Work Text:
Early 1958.
“Doctor Turner!” Sister Bernadette exclaimed from the bike port as she spotted his automobile pull up in front of Nonnatus House.
She nearly ran to the car, leaving her bike still in the rack. Simultaneously he scrambled out of the car as quickly as he could the second he heard her call his name, nearly forgetting to slam down the parking brake.
“I have never been more excited to see you,” she smiled as soon as his feet hit the ground. He valiantly attempted to push down the joy he felt as he heard these words. Patrick did not want to admit how much he liked that smile. It was wider than usual, perhaps because it was only him. Or, the selfish part of him, thought perhaps it was because it was for him, perhaps it was because of him.
“Is there an emergency?” He asked after a second of taking in the sight, the logical part of his brain overtaking. He started to head to the boot of his automobile, ready to fetch his bag, but stopped as she shook her head with a fond smile. A smile he wished to believe was fond.
“No, no, no. Everything is fine. There is simply a debate you must settle,” she said, heading towards the front staircase of Nonnatus House.
“A debate?” He asked, quickly following her, taking the stairs two at a time to make up the distance.
“Which do you prefer, raspberry or almond sponge cake?”
“Cake is the debate?” He laughed lightly. He anticipated something with higher stakes.
“Yes,” she answered seriously. “Raspberry or almond?”
“Which side are you on?”
“Almond,” she answered as if it was as obvious as the color of the sky.
“Truly?” He couldn’t control his surprise.
“Do not tell me you prefer raspberry,” she said, turning around as she reached the top of the stairs.
“I am afraid I must confess I do,” he smiled sheepishly. “You prefer almond?”
He stopped on the stair he currently stood, a few below her. This meant they ended up at each other’s eye level for the first time. He had never noticed what a bright shade of blue her eyes were. This was not a fact he should have been noticing about a vowed Sister, he knew that.
“It is leaps and bounds better,” she said, breaking their eye contact as she turned back to the front door, heaving it open. “And when you add a slice of fresh apricot. It can not be beat.”
“You must have not had a slice of quality raspberry sponge cake then,” he said, following her as she led him inside.
“The quality makes no difference.”
“Would you still like me to settle the debate?” He asked as they drew closer to the kitchen where muffled but heated conversation could be heard. “Even though I disagree with you?”
“He knows I brought you this far,” she smiled, looking back over her shoulder at him.
The muffled conversation became clearer the further they walked, Sister Evangelina and Sister Monica Joan were the two loudest voices.
“It has crunch, and sweetness,” Sister Evangelina argued.
“Berries provide sustenance,” Sister Monica Joan said louder.
Sister Julienne — who Dr. Turner was initially there to see — was also at the table, but seemed disengaged from the bickering, instead attempting to focus on a small needlework project.
“That was the quickest labor in history,” Sister Evangelina quipped, spotting Sister Bernadette.
“I was just leaving when I found someone to settle our debate,” she said, motioning to Dr. Turner. When she realized she just admitted to neglecting her patient she quickly added, “Mrs. Harris was in the early first stage when her husband called, I can spare two more minutes.”
“Dr. Turner, which is the superior sponge cake: raspberry or almond?” Sister Monica Joan asked, ignoring any other conversation at hand.
“In my personal opinion, it would be almond,” Dr. Turner lied, sneaking a glance at Sister Bernadette and her smile that seemed to light up her face. It was smaller than before, less gleeful.
She caught his gaze out of the corner of her eye and quickly looked away.
“He’s finally good for something,” Sister Evangelina said, sitting back in her chair.
“I apologize, Dr. Turner. I can not explain why we are spending time disagreeing on our preferred flavor of cake,” Sister Julienne said.
“She is feigning not to know, when it is her insistence that causes discord amongst her Sisters,” Sister Monica Joan said. “Do not be tempted to condemn her memory in a court of law, Doctor Turner.”
“Will you ever forgive me for that, Sister Monica Joan?”
“I am not the one who’s forgiveness you ought to worry about.”
“Would you like a slice of almond sponge, Dr. Turner?” Sister Bernadette asked, trying to distract from her Sister, she motioned to the cake tin on the counter.
“I will fetch him a slice,” Sister Evangelina said before Dr. Turner could respond. “See to your patient.”
“Thank you, Sister,” Sister Bernadette said, turning to leave the room. As she passed by Dr. Turner, she dropped her voice to a whisper, “And thank you , Dr. Turner.”
The antenatal clinic had been chaotic. They were understaffed, as they so often were, Sister Bernadette had seen enough patients for three nurses, staying an hour after the slated end of clinic to ensure everyone was able to be seen.
Exhausted, she made her way into the Parish Hall kitchenette to fetch her coat and bag before heading on to her evening district calls. The visits to new mothers and babies would then be followed by a night spent as second on call.
She found a white paper box and fork sitting on top of her medical bag, ‘Sister Bernadette’ was written on the lid. She opened the box to find a slice of raspberry sponge cake and a slice of almond sponge cake.
“I thought you ought to have a quality piece before you declared victory,” Dr. Turner said from the doorway.
“I can not accept this,” she started to protest. He waved away her objection as he walked into the room.
“Please. You’ve earned it,” he said, leaning his back against the counter top. “Thank you for staying late tonight.”
“There was work that needed to be done.”
“And yet you are always the one who does it. Accept the token of gratitude, Sister.”
“I will have a bite, only to prove my point,” she said, picking the fork up and taking a bite of the slice of raspberry sponge. To prove her point, and because she had not eaten since breakfast.
“Well?” He asked after a few seconds.
“That is marvelous,” she admitted quietly.
“Better than almond?”
“Did you make this?” She asked, ignoring his question as she took another bite of the raspberry sponge. She would not give him the satisfaction of being right that easily.
“Oh no, I’m a dreadful cook, just ask Timothy. I picked it up from a bakery in Mayfair.”
“You went all the way to Mayfair just for this?” She asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. Was it a look of surprise? Honored? Why did he care?
“I went all the way to Mayfair to prove a point,” he grinned. He was going to say more, there was so much he wanted to say, but the phone on the wall rang. It was Nurse Lee, calling him out to a breech birth in Lisbon Buildings.
“I have to go,” he said apologetically. Why was he apologetic? He was a doctor, he was being called to a medical case. She was his coworker. She nodded understandingly, beginning to pack her own bag, sneaking one more bite of the cake before she tucked it away.
He reluctantly pulled his coat off the rack and his bag off the counter and took his leave.
“Just as good as almond,” Sister Bernadette admitted quietly as he passed by the kitchenette window.
“I’ll take it!” He laughed, desperately trying to convince himself he would have driven nine miles to prove a point to any of his coworkers. He was doing quite a poor job.