The Colonel closed the door behind her, and they both silently went to the washbasins, where they meticulously rinsed away all traces of blood and cadaver. They hung up their surgical coats, and only then did they exchange a long stare. Bernie had been struck dumb by what she'd said, and she waited for the Colonel to start talking: "Major, I think we need to have a talk. I have to go to a meeting right now, but I would like you to come to my office tomorrow at 0800, please." Bernie nodded mutely – she didn't trust herself to speak. She had other duties at the hospital that day, mostly post-op follow up care, and she put herself on autopilot for the rest of her working day. Since she'd left the overheated operation room, she'd been cold – chilled to her very bones, and slightly shivery, but it had nothing to do with the weather outside. It was simply because she was scared. She wasn't in control of herself anymore, and that thought was terrifying, even more than the consequences of her outburst.

Her mind was playing the scene over and over again, and still part of her refused to acknowledge what she'd said. In the civilian world, verbally abusing your boss was obviously never a very good idea. In the military, disrespect against a superior was a disciplinary offence. It was very definitely against the rules…

She drove herself mechanically, still in that dazed state. She sent a quick text to Serena : "Not tonight, sorry, xx" because there was no way she could see her. If she could have found a mouse hole and disappeared into it, she would have, but as this was not an option, she compromised with her bed and two strong sleeping pills. She just didn't want to think anymore. She wanted her brain to stop functioning for a few hours- a few hours of oblivion.

The pills got her to sleep, but their effect soon wore off and she was wide awake at 5.30 the next morning. She reached for her phone, switched it on, and read Serena's messages "Why not tonight ? xx" "What's wrong, Bernie? xx" "Are you ok ? Call me! xx" "What is going with u ?" . And then, around midnight … "As usual …"

Once again she had antagonized Serena – and once again she felt guilty. She would have to eat humble pie later, but for now she had to see if she could salvage something from the mess she was in. She tried to imagine her imminent interview with Colonel Stewart, and she couldn't quite see how it could go well…

"Come in, Major."

"Colonel."

Both women seemed outwardly perfectly in control, and yet both of them deeply wished they were somewhere else. Colonel Stewart had been astonished by Bernie's outburst – she'd heard nothing but good of her, and she dimly remembered a cool and efficient practitioner from one of her Iraq tours. Moreover, her presence in the theatre the day before had had nothing to do with the Major per se – it was the students she had come to assess. It was true she'd tried to needle Bernie, but it was because she very much enjoyed sparring with a worthy opponent. And now she could destroy the woman's career.

"Would you like to sit down ?"

"Thank you."

The Colonel watched the younger woman carefully. She had impeccable posture, and her navy suit and white shirt were ironed with precision. At first glance, all you could see was a confident, military-trained consultant surgeon. But someone looking closely enough would see the very slight tremor of the left eyelid and the right thumb nail which was repetitively scratching the left thumb. The hazel eyes were lackluster, dispirited, as if all the fight, the life force had gone out of them. They were also underlined by dark shadows visible even under the carefully applied make-up. The lips were set in a straight line, as if guarding any expression of emotion.

Meanwhile, the silence was becoming unbearable for Bernie. She looked straight into the Colonel's eyes, and begun: "I don't quite know how to say that… I've been unforgivably rude. I was …I would like to apologize for what I said. I have no excuses, Colonel."

The Colonel looked at her thoughtfully : "I accept your apology, Berenice. I can't say I was overjoyed to hear you swear at me, but I think we can get over it. That is, only if you tell me the truth. You're supposed to train future army medics – I need to be able to trust you. You came with impeccable references, both from your previous stint in the Rifles and from Holby. Your – outburst- yesterday seems quite out of character."

Bernie lowered her eyes : "Thank you, Colonel. I appreciate that. But there is no other truth. I just …I just forgot myself."

"Just cut it out, will you ? I'm not a novice – I know when someone's bullshitting me. You look like you haven't been sleeping for weeks – and like you'd got the whole world on your shoulders."

"I don't know what you want me to say, Colonel – I'm fine."

"Listen to me, Berenice – if you don't tell me what's wrong with you, there's no way we're going to be able to work together. I would very much regret that – and I think you would too."

Bernie was aware that the Colonel was offering her a way out of her predicament, but she couldn't see what she could say without digging herself in further. If she admitted to suffering from PTSD, they would not let her continue her work with the students. And if she said nothing, she would probably be fired. There was probably a happy medium somewhere, a half-truth which would satisfy Colonel Stewart and not too detrimental to her career, but in her state of tension and exhaustion, she couldn't put her finger on it. Moreover, the Colonel was uncomfortably astute, and Bernie a terrible liar.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I don't know what to tell you."

The Colonel sighed : "Pity. Well … It seems you want to put an end to your employment with us. I will have the papers signed by the end of today, and you will only have to serve two weeks' notice."

At the Colonel's words, Bernie couldn't suppress a strangled gasp and an anguished look appeared in her eyes. Colonel Stewart was watching her closely, and she didn't miss the reaction.

"Or maybe I should give you another chance. Your eyes are more eloquent than yourself, Major. However, this is going to be on my terms. You will go and see our consultant psychiatrist, Dr. Arnold. And this is not a suggestion, this is an order. And I hope to God you'll talk to HIM, if you don't want to talk to me."

(to be continued)