Another quick and cheesy update - I may start a new fic to enter into the pitter patter of tiny feet stage, but not sure yet! Please keep the reviews and suggestions coming :D
The next stage of Shelagh and Patrick's journey had well and truly begun, and everyone agreed that married life suited them down to a tee. Everyone agreed that Dr Turner looked younger than they had ever seen him, and benefited not only from his competence as a medic, but also from the infectious good humour and optimism that he exuded from his fingertips. The residents of Poplar soon got used to the sight of Nurse Turner cycling with a new confidence down the streets, and they watched with great fondness each time she sped past a shop window and cast a sneaky glance at her reflection, pursing her lips to stop herself from grinning in disbelief every time she caught the flash of blue and crimson in the glass. Trixie was delighted by her friend's new uniform - "the dress makes your eyes look different," she had verified, "they're a sort of greyish blue normally, but in that they look a more pleasing azure."
"That wouldn't even have crossed my mind," she had replied. "I can assure you there are plenty more things I have gained from these clothes than bluer-looking eyes." In truth, her new uniform represented all the things she had secured by following the road she had chosen. She now had freedom, and didn't need to hide mouse-like behind the habit that swamped her, feeling only now truly able to embrace herself as a person, as a woman. It was funny, she thought, that it should be a uniform that gave her the feeling of individuality. It represented her continued vocation to care for her community as a nurse and a midwife, and her religious calling was never far from her mind either; the silver cross she had received from Timothy never strayed from its place tucked safely beneath her collar.
It took time for them to get used to having to work together just as they had done before, but with so much of their relationship changed. They were still impeccable professionals as they went about their shared duties, but whenever Dr Turner's name was mentioned in clinic Shelagh's heart gave a little flutter and more than one canny mother to be had remarked upon the girlish blush that swept Nurse Turner's cheeks when the doctor came to assist an examination and winked secretly at his wife. The women of Poplar even found themselves desperately hoping to have their children delivered by Nurse Turner, just because they found her and her doctor's quiet and devoted way of working together adorable to watch. In short, theirs was the big romance of the community, smiled over and simpered at while the couple in question pretended not to notice.
"Tea, nurse?" Patrick would say at the end of their appointments, and she would smile back, "yes please, doctor," before following him into the kitchen. Here they would stand, exactly as they had done so many times before, the sunlight dancing on their faces and all sorts of other light dancing in their eyes, until their colleagues came in, grinning at the sight of the couple standing so naturally, cups of tea in one hand and their fingers always entwined between them on the worktop. Once, after Shelagh had said something particularly witty, Patrick had been overwhelmed with affection, and Sister Evangelina had appeared to find him pressing kisses into Shelagh's neck. She had not been amused. "Doctor Turner!" she had cried, "restrain yourself, remember where you are and who might come in. Shelagh, I am amazed, in uniform too."
"She's just jealous," snorted Patrick when the indignant nun had grabbed a biscuit and stormed away, but Shelagh averted her gaze, evidently mortified, and gently put her hand on his chest to hold him back as he lifted her chin and made to move towards her again. His eyebrows twisted up in alarm, and Shelagh's stomach churned as a spike of hurt flickered in his gaze. "Please darling," she began, "I don't feel confident enough yet to hold a true sway over my feelings." She bit her lip, not sure she even made sense to herself. "I get so blown away when we're together and I can't think straight. I haven't quite left Sister Bernadette behind, and I get uncomfortable sometimes showing affection in front of her, let alone under the eyes of others. Do you understand?"
"No," Patrick laughed, stroking the strong line of his wife's cheek in concern.
"Nor do I," she admitted, laughing too, moving to put her arms around his waist, closing her eyes against the warmth of his shoulder. "I know it's been months, but I'm still trying to get used to being this close to someone, to let myself believe this is all true. It still feels strange to be held like this, to feel this way. It's wonderful, truly it is, I just still find it odd from time to time, especially when the nuns see us together."
Patrick still didn't quite understand, but then he had never been in the position where such feelings were out of bounds, and he was experienced in love and the giddy kaleidoscope of passion that came with it. Shelagh was looking up at him so desperately; she had thought he was the one that needed her, that he and Timothy needed looking after, which was in many ways the truth. But now she realised more than ever that she needed him, needed his strength, his experience, the healing power of his kisses. She needed him tell her she would never need to feel alone or confused again. To love her - to never let go of her hand.
Please review if you have the time :)