been guilty of war crimes like so many others.
"Good thing too, but his family weren't, and it was no doubt they who took them." Patsy wanted to say something, to say that there was no point, but even if the waiter hadn't interrupted to take their order she would have held her tongue anyway, knowing better than to contradict him. But what good would it do to punish the children, or wife, of the dreadful man that had lived in their home? What crime had they really committed other than being related to a brainwashed beast, and having taken valuable things in the desperation and heat of war, being unsure of their own fates? They were wrong to do it, of course, but some of their things were going to be returned now, and wasn't that all that mattered? It was more than they could have ever hoped for, knowing that the jewelry, the watches, were practically impossible to trace. She often found herself wondering, as she walked past jewelry shops, if any of the jewels or pearls laden in the pieces in the window had been plucked from something her mother had once owned, the gold or the silver that housed them long since molten down.
"You'll let me know, when they arrive, won't you?" She asked.
He nodded, "Of course. They should be home in time for Christmas – if you would come to your aunt's, I'm sure we could drive to the house and you could see them." He suggested.
"I can't. Babies don't stop being born just because everyone would like a little time off work."
"Indeed." He remarked. She knew that her aunt wanted her to spend Christmas with her and her cousins and father, in fact her father seemed to be asking her in his own way to come along, but it had been so long it seemed like too foreign a concept. Besides, she was rather excited to spend it surrounded by her friends at Nonnatus and doing the very thing she loved. "You're enjoying it then, your career change? Tell me what its like."
Patsy was surprised at his interest, something he had never expressed before. She indulged him, telling him about her new life in Poplar, about how much she was enjoying it, cracking a joke or two about living with nuns again. She told him about her roommate Trixie, about a few of the cases she had dealt with, a few of the interesting characters. She left out a few details – she left out the technicalities of midwifery, something she was sure her father didn't particularly want to hear over dinner at Claridge's, or at all for that matter. She left out a mention of Delia, though she had been tempted before, to talk of the woman who meant so much of her, and even at times of frustration with her father, to reveal all to spite him, knowing he would never repeat it out of shame, and that it would perhaps chase him away for good. But it was right to use Delia in that way, she knew that much, and somehow it seemed that this time her father was trying – in a small sort of way.
April, 1960.
Their long stroll along Regent's Canal had been interrupted by the onset of some April drizzle that looked set to quickly worsen, so Delia grabbed her arm, directing them on a path back into the park where they might be able to find some shelter. "Come on, Pats!" She urged, as they set off on a quick trot, her hand on her hat. The gentle rain didn't seem to be putting off the children that were playing in the only expanse of green in the East End that they could enjoy, and clearly didn't mean to Delia that they should leave Victoria Park just yet. She supposed to the Welshwoman it was the closest thing to the Nurse's Home that resembled her childhood surroundings. Patsy didn't have quite as fond memories of boarding school and the expansive countryside that surrounded it, but it was nice to get away from the oppressive grey of Poplar, away from the buildings caked in black and the overcrowding to this place, with its boating lakes and bandstands.
They slowed a little, accepting their fate as miniscule raindrops gently peppered their faces, and shelter in sight, Delia reluctantly releasing her arm, sensing Patsy's unease and knowing that she could never bring herself to pull away from her steadfast grip. "How are the pack?" She asked with a fond grin.
"Very good – asking after you actually." She replied. "Not on their best behaviour the last time we met. I was without Fred or you though."
"But you're hardly a push over, even when you're standing alone." She smirked.
"I think it might have had something to do with the sweets they begged me to give out sooner rather than later." She reasoned.
"And the rose queen? You said in your letter that Trixie's boyfriend got put in charge of it and she had all hands on deck, including yours." Deels lamented, that having been Patsy's excuse for missing her date with the other woman. It was a contributing factor of course – her friend had made various comments about how she'd rather spend time with Delia, verging on dangerous when it came Patsy's heightened paranoia about such things, and when she was a young trainee nurse she vowed that she would never abandon a friend in need at the beck and call of a young man, as other girls had so often done to her, should she not be the way she was. But there was also her concern for Marie Amos that had taken up a lot of her time.
Patsy bit her bottom lip, "It went swimmingly – in the end."
"Oh?" Delia clasped her hand gently and pulled her down to sit on a bench under the sturdy protection of the tree they had found.
She paused for a moment, "Last year's rose queen didn't have an easy run of it."
"Oh yes, you said she was pregnant." Delia nodded, rummaging through her bag to pull out the peppermint creams she'd bought on their way to the park, offering her one. Patsy dipped her hand into the bag, fiddling with the wrapper.
"Marie Amos, yes. Her husband, he was caught in a rather compromising position in the run up to proceedings. He was caught…soliciting another man, in a gentlemen's bathroom. He went to trial for it." She started.
"That's terrible, Pats." Delia said immediately, taking her hand. She never tempered her reaction, never turned her words over in her head three or four times like Patsy did before speaking. Perhaps it was what her governess had drilled into her about being a proper lady, or perhaps it was because she dreaded being caught out so badly that every word that left her mouth was said through a lens of fear. She always tried to filter out anything that would give her away, when it came to this, and any other feeling she had, and more often than not it had her bursting at the seams. She didn't know how she would stand it for the rest of her life, and everything that happened with Mr. Amos had her thinking that something had to give, that things had to change – eventually. "You didn't tell me. What happened? He didn't go to prison did he?" She asked with dread in her voice.
Patsy shook her head, "No, Doctor Turner provided a character witness for him in court. It worked, well…it kept him out of prison. He has to have…treatment." She said, the final word putting a bad taste in her mouth.
"Treatment? Not the aversion therapy…it's barbaric, Pats." She wouldn't usually reveal such a sense of foreboding toward something she knew was affecting Patsy – she knew her too well – so this must be bad. She remembered when Delia had worked on the mental health ward, but she didn't recall her mentioning this. She must have kept it from her.
"Medication instead." Patsy assured her, not wanting to think of the poor soul being tortured over pictures of handsome young men in a room all alone.
"It won't really change who he is." Delia said. "At least, I don't think it can."
"No, me either." Patsy sighed. "Do you suppose there's anything like that…for women?"
The other woman breathed in sharply, "Patsy, you don't want to-"
"No, Delia." She shook her head, horrified that the thought would have even crossed the other woman's mind. "I love you." Before Delia she had always cursed herself, and whomever else that came to mind, for her being this way. She could see herself never having married, even if she was right in the head, being like Nurse Crane, devoting herself to her work, being satisfied with that and a life lead on her own terms. The older woman had a car, a purpose, and no one asking her endless questions about her romantic life. But this blip in her brain had complicated what would have otherwise been rather happy spinsterhood – she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have a partnership, a love, with a woman, and it had pained her to pine after something so impossible. She had never, however, despised herself enough to wish it away through barbaric means. And she didn't believe it could be scrubbed out of her, it was too deep set by whatever had put it there, by the camp – she often thought.
"You scared me." Delia said softly.
"I was just wondering, you know, what they would do if they found a woman doing the same thing." She replied.
"Women don't go into public toilets looking for that."
"How do you know? Maybe they do." Patsy said.
Delia smirked, "Have you got something to tell me, Patience Mount?"
She nudged the other woman with her shoulder, "Delia!" She protested at the insinuation.
"I think what you're really wondering is what would happen if we were found out." Delia said plainly, and Patsy fiddled with her hands in her lap, staring down at them. "Patsy," She started gently, "We won't be. Not until we're ready to be, not until the world is a better place. Besides, I don't even know what the medical community has conjured up for women who are like us, probably nothing, they probably don't even believe it to be real. I should think they'd just prescribe marriage to a handsome man and a baby not long thereafter."
"They give them estrogen…the men." Patsy sighed.
"Well, they could hardly start prescribing women testosterone. That would make everything a whole lot worse, even the ones who aren't that way probably wouldn't be able to keep their hands off each other." Delia laughed, and Patsy blushed at the thought.
"Quite."
"Why else are you upset?" Deels probed gently. Pasty could have rolled her eyes at her astuteness, and she chewed on her lip. "Stop doing that." Delia chastised.
"Sorry."
"Your lips are perfect as they are, no need to go taking chunks out of them." The other women stared at her longingly, and she felt heat creeping into her cheeks at the compliment.
"It's just how everyone reacted."
"The community?" Delia asked.
Patsy cocked her head to one side, "Yes, but the community…well, I mean, I think that people will always have something to say, in a better world or our world now, against any kind of difference or change. That's something that's always been, that's something I can accept." She began. "But at Nonnatus, there were all sorts of…views. I didn't expect that, I expected a blanket disapproval of him, of what he had done. But more than anything it just…well, I care about them, all of them, they like me…and-"
"I suppose you didn't really think about what they'd think or do or say until it came up." Delia helped her out as she struggled to articulate herself. "And it rarely does – my parents have never talked about it, I don't even know if they know it exists. Well, I suppose my father was in the Great War, and apparently the army is rife with men like that, but no one ever really talks about it all the same."
Nonnatus were like family, the closest she'd ever had to it in so very long, and it hurt to discover that the love of those you cared for, and who cared for you, was conditional. Of course love was always conditional, to a degree. If you were a bad person, you could count on it enduring less, if you were cruel and cutting and disrespectful. But when it came to matters of the heart, matters of adoring someone in a way that hurt no one else, in a way that only made the two of you swell with joy, it was painful to think that if it came to light she would loose the happy place she had found. In the wake of the discussions over dinner about Mr. Amos she had felt herself withdrawing, clawing back the small parts of herself she had laid bare, slipping back into the shawl of professionalism she wrapped herself in, covering herself back up. "It just made me think…if they knew, would they hate me?"
"I don't think they would, Pats. This is a complicated thing for people to understand, but hate is simple, and the way you talk about Trixie, Barbara, Nurse Crane, the nuns, none of them see the world as a simple thing – how could you, doing the work that you do?" Delia always said the right thing, always tapped into the source of her fear, however deep it was, and did all she could to alleviate it, and even when she couldn't, her simply being there made everything better.
"Sister Winifred was…so opposed. But the others, they seemed to be kinder. Still, it doesn't matter if they were kind or not, I suppose. They still follow the word of God, so they still think that it's wrong." She said bitterly.
"What about the girls?" Delia pressed, suspecting they had been more positive.
"Barbara's as green as the grass." Patsy said fondly, "Nurse Crane…I suppose she's rather one for the philosophy of live and let live. And Trixie, well Trixie was only concerned that he had cheated, in fact, she didn't mind at all what he is." She informed her, remembering Trixie's story of dating a young queer doctor to help him hide his true self, something that had made her think very highly of the other woman. She had been careful though, to express too much concern for the situation in front of her friend, not that she ever would have assumed, but as ever Patsy was overly cautious with giving too much away.
Delia smiled, "See, Pats. Not everyone hates it…hates us."
"I know." She relented, allowing the other woman's reason to wash over her, not daring to think about if Trixie knew that someone far closer to her than the husband of one of their patients was that way inclined as well. "I suppose it's pointless to talk about it anyway. All hell would break loose if it came out, and that's just that."
"It's not pointless to talk about something that's been bothering you, silly. You so rarely do." Delia rubbed her knee.
"Indeed, and I chose our first day out in weeks to." She rolled her eyes at herself. Not getting to see Delia in small doses meant that things became pent up inside of her, the other woman unable to interpret a weary day from her face here and something bothering her from the way she sighed there. She never realized quite how much the other woman got her through the days until she'd left for Nonnatus.
"It's good for you to talk about things. You and your stiff upper lip – I tell you, in Wales we let everyone know when we're not happy about things." She joked.
"Ah yes, the Welsh. Expressive, passionate like the French." Patsy smirked.
"Without the sensual accent." Delia replied.
"See now, I beg to differ on that one." She retorted, her cheeks flushing as she pinched another peppermint cream and enjoyed Delia's chiming laughter.