Chapter Text
Bernie lounges on the bed within the hotel room where she and her wife are staying. The bed is a soft memory foam that she seems to melt into. Her bones and muscles ache after being in a driving position for over twelve hours, stopping twice along the way for photographs that Serena seemed excited to take.
She should change her clothes.
“Darling,” Bernie calls out towards the bath, “everything okay?”
Serena leaves the bath as if on cue, clad in her shortened cotton nightgown. “I didn’t know you packed this one.”
“There were a few things I purchased new because I didn’t want you to realize they were missing from your drawer, and you needed new ones anyway.” Bernie reveals with a slight smile in the corner of her mouth. “I’m afraid I won’t be up for much tonight. I’m a tad knackered.”
“I’d imagine so.” Serena picks up the hotel menu as she lounges against the headboard of the bed, next to her wife, “are you hungry?” She bends a knee up, getting comfortable.
Bernie absently allows her eyes to linger over her wife’s body, reaching an arm around her wife’s waist, resting her head against Serena’s side. “Possibly, what do they have?”
“Asian infusion. I’ll order us a few things that I know you like and we can nibble.” Serena nods, holding the menu with one hand and reaching a hand to Bernie’s head with the other, gently stroking her blonde hair. “Fish dishes and vegetables, it seems. Few other bits.” Reaching over to the corded phone on the nightstand, thankful there’s someone who speaks English, as to not bother her wife to translate, she makes short work of placing their order.
“The photos you took with your mobile were beautiful earlier.” Bernie’s voice is slightly lower with exhaustion, speaking when her wife places the phone receiver back onto the base, “do you think a camera might be better?” She pauses, “is photography something you enjoy?”
“I don’t know, possibly.” Serena shakes her head a little, “Elinor was into photography.” She begins, “I know it mostly had to do with her chosen major because we went together to purchase her expensive camera for class.” Serena pauses, “maybe I should look for it when we get home.”
“I think that could be a great hobby to get into if you enjoy it.” Bernie continues, “and we can purchase a camera for you if you’d like.”
“We have this beautiful room, hopefully delicious food, and...now you want to buy me additional gifts?” Serena raises an eyebrow, “what’s the occasion?”
“You’re the occasion.” Bernie continues, nearly asleep, but staying awake just enough to answer her questions, “I’ve been on the defense since your injury and that isn’t fair to you. I should have played offense instead.” She swallows, “like when we stayed in Spain, away from everything. Unfamiliar place, unfamiliar faces. Sets what we’re used to off center.”
“Memory loss isn’t...” Serena shrugs, “I don’t know. It’s bizarre because you don’t know it’s an issue until it happens and others around point it out to you.” She licks her lips, “and you never know how much you’ve actually forgotten. There’s no...book or...anything. It’s only the reliance on others who know.” Serena pauses, “so I think you did the exact right thing, actually.”
Glancing down, Serena notices her wife’s eyes are closed, “Bernie?”
Bernie hums, acknowledging that she’s heard her wife.
“How about I get you undressed and help you into your sleepwear?” Serena still strokes her hair, noticing her subtle half-smile.
“Fine, but no funny business, Campbell.” Bernie responds in jest, rolling away from her wife. “I can keep this shirt on, just unhook my bra, please.” She unbuttons and unzippers her jeans to push off once she lies back down.
Serena carefully glides her hands up the back of Bernie’s cotton shirt, able to feel the familiar scars of torture. Lashings and burns. She once stared at them for a bit too long when they were in Spain and she was changing Bernie’s dressings. Earning her a warning from the woman that it made her feel uncomfortable. More uncomfortable than the wounds themselves? Serena presses a soft kiss to Bernie’s shoulder out of habit as she unclasps the brassiere. “I love you,” she mutters into her wife’s ear, again out of habit.
“I love you too.” A closed-mouth smile forms on Bernie’s face, meaning every word.
Maude Jeremy has been a psychiatric nurse for over thirty years. She’s seen the spectrum of mental illness with patients. She knows when a psychiatrist assigned to her unit is capable and willing to see the worst of the worst. She hasn’t seen this much attention placed on any of the psychiatric wards at Holby City before, not until one Charlotte Wolfe had taken over.
“Morning, Maude.” Charlie offers her a smile as she comes to stand at the nursing station. “Any updates?” She takes a file handed to her by the older woman. “Anyone new?” Charlie starts to look through the file, she furrows her brow, “this one just has a...depression diagnosis, why is he secluded?”
“Page three.” Maude offers with her Derry brogue, “attacked a nurse when he was here last, about a decade ago, during a brief moment of psychosis. However, it doesn’t seem to have been his main M-O, if you know what I mean.”
Charlie nods, “is he showing signs of it now?”
“He was only brought up about twenty minutes ago.” Maude shakes her head, “no one has been in to see him just yet.”
“Okay, I’ll handle him. Are you comfortable taking his stats and doing a once over with him before I head in?” Charlotte raises an eyebrow, “I’ll do rounds on the few from yesterday. Three can probably be discharged. Then I have to go to the youth section to do a once over.”
“Not a problem.” Maude offers a smile to the young woman, “did Mr. Hanssen mention when the new faces would be starting?”
“Students start Monday, as do the registrars. Each area will be able to have their own registrars for a change, and the students will go between.” Charlotte explains, “though I really should think of some...teaching opportunities. More than just in-the-field training moments.” She pauses, shaking her head at herself as she closes the folder in her hands “or something...inspiring to tell them, to stick with them.”
“Well, Ms. Wolfe, you’re very good at what you do. Sometimes all it takes is to watch someone in their element for people to understand your importance.” Maude explains.
“I don’t need them to know I’m important. My office says I’m important.” Charlotte explains, “I just want them to do their jobs and do them well. So many are afraid of the mentally ill and that’s fair to no one, especially our patients.” She exhales slowly, glancing around the room, “it’s nothing more than a chemical imbalance or a response to trauma. Nothing ever to fear.”
“I think you’ve just written your speech.” Maude stands, taking the file from the young woman as she steps around her, giving her upper arm a squeeze. She heads to the isolated room, offering a smile to the man within as she crosses the threshold. “Good morning,” Maude closes the folder, placing it in the bin at the end of the bed, “Could I get you to verify your name for me?”
The man gives a nod, “James...James Fielding.”