So I have an apology to make. There's been quite a large gap between the last chapter and this one - I was away for two weeks, and then exams got on top of me and I didn't have any time to devote to this anymore. Luckily they're finished so I can get back to shameless continual fangirling. I hope you enjoy this chapter and as ever - please review if you have time!

Molly Brown was panting when she re-entered.

"I'm sorry I took so long Molly!" Shelagh cried as she crossed the room towards the straining woman.

"How's – my – husband?" she moaned in response, her eyes sharp with pain as they squinted at Shelagh.

"He'll be fine, Doctor Turner is on his way." Shelagh reassured her, hoping to take some of the comfort from those words for herself.

"Your husband's – a good man, Nurse Turner. I'm sure he'll do his best for my Jim."

If there was any living being she trusted, it was Patrick. Jim would be in the safest hands possible. Assured of his safety, Shelagh gave her concentration wholly to Mrs Brown, and within a few hours was wrapping a healthy baby girl up in a yellow blanket and carefully handing her over to the new mother. She watched for a second as Molly held the baby's tiny hand on her finger and stroked the miniature nails.

"She's perfect, Molly." She sighed happily – and in no small part relieved. As she tried to stand her knees gave way slightly and she clutched the bed for support, wincing at the pain shooting through her legs.

"Looks like you're in the wars too, Nurse Turner." Molly commented wryly from the bed.

"Oh no, just a touch of pins and needles. I'm sure I'll recover in a second." she smiled, watching as Molly cooed over her daughter and gently stretching out her calf to ease the blood flow.

There was a knock at the door and Jim entered in a wheelchair, his ankle in a cast and his arm in a sling. Dr Turner came behind, wheeling him and looking anxiously around for Shelagh as he came in.

"It's a little girl Jim." Molly whispered, her face brightening as her husband came and positioned himself by the edge of the bed. "Our little girl."

Shelagh and Patrick stood back and watched as the proud new parents admired their baby. The sight of the happy family made Shelagh (unusually) begin to tear up, and she reached for her husband's hand absentmindedly. Finding it, he squeezed her hand and looked down at her. She was touched to see that there were tears in his eyes as well, and she rested her head on his shoulder for a second.

As they left the family together and began the trek downstairs, Shelagh realised something.

"But Patrick, how is Jim going to get up and downstairs until his ankle has healed? And how will he earn money?"

A shadow passed over Patrick's face as he held out his hand to help her over one of the puddles.

"His ankle's only twisted, but even then it'll be at least a week before he can walk. I don't know what they'll do – Jim mentioned something about his mother living a few streets away, and going to stay with her but from what I gathered she's too old to cope with a new born baby as well. Maybe there's a sister or some other relative."

They reached the bottom of the flight of stairs, and Patrick reached for her hands and held them in his own, calloused ones.

"I was wrong, and I'm sorry. You were more than ready to be on call again. You were magnificent today."

Shelagh blushed and met his eyes. She saw in them a fierce kind of pride, and it made her heart skip slightly.

"I think together we were quite the team. You were rather magnificent yourself though, Dr Turner."

He kissed her forehead and smiled at her, in a manner that reminded Shelagh slightly of Timothy when he knew he'd done something wrong but that he would get away with it (she was reminded particularly of the night before when he had come home with muddy shorts from practising camping in the woods at Scouts. Shelagh had found the story of how Jonny tried to light the fire and ended up singeing his eyebrows so funny she hadn't even noticed the dirt until it came to washing).

"Together", he said wryly, "we could make the perfect person."

"Yes. Together maybe we could." she mused as he helped her back onto the bike (her knees still protesting at the movement).

Shelagh came to check up on Molly the following afternoon. Jim was already hobbling around on crutches, seemingly determined to manage perfectly well despite everyone's expectations. Molly was perched on the bed, holding her daughter and singing softly as Shelagh walked in.

"Good afternoon, Nurse Turner!" she grinned at her.

"Good afternoon Molly. How are you and the little one doing?" she asked, setting down her bag on a nearby (mostly clean) table surface.

"Everything's going swimmingly so far. Me sister's popping in later to give us a hand with everything, but I haven't noticed any problems."

"Good. May I ask what you've named your daughter?" Shelagh questioned, edging over to see the scrunched up, frowning face encased in layers of pink wool and frills. "Oh, she really is a bonny wee one!" she couldn't help exclaiming as the little girl squinted angrily at her.

"I reckon she takes after me Aunt Joyce." Molly said proudly. "So we're going to call her Joyce Patricia Sheila, after her and you and your husband. Couldn't have got through yesterday without you, angels the lot of you."

For a second, Shelagh thought she would cry. Instead she reached for the baby girl's hand and watched as her tiny fingers curled around Shelagh's nail. A mix of both. The perfect person. She wipeda tear from the corner of her eye and beamed up at Molly.

"I'll tell him as soon as I see him, I'm sure Dr Turner will be delighted – as am I. Thank you for the honour, Molly."