Work Text:
Serena gets to Pulses on December 24th just as the barista turns the sign to “open” at 7.30 am.
“Good morning, Ms. Campbell,” smiles the young man. “You’re exceptionally early today. Feeling festive?”
“Good morning, Lucas. No, it’s nothing to do with Christmas, my nephew has a 7.45 start this morning. Usual, please.” She passes the young man a twenty-pound note. “Keep the change. Have a Christmas drink on me. You deserve it, keeping me caffeinated all year.”
As Serena heads down the corridor to AAU with her coffee she reflects that giving Lucas such a hefty tip is the most spontaneous action she has engaged in for months.
Bernie is woken up in the on-call room by her son shaking her lightly.
“Mum, wake up. It’s nearly eight.”
“Cam, what are you doing here?” she croaks.
“I’m on my way home. Mr Levy rang through to AAU and asked me to bring these over.” He indicates a takeaway cup and a brown paper bag on the bedside table. Bernie gets a whiff of something warm and savoury.
“Tell me that’s a sausage bap,” she says, sitting up.
“Yep,” says Cameron. “Mr. Levy said you were helping in the ED all last night after the RTA on the flyover, so you didn’t go home. He said to tell you to make sure to eat it all and to take your time to shower and, I quote, “put on new scrubs so she feels all nice and fresh” before you go back up. He says you deserve it.”
“Nothing I didn’t do in the field. Still, he’s a good leader, thinks of his men,” Bernie says, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
“I’ll leave you to it,” says Cameron. “Bye Mum, see you in the pub for a Christmas drink later.”
Bernie feels a little glow inside as she puts her shoes on. She pauses for a moment. It’s been such a long time since she last felt anything good. She huffs at herself as she heads for the locker room.
“Fleur, you’re early, it’s only just after twelve,” says Serena.
“We had a quietish moment so I sneaked off to lunch when I could,” Fleur tells her. “Can you get away now?”
“I can’t leave the ward until Raf gets in at half past,” says Serena. “We could always do coffee and a toastie in the staff room. There should be some mince pies left, if that bunch of gannets that work here haven’t eaten them all.”
Donna and Jasmine are in the staff room when Fleur and Serena get there. They are having an excited discussion over something on Jasmine’s phone.
“Hello Ms. Fanshawe,” chirps Jasmine. “We’re just talking about what we’d like in our Christmas stockings.”
“If you get the drift,” Donna adds with a mischievous smirk.
Fleur’s face lights up.
“Well -” she begins.
“These young ladies do not want to hear it!” Serena says firmly.
“You don’t know what I was going to say!” objects Fleur.
“I absolutely do, and I won’t have my staff corrupted,” Serena retorts.
“Spoilsport,” says Fleur. “So, what would you like Father Christmas to leave at the end of your beds, girls?”
“Bruno Mars,” says Jasmine.
“Anyone as long as he’s got good arms and pecs,” says Donna.
“How about you, Ms. Campbell?” Fleur turns to Serena, her face the picture of faux innocence. “What would you like to find under the tree tomorrow morning? Colin Firth? Hugh Jackman?”
“I’m not having this conversation at work,” says Serena, primly.
“Oh come on, there must be something that tickles your festive fancy. Personally, I wouldn’t mind the offer of a drink from that scrumptious new locum up on Keller. Now that’s an idea, what about a nice fireman or a hunky soldier? You know you like uniforms.”
“Fleur!” snaps Serena. Donna and Jasmine exchange a look and make a hasty exit. Fleur holds her hands up in apology.
“Went too far, didn’t I. Sorry,” she says.
“Just not in front of my staff, please!” Serena says.
“Seriously though, you do know who our new VIP locum is?” says Fleur.
“Of course I do, I vetted her CV,” says Serena. “Do you want a mince pie or not?”
“Last Christmas I gave you my heart, but the very next day you gave it away -” Dominic approaches the workstation wearing a thick piece of bright green tinsel round his shoulders like a stole. “I’m back Ms. Wolfe, you can go to lunch now.”
“I will in a sec. I’ve just got to finish this.” Bernie continues typing.
“Santa baby, put a sable under the tree, for me, I’ve been an awful good girl -” Dom twirls the tinsel as he sings.
“Dr. Copeland, this is a hospital ward and your place of work.” Bernie keeps her eyes on the screen in front of her as she taps the keyboard.
“You don’t think a teensy-weensy bit of festive humour might help the poor souls who have to be in here at Christmas feel just a little bit better?” Dominic asks.
Bernie swings round, hardly believing the junior doctor has talked back to her at all, let alone said anything other than “yes, ma’am”. Dom takes a step back, his eyes wide, and she realises how confrontational she must appear. She regards him for a moment. He looks surprised and wary, and he’s so bloody young.
“Yes, yes of course, you’re right,” she draws a hand over her face. She sees Sacha spot them and begin to cross the ward. Damn.
“I was just wondering, Ms Wolfe, if you would like to join me for a Christmas drink after our shifts? And you of course, Dominic?”
Dom still looks slightly guarded, but he nods.
“Er – thank you, Mr. Levy, that would be – um - very nice,” Bernie answers, awkwardly.
“Good,” Sacha rubs his hands. “I think you’re due a break, Ms. Wolfe. Go and have a breath of air and a bite of lunch.”
Bernie walks off the ward wondering when and how she will ever feel part of this civilian medical world.
Serena can’t settle to her paperwork. It’s half past three. Outside in the car park the lights are beginning to come on. The choir has visited AAU dispensing carols and cheer. The last visitors are saying their goodbyes. Serena can see Fletch at the nurses’ station handing over to Lou. He is leaving early today to be with his children. Everything is winding down for Christmas Eve.
Serena knows Fleur was just teasing her at lunchtime, but it unexpectedly hit home and now she can’t get that infernal question out of her head. What does she want? Is she happy being single or does she want another boyfriend? With work and Jason and Elinor does she actually have time for one? She ponders. She is thankful to have Jason in her life, but she misses Robbie. Or does she? She mentally prods at the cold, inert stumps of her own emotional and sexual needs. She isn’t sure if they even still exist. She remembers Fleur’s ridiculous remark – uniforms and scrumptious soldiers wasn’t it? She snorts and returns to the files.
Bernie scrutinises her tired face in the mirror as she washes her hands.
Dr. Copeland, I apologise for earlier. My reaction was disproportionate.
Nope.
Dr. Copeland – Dominic – I’m sorry about earlier. Christmas this year is a little – difficult.
Still no.
Look Dominic, I’m estranged from my daughter and it bloody hurts. I’ve lost the career that defined who I am, and now I don’t know how to be anything. I’m on my own living in a crappy flat, which is entirely my own fault because I left the family home. I’ve no money, I’m working all the hours God gave and I’m still coping with the aftermath of serious injury, so I’m permanently knackered. Oh yes, and I’m also trying to come to terms with no longer being able to hide from myself that I’m not straight, so all in all I really wasn’t in the best frame of mind to appreciate your Eartha Kitt impression.
An absolutely huge, big, fat no.
She tries to cheer herself up by thinking about the Christmas drink with Cameron in Albies later. It works to an extent, she is very pleased to spend even a small part of her first civilian Christmas with her son. It’s just that she misses Charlotte so much. Oddly, she misses Marcus too, though she doesn’t want him back. It could just be because she feels so very alone. And she misses Alex, and the RAMC, and the woman she used to be back when she was Major Wolfe and she knew who she was and where she fitted in. She misses them all so sharply a crushing pressure grips her chest and threatens to push up into her tear ducts. If she was singing “Santa Baby” she would ask for only two things: Charlotte’s understanding and someone to have her back while she works out everything else.
“Get a grip, Major!” she tells the face in the mirror, sternly.
She draws herself to attention and marches out of the toilet. The clock above the nurses’ station says twenty-two minutes past four. It’s already quite dark outside. It feels pretty dark inside, too.
“Ric, you are an angel!” Serena slides into the booth beside him, more than relieved to finally get to Albie’s. She scoops up the wine glass with both hands and takes a large, delicious mouthful.
“Not me,” says Ric. “Your nephew is getting in the festive swing.”
“Hello Auntie Serena,” Jason says, a rather out of character pair of antler-shaped party boppers on his curly head. “I’m going to help Donna and Jasmine to move the chairs for the dancing. We’re going to do the conga and the hokey cokey. Donna says you have to do them at a Christmas party. I explained to them I can’t help yet because I want to have a drink with you for Christmas Eve first. I bought you that, not Mr. Griffin.”
“Thank you, love!” Serena is touched. “Well, we’ll just have these together, then you go off and enjoy yourself. Are you alright, Morven? You look a little tense.”
The young doctor sits down beside Jason. She has a harassed expression.
“It’s Ms. Fanshawe,” she says.
“What’s she done?” demands Serena. Ric starts to giggle. Morven looks pained. Serena glares at him.
“She upset Cam. You see that lady he’s talking to at the bar?”
Serena peers across the tables. Her gaze comes to rest on a slender blonde woman standing with Cameron Dunn, a fairly promising F1 currently on her own ward, young Dom Copeland and Sacha Levy. She has her back to Serena, but even from this distance Serena can see she is eye-catching, tall and dressed in extremely flattering skinny jeans paired with a neat, white shirt.
“Yes,” Serena says.
“Well, that’s the new locum up on Keller.”
“Oh. Oh, so that’s -” Serena turns to Ric, whose merriment instantly sours.
“That’s her,” he says. “Pain in the -”
“Go on, Morven,” Serena interrupts him.
“Well, Ms. Fanshawe was expressing her – um – appreciation. She was a bit – she wasn’t – um – she wasn’t very subtle about it, and Cam got offended and left the table.”
“Why?” asks Serena, puzzled.
“She’s his mum.”
Serena’s brain whirrs.
“Wait a minute. You’re telling me our Dr. Dunn, F1 of this parish, is Berenice Wolfe’s son?”
“Poor sod,” says Ric.
Serena ignores him. Morven nods.
“God, I’d love to talk to her about her work. It’s cutting-edge stuff, I mean really, really innovative. Do you think he’d introduce me? Could you ask him for me, Morven? I’ll murder Fleur if she’s upset him and he won’t!”
“You’re fangirling, Serena,” Ric says. Serena ignores him again.
“I don’t know,” says Morven. “Ms. Fanshawe’s gone to buy him a pint to apologise.”
Serena shakes her head and rolls her eyes. One thing she doesn’t want for Christmas is to be mopping up after Fleur.
“So is the engine growling or whining?” Bernie raises her voice above “Fairytale of New York” to try and clarify the details of Sasha’s car-related woes. “Any intermittent smell of burning rubber?”
Beside her Dominic, now decked in even more tinsel, throws his eyes heavenwards and turns to Zosia. “Kill me now,” he groans. “Oh, praise be to the gods of glitter! We’ll help, Jaz!” He rushes to help Donna, Jason and Jasmine clear the chairs. The music gets even louder. Bernie suddenly finds herself hand in hand with her son in the middle of the floor.
“Oh no! No, no, no, no!” she says. Dominic grabs her other hand.
“Left arm in, left arm out, in, out – come on, Ms Wolfe – do the hokey cokey and you turn around -”
As they rush into the middle on “o – o- - oh the hokey cokey” Bernie finds herself opposite a dark-haired woman of about her own age. She has sparkling dark eyes and a stunning smile. She is beautiful. This happens again on “right arm” and “left leg”. Bernie has never before appreciated just how much fun the hokey cokey can be. Unfortunately the circle has moved round by the time they get to “right leg” and she ends up nose to nose with Marco from Housekeeping. It’s just not the same. She tries to return to Sasha and her nearly empty glass after the dance, but the room erupts into a conga. Bernie ends up “da-da-da-da-da DAH DAH”-ing around the room between Cam and the pretty young doctor from Ric Griffin’s table that he seems so interested in. As she passes the bar for the third (fourth?) time two loud bangs come from behind her right shoulder. Bernie doesn’t even think. She grabs the nearest civilian and pushes them to the floor against the bar, shielding them with her body. She waits, hyper-alert, rigid with tension from her throat to her fingertips, her belly to her toes. The civilian emits a sound somewhere between a loud squeak and a curse.
“Mum?” she hears Cameron say.
“Auntie Serena?” an unfamiliar male voice adds.
“What on earth do you think you are doing?” comes an unmistakeably female, unmistakeably pissed off voice from somewhere in the vicinity of Bernie’s bra.
Oh shit!
Bernie has never experienced embarrassment quite like this in her entire adult life. She pulls back from the civilian to find herself face to face with the beautiful, brown-eyed woman from the hokey-cokey. They stare at each other. Someone drops to their haunches beside her.
“Ms. Wolfe,” Dom says softly. “It’s OK. It’s safe. We’re all safe. We’re in the pub.”
Bernie turns to him. His face is gentle and a little sad. There is no judgment there, just compassion.
“My grandad was in the army,” he continues. “Korea. He sometimes got a bit – startled by unexpected noises, too.”
“What was -?” Bernie cautiously raises her head and looks around.
“Two of those giant party popper things. They’re practically the size of champagne bottles,” Dom explains. “Nurse Jackson and Dr. Burrows got a bit rowdy. They’re like that on AAU.” He smiles.
“Oi, don’t you start besmirching my ward’s good name, Dr. Copeland,” says the brown-eyed woman.
Bernie looks back at her. She is smiling too, kindness in her lovely eyes. Bernie realises she must have heard the conversation between herself and Dominic. She feels hot with shame.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, helplessly.
“That’s quite alright. No harm done. No wine was spilt, that’s the main thing. I’d quite like to stand up, though,” the brown-eyed woman replies.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Bernie moves back. They both get up.
“Are you OK, Mum?” Cameron asks.
“Are you alright, Auntie Serena? I wasn't expecting that," a tall young man wearing glasses and with reindeer antlers on his head says to the other woman.
Bernie assures Cameron she is fine, then turns to Dominic and squeezes his hand.
“Thank you,” she mouths at him.
The brown-eyed woman speaks reassuringly to the bespectacled young man, then holds her hand out to Bernie. Still off-kilter, Bernie takes it. The woman’s handshake is warm and firm.
“You must be Berenice Wolfe,” smiles the woman. “Serena Campbell, Deputy CEO and clinical lead on AAU. Now, may I suggest we recharge our glasses and find a spot that isn’t quite so filling-looseningly loud. I’d really love to have a chat about your paper on chest wall repair from September’s BMJ.”
Bernie’s embarrassment lessens.
“My pleasure,” she says. “I’ll buy, it’s the least I can do after that.”
“I never turn down a free Shiraz,” beams Serena. Bernie can’t help smiling back. They both turn to hail the barmaid.
Neither woman sees Fleur grin knowingly across the room at them.
“Happy Christmas, Serena,” she says to no one in particular, raising her glass in a toast.