Summary: Bernie has different associations for different colors. Some are better than others, and some catch her by surprise. | Contrary to the reference in the chapter title, this is totally G-rated.
Notes: Hey there! Thanks so much for all the reviews and kudos so far. I'm really glad you're enjoying these stories! I apologize in advance for any typos- I just got really excited with this chapter, haha.
Black. That's the color of the velvet box she keeps hidden in her desk drawer. A strip of gold wraps around the outside, as if sealing it shut. She's had it for months, now. No one suspects a thing— at least, she hopes not. After all, she is in the business of saving lives. One small distraction, one tiny miscalculation can lead to catastrophic events; that's how it is in the army, a career she knows she'll never truly escape. It's realization she's come to two years into her time at Holby. And it's one she's made peace with.
Blue. It's the first color she sees when she steps onto the AAU in the mornings and the last color when she clocks off. A stark contrast from the green she'd worn in the army; far brighter than any piece of clothing she'd ever owned of her own accord. Though it is typically the last thing on her mind, Bernie isn't particularly fond of the loudness of their uniform. She still isn't accustomed to the cheery nature it seems to produce from the other doctors and nurses. It's a trauma unit— what is there to be cheery about?
Red. It's her least favorite color, and yet one she encounters far too often— not just when she drinks wine. It's her job, and yet, blood still makes her frown; holding a person's heart in your hands, getting assaulted by a bleeder in the middle of the ward. She's used to power and being in command, but no one should be in control of another person's life. And yet, here she is, day in and day out.
Brown. The color of her son's hair and eyes, the same color of her lover's hair and eyes. It's not so dark that it makes her sad, but no so bright that she begins to squirm. It's nearly the perfect shade, really.
Green. It sits within the small box she keeps in her desk. After careful selection, she knew that this was the right one. It was one of the few things she was most sure about.
Bernie stares out across from her and tries to imagine Serena at her desk. She tries to picture the woman's brown hair and brown eyes, having just changed out of her blue scrubs and thrown out the smock with red smeared across it. The black box is still locked away, encased around the green contents. Bernie feels her own heart begin to pound as the second-hand on the clock ticks by loudly.
When Serena finally appears, Bernie greets her with a warm smile. The woman has, indeed, changed out of her operating uniform and back into her leopard print shirt; it hangs from her form gracefully in that way that hypnotizes Bernie, just as all of Serena's shirts do.
Serena notices Bernie staring and clears her throat. "I said, are we ready?" There a slight hitch in her question as she stifles a bit of laugher.
"Oh, erm, yes. Ready," Bernie says as she gathers her bag and coat. She gestures to the door, "After you." But, before Serena has left, Bernie says suddenly, "Actually, there is one thing first."
Quickly, Bernie rushes to her desk and hunches over, ignoring the twinge in her back. Serena checks her watch impatiently as the drawer clicks shut once again. Both hands wrapped around the box, Bernie slowly turns back to face Serena. "This is for you."
"What is it?" Serena asks curiously.
Bernie merely shrugs. "Open it."
Ever-so-gingerly, Serena does as she's instructed and lift the top off. When she sees the stone on the silver band, she exhales loudly. "Emerald," she whispers, her eyes stinging slightly. "Elinor's birth stone. How did you—" She looks up at the blonde in shock and when she catches Bernie's timid expression she wonders, "Is this… are you asking…"
Before she knows it, Bernie's taken Serena by the hand and led her to the chairs by the door. She can feel her cheeks flaring up, but she forges on. "I… I just want you to know that I am committed to you, Serena. I care for you very deeply and… well, I know I'm not great with words."
Serena's throat is dry. All she can do is stare at Bernie. "That doesn't answer my question," she manages to say.
Bernie blinks rapidly beneath her fringe. "Which one?"
"Are you… proposing?" Serena muses in a steady tone.
Slowly, Bernie brings herself to look at Serena. "I suppose that depends. What would you say if I were?"
Her lips parted in shock, Serena flicks away a tear in the corner of her eye. "Well, there's only one way to find out." She holds the box back out to Bernie and waits expectantly. "Go on," she encourages.
When Bernie takes it back, she chews on her bottom lip momentarily before locking eyes with Serena. She never thought she'd be doing this, least of all not at their workplace. Yet somehow, it just felt right. As she sat across from Serena, in that moment, Bernie had never felt braver. "Serena Campbell," she breathes slowly, "will you marry me?"
Serena gazes at Bernie for a second— a second that feels like a 100 years for Bernie— before cracking a smile. "Oh, you bloody fool," she says. "Of course I'll marry you." Their lips crash together in a passionate kiss as Serena cradles Bernie's head. And this time, when the tears begin to fall, Serena lets them.
Yellow is Serena's favorite color. It's the color of her favorite fruit. It's the color of her favorite brand of Shiraz. And it's the color of her fiancé's hair. Of the three, the last is the one she can't live without.