A/N: Last one. I've had so much fun writing these. I will probably be starting work on a series of first meetings next week (although I will probably only do 10 of them). Please feel free to send prompt or ideas you'd like to see - I adore hearing from all of you. Your comments and input make my day. Thank you so much for reading all of these.
It's barely two in the afternoon and already Sister Bernadette feels as if she could sleep for a week. Her district patients that morning had been trying to say the least, at least two of them spending an inordinate amount of time complaining about their medications, despite how the dosages had already been modified at least three times. She finally manages to escape back to Nonnatus but ends up with only a few moments to grab a piece of bread and butter before she finds herself rushing down to the clinic. She hadn't slept well the night before, tossing and turning until the small hours of the morning when she got up for prayers, a headache brewing behind her eyes like the storm clouds that have been threatening London for the last few days.
"Has Doctor Turner arrived yet?" Cynthia asks, coming over to where Sister Bernadette is sitting at the admit desk, patient notes stacked up next to her as she tries to sort out the vaccination schedule for the children she can hear in the hallway with their mothers, everyone waiting for the clock to strike two as thunder rumbles in the distance.
"No," Sister Bernadette replies, taking her glasses off for a moment to rub the bridge of her nose, wondering if there is any aspirin in the kitchen.
"I swear that man is late for everything," she hears Trixie grumble, the blonde dragging the last privacy screen out before she takes a turn around the room, checking to make sure everything else is already prepared.
"Men are never on time," Sister Evangelina calls from the kitchen, making the nurses giggle as Jenny goes to open the doors, the flood of patients coming into the hall immediately making Sister Bernadette's headache worse. She smiles at them, taking their names on rote, assigning each to the proper location or cubicle while Cynthia goes around with the juice and milk tokens.
A few moments later, when there seems to be a lull in patients, she ducks into the kitchen, flipping the kettle on for tea while managing to scrounge some aspirin from Sister Evangelina's bag, the older woman giving her a sympathetic smile while watching her down the medication, using her hand to scoop water from the tap into her mouth, too impatient to wait for the tea. As she glances out the window the sky breaks, rain suddenly pelting down. Vaguely, she hears some of the women making a frantic dash to the doors to get their children from outside, the babies having being left in their prams while milk tickets and prenatal checkups were being attained. For some reason, she finds the situation funny, chuckling in the back of her throat as she pours the boiling water into the teapot, waiting for it to steep while glancing out of the hatch, the now damp women trudging back into the building as lightning flashes outside.
It isn't surprising that the storm has finally hit, the immense heat has been building for days, the grass scorched and desperate for water. She finds herself watching the rain for a moment, feeling as if the action is cathartic. For days she has felt like she is wandering in the desert, her own tribulation of conscience, but she cannot find comfort nor redemption. She yearns for something, but she cannot place what it is, nor give voice to the feelings inside her, confused as to what they are, to what they mean. All she knows is that she feels as if she is standing at fork in the road, her soul dying of thirst like the grass outside, but she has yet to be given the gift of a rainstorm. Lost alone in the wilderness, seeking solace from a source she does not know.
She shakes her head, trying to pull herself out of the state of contemplation she has dissolved into, pouring herself a cup of tea before she grabs a second cup and saucer, making one for the doctor who she is sure will come through the doors at any moment, carrying them both back out to the desk. After a few sips she feels her headache lessen slightly, but only just, knowing that it won't truly dissipate until the storm passes and she is able to clear her own thoughts, but the relief is welcome regardless.
She's just getting back into the patient files when the door bangs open, Doctor Turner rushing into the parish hall in a swirl of his wet overcoat, a worn-down expression on his features as he brushes his damp fringe out of his face, hanging his coat by the door so as not to track as much water across the tiles. Vaguely, she hears Jenny call out to him, asking him to come round to the cubicle she's in once he's gotten his lab coat.
"Sorry I'm late," he rushes, stopping to grab the stack of papers from the table.
"Not to worry. Here, I've made you a cup of tea, get yourself warmed up for a moment," Sister Bernadette says, gesturing to the still steaming drink. The expression that crosses his face at the statement is one she has not really seen before, elation and affection dancing across his features at the simple action.
"You are absolutely wonderful," he murmurs, ducking down and pressing his lips to hers before he straightens up, takes the tea cup, and walks towards the cubicles. She blinks for a moment, staring blankly. That can't have just... he didn't just...
She looks around frantically then, finding Sister Evangelina, mouth agape, a few feet away, the patient she had been talking to glancing around to see what has the older woman so startled. Trixie is on the other side of the room, an equally flabbergasted expression on her face, her blue eyes wide as she glances between the two nuns.
Sister Bernadette feels as if she can't breathe for a moment, her mind spinning, heart hammering in her chest. He had kissed her. Doctor Turner had kissed her. All because of a cup of tea.
She buries herself with the files, unable to think beyond that single resounding chant in her head.
He kissed me. He kissed me. He kissed me.
She can't go further than that, unsure of the feeling of elation that has overtaken every atom of her being; her soul feeling as if it has finally been granted the drink of water she has been so desperate for. Her headache becomes a mere memory, her hands shaking for the next few hours as she fills in patient information, schedules appointments, and gives basic advice to the women who come by her.
She doesn't see him other than the occasional blur of white coat from the corner of her eye as he moves from one cubicle to the other, the room humming with unsaid words from the nurses and Sister Evangelina. She cannot bear to wonder what they're thinking or what they might say, for if she is honest with herself, she does not care what their opinions are. She has never felt more complete than she had in that moment of him kissing her. It wasn't something like in the romance novels she knows Jenny and Chummy secretly read in the dim hours of the night. Not a grand sweeping gesture.
It was simple. Pure. An action born of affection; one that spoke of devotion and understanding and was laced with the feeling of being something that was so normal, so natural, that it could occur without premeditation or thought between the two of them.
Her desert was being alone; her oasis, her redemption, being the love of the man who kissed her as if he had done it a hundred times before, and would do it a thousand times over for the rest of their lives.
By the time the last patient leaves, she can feel the tension bubbling around her. The nurses are gathered together at the far end of the hall, whispering hastily among themselves as Sister Evangelina finally closes the doors, ushering the last woman back out into the rain. Sister Bernadette cannot bear to get up, her knees suddenly weak at the thought as she sees the older woman crossing the floor.
Instead of stopping at the desk to bark out admonishments, however, she passes the girl, going over to where Doctor Turner has just ducked out of a cubicle. She doesn't hesitate, raising her hand and cuffing him upside the head, making him let out a yelp of surprise, his own hand immediately going up to rub at the spot where he has just been struck.
"Bloody stupid man," Sister Evangelina scolds. "Doing something like that in public. You're lucky that none of the patients saw." He looks pained at her words, a blush creeping up his normally placid features, staining his cheeks in a way that makes Sister Bernadette want to kiss him again, unused to the shyness that is eclipsing his normal personality.
The nurses look alarmed, as if they are waiting for an explosion; for Sister Evangelina to ream him out even more before she turns on Sister Bernadette, reprimanding her as well. Instead, she lets out a groan, rolling her eyes, chuckling slightly.
"You need to work on your timing Doctor Turner. Come along you lot," she adds, motioning for the nurses to follow her out of the clinic, telling them to clean their things back at Nonnatus. The young women obey without further question, despite how Trixie tries to lean backwards to see if anything else is happening just before they exit the building.
As the outside door closes, silence settles over the two remaining occupants, neither knowing what to say. Sister Bernadette stands, unable to stay at the desk any longer, turning so that she is facing Doctor Turner fully, wringing her hands as she waits for him to speak. He takes a moment, inhaling deeply as the thunder that had abated starts up anew, the rolling noise echoing through the empty hall.
"I kissed you," he says, unable to meet her eyes.
"Yes," she affirms, throat tight, barely allowing her to get out the single syllable.
"I'm so sorry-" he starts, halting when he sees the expression on her face, sadness filling every pore as she looks down at the tiles, her eyes starting to water.
"Did you mean it?" she queries. "The kiss?"
"How do you mean?" he retaliates, unsure of what response she is looking for.
"Did you mean to kiss me?" she rephrases, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. He considers the question for a moment, palms sweating against the thick linen of his lab coat as he ponders how to reply.
"Did I make the conscious decision to kiss you in that moment? No, I didn't," he starts, careful not to pause for more than half a breath, watching how her entire body tenses. "But have I wondered what it would be like to kiss you before then? Yes. I have thought about kissing you every day. When I am struggling, I think of what it would be to come home to you. To kiss you hello, and to have you to hold in my arms at night when the shadows are too much to endure alone. I have imagined telling you a thousand times how I feel for you. So when you ask if I meant to kiss you today, over a cup of tea, and in the middle of the clinic, no, I didn't. If I had known I would act upon the things I have dreamt about so many times, I would have paid more attention, because I do not want to think that the emotions I felt touching my lips to yours for the first time were imagined like they have been so many times before. I would have wanted to savour them. To bask in them, in their reality, and in you," he explains. He is terrified that he has said too much. Confessed too much. Exposed too much of his heart to her in that moment. He closes his eyes, awaiting a slap across the face; for her voice to become cold as she rejects him – tells him that they can never be.
"Then kiss me again," she whispers, voice suddenly so close that he can feel her breath against his skin. "Kiss me again and know that you are not alone. That I have wondered what it would like to be to kiss you as well. That I want nothing more than to know what it is to kiss you good morning every dawn, and goodnight every time the moon rises."
He opens his eyes long enough to reach forward and cup her cheek, smiling as he leans down, pressing their lips together.
Thunder crashes above them, but they pay it no heed, finally finding solace in one another.