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The late December sun shines through a crack in the window drapery rousing Bernie from sleep, jet-lagged and sore from one too many intercontinental flights. She opens one eye and peers bleary at the bedside clock.
Six fifteen glares back at her.
She rolls over with a groan, intent on burying herself into Serena's warm nook, only to find a sprig of mistletoe, heavy with winter's perfume, pinned to Serena's pillowcase with a note.
Baby Haynes has come early.
Come to Holby when you can.
- S x
She reads it twice, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and runs a hand through her hair. Bernie rises to greet the day, just in time for the birth of Jason and Greta's baby.
How exciting, she thinks.
Bernie steps out of the cab in front of Holby City Hospital, nearly a year after the closure of the trauma bay. A mire of emotions rushes to embrace her at its doorstep. She expected to feel uncomfortable, sad, or angry to say the least upon her return, but truth be told, it felt damn good to be back.
Perhaps, it's not the hospital, she wonders, so much as the people in it that she's missed the most. Holby is home, and however much she's tried to run away from it before, one always wishes to be home for the holidays.
She inhales deeply, taking a moment to savour being back, and enjoying the tingle of frost in the air. There is something awe-inspiring about the pristine beauty of freshly fallen snow, uncorrupted by human touch. The way it blankets the hospital grounds in a light dusting and clings to the branches of the oak and birch trees dotting the garden path. Now and again the sky sheds a single flake or two, but any substantial snow is ways off, unlike the normality of the place where she has resided for the last five months of the year.
She walks inside the hospital. Christmas music and chatter fill the air, the mingling scent of coffee and cranberry blend in with the aroma of baked pastries as she waits in line.
"Well, if it isn't the Major herself."
A familiar voice interrupts her reverie and she turns swiftly on the balls of her feet.
"Mr. di Lucca-Fletcher!" She beams, shuffling out of line at Pulse's once she's received her order. "Or is it Fletcher-di Lucca these days?" She quips, pulling away from the first of many warm hugs from colleagues turned friends today.
"That's the question, innit. The kids haven't decided." Fletch grins, twisting the simple platinum band on his ring finger like he can't believe it's real himself.
"An elopement, right under our noses. I don't blame you. And how are the Fletchings?"
"Nana di Lucca's taken the kids for hols up in Scotland, and I’ll be honest with you - I could get used to not having 'em around."
“Is that why you married me, Fletch? Free babysitting.” Raf kids, their eyes going soft, years of friendship steeped in newfound love.
It surprised no one when the two let slip that they were quietly dating — two pings from Dom that day about AAU's secret gay society. Though it was weeks before Serena drunkenly blabbered on the phone about catching them outside Albie's car park. She had an inkling but was never outright sure it was heading somewhere, nevertheless, she owed Serena fifty quid, a packet of crisps, and duty-free liquor on her way back from abroad.
“And I hear another congratulations is in order — Director of Nursing." Bernie quirks an eyebrow at Fletch's new polished appearance, pleased for him, she thought there was no one better suited for the job.
Fletch smoothes out his tie and stands a little straighter. "Pays not too shabby either."
They continue to walk and talk, entering the lift together, floors for Keller, Darwin, and the maternity ward all light up. What a change a year can make, she reflects, as the elevator door closes.
"How are you liking the change of pace?" Bernie directs her question to Fletch. A query about her son at the tip of her tongue, but she saves it for when they're alone.
"It's different, never boring with a talent like Jac."
Bernie hums in agreement, "Jac does run a tight ship. I admire that." She understands how exciting it can be to work with such a high calibre surgeon like Jac Naylor.
"Like someone else we know. You’ve come back to poach Serena, haven’t you?" Fletch says bluntly. Raf elbows him on the side. "Kidding, Major."
Bernie blinks back a surprise, she wasn't aware Serena already let slip that she was on her way out, though nothing is set in stone.
"What Fletch meant to say is we're happy to see Serena following in your footsteps. But you'll understand we'll be sad to lose Ms. Campbell to such exciting work abroad." Raf is a little more sombre now, at the prospect of what that might mean for Holby City's roster, losing one of their own.
"—But we know there's nothing more Serena would rather be doing." Fletch chimes in, seemingly finishing Raf's sentences as they often do.
Raf side steps as the elevator opens on Keller. "Best wishes to you both, Bernie. Tell Jason we're excited to welcome him to the club."
"Will do." Bernie nods. "And Raf!" she calls out before the lift closes. "Serena won't be following me, she'll be leading. We are equals after all." Bernie reckons, counting herself lucky as if she's won the bid for Serena's talents.
Inwardly, it lodges the first sliver of doubt in her mind, about plucking Serena out of Holby City and how it might cause a much bigger ripple than she imagined. There was something to be said about the peripatetic nature of military life, moving from one base to the next, and though her career had given her purpose it splintered her marriage with Marcus and the relationship she had with her children. She never truly set down roots until she was blown back from an IED, with nowhere else to go but to stay and face the music.
Fletch offers her a piece of peppermint stick out of his pocket, breaking her out of her musings. She takes it gratefully.
"Stationed in the Dragon's Den, eh…" Bernie starts, breaking off a piece of hard candy to pop in her mouth. "How, um, is he doing?"
"Cam? He's alright, Bernie." Fletch doesn't embellish his appraisal of her son. "Bit cocky, but I reckon Darwin’s just the place to humble him."
While Cam hasn't been as forthcoming with her about returning to the field, he seems to have taken to confiding in Serena with much more ease. It doesn't bother her, nor is she jealous of it, she knows her son like the back of her hand, she was him once, finding her place in the world. And she's glad Serena has the patience of a saint.
"Thanks, Fletch."
"Anytime, Bernie," Fletch promises to keep an eye out for Cam, without her needing to ask. "Go on then, and Happy Christmas."
"Happy Christmas," Bernie returns his greeting and steps outside the lift.
Bernie rocks on her heels at the entrance of the waiting room, before she spots Serena from a distance.
Outside of her usual work attire Serena is draped in a cozy, red cardigan, and silky striped pyjama pants they could be classified as trousers; practical and enchanting in her simplicity, with just a touch of berry lipstick to liven her face.
As if sensing her eyes, Serena looks up to catch Bernie over the frame of her glasses, her face lighting up in a soft, winsome smile.
"Hello, you," she beckons, waiting for Bernie to receive her.
She crosses the room in seven long strides, ducking her head to meet Serena's lips with her own. Serena brushes her thumb over Bernie's lower lip, cradling her delicate jaw; every meeting like a reunion.
Bernie inhales against her wrist. Full lips parting slightly, a soft breath escaping. "Hi."
"Morning. Sleep well?"
Bernie considers that question for a moment, mildly surprised by her own answer. “Like a log,” she admits. "You should have woken me up."
"Nonsense.” Serena yawns, stretching out her arms above her head, silver strands still rumpled from sleep. Instinctively, Bernie’s hand wanders beneath Serena’s top to massage the knot on her lower back, earning a groan of pleasure from Serena, and as she does a tiny thrill licks over Bernie. "I'm barely awake myself."
That reminds Bernie: "Coffee, two sugars," she says, handing Serena a cup from Pulses, exchanging it with knitting needles, and holding it awkwardly in her hand. "I can wait if you'd like to have a kip in the on-call room."
Serena shakes her head, the bleariness in her eyes clearing as she nurses an aromatic cup of brew, like an elixir waking up her senses. "I’ll be fine. I don't want to miss a thing. He’s going to be a father soon. Can you believe that? Our Jason.” Serena says, pride evident in her tone, no doubt that fatherhood will suit Jason like a glove.
“It feels just like yesterday that he locked us up in our office."
Serena hums in reminiscence. "Nudged us in the right direction.”
Well, more like shoved.
There are quite a number of people who feel personally responsible for getting them together. And they’re reminded of that fact often enough.
Never satisfied just sitting still, Bernie takes a peek through Serena’s bag, sadly finding none of the milky bars that Serena stashes in there, just a ball of baby soft red yarn. “What’s it supposed to be?” Bernie asks, holding up Serena’s latest project.
“Babies come with hats.”
“Babies come with… hats?” Bernie repeats though it comes out like a question, fiddling with Serena’s knitting needles.
“They do,” Serena tells her like she’s reciting code and procedure. “Standard practice that all newborn babies come with hats.”
“You’re having me on.”
Serena bats her eyelashes. “I would never.”
“You would,” Bernie lets out a braying laugh. “You love teasing me.”
Serena bites her lip to stifle a knowing giggle. “Only because you make it so easy.”
Bernie stares rather blankly at Serena’s mouth, too preoccupied with the way Serena’s voice registers lower — gravelly from the cold she’s recovering from. She fell in love with that voice before she fell in love with the rest of Serena.
And she wants to kiss that smart mouth.
So she does.
Serena eases away in protest, “I’ll get you sick!” That hardly deters Bernie from edging closer, pressing the tip of her nose and rubbing it along Serena's like a honey bee stealing pollen.
She kisses, mouth open like a flower.
"I don't care," she murmurs and steals another intimate kiss and another. Bernie smiles into the crook of Serena's neck, lavishing the sensitive pulse point there with little nips.
Serena moans softly, urgent kisses robbing her of forming a coherent rebuttal. Serena grips the ends of Bernie's wool coat to ground her in the moment — jostling the coffee between them, and spilling a little over her fingers.
Bernie saves Serena from any further accidents by plucking the cup out of her hands. Serena doesn't quite find her voice just yet, far too entranced by Bernie doing a rather elaborate job of wiping spilled coffee off Serena's knuckles with her tongue.
Serena took a steadying breath. “They might not let us see the baby,” she rasps and shakes her hand free of Bernie's ribald advances.
The physical intimacy between them dials up to eleven after a long bout of separation, all that love shored up for months spilling over, it required a grace period of at least 48 hours to sort itself out. They're incorrigible — in love.
She always did look forward to coming home.
"Are we certain Greta’s delivering today? If this baby's intent on postponing its arrival, we might need to shuffle Christmas supper."
“I’m afraid Jason’s running a tight schedule,” Serena says fondly, hand on her heart. “He’s insisted the baby will be punctual,” she informs Bernie, fielding most of Jason’s inquisitive questions regarding the joys of parenthood.
Amused, Bernie leans her head against Serena, seemingly remembering the countless hours that were spent reorienting plans. Babies ran on their own schedule. She dearly wishes Jason and Greta all the best in that regard.
"He has much to learn."
“Brings back memories, doesn’t it? Were both of yours c-sections?” Bernie doesn’t register the question, and then all at once recalls in great detail the birth of her children, blushing at Serena’s tacit implication. “I have seen the scar,” Serena smirks.
“That was, um, Charlotte.”
“Difficult?”
“Breech.” She replies, doesn't often revisit the memory of that evening, or speak about it to anyone, not even Marcus — the heart-stopping panic, the fear of losing Charlotte.
“Daughters, eh. They love to make things tricky.” Serena remarks, offhandedly.
“Elinor?”
“Twenty-seven hours.”
“Blimey.”
“Yeah. It was so long Edward had to go into work.”
“Had to.” Bernie echoes, not surprised by Edward's character at all, even at the birth of his only child.
“To be honest, I was glad to be rid of him. He certainly wasn’t being any help, and he wasn’t there when she actually made an appearance.”
Bastard.
“Marcus had the bright idea of inviting his mother to stay after I had Charlotte. Drove me mad. All the undermining and spoiling the children. I was never good enough in her eyes.” However much time has passed those same feelings of inadequacy still crept up on her from time to time.
“Let me guess, Mrs. Dunn was a staunch conservative — a snob, and Marcus was what — raised by nannies himself?” Serena deduces, holding back the rest of that sentence, as she’s gone without a lick of Shiraz in her system.
“I - um… felt more like an incubator than a mum.” Bernie shares frankly, offering up her own reservations about motherhood. “Maternal instincts? Bollocks. It's hard work, rewarding, yes, but I haven't a clue when I had my two.”
Her own mother was long dead before she had any children of her own, a woman whose zeal and sweetness precede her. It was many years after her deployment that her father reached out, holding on to a diary of her mother’s from childhood, memories and dreams pressed between flowers. They were loved, that much she’s certain.
“We all do the best that we can, I suppose." Serena sympathizes, holding up a mirror to Bernie's insecurities and doubts, understanding the sacrifices it takes to have both a career and a family. "I wasn't exactly mum of the year with Elinor, but between Edward and I, it wasn't much of a contest.”
The what-ifs and maybes scratch at the back of her mind, wistful for a life that could have been. What if they met sooner, became friends faster, raised their children together. How their lives would be different — intertwined, she’s sure she would have fallen just as much in love with Serena then too, and become in all sense of the word: family.
"So, what's the latest?"
"Fleur’s keeping Greta under observation."
"And how are you feeling?"
"Jitters… more scared than I ever was with Elinor." Serena murmurs on the lip of the coffee cup, "I'm far too young to be a grandmother or a great aunt, Bernie."
"Age is a number, as they say. You've certainly got the lot of them beat in that department."
"Oh, hush you."
"You didn't hear any complaints from me." Bernie leers, suggestively. "The knitting's done wonders for your dexterity, Ms. Campbell."
Serena leans in, lips inviting, words sharp and sweet. "I have half a mind to knit your mouth shut, Ms. Wolfe."
"Kinky," Bernie whispers along Serena's lips, before capturing them into a soft, loving kiss.
It’s good to be home, she thinks, before sinking ardently into Serena’s charming allure.
“Oh, god,” Elinor groans loudly, as their daughters round the corner of the waiting area, wrinkling her nose. “Honestly, eww.”
Charlotte chuckles, not nearly as embarrassed as Elinor with their mothers' amorous behaviour.
Thankfully, they were virtually alone, save for the young man pacing the floor on the opposite side of the hall.
Bernie steals one last kiss before turning and standing to greet their daughters. “Charlie. Ellie.” The blonde-haired young woman came up running almost tackling Bernie.
“Necking in the maternity ward, mum? With Fleur lurking about, that is bold,” Charlotte teases, twisting away to shrug off her coat and scarf.
“Cheeky.”
Elinor greets her mother with a kiss on the cheek, and in a flourish of movements procures a pain au chocolat from a kraft bag, earning a groan of delight from Serena. "My darling girl."
"Els had to stop me from buying the whole collection, but I couldn’t resist getting Jason’s baby a gift." Charlotte brandishes a Thirteenth Doctor stuffed doll, incredibly proud of her choice.
Elinor, who graciously offered to pick up Charlotte from the train station is only too eager to point out that: "It’s a good thing we’re sharing duties as the sprog’s aunties because you are such a nerd, Char."
"A title that Jason and I share, gladly," Charlotte defends, poking her tongue out at Ellie, who scowled good-naturedly at her. "And what did you get the little one, if I might ask?"
"It's nothing," Ellie says, uncharacteristically shy, digging out a slightly battered picture book of Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer out of her bag. "Found it in a bin in the attic when we were taking down Christmas bunting, my nan read it to me when I was a child. I thought Jason might like to add it to his collection."
"Oh, that's actually so sweet, Els," Charlotte gushes at the thoughtful gift.
Serena bestows Elinor a brilliant smile.
It warms Bernie’s heart to see their daughters getting along, sarcastic bantering held an undercurrent of fierce protectiveness that all tethered them together. Though it wasn't always smooth sailing from the beginning, cobbling together the broken pieces of her family to make something new again. There were hurdles and stumbling blocks along the way — Cameron's accident, Kyiv, and Elinor's brush with death and overdose. Months of rehab and care. In between birthdays and holidays — dinner for two had quietly turned into brunch for seven. Moments that have redefined and deepened their little makeshift family, like a patchwork quilt, scraped together and stitched whole again.
Charlotte plops down beside Serena to take over the knitting, freeing Serena's hands to nibble on her pastry. Charlotte didn't need to ask, her fingers swiftly demonstrating their capabilities as she continued the row that Serena left off.
Elinor took stock of Bernie’s appearance, clothed in a warm sweater, faded blue jeans, hair an effortlessly tousled wave — she practically invented the term ‘bedhead’, and just a tinge of her mum’s lipstick-stained on her lips. "You look well, Bernie," Elinor pays her a compliment.
"Thank you, Ellie." Bernie smiles at the young woman.
In the last year, she's traded arid desert conditions for fierce winters, red clay sands for belted rolling hills, fertile farmland, thick boreal forests, and an abundance of lakes, rivers, and waterfalls. And a trauma centre at the heart of the city, embracing a rich tapestry of cultures on the northwestern shore of Lake Ontario.
"It’s the air quality, I think. The mountains and the lakes, it’s all so beautiful and serene." Charlotte lauds, waxing lyrical about camping through the Canadian wilderness with friends earlier in the summer.
"Rave reviews, Char," Ellie says sardonically, directing her question back to Bernie. "What did you do, jump into a lake before hopping on a flight to Holby?"
"I haven't quite gotten to skinny dipping, Ellie. I'm afraid that might be some cause for concern for the animals in the park."
That earns a delicate snort from Serena, eyes flashing with a naughty twinkle before flicking back demurely.
Ellie wrinkles her nose at them both, but presses on, "you must be excited to finally join Bernie then, mum. Whisked away on a whirlwind adventure — saving lives and all that."
Bernie and Serena glance toward each other to share a meaningful look, at the crossroads of a future yet to unfold outside of Holby City, every bit as promising as the day ahead.
"Not for another six months, love. No need for romantic overtures." Serena dissuades Ellie of such notions.
Bernie senses a hint of apprehension underneath the surface. She knows there are practical matters that they need to attend to before everything can slot into place, and Serena is even less likely to rush into packing her bags to be on the next flight, however much she wishes that to be true. It’s a caveat they’ve taken into consideration while Serena shepherds Jason and Greta through a period of adjustment with their newborn baby. And as for Serena's other baby, handing over the reins to AAU will be a matter of fielding the right candidate for the job.
"Though I'm not sure I'll be doing much more than sorting out this one's paperwork," Serena baits with a cheeky grin.
Ellie and Charlotte nod their heads absentmindedly at the assertion.
"Oi! Cut me a bit of slack," Bernie defends. "I've been keeping on top of things, you'll be doing much more than pushing paper I promise you that."
Ellie wraps her arm around her mother's shoulder and pierces Bernie with a rather heavy look. "I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but mum almost got into a shouting match with a board member, and told them exactly how she felt about defunding the trauma bay. The Great Bernie Wolfe this — The Great Bernie Wolfe that. By the way mum talks about you we'd think you were a legend — or dead ."
Curious. "Defending my honour, Campbell? This is the first I'm hearing of it."
"Oh, the stories I could tell, but have been sworn to secrecy," Ellie stirs up in a sing-song voice.
"Ellie," Serena admonishes lightly, knowing her daughter's personality only fueled her even more; a love for dramatics and deeply honest conversations.
"Go on, Ellie," Bernie interjects, eager to catch up with what else she's missed since her last visit.
Charlotte keeps mostly quiet while she knits but pipes up to add, “That you tasted like chocolate and honeycomb when asked what wine pairs nicely with the dessert,” while her fingers continued to fly through rows, neat and even, without so much as looking.
A healthy blush forms on the apples of Serena’s cheeks. She brushes away the crumbs off her lap, caught in the middle of their meddlesome daughters.
"That you are, and I quote: the greatest love affair of her life," Ellie reveals her cards one by one, "while dedicating a slew of ABBA songs in your honour at Albie's karaoke fundraising do."
"—and fending off some hapless F1 who had been fawning over her,” Charlotte says dryly, squinting at her work before looking up to share a mutual look of disgust with Elinor.
Bernie's eyebrow arches. She hadn't heard the extent of Leah Faulkner beyond an awkward encounter at Albie's, but she's rather keen on the bit about ABBA renditions in her name.
“Elinor Elizabeth Campbell, you say another word—” Serena lightly threatens, embarrassed to hear about her own antics. Though it does nothing to stop Elinor's mock tribunal.
"—how about that night you took your top off at a gay bar with Fleur Fanshaw, mum?"
Bernie lets out a braying honk in surprise.
Serena places a hand on her forehead, clapping her eyes shut at the intense memory that recalls. Uninhibited, madcap debauchery with Fleur Fanshaw sounds like too many shots of tequila.
Elinor is relentless.
“Don’t you see, Bernie?” she concludes, sotto voce. “Mum’s gone off the rails without you.”
Bernie takes it in stride, she knows Ellie means well, but she can gleam from Serena's deflection that she's eager to change the topic. Bernie wonders if the distance has been harder on Serena than she lets on, she recognizes intimately that Serena has a habit of minimizing her needs to placate her partners, and Bernie is just as guilty of being caught up with work and falling short of being attentive of her partner's needs. Though part of her feels strangely left out, it's the trust in each other that they don't always need a detailed account of their lives that has made working and living long distances possible.
She had grown to accept the stifled conversations at the end of her marriage with Marcus, and the terse phone calls during her deployment, but it was different with Serena. She wanted to hear Serena's voice every day, even when it's just about the mundane, the voicemails when she's stuck in surgery and the time difference makes it impossible to schedule a call. Serena makes it easy to talk, makes her mouth full with words she didn't know she was capable of saying all at once.
“Sounds like she’s having much more fun without me,” Bernie says, to take the heat off Serena.
But her eyes flutter downwards for a split second of vulnerability, and it’s all Bernie needs to confirm that they have to talk properly, uninterrupted by wandering hands and occupied tongues. Time enough for catching up over coffee, a walk around the groove, and curled up in bed with unfiltered thoughts streaming in before sleep inevitably caught them. There's always time for Serena, that much she knows.
"On the lash with Fleur Fanshaw sounds like textbook fun on paper, until you have to work the next day." Serena laughs heartily, and Bernie's grateful Serena's got a genuine friend like Fleur.
“Speak of the devil,” Bernie announces, catching a flurry of red hair and navy blue scrubs by her peripheral.
"The Haynes failed to mention four wise women in their birth plan,” Fleur alludes, joining their little huddle of expectant aunties-to-be. “What’s in that bag of yours I wonder? Gold, frankincense, and myrrh?"
Bernie snorts a laugh. "Are you angling for a cut, Fleur?”
"Oh, you think so little of me, Ms. Wolfe. I believe I’m the chief angel Gabriel in this scenario, bearing good news.” Fleur flaps her hands like wings and pauses for dramatic effect. “How would you like to meet your grandniece, Serena?"
Grandniece.
Ellie springs up and Charlotte puts down the knitting needles to clap and erupt into loud squeals of joy. Fleur bumps Bernie’s hip with her own, though their height difference makes it all the more comical, chucking her chin at the shorter woman before she swans off to check in on Greta and the baby in postpartum.
Dazed and overwhelmed by the news, Elinor is the first to earn a reaction from Serena bending over for a tight, life-affirming hug. Serena returns her daughter’s embrace, swallowing past the welling lump in her throat as Serena holds Ellie a little closer, a little dearer to her.
Bernie watches the genuine display of affection between mother and daughter, knowing they have been making inroads to repair a rocky relationship. A surge of fierce tenderness for Charlotte overwhelms her too. Daughters, eh.
Charlotte casts off the baby bonnet, while the excitement and energy in the room return to normal, presenting it at last to Serena for approval. “I think it’s done.”
"Wonderful work, dear,” Serena praises, squeezing Charlotte’s hands in thanks. "You two go on ahead, Bernie and I will be right behind you."
Ellie rounds up Charlotte's gift bag and the rest of their things, hurries Charlotte off her feet towards Jason and his new family. "Come on then, Char."
"What do you think they've named her?"
"What's cousin Jason into these days?"
"He's been avidly texting me about animal conservation. I think they’ve marathoned every David Anteborough doc they could get their hands on since Greta's been put on bed rest."
"Hmm. Maybe Jane? No, too plain."
Charlotte loops her arm around Ellie's elbow as they turn a corner, the very last of their conversation tapering off from earshot. "...an Arthurian legend would be my guess. Isolde? Morgana?"
Bernie turns from watching their daughters retreating form, struck by Serena's quiet, contemplative demeanour, and gathers Serena up from her seat.
"Are you alright, love?" Serena nods her head, Bernie wipes an errant tear at the corner of Serena’s eyes. "You sure?" Bernie whispers, full of tender concern as she rubs comforting circles on Serena's hip.
Serena sniffs and tucks herself further into Bernie's arm. "I am. It's wonderful news, isn't it? New life. New beginnings." Her voice, always expressive, held a hint of wistful melancholy. "I just can't help but wish that Marjorie had lived long enough to meet her granddaughter."
"Serena…" Bernie starts, gathering her voice to speak, "Your sister would be lucky to know that her son has found himself a lovely wife to share a life with and that you've taken on the mantle in her place." Bernie imbues Serena with soothing patience and all the love in the world she can muster. "You'll be amazing, and I'll be right there with you," she promises, planting a gentle kiss on Serena’s forehead.
Serena takes those words to heart, her shoulders loosen, and she takes a steadying breath. She gazes at Bernie, thankful, with much more certainty and aplomb. "You will, won't you?" Serena reaffirms, tugging and patting down Bernie’s coat collar.
"Nowhere else I'd rather be," Bernie vows, without a doubt in her mind.
For a moment, she reflects on her short-lived affair with Alex. How it would have never taken foot outside the harsh climate of the middle east, nor find itself in the maternity ward welcoming a new member of their family. What she has with Serena isn't an oasis or a mirage in the desert. What they have is real, a solid foundation — brick and mortar, weathering thousands of years of heavy rainfall, enriching her life, and fortifying it from the inside.
"Granny." Serena pokes Bernie in the chest startling Bernie out of her musing, the sparkle returning to her eyes as she watches the realization dawn on Bernie.
"Bloody hell, you're right, we are too young."
"Odd, isn't it? Good, but odd."
“Shall we?”
Bernie knows that Serena might walk through those doors and change her mind about the move, and she's prepared herself for the possibility that their life’s work may be put on hold.
It doesn't send her running in the opposite direction.
There is still life to be lived here. She can wield a scalpel anywhere in the world, but she would much rather do it with Serena across the theatre table.
Jason introduces his daughter: Guinevere Noelle Haynes, born in the late afternoon on the 25th of December, coming in at seven pounds and four ounces. Ten fingers and ten toes. Practically perfect in every way.
"She's adorable, Jason," Ellie whispers softly. Charlotte, flanking Jason on the other side is bobbing her head and making cooing noises, in awe of the little wonder before them.
"Us blokes have to stick together — we're being outnumbered," Cameron jokes, breaking the tranquillity in the room.
Jason casts a blank stare, Charlotte and Elinor's heads shoot up to exchange practiced eye rolls, used to Cam making unnecessary glib and insensitive remarks.
Jason, for all his wisdom, does not get the joke, cradling Guinevere in his arms to comment factually that, "Many animals adopt a matriarchal approach to pack survival, Cameron, such as elephants and lions."
"Too right, Jason,” Charlotte interjects, siding with Jason to jeer at her big brother. “Seriously, Cam — you're lucky we haven't banished you, like a pack of bonobo apes."
Ellie stifles a giggle behind her hand, vaguely following the interplay between Jason and the Dunn siblings.
"And contrary to the popular expression, wolves by their very nature are not solitary creatures," Greta says flatly, laid up in bed, with enough energy to take Cam to task with her own trivial fact about the animal kingdom. "A lone wolf spends its entire life seeking to be accepted into a pack."
"Cam." Bernie shakes her head, stopping a potential pile-up that was bound to happen with Cam the odd one out, overshadowing Jason and Greta’s special moment with their newborn baby.
Cam bows his head sheepishly, stuffing his hands in his pockets and hanging back.
"Wolfes," Serena invokes Bernie’s surname as though they’re here to gather in ceremony — to pledge an oath to protect the smallest member of their clan, one that bespoke of ancient kinship. The Wolfes. The McKinnies. The Haynes. United.
Guinevere lets out a tetchy cry, and Bernie nearly laughs at the coincidence.
"Auntie Serena? Would you like to meet my daughter?"
Bernie stands behind Serena, her hand resting on Serena’s shoulder, and giving it a gentle squeeze. Charlotte takes that as her cue, offering Serena her edge of the bed to sit beside Jason.
"Yes," Serena says, thick with emotion, approaching the pair. “May I?” She asks, unveiling the soft material in her hand, a bright red cap with white trim, that she and Charlotte knitted just this morning.
A hush falls over the room; Greta and Jason nod their approval, and a warm, pleasant, fuzzy glow creeps into everyone’s cheeks.
Serena reaches out to stroke a finger through Guinevere's downy chestnut hair, delicately securing the hat over her head, and the white pompom wobbles atop the crown of her head to everyone’s delight.
There are a thousand small, quiet joys that Bernie had been able to witness with her own grown children, and there will be many more to see and experience with Guinevere.
And she gets to see them with Serena by her side. A treat and a privilege, she thinks, as she intertwines her fingers with Serena’s free hand, and allows herself a bit of indulgence to daydream of a long future stretching over the horizon.
It seems without really knowing it the course of her life has changed once more, and wherever Serena chooses to stay is North pointing home.