Delia was reclined on her bed, with a book in her hand. Her quilt was kicked down into a heap at the bottom edge of her mattress, and her uniform was hanging over the back of the chair in the corner. Up on her windowsill was a white vase, filled with some exquisite-looking daffodils. Sunlight seeped through the net curtains, causing their petals to glow a vibrant yellow. Knowing that it was Delia who had chosen and arranged them, so that their beautiful colours would lighten her little room, made Patsy feel indescribably happy inside, and she gazed fondly at them.
Hearing Patsy edge into the room, Delia rolled over onto her side, discarding her book onto the bed beside her, and propping herself up on her elbow. She regarded Patsy a little sternly, but her blue eyes twinkled, telling Patsy that she had nothing real to fear.
"I feel as if we need to be reintroduced to one another, seeing as it has been so long since we last met,"
"I'm sorry Deels, I really am,"
Delia clicked her tongue as she arched her eyebrow.
"Your puppy dog face might work wonders on others, Patience Mount, but it certainly won't work on me,"
"Is that so?" Patsy teased, "We'll just have to see about that,"
Removing her cap from her hair and dropping it down onto the bedside table, Patsy knelt one knee onto the mattress, and leant over Delia, their noses almost touching. She smelt divine, her fragrant perfume making Patsy's head spin and chasing any other thoughts or worries out of her mind for a second or two. Bringing her other leg over, Patsy put her hands on either side of Delia's head so that she was directly above her.
In a half-hearted attempt to remind Patsy that she wasn't quite forgiven yet, Delia looked pointedly away at the wall, but Patsy put two fingers beneath her chin, gently raising her eyes back to meet her own.
"Look at me," she said, stroking Delia's cheek softly with her thumb, "I'm sorry for not being around,"
Delia leant into the warmth of Patsy's hand, her face the picture of bliss and contentment. One of her arms reached up to wrap around Patsy's waist, pulling her in closer, and her other hand slipped into the crook of her neck.
"It's not really your fault, Pats," she whispered, shaking her head sadly, "Our hours are so difficult, there's nothing to be done… but I just want to spend every moment away from the hospital with you,"
"I want that too," Patsy assured her, "I love you,"
Their lips brushed lightly against each other, and Patsy savoured the precious moments just before the real kiss. Delia's grip on her waist tightened slightly as they grew closer, and her heart rate accelerated wildly as their lips finally met in a perfect union. Feeling the way Delia reacted to her ignited a fire within Patsy. She eased Delia's hand from her neck, and interlocked their fingers, squeezing them tightly and noting the way her pulse raced beneath her skin.
Moving away from Delia's lips, she left a searing trail of kisses along her jawline and down her throat, nipping delicately at the soft skin there. Her teeth grazed Delia's collarbone, and she felt the brunette shudder beneath her. When she reluctantly pulled away, she saw that Delia's breath was coming in short, shaky gasps, and she swallowed roughly, trying to calm herself.
"How's that for an apology?" she smirked.
"So remind me, Pats," she panted, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Patsy pushed herself up and moved sideways, sitting against the pillows beside Delia, who repositioned herself so that she could rest her head in Patsy's lap.
"I was excused from clinic because I was overtired," she explained, allowing her fingers to dance through Delia's dark hair, "Mrs Turner prescribed an afternoon of bedrest,"
"Have you been sleeping badly?"
"Yes," she nodded, "It's nothing to worry about though. It's been a long few days but by this time next week, I'll be sleeping soundly again,"
She was aware that the cheeriness in her voice sounded strained. The pressure in her lap shifted as Delia turned her head to look up at her. She scrutinised Patsy's expression closely, until the redhead blushed and folded her arms.
"Why are you staring at me like that?"
"Something's up, isn't it? What aren't you telling me, Patsy?"
"I don't know what you mean,"
Inside, Patsy was cursing herself. She should have known that she would not have been able to keep anything concealed from Delia for too long. The Welshwoman was far too sharp and knew her far too well to allow even the tiniest detail to escape her notice. Patsy may have been well practised in keeping things hidden from others, but Delia Busby was her one weakness.
"You haven't been yourself lately,"
"Like I said, I've been tired. Besides, you've barely been here lately to see me anyway,"
"This is the first time you've set foot in my room in three days,"
"And that's some sort of proof of my guilt, is it?"
Delia sat up quickly, bringing her head level with Patsy's so that they were eye to eye. Her hands were thrown down on either side of Patsy's hips and the midwife felt increasingly trapped. She knew that she should just be honest with Delia and tell her that Trixie knew everything, but she was terrified that Delia might blame her for their exposure, and might even want to move out of Nonnatus House, unable to bear the loss of her privacy. For a minute she was convinced that as long as Delia was oblivious to Trixie's knowledge, then nothing would change and everything would stay exactly as it was.
Without warning, Delia suddenly flung herself forward, kissing Patsy hard on the mouth, the earlier tenderness gone completely. Before Patsy had a chance to respond, Delia abruptly pulled back again, her chest rising and falling heavily from the exertion.
"Go on then," she said bitterly, nodding her head towards to door, "Go and get that bedrest that you need so badly,"
"Delia, I don't…"
There was no use in protest or reasoning; Delia was going to have none of it. Her anger and hurt was blindingly apparent in her narrowed eyes and tightened lips.
"No. If you're telling me that nothing is the matter, then clearly you do. Go,"
She was being asked to leave.
Patsy felt her throat constrict until she was certain that she couldn't breathe. Stumbling to her feet, she walked numbly to the door, feeling sick to the stomach. When she reached out to grasp the cold door handle, she desperately croaked one final plea, but Delia had her book back in her hand, gaze adamantly fixed to the page. She staggered into the corridor, one hand covering her mouth, attempting to smother the violent sobs that had begun to rack her body. Her head fell back against the door, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, trying to dam the flood of tears about to burst forth.
She had lied to Delia, and now she did not know what price she was going to pay.