"If you ever do that again," Serena said finally, her voice catching, then steadying, gaining momentum. "Don't bother coming back. I've already had an ex-husband leave me like so much rubbish, only to come collect me whenever he got lonely, I won't repeat that fuckery if I can help it. Not with anyone."
"Serena," Bernie's whisper died on her lips. What could she say? "I"m …"
"And don't you dare tell me you're sorry," Serena said in a sharply annunciated growl. "I don't want to bloody hear it. You show me. Prove to me you're not going to just turn tail and run the second things get hard. And don't ever assume you know what's best for me."
Serena held onto Bernie while she spoke, kept holding on even after her words were spent. Resting her head on Bernie's shoulder, she relaxed her grip a little and sighed. "You know you are shockingly idiotic, for such a bloody brilliant surgeon."
Bernie didn't move at first, held perfectly still when Serena's cheek touched hers, when a hand lit on her jaw. Closing her eyes, Bernie turned her head, met Serena's mouth with her own. She could never find the right words, but she could shape silent syllables with lips, teeth and tongue, could pour her sorrow, her need into a kiss. She could sew her hunger in sliding palm-strokes, her love in the press of hips, the soft crush of breasts.
The oven chimed, was summarily ignored by them both until seconded by a remonstrative Jason.
"Auntie Serena! The timer!"
An eye-role and a sigh later, Serena grinned.
"Thank you, Jason," she said into Bernie's neck, sounding like she meant it, her smile genuine.
The television blared. "Restoring British pride there! Taking another record!"
"Jason could you please turn it down to a low roar?"
…
Dinner was quiet, but surprisingly, not awkward. They both tucked in, hungry. Even with seconds they finished before the new episode of Doctor Who was halfway over.
Serena finished her glass and poured herself more, topped off Bernie's. She took a breath and set her jaw, considering her companion.
"I deserved — we deserved — better than all that," she said in a measured tone. "And if I had half a brain I would tell you off something fierce. But it's been long established that I haven't even half a brain, so there we are."
There was never any foothold for digging her heels into her anger when it came to Bernie. Serena felt herself let go of most of it as she cleared the table and watched Bernie radiate guilt, discomfort.
"You've got to be shattered, with the time difference," Serena said abruptly, fondness burring through the words. She pulled her gaze from where it lingered on Bernie's throat.
"I should … call a cab," Bernie said all awkwardness and angles again, arms crossed, eyes flicking towards her shoes.
"Stay," Serena said, quick and firm enough to make herself cringe. She felt gooseflesh raising on her arms, anticipation fluttering up her spine, and found they had done it again. Somehow they'd moved from across the kitchen to stand nearly toe to toe without even realizing it. Berenice Bloody Wolfe, she mused, had the gravitational pull of a neutron star. There was no escape once you were caught. Serena thought of poor Marcus. That sod never stood a chance. How half the ward didn't follow Bernie around like starry-eyed puppies was beyond her. She couldn't think of the hundred reasons to be angry. Or the litany of demands she had rehearsed. Instead she was moving ever closer, finding it increasingly difficult to breathe evenly.
"Will you? Stay?" Serena whispered, doing her best to hold her chin still and slowly blink back the water in her eyes. (They're only tears if they fall.) She didn't just mean stay the night, and didn't think it was lost on Bernie.
Bernie didn't look away. "If you want me to," she whispered.
"I do."
"Then I will."
"Good."
"Ok."
Taking a purposeful step back, Serena remembered Bernie's wheeled suitcase and rucksack. It gave her a bit of reality to hold onto.
"Your clothes," Serena said in an almost-croak. "Do you need to wash anything?"
Bernie looked at her for a moment like she was speaking Dutch while the unexpected words sank in. "My…? Yes. Actually."
"Well then, laundry room is the door next to Jason's loo. You'll hit the downstairs guest room if you go too far. I'll just pop up and get you a pair of jim-jams."
"I suppose I do smell a bit like an airport ashtray," Bernie said, hands shoved in her pockets, tipping her head conspiratorially.
"A bit," Serena said. She had thought of that rakish half-grin so often during Bernie's absence. She would tell Bernie eventually, if only to watch her flush and squirm. And Bernie would definitely flush and squirm when Serena informed her of the sorts activities she typically engaged in whilst imagining that particular smile.
"Serena?" Bernie shifted her weight, not taking her hands from her pockets. "Jason?"
"I've already set an alarm in my phone for his 0200 meds. He'll sleep hard most of the night. Even if he doesn't, it's a big house." The implication of the words she spoke sank in after they left her mouth and her skin burned. They were said though, so she soldiered on. "He'll be needing to get used to his aunt having sleepovers, I suppose."
Bernie nodded once, silent, not meeting her eyes. "Still, don't you think you should ask if he minds having a … a houseguest?"
"Go put your clothes in the wash, Major, and I'll sort him out," Serena rumbled, covering her nerves with false confidence. "Hup to it."
Serena rounded the corner and made her way to the family room. Jason reminded her of her mother sometimes, especially in his criticisms, and she felt for a moment like a child going to her parent to ask permission.
"Jason?"
He huffed an annoyed sigh and paused Doctor Who.
"Yes, Auntie Serena?"
"You don't mind if Bernie stays over, do you?"
"Well I assumed she would if she's going to be your girlfriend and all that."
"Right. So you don't mind?"
"No. As long as she doesn't leave the lights on in the kitchen after she gets a midnight snack."
"I said I was sorry," she said. "It was two times."
"It was three times and it shines under my door. It wakes me up."
"Jason, how can a little light shining under your door wake you up?"
"You are the doctor, Auntie Serena, you tell me."
"Right. I will inform her of the no kitchen lights at night rule. And you should think about bed soon. It's time for your pills."
"After the episode. It's almost over."
"Fair enough, I'll bring them in a few minutes."
Serena made herself climb the stair like a respectable fifty-one year old vascular surgeon and not sprint the entire way to her closet and back like a love-mad sixteen year old school-girl.
While she knew exactly the sort of borrowed sleepwear she would like to see on Bernie, she decided that the gun-shy ex-army medic would likely prefer sweats to satin. After a bit of wild shuffling through her Gloomy-Sunday-'Round-the-House drawer she decided on a cotton vest, Holby hoodie, and a relatively new, still-soft pair of fleece lined yoga pants.
As an afterthought, she turned on the tap for the tub.
Bernie was stood, long legs bare beneath the hem of her shirt, shoving wadded up trousers into the washer when Serena opened the laundry room door. Taking a slow breath, she stepped into the small room and placed the neatly folded stack of pyjamas on the washer.
"You didn't separate anything out did you?" she stated more that asked, with an exaggerated sigh, ignoring the low pulse of desire that thrummed through her. Honing in on the harsh sound of Bernie's breath, Serena faced her.
"Blouse?" She held her hand out, eyebrows expectantly raised.
"Serena… We… "
"Give it here and put those on." Serena shoved it into the washer when it was handed to her. Was not disappointed at the lines and angles of the Major in nothing but her bra and knickers. Felt a pang of something at the shiny, pink scar on her sternum. She knew Bernie's history, knew she'd had surgery to repair a fractured c5/c6 vertebrae, remembered hearing about the clot, and pericardotomy. But seeing it was different and it made something ache in her while Bernie pulled on the yoga pants.
"You've had a long day," she heard herself say. Watched her own hand as it lifted, pressed the pad of her thumb against a thin pale scar that could only be appendectomy, let her knuckles graze over Bernie's hip. She handed Bernie the vest, watched the woman tug it over her head.
Serena clenched her jaw for a moment to steady her nerve.
"You're welcome to the guest bedroom if you want it. But, I'll be upstairs, having a bath, and I'd rather you join me, should you care to," she said as casually as she could muster. "Oh, and Jason says you are welcome to stay over, so long as you don't turn on the kitchen light at night. Apparently it shines under his door and wakes him."
At that, Serena left the laundry room, smirking, feeling heady and pleased with herself.