So this chapter was hard to write and I'm not sure I've nailed it. Constructive criticism is welcome.

Thanks, as always, for the reviews (and patience).

Barbara usually hated answering the telephone. She thought her voice lacked authority for such a demanding role. Assuring mothers, directing Midwives promptly to emergencies; it required a steely resolve like that of Phyllis or Patsy; certainly not the diminutive vocalisation of the petite brunette. But this evening, in between moments of extreme anxiety whenever the phone rang, Barbara relished the opportunity to get lost in her thoughts. Though she had thought briefly of her slight disappointment in missing To Kill A Mockingbird yet again, she was mostly preoccupied with the small miracle that had occurred in the previous twenty four hours.

She had prayed so that she may understand Patsy and Delia, and the Lord had answered. She had expected a little nudge toward a particularly relevant Bible verse, or the chance hearing of a liberal Nun's thoughts on the matter; instead resolution was slightly less religious. Though in hindsight, she wondered why she ever expected the answer to be so literal.

When Barbara was nine, she prayed for a new bike for her birthday. Her mother had always thought that such contraptions were most dangerous and unladylike; Barbara was never allowed to feel the wind in her hair as she scooted around town in a metal "death trap." And so, when she awoke on the morning of her tenth birthday, she was disappointed that the Lord hadn't gifted her with a shiny red bike. Year after year, she politely gave thanks for gifts of books, socks and handbags, when all she had wanted was the cheap and convenient mode of transport. It came, finally, in the most unexpected of ways. Barbara, fresh out of nursing school, had joined the Midwives of Nonnatus, fully expecting to be transported to duty by motor car or ambulance. So when Fred wheeled the contraption out of the shed and into Barbara's hands, she had never felt so happy. It was a prayer over ten years in the making, and in the wrong colour, but its imperfectness had made it all the more special. The Lord, it seemed, was as imperfect as the world it created. And this authenticity had only served to strengthen her faith; her belief in misdirected miracles.

So, it should have been no surprise that the answer to last night's prayer came in the form of an attractive, platinum blonde, who just so happened to have Sapphic tendencies. Barbara took this unforeseen resolution as a further sign that the Lord was accepting of Patsy and Delia. She feared, however, that The Lord held deep reservations toward in vogue fashion accessories. Given the Lord's historical foolery in answering Barbara's prayers, she briefly feared in what form her other prayer, one for pantyhose, would come. She imagined them being worn by a would-be burglar attempting to distort his face; or perhaps they would be holding bulbs of garlic to be hung on windowsills.

The phone startled Barbara from her thoughts. She answered in a voice that seemed to mimic what she thought confident, sophisticated women sounded like. To Phyllis, within earshot, she sounded like a husky-voiced woman of the night. Phyllis wasn't sure whether Barbara was trying to assist the caller, or seduce them. The stern Midwife muttered to herself as she ventured to the clothesline in search of a fresh tablecloth. It was her duty to set the dining table for the night's dinner.

But when Phyllis returned, she found a horrified Barbara, phone in hand, staring at a clearly outraged Delia. "I assure you, Mrs Tanner, help is on its way," said Barbara, in a voice distinct from the frightened look on her face. Barbara gingerly placed the phone back on the receiver and braced herself in anticipation of Delia's fury.

"Did you do it?" demanded Delia.

"Did I do what?" asked Barbara; she cowered further into her chair.

Delia scanned her surroundings, she failed to see Phyllis quietly folding napkins in the adjacent room. "Did. You. Tell?"

"Of course not! Delia, I would never do such a thing! What has bought this about?"

"Well it's mighty convenient that the day after I reveal... my whole soul to you Barbara," she hissed, "that Patsy is summonsed to Sister Julienne's office!"

Barbara stood to meet Delia. "She could be there for any number of reasons. Honestly Delia, we all go in there from time to time. Just this morning Trixie..." Barbara trailed off, realising the implication. She averted her gaze from Delia's stare.

"Trixie what?"

"I'm sure it's nothing."

"Trixie what, Barbara?" asked Delia, almost spitting the words.

"Trixie was in Sister Julienne's office this morning, but she was just asking to be relieved from her shift... that's all." Delia was so lost in her own rage that she didn't notice the look of doubt creep upon Barbara's face.

"On the same morning that Patsy is called upon to discuss last night?" scoffed Delia.

"Surely that's not why she was summonsed? Trixie would never do such a thing. She loves Patsy."

"Well it is and it's awfully convenient," said Delia, her Welsh accent thickened.

Barbara tried to think of all possible explanations to reassure her friend, but her mind was largely occupied with the way Trixie had acted this morning; the things she had said. Her face exposed her. It was a mere minute change in expression; a glint in her eye, the twitch of her mouth, but Delia pounced.

"It was Trixie, wasn't it?"

Barbara's forehead wrinkled in thought. "'I've done something. I've said something I shouldn't have, in Sister Julienne's office, I panicked,'" she whispered in realisation. She looked to Delia; her face like a bloodhound, all droopy and melancholic. "That's what she said. 'I said something I shouldn't have.' Oh Delia, what are we going to do?"

"We're going to find Trixie," said Delia, storming to the front door, "and we're going to kill her!"

Patsy was nearing home. She could just make out the brickwork of Nonnatus House through the thick fog of her breath. She inhaled the haze briefly, stiffly, her breath catching as she neared closer. But then she saw her, the blonde midwife nearing the house from the East. Patsy slowed and covered her face with her coat collar. She bunched her scarf so that it created a partial veil to her neck and chin. She stood, barely incognito, and surveilled her former friend.

Patsy watched as Trixie stood at the front door, preoccupied with her handbag. She's looking for her keys, thought Patsy, she's always losing them. Many a time Patsy had awoken to pebbles striking her window; willing the red-head to their quiet call of alarm. And so, she would have to creep downstairs in the dead of night to let the forgetful Midwife in. Trixie would always greet her with an embarrassed grin, followed by a hug and a promise to make it up to her in the morning. And without fail, the blonde was true to her word. Patsy would wake to a flower on her bedside table, extra cigarettes in her case, a freshly squeezed glass of orange juice.

Patsy smiled, she missed her friend. She wondered what happened to her. It wasn't a sudden change, she concluded. Patsy had thought that last night was the trigger point, but she realised now that Trixie had slowly, but surely, become a shadow of her former self. It had taken months perhaps, but the progression had happened so leisurely that Patsy had failed to notice. Trixie, it seemed, had been all alone. She had Delia, Barbara had Tom, Sister Mary Cynthia had God; Trixie had nothing but a bottle, and even that had turned against her.

Patsy sighed, she thought of her relative lack of support for Trixie when Tom's new relationship came to light. She thought too, of the opened bottle discovered under her bed. Patsy mentally chastised herself, it was something she could have prevented. If only she hadn't been so preoccupied by her own fear. She had not thought of how Trixie might be feeling; realising perhaps that not only did she feel alone all these months; with Patsy spoken for, she was alone. It was something Trixie feared, she knew; the last girl left on the shelf.

And so, thought Patsy, although Trixie certainly had some apologising to do, so it seems, did she.

"Why don't we take a moment to calm down?" pleaded Barbara.

Delia turned to her, a look of wrath seeped into her features. "Did you just tell me to calm down?" asked Delia; the flat tone of her voice made her all the more frightening to the petite woman.

"We, I said..." It hadn't improved Delia's mood. "I just think," explained Barbara, backing away, "that if we both took a moment to reflect, perhaps a more logical solution would present itself."

"Oh I think death to Trixie seems pretty bloody rational right now!" Delia hissed. She held the door handle, then turned to Barbara, "you stay; limit the job casualty to two." With a death casualty of one, she thought.

Barbara contemplated what Delia had meant, surely there were no jobs on the line? Not over something so trivial? She was about to protest but was distracted by the sudden force of Delia's body as it thrust into her side.

"Oh gosh Delia, I'm sorry," said Trixie, suddenly appearing in the door way, "it seems as though I was coming as you were going." She laughed nervously. The laughter slowly subsided as it dawned on her; the look on Delia's face. She had never seen it before; imagined it certainly, the Welsh woman could get quite passionate when worked up. But this? Delia made Medea look like Mary Poppins, she thought. Trixie turned to leave, but a hand on her shoulder pulled her into the confines of Nonnatus. Delia slammed the door, Trixie's keys broke free from the lock.

The open hallway felt suddenly claustrophobic. Trixie scrambled for breath. "Delia," she hesitated, "I'm so, so sorry..."

And with those words, the seeming confession, Barbara's heart stopped entirely; if only for a moment. Her friend, the Trixie of cheerful feistiness and freshly popped champagne, it seemed, had done the unthinkable.

"Trixie," she whispered, "what did you do?"

With Trixie now gone from view, Patsy regained her rhythm, her sense of purpose. Expressions of remorse were for later; the present required no apology.

"You can do this," she whispered, as she began her descent. She mentally willed herself forward. March into Nonnatus House and straight into Sister Julienne's office, she decreed. Do not abide by the designated meeting time. What you have to say cannot be stifled into convenience. You have lived your whole life for the satisfaction of others; hiding so that they may be comfortable and unthreatened. But not today.

Patsy stood at the front steps and internally rehearsed her monologue. She would speak not only for herself, but for those who had suffered before her; and those who would surely suffer after. She felt the mental weight on her shoulders; those of a million men and women whose voice had been taken away.

She searched her coat pocket for a cigarette, then lowered herself to the cement. Though she had promised Delia that her last had been and gone, she surmised that her girlfriend could not begrudge her just this once - for courage sake. She inhaled the cylinder deeply; breathing in the strength to proceed.

It took all of Delia's self-control not to force Trixie up the stairs by the scruff of her hair. Instead she followed with heavy footsteps as Trixie led the way to her room. They had left Barbara, still on duty, watching from the bottom of the stairs. This, she thought, is worse than answering the telephone. But then the phone rang and Barbara felt the familiar weight of her insides dropping to her pelvis. And she wasn't so sure anymore.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" screamed Delia, as if Trixie's room were sound proof.

"Yes," said Trixie, "I've made the biggest mistake of my life."

Delia scoffed, "there you go again, all about you!"

Trixie winced, stung by the truth. "If you could just tell me how to make this better... I'll do anything," she pleaded.

"You take it all back," yelled Delia. She deflated into a seated position on Patsy's bed. "If it's not too late that is."

"Of course I would, if she would only speak to me... but I don't think it's that easy. What I said, it was..."

Delia stiffened her back, her posture like that of a disciplined soldier. "You spoke to her this morning, speak to her again!" She rose from the bed and placed her hands on Trixie's shoulders. "I have no time to babysit your emotions right now, we are running out of time!"

Trixie released herself from Delia's grasp. "What are you talking about? I haven't spoken to Patsy since last night. And I wish I hadn't." She looked to a confused Delia in panic. "Running out of time?" she asked, "What has Patsy done?"

"It's you that did it!" spat the brunette. "Because of what you told Sister Julienne this morning, Patsy is about to lose her home, her job!"

"What I said? It had nothing to do with Patsy!" Trixie shook Delia out of her nauseated expression. "Delia, what has happened?"

Though Phyllis was usually a proud woman who paid no mind to drama and idle gossip, she found herself well and truly in the midst of a scandal. With her vantage point in the dining quarters, she had heard everything. She had spent the last few moments contemplating whether she should intervene. It was clear that a secret had been told, one that involved Patsy and Delia. It appeared that this secret had landed the taller nurse in a spot of bother with Sister Julienne. It would certainly account for Patsy's behaviour at work, thought Phyllis.

The stern Nurse laid out cutlery in a daze of worry. She knew what the secret was; she was not blind. She had known for some time. The looks the two women shared when they thought no one was watching, the despair seen in Patsy's eyes when Delia was injured; the joy when she had returned. Phyllis ached for the pain Patsy must have been in then, and the pain she must be feeling now. She made a mental note; after dinner she would tell Sister Julienne what an exemplary Nurse Patsy was, is. Patsy wouldn't need to know. Her secret would be safe with at least one person at Nonnatus.

Phyllis heard the sounds of keys at the front door. Though she believed Sister Julienne to be in her office, practicality convinced her to at least see if the sounds belonged to the Head Nun. Tell her now, she thought, best to have these matters dealt with promptly. But when she creeped around the corner, it was not Sister Julienne she found, but a clearly determined Patsy. The red-head walked straight toward the Head Nun's door, as if it were a mirage in sea of desert sand.

"Ah Patsy," beckoned Phyllis, "can I seek your assistance for just a moment?" she asked in panic. But Patsy didn't budge from her course; her eyes steadfast on her destination. Phyllis thought of the fear in Patsy's eyes this morning; "bravery is being the only one who knows you're afraid," she remembered. It was the saddest darn thing she had ever heard. But her eyes now were steely, determined.

"Oh dear," whispered Phyllis.

"Ah, an anonymous person... um they informed Sister Julienne that Patsy was seen at Gateways..." stumbled Delia.

Trixie gasped, she held her hand to her mouth. Her eyes widened in fear.

"I thought it was you!" accused Delia.

"How could you think I would ever do such a thing?" asked Trixie; it was more of a sorrowed pleading than a demand.

"Timing I guess... plus the things you said to Patsy." Delia shot Trixie a brief disapproving look. "And Barbara said that you were in her office, that you had said something you shouldn't have, and well... this ruins everything."

"I don't understand."

"Don't you see? You were supposed to tell Sister Julienne you were mistaken, but you weren't the one who told."

"But Sister Julienne doesn't know that, I can still say something," assured Trixie.

Delia shook her head, "but what if the person wasn't really anonymous? That she just said that out of common courtesy; confidentiality? You'd be in as much trouble for lying."

Trixie slumped on the bed; her mind a dizzying whirlwind of possible consequences. "I don't care," she said, finally, "I'll risk it. I can't grasp a greater consequence than losing my best friend." If I haven't already lost her, she thought.

Delia joined Trixie; she allowed the blonde to rest her head on her shoulder. "Oh Delia, I've been so stupid."

"Yes, you have," agreed Delia, she pulled Trixie's arm around her waist. "But I won't abide by any further stupidity. There'll be no more casualties on my watch," she smiled, though her lips trembled. "If Patsy goes down, it's me who will go down with her." She pursed her lips together briefly, "and I'll have no jokes about that, thankyou very much."

Trixie laughed. Delia's words had lightened the mood, but the heaviness of inevitability lingered.

Patsy had spent the last few minutes sitting through a polite chastise of the importance of knocking before entering and in keeping designating meeting times. Usually the red-head would have agreed, would have apologised profusely for her uncharacteristic lack of etiquette, but she was bursting with words to be said and sorry was not one of them.

"I'm aware that I'm early Sister, but if you don't mind, I would rather have this matter dealt with as soon as possible."

"Of course," replied Sister Julienne, curtly. "I expect this misunderstanding won't take long to resolve."

Patsy cringed. Misunderstanding, she thought, as if a respected and trusted member of society couldn't be a queer. As if it were incomprehensible.

"As you are aware Ms Mount, I received some information regarding a sighting of you at a club called..." Sister Julienne inspected her notes, "Gateways. Are you aware of such an establishment?"

Patsy felt her heart trying to break free from her chest. She wanted to escape right along with it. It would be so easy, she thought. Run out the door and then... And then what? she thought; You can't keep running forever.

The sound of the door bursting open shook Trixie from Delia's shoulder. She stared at the figure before her in bewilderment. "Phyllis, what on earth?"

"Look, I have no time to apologise for eavesdropping..."

Delia jumped from the bed. "Phyllis, I'm not sure what you think you heard but..."

"Explanations are none of my concern," said Phyllis, sternly.

Trixie stood in solidarity with Delia. "If you're here to judge then you needn't bother!"

"It seems as though you have done enough judging for the both of us Ms Franklin!" accused Phyllis. Trixie looked away, equally furious with the stern Nurse, and herself.

"Now listen here, Patsy is already in Sister Julienne's office," spat Phyllis in quick succession.

Delia gasped; Trixie placed her hand on the brunettes shoulder.

"I don't entirely know why," continued Phyllis, "that's none of my business. But I do know, that as her friends, you need to do something. You can't just sit there and feel sorry for yourself. I'm aware that's not an encouraging thing to say, but that's the truth of it."

Delia froze. Her mind had been so overworked by panic and fear that it had shut itself down. She stared ahead, comatose.

Trixie let Phyllis' words consume her. She lowered her head in thought. "Of course!" she exclaimed, at last. She turned to the brunette. "Come on," she said, "I know what to do."

"Ms Mount?" asked Sister Julienne, her face narrowed in concern. Patsy didn't respond. Do not run, she willed.

"Are you aware of a bar called Gateways?" the Nun repeated. She perused her notes as she waited for the answer.

Do not run. Patsy swallowed. "Yes, Sister."

Sister Julienne glanced up in surprise. "And what do you know of such a club?"

Patsy of three hours ago would have flinched at the question, would have averted her eyes from the concerned gaze of the woman sitting across from her. But the Patsy of the present was unabashed with anchored determination. She was set in stone; she would not run. "It's a club for women, Sister."

Sister Julienne nodded. "A club for homosexual women."

The two women stared at each other. Sister Julienne with a slight frostiness to her warmth, Patsy with a steely edge.

"Is that a question, Sister?"

"It's a fact, is it not, Ms Mount?" asked Sister Julienne. She cocked her head to the side.

"It is a club for homosexuals, yes."

"And you were seen attending this club. Is that true Ms Mount?"

It was one thing to be aware of a club's existence, Patsy knew, and another to freely admit attendance. This was it, she thought, there was no turning back.

She held her gaze; interrogator and subject in a wide-eyed stand-off

The office door flung open without warning.

In the miniscule moments before Trixie's presence was known, before the deafening blow of wood against plaster consumed all else; a loud determined voice was heard.

"Yes."