Summary: Prompt 2 of 50: "Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself" Takes place early Season 6.

A/N: Thank you for the kind responses to prompt 1! I'm really excited to write this whole thing and your support means a lot!

Prompts of Turnadette: 2/50

They set up the clinic in record time that day. Sister Julienne and Shelagh had practically skipped into the hall and their infectious good moods livened the group and hurried along the normally tedious process of setting up chairs, curtains, and equipment. Neither of the women was willing to say exactly what it was that was making them beam throughout the room, but privately, they'd taken a moment so Shelagh could tell her essentially adoptive-mother about telling Patrick the news.

"It was so wonderful, Sister." Shelagh gushed. "Back before we found out my diagnosis, I thought I might be pregnant, but I didn't want to tell him until I was sure so I could see his face. Unfortunately he had to sign off on the pregnancy test." They shared a laugh. "I'd given up hope I would ever be able to tell him we were expecting."

"And was it everything you hoped for?" Asked Sister Julienne.

"I haven't seen him that happy in a long time," said Shelagh, "it's a miracle, for both of us."

Sister Julienne felt tears starting for what must have been the twentieth time in the past 48 hours. She couldn't imagine what she was going to be like when the child was born.

"I'm so very, very happy for you both, my dear." She hugged her former Sister tightly and found it harder than ever to let go. She wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to let Shelagh go completely.

Unfortunately, she would have to at least end their cuddle as Nurse Franklin entered the kitchen.

"If you two are quite done celebrating whatever juicy secret we're not allowed to know, we're about to open the doors." Trixie teased.

Both women sent a half-hearted glare at their colleague, but ultimately laughed and walked happily back into the main room to prepare for the weekly stampede.

"Mrs. Turner." Nurse Crane called to Shelagh as they walked in.

"Yes, Nurse Crane?" she responded, expecting any number of well-meant complaints.

"I was wondering if the Doctor was planning on joining us today before we opened the doors."

Shelagh grinned at the comment that normally would've made her roll her eyes and bite her tongue. Nothing was going to cloud her glorious mood, and, while running late was unfortunately a habit of her husband's, in this case, she knew exactly where he was.

"He's running a bit behind today, Nurse Crane," she smirked at everyone's raised eyebrow at the work 'today', "but he'll be along in an hour or so."

"Oh, does he have anywhere special to be?" Trixie attempted to ask nonchalantly.

"You're not getting the secret out of me, Nurse Franklin." Shelagh laughed.

"Oh, fine." Trixie huffed. "I'll find out one way or another." She called out on her way to the doors.

Shelagh glanced down at her still-flat stomach.

'Yes I suppose you will.' She thought sweetly to herself.

An hour later saw every one of the nurses and Sisters sweating and on their last leg of patience. It seemed like every mother and baby in Poplar chose that Tuesday to be an indignant combination of irritable and ailing, and while normally Shelagh could handle it, the smell of the clinic was getting to her and all she wanted to do was go home and curl up with a cup of horlicks and Patrick's robe. Sister Julienne had tried to convince her that they could manage if she needed to sit down, but she'd refused. She'd nursed well enough through the flu and the early breathlessness of TB, there was no reason she couldn't nurse through pregnancy; although her body was certainly trying to convince her otherwise.

"Mrs. Turner," Barbara asked softly, "are you sure you shouldn't sit down. You're looking awfully pale."

"No, I'm fine, thank you Nurse Gilbert." Shelagh insisted as she precariously balanced a pile of nappies nearly as tall as herself. "Just a wee bit tired, that's all."

"I'm so sorry, I'm late!" Dr. Turner panted as he ran into the clinic nearly 30 minutes later than Shelagh had predicted. "Appointment kept me rather longer than expected. What on earth?"

"As you can see, we're a bit busy at the moment, Dr. Turner." Nurse Crane chided. "If you could be so kind, we have ten ladies waiting just over there that need to be looked over by you once you've recovered from your leisurely afternoon."

The absolute chaos of the clinic was the only thing keeping Patrick from snapping back at Phyllis - well, that and his newly found knowledge that he was to be a father again. He'd spent the morning arranging locums for several upcoming dates. Probably more dates than he'd originally told his wife about, but he couldn't help it. They never thought this would happen and with her being an elderly primigravida (not that he would ever say that to her face), he was more than concerned for her health for the next seven months.

Speaking of which…

"Excuse me, Sister Julienne," Patrick stopped the rushing nun, "is Shelagh here?"

Sister Julienne glanced around the room and was briefly as confused as to Shelagh's whereabouts as her husband until a small yelp and a cloud of falling nappies revealed the struggling nurse.

"Shelagh!" Patrick shouted as he ran to his wife, not even remotely caring that they were in front of nearly the entirety of Poplar.

Shelagh knelt on the floor, fighting back tears and nausea as she tried to collect the scattered nappies. This day was just not panning out the way it started. Patrick quickly knelt down beside her and a hand on her shoulder got her to look up from her task. Her eyes shined with unshed tears and her clammy pallor did nothing for his nerves. Concern immediately took an unfortunate turn to anger.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" He harshly whispered.

"I'm doing my job." she bit back defensively.

"Doing your job doesn't mean killing yourself. You promised you were going to take it easier."

By now, most of the room was watching the hushed, but tense exchange.

"Patrick, not here." Shelagh insisted.

Patrick looked up and realized everyone was staring at them. With an irritated sigh, he helped his wife off the floor, leaving the nappies behind, and quickly walked them both to the kitchen. They both knew it was no guarantee of privacy, but it was the best they could do for the moment and it was clear that this conversation wasn't going to wait.

"Was that entirely necessary?" She clipped as he nearly forced her into a chair. "It's just a clinic day."

"It's an extreme clinic day, and even if it weren't, you are in no position to be working this hard." He argued.

"I'm not dying, Doctor," she snipped, "I would think you would know that."

"Shelagh, please," he pleaded, "I'm not asking you to confine yourself to bed rest. I promised you that last night, but you said you were just as nervous as me and that you would promise not to push yourself."

"Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself." She nearly yelled.

"I do think you're completely capable of taking care of yourself," he tried, "but I know you, and you can't help but put patients before your own well-being."

"Oh well, that's the pot calling the kettle black."

"With, all due respect, you are-" he warned.

"Patrick James Turner, if the words 'elderly primagravida' come out of your mouth, you'll be sleeping outside."

"Shelagh." He stopped her.

The tone in his voice hit her hard and the tears that had been threatening to fall finally escaped.

"Oh sweetheart, I'm so sorry." He apologized as he knelt to hold her. "I didn't mean to upset you, I just, I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you or our little bean."

She looked up in confusion.

"Little bean?"

"Well if our dates are correct, baby is about the size of a kidney bean right now." He blushingly explained.

Shelagh smiled. Always the doctor.

"Only about 1 gram and 1.6 cm long." She added.

He beamed.

"That's my girl." A slight frown graced his face. "Shelagh, are you sure you're alright. You really do look pale."

Shelagh looked down slightly ashamed.

"I should've taken a rest," she admitted, "I'm sorry."

"You're resting now and that's what's important. Let me get you some tea and then I'd like one of the nurses to look you over, if that's alright."

"Of course." She smiled. It definitely wasn't the last spat of her pregnancy, but she knew they would handle everything in stride.

"Let me just grab one of them." Patrick stood to leave the kitchen.

"I don't think you'll have to look very hard, dear." She laughed.

He turned around and found himself face to face with the staff of Nonnatus looking in through the window between the kitchen and the main hall; their faces bright with excitement and concern. They at least had the decency to look somewhat sheepish at being caught.

"Can I take a guess at the secret?" Trixie asked shrewdly.

Shelagh and Patrick looked at each other and smiled.

"Yes, Nurse Franklin, everyone, we're expecting a baby." Shelagh announced through now-happy tears.

Squeals of excitement burst through the chaotic cloud of the clinic as the nurses and Sisters rushed into the kitchen to congratulate the couple while Sister Julienne looked on, shaking her head. While everyone crowded Shelagh and embraced the task of checking her over and convincing her to go home for the day, Sister Julienne walked over to the overwhelmed father.

"Little bean?" She asked teasingly.

"Just for this week." He replied with a knowing smile. "Next week, it'll be little grape."

"Patrick, stop comparing our baby to food, you're worse that Timothy." Shelagh admonished from the clump of nurses around her.

Sister Julienne laughed.

"How long are you going to keep it up?" She asked conspiratorially.

"As long as she lets me, although, she might kill me before I make it to watermelon." He smirked.

"Patrick!"

The food comparisons are taken from a book that gives you a new food the size of your baby every week! This one was a lot of fun to write. I hope you enjoy!