Sister Julienne was unsure of how long it had been, but the sound of a less calm door slamming woke her and she did not feel rested at all. Hurried steps echoed down the corridor, and Sister Julienne sighed in relief as she heard Dr. Turner instructing Timothy to behave. The doctor's unsettled face appeared at the door, and Sister Julienne greeted him with a murmur.
"She is here, Doctor."
Dr. Turner took a moment to compose himself, reminded he was in the presence of nuns, and ran a hand through his ruffled hair.
"I appreciate greatly you having come so quickly at such a short notice." She smiled.
The doctor nodded swiftly, eyes locked on Sister Bernadette's sleeping form. "It's, huh, it's no trouble at all."
Timothy coughed timidly, eyeing the sick nun sadly. "I hope she gets better. She is lots of fun, and I like her very much."
Dr. Turner smiled, clearing his throat. "So, Sister… if you could find Timmy a place to sleep, I could begin to assess Sister Bernadette's condition."
"Certainly, Doctor. Can you please help me? I need to lay her head on this pillow before I go, or I'm afraid she will wake up."
The Doctor nodded and grabbed a pillow. Sister Julienne held her head, moved to the side, and softly placed her on the pillow. Sister Bernadette sighed, frowning, her breathing quickening, and the Doctor grabbed her hand.
"Shh… Go to sleep, Sister." He whispered. Then he turned to Sister Julienne. "Her fever is incredibly high." He pursed his lips.
"Yes, it is, indeed. She worsened quite a bit since Cynthia called you. And you should see her eyes; feverish as I have not often seen."
He rubbed her hand with his thumb, careful not to attract the elder Sister's attention. "I will take care of her. You can go to sleep as well, Sister, as I know you must wake up at quite an early hour every day."
"That is very kind of you." Sister Julienne smiled fondly and patted his shoulder softly. "Do take care of her. She has been feeling down these last few days, and I am afraid I have been of no help… I cannot seem to understand what has got her so preoccupied, but she barely sleeps these days. Her body is weakened by it, I'm certain, and I fear that if she does not improve her spirits, this disease with get the best of her."
Dr. Turner swallowed, never letting go of her hand. "I will do my best, Sister. Have a good night."
"You too, Doctor." She walked towards the door, leading Timmy towards his room after he kissed his father goodnight.
Once their footsteps were no longer audible, he relaxed his stiffened shoulders. He brought her hand to her chin, so he could best hear her breathing, but found himself unable to let her go. The air she breathed was warm, perhaps too warm, and he fought the urge to brush her cheek.
"What have you done, Sister?" He murmured, as he took the chance to check her pulse. It was quick and irregular, even if strong. She stirred in her sleep and he held his breath. "Don't wake up, sweetie. Keep sleeping." He soothed her.
Sister Bernadette coughed, and her eyes squinted. "Just… Just… Hum."
"Shh… You are ill, my dear, and sleep will restore your health."
Her lip trembled, and a tear fell down her cheek. "Don… no go… please."
Her fever was high enough she did not fully understand her surroundings, and Dr. Turner knew that, but he could not help addressing her concerns. "I won't. I won't go, I promise."
She relaxed, her grasp firm, and he refused to admit falling victim to his very willing imagination. He suspected pneumonia was robbing her of her health, and he had to tackle it before it became uncontrollable. With his free hand, he reached his bag and grabbed a flask, and then a spoon. "I need my hand now, sweetie. Just for a moment." Barely willingly, he let go of her hand and poured the liquid onto the spoon. "Open your mouth, please, Sister. This will make you feel better."
With effort, Sister Bernadette obeyed his request and he lifted her head gently. She frowned. "Head…"
"Your head hurts?" He placed the spoon on the small table and brushed her cheek. Her fingers rose to his and motioned for him to hold her hand. He sighed, his forehead wrinkled with worry. "It will be okay." He assured her, his voice constrained. "Please… it has to be."
It was no ordinary situation. No ordinary patient. He laid his head on their hands, and allowed a trembling sigh. "Please, please… don't die."
A/N: So, I'm incredibly inspired by this pairing, and I can't seem to stop writing, ahah. I would really appreciate if you would tell what you like, what you don't like, so I can get some helpful feedback on my writing (I'm Portuguese, so grammar mistakes are bound to find their way into this story, unfortunately). Thank you soooo much!
Kisses,
Inamioly