A/N: Here you go! Thank you all for being so sweet with your comments, and for putting up with my flaky medical knowledge. Enjoy!

Sister Julienne was in the chapel. She had tried to refuse to let go of Shelagh's hand, or leave her side, but as Dr Turner began to unpack his bag with trembling hands, Phyllis had gently shooed her away to phone for an ambulance. And so she walked to the phone, almost as if in a trance, before she came here. The peace of this place felt almost wrong, a sharp and painful contrast to the turmoil in her mind, the sobs she heard coming from the kitchen as she passed. The blood. So much blood.

She hated herself for leaving Shelagh there alone on the cold floor. She wasn't stupid; she had heard the whispers "TB patient", "tear" and "stitches" passing between the concerned midwives and doctor. She knew what Dr Turner had to do. And she hated herself for being so weak as to leave poor Shelagh to deal with that on her own.

Time passed, what felt like an age. She heard the front door open and close, the rush of many feet, low whispers passing by the door, someone crying… Yet they all sounded distant, as if she were underwater. Her knees ached from kneeling on the floor, but still she prayed and prayed for forgiveness, for Shelagh, for this mess to be over. Then, suddenly, the door opened. Sister Julienne turned sharply.

"Dr Turner."

He lingered on the threshold of the chapel, the light from the corridor spilling around him and into the darkened chapel. There was blood on his shirt, Sister Julienne noted feeling sick, and he looked exhausted. But, as she examined his features, not as worried as he had been when he practically flew to Shelagh's side a couple of hours ago.

"The paramedics arrived. She…" he broke off, collecting himself. "They manged to stop the blood flow. It was old TB scarring that had torn with the pressure of the baby, but it looked much worse than it was and they managed to sew up the tear. She's stable now, thank God. She'll have to have the baby at the hospital so they can keep an eye on her and on the baby, and can't be moved for a couple of weeks but… But she's probably going to be alright." All of this was explained hurriedly, his words tumbling out of his mouth as he stared everywhere but at the nun. His hands, she realised, were still shaking violently.

"I see. I'm very glad she's going to be okay. But why do you come for me?" Unspoken between them hung the memory of that disastrous dinner, and the rift it had caused between them all. "We both know if it were up to you, you would not come to me." Her voice was calm, hiding her inner panic, and its placidity annoyed Patrick.

"Because she bloody asked for you!"

Sister Julienne froze. "S…she's awake?" What took her longer to process was that Shelagh had asked for her. She had thought the two of them would never speak again.

"She woke up for about five minutes. Besides, you've been in here all afternoon Sister," Patrick informed her, somewhat impatiently. "Now please, can we get back to my wife?"

They had moved Shelagh to the couch in the living room. She was covered with Delia's blanket, lay on pillows lent from Barbara and Trixie's beds, and her stained dress had been switched for one of Patsy's very many checked shirts. Everyone was crammed into the room, yet it was quiet. The only two absentees were Delia and Sister Mary Cynthia: Delia had gone to pick up Angela from her nanny, while a shaken Sister Mary Cynthia was asleep in Phyllis' bed. Trixie was stretched out on the rug, her eyes fixed on Shelagh, while Barbara stood at the end of the couch and was gently smoothing out Shelagh's tangled hair. Patsy held her hand, while Sister Winifred was distributing hot drinks among the waiting midwives. Phyllis was sitting on the chair opposite Shelagh, looking tired and worried. Shelagh herself was half-asleep, her face still deathly pale and her hands resting on her baby bump.

Everyone turned as the door opened. Patrick rushed in to the room, kneeling by Shelagh's side and kissing her forehead gently. Patsy moved out of the way, joining Trixie on the floor and holding her (Patsy could tell when Trixie needed someone to be there for her, and now was most definitely one of these times).

Patrick turned to Sister Julienne, who was still lingering uncomfortably in the doorway.

"Sorry Sister, I really don't want to wake …" He was cut off.

"Sister Julienne?"

Everyone froze. The voice was weak but carried so much hope, and they all stared as Shelagh blinked and shifted slightly, wincing. Patsy leapt to her feet to help her, but Patrick held out a hand, and they all watched in breathless silence as he carefully helped her shift to become more comfortable. The love in his eyes as he looked at her was so strong that Sister Julienne took a step back. She shouldn't be here. She should leave. Just as she was turning to go, Shelagh spoke again.

"Sister…please…"

Sister Julienne stepped inside the room slowly, feeling everyone's eyes on her. Patrick shot her a look that was plainly a warning against hurting Shelagh, and took up a protective stance by the opposite end of the couch.

Sister Julienne knelt.

"My dear Shelagh. I… I… I'm so sorry…" And then the tears came, and no more words needed to be said. The nun gently grasped Shelagh's pale hand, making no effort to stop the sobs that were shaking her body.

"I would hug you," she whispered, after a while. "But I'm so, so afraid of breaking you. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't." Patrick had moved to kneel beside Sister Julienne beside the couch, watching as his wife smiled weakly.

"Patrick, I'm so tired," Shelagh murmured. She flinched slightly in pain before letting her head fall to the side, her eyes closing as Patrick ran his fingers gently through her hair. Everyone watched in silence as she fell asleep, Patrick and Sister Julienne united in their concern for Shelagh.

Sister Julienne knew sleep was the best thing for Shelagh, but she couldn't help imagining that this frail woman who looked so small in Patsy's giant shirt wouldn't wake up once her eyes closed. She pressed a hand to her mouth, turning and falling into Sister Winifred's waiting arms as she wept.

Why had it taken almost losing Shelagh to realise how much she loved her? She hadn't needed Sister Bernadette at all. Just Shelagh Turner.