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Chapter Text

The first thing Serena notices is the heat. There is no way to escape it. It hits her like a wall. It makes her sweat instantly and she is thankful for Bernie’s advice to change on the plane. She’s wearing a linen dress and a hat, and hopes she doesn’t look too much like a colonial nightmare.

Because of stringent security measures, something about rebels in the north, Bernie is waiting for her outside instead of at arrivals. Serena looks around, overwhelmed by the noise of families reuniting and taxis clamouring for her fare. She squints in the sunshine, having forgotten to pack her sunglasses in her carry on.

She’s tired, her skin feels tight and greasy after the long flight, and there’s the swooping unwelcome sensation of being in a new place without familiar markers. She swallows past her discomfort, looks around again, and suddenly Bernie is there, waving enthusiastically.

Serena’s chest loosens at once. A smile breaks on her face. Bernie slithers her way to her and soon they are embracing tightly. Bernie is barely breaking a sweat, looks almost comfortable in a long sleeved shirt and flowing trousers. She smells of sun tan lotion and mosquito repellent. Serena closes her eyes and breathes her in, her heart fluttering.

They don’t kiss. Nairobi might be the least conservative place in Kenya, but it still isn’t a welcome place for two women in love.

And very much in love they are. Bernie kisses her temple and grabs her bag after a breathless and awed “you’re here”, and she leads her to a badly parked beat up car.

“It doesn’t look like much, but it does the job,” Bernie says as she opens the passenger door for Serena.

It doesn’t really matter, first of all because the car has air conditioning, and mainly because Serena gets to watch Bernie drive. She gets to watch the profile of the woman she adores, her strong hands as she negotiates tricky intersections, her constant smile as she steals glances at her.

Despite the 8-hour flight, the slight headache pinching her temples and the heat, dear god the heat, Serena feels content and whole.

Nairobi is chaos, but a controlled one. It looks nothing like Holby, or any another city Serena’s visited, but she can’t help but love the colours and the smells.

Bernie points out places as they drive past. A park she likes. A restaurant she wants to take Serena to. A shop that sells all the linen Serena could possibly want.

At traffic lights, Bernie lets her hand stroke Serena’s thigh, a blinding smile on her face.

“You look beautiful,” she says with dark eyes.

“I’ve been on a plane overnight, Bernie, I must look a fright,” Serena replies, but fondly.

“No, still beautiful,” Bernie says with an ease and airiness that Serena finds very attractive.

Bernie is in her element here, Serena realises. She’s happy. She loves the city and its people, loves her work. She shows her the hospital, a sprawling campus of many buildings aptly named Kenyatta, and no less than 10 minutes later, she parks underneath a low rise.

The car park is eerily silent after the noises of the city, and Serena takes a second to breathe in and out, her hat on her lap. Bernie turns to her, takes her hand, smiles.

“You’re here,” she says again, with the same awe and wonder.

And Serena has to smile at that. She is here. Finally. She leans forward and slips a hand in Bernie’s hair and kisses her softly. They haven’t seen each other in a month, and Serena has missed this. Not only the kissing, although that is lovely, but just being with Bernie, having a life with her.

France has spoiled them. Months of being together without a care in the world. Months where they focused on each other and on Serena getting better. Serena still dreams of the sun drenched vineyard, of the taste of ripe tomatoes, of Bernie’s laugh as they walked into the village. It was a charmed time. A bubble. A memory Serena keeps close to her heart.

Nairobi is a chance to make more memories. To start over. It’s terrifying but exciting.

Bernie insists on taking her bag. She introduces her to the security guard, a lively young man called Daniel who, to Serena’s disquiet, casually carries a gun the size of his forearm.

“They all have them. The security guards. You’ll see them at the hospital too,” Bernie explains in the lift.

It’s a nice building. A new build with gardens and a small pool at the back. The residents are a mix of middle class locals and foreign aid workers, and the building is well kept.

The apartment Bernie has rented is full of light and airy. It has a balcony that overlooks the arboretum, two bedrooms, and a living room. It’s blessedly cool even in the midday sun, and even though its walls are bare, there are photos on the nightstands. Serena smiles at the picture of the two of them, taken in France on the vineyard by the owner’s daughter, where they are laughing, arms around waists, carefree and happy.

“Do you like it?”

Serena turns around, and she smiles at Bernie’s uncertainty, her eagerness to please.

“It’s lovely. You chose well,” she reassures.

Bernie relaxes, and shows her the planters on the balcony with great pride. There’s a table and a couple of chairs, but it’s too hot to stay out for too long. The flowers are tropical, not ones that Serena knows. Even the birds are different. The smell in the air as well, something sweet and heady that Serena has never experienced.

Suddenly she feels very homesick. She swallows a hard knot of unease, her dress already sticking to her back even though they’ve only been outside for 2 minutes. Bernie is talking about how the building works, but all she can do is chose a point in the distance and focus on it.

“Serena? Serena? Are you okay?”

The worry in Bernie’s voice snaps her out of her little trance.

“Yes, yes, of course. Just a little tired,” she replies, not wanting to dampen the light in Bernie’s eyes.

“Why don’t you have a shower? And a nap? I thought we could stay in tonight, and then I’ll show you around tomorrow? Maybe meet up with Samuel and a few others if you feel up to it?”

And it is sweet, how kind and solicitous Bernie is. Love swells up in her chest, this lovely aching feeling she’s almost always felt when in Bernie’s presence. She feels less homesick, and even less so when she takes a step forward and sinks into Bernie’s arms.

“Sorry, I’m a little emotional. I am very happy to be here, it’s just…”

Bernie holds her tightly, in one of her patented Wolfe hugs.

“It’s all a little new and overwhelming?” Bernie guesses softly.

Serena nods and closes her eyes. She lets Bernie’s heartbeat soothe her.

“We will go slow,” Bernie promises.

We. Serena likes that, a lot.

She feels far more human after a long, cool shower and an hour nap in Bernie’s, well, their bed. She falls asleep to doves calling out to each other in the scorching afternoon sun.

When she comes to, Bernie offers her a cup of strong tea and a kiss, and she takes both with a smile. The sun is slowly coming down on the horizon, and it promises a spectacular sunset, right from the bedroom window.

Bernie scoots onto the bed and they sip their tea, backs against the headboard, legs intertwined. It’s just them, for the first time in a long time and Serena revels in their closeness and the privacy they suddenly have.

She glances at Bernie and a surge of desire washes over her. Bernie is dappled in gold from the setting sun and she looks so beautiful and at peace. She turns and smiles, her eyes dancing and Serena takes both their mugs and kisses her deeply. If Bernie is surprised, she doesn’t show it and slips her hands on Serena’s shoulders to hold her close.

They kiss and kiss, they have all the time in the world. Serena rolls on top of a laughing Bernie, but there is only delight and love in her eyes.

“I’ve missed you,” she says softly, her hair fanned out on the pillow like a halo.

Serena smiles. There are so many things she could say now. Words of love and devotion. Sometimes she thinks there no words to explain just how much Bernie means to her. She is the light that fills all her cracks. The love Serena feels for her is a pulsing sun in her ribcage that threatens to burst out. It’s overwhelming and wonderful.

Instead of saying all this, Serena kisses Bernie again and shows her. She sucks Bernie’s bottom lip into her mouth, her hands slide along Bernie’s arms until they reach Bernie’s hands and clasp them tightly. She brings them above Bernie’s head and lowers her torso until they are flush together. Serena is only wearing shorts and a soft T shirt, and she moans when Bernie slips a thigh between her legs.

Bernie is looking at her with very dark eyes, but seems happy to let Serena dictate the pace. There is so much Serena wants to do, with her, to her, and the possibilities make her dizzy for one glorious second. Because she’s still a little sleepy, and because she feels vulnerable from her earlier wobble, she starts with soft kisses. Brushes of lips, a nip of teeth, a slow swipe of her tongue, and Bernie is trembling. Serena slowly rocks against her thigh, her moans muffled in their kisses, and it is a testament of how much she has missed Bernie, how intoxicating she finds her, when she comes with a surprised cry, her entire body shaking.

Bernie envelops her in a tight embrace, one hand in her hair, the other on her lower back, and she smothers Serena’s face in kisses., whispering words of love.

The sun is going down when Serena gets her breath back. Bernie seems content to just hold her and stroke her back, but Serena has other ideas. Packing wasn’t the only thing on her mind this past month. She has a healthy imagination and a wonderful memory, both of which she puts to use as she slowly undresses Bernie.

The linen shirt ends up somewhere by the door and Serena gets distracted by the freckles dotting Bernie’s pale skin. She plays a long game of connect the dots that leaves Bernie writhing beneath her.

“Serena, please,” Bernie moans, her hands buried in Serena’s hair.

Serena smiles around a nipple, gives it a gentle bite that makes Bernie gasp and buck. She looks up to see Bernie painting, her eyes black and her skin flushed to an attractive shade of pink.

“All in good time, my love,” Serena replies, her voice low and deep.

Bernie closes her eyes, and Serena can feel her frantic heartbeat against her lips. It’s quite the power trip, to have Bernie Wolfe desperate in her bed, and Serena does enjoy the way Bernie’s hands clench and unclench in her hair. She scoots down the bed, however, always eager to give Bernie exactly what she wants and needs.

“How I have missed this,” she says against Bernie’s bare thigh.

The rest of Bernie’s clothes are in a heap at the foot of the bed, and she lays gloriously naked under Serena’s greedy eyes.

Serena drags her blunt nails up and down Bernie’s upper thighs, nestled comfortably between them, her eyes glued to Bernie’s face. She drinks in every twitch, every breathless gasp, every strangled whimper. Feels every one of them deep within her.

When Bernie throws her a beseeching look, she finally relents with a low chuckle. She kisses Bernie’s pale inner thighs, laves the skin with her tongue, and finally takes Bernie in her mouth. The cry she gets as a reward makes her lose her rhythm, but she’s quick to recover and the cry is joined by a string of moans.

The first time Serena did this, many months ago, she’d been struck by how easy and natural it had felt. After an initial moment of hesitation, more due to logistics than anything else, giving Bernie this much pleasure had been such a rush Serena had come without being touched for the first time in her life.

Now, she sets a pace of swirls that has Bernie melt into the sheets, her hands still clutching Serena’s hair. Serena keeps her eyes firmly locked onto Bernie’s, her arms around Bernie’s thighs to keep her firmly in place.

Bernie has never looked as beautiful as she does when she comes, her back arched, her head thrown back, her mouth open in a soundless scream. Her skin appears to glow in the orange light of the sunset, and Serena thinks she has never seen anything as breath-taking.

When she comes to, Bernie makes weak hand grabbing gestures, and Serena goes willingly, nesting into Bernie’s neck, plastered to her side.

The room is quiet but for the hum of the air conditioning. Serena traces fanciful patterns on Bernie’s hip, an easy smile on her lips.

“I can’t believe we get to do that every day now,” Bernie says as she turns to face Serena.

Serena chuckles at Bernie’s obvious excitement.

“Every day? My, my, Ms Wolfe, are you keeping me in your dungeon?”

Bernie laughs, and Serena marvels at how free it sounds, nothing like how it was during her visit to Holby in the early summer.

“I shall bribe you with imported Shiraz and mandazis,” Bernie promises.

She has shown Serena what the little doughnuts look like, and she hopes they don’t pale too much in comparison to her beloved Pulses pastries.

“No pain au chocolat in your lair?” Serena teases.

Bernie huffs with a smile.

“There’s a French doctor in Obstetrics, I’m sure she’ll know where to find some.”

Serena’s eyebrow almost touches her hairline at this piece of information. Bernie has never mentioned a foreign female doctor before.

“Hold your horses Campbell. She started last week. Is happily married to a local anaesthetist, and has a 10 year-old that adopted Jade.”

“The ward cat? That flea bag?” Serena asks incredulously.

Bernie flushes in offense, but then she smiles sheepishly.

“She doesn’t have fleas anymore. And Baptiste took one look at her, and she at him, and it was love at first sight. Celeste is furious,” Bernie laughs.

And suddenly all traces of homesickness are gone. At least for now. Serena can’t wait to meet these people. She wants to be a part of Bernie’s life, and share it all with her. That’s why she moved to Nairobi. She knows names, has seen a few faces on Skype and on Bernie’s phone, but she wants to do it all for real.

This is her life now. Bernie. Kenya. And all the people in it. With typical Serena aplomb, she can’t wait to get stuck in.

The next day, Serena’s first full day in Nairobi, Bernie takes her on a tour of the city.

Bernie’s Nairobi is a collection of cafes she enjoys, the local park she goes running in first thing in the morning, and the walk to the hospital. Kilimani, where the flat is, is surprisingly leafy and boasts two good parks. It is just to the west of the centre of the city, and Serena can see the skyscrapers in the distance. Bernie did choose well. The neighbourhood is calm and safe, and only a 20-minute walk separates them from the hospital.

Bernie freely admits she has done very little sightseeing, too consumed with the opening of the trauma centre, and confesses to knowing next to nothing about the city and what it has to offer. Apart from a few locals haunts Bernie has frequented with her colleagues, Nairobi’s nightlife remains a mystery to her. On this, they are equals and Serena likes that they are going to discover their new town together.

In the evening, Serena gets to meet Samuel, Bernie’s favourite registrar, and a small group of colleagues that work across various wards at the hospital.

Samuel is thrilled to meet her, and hogs Serena’s attention during the entire dinner.

“And then Dr Wolfe said we should amputate, and the guy had to admit he was faking!” Samuel is saying, glee in his eyes.

He’s been regaling Serena with all the stories Bernie has conveniently been keeping out of their bi weekly phone calls. Serena laughs, partly because Bernie is sulking at the end of the table.

The other colleagues at their table are mostly all men and Kenyan, with the notable exception of Esther, a paramedic Samuel is desperate to date, and Lauren, a young American doctor on her year abroad who wants to specialise in trauma surgery. She looks at Bernie as if she hung the moon and stars, but it seems professional, rather like Morven when the young woman had operated with Bernie for the first time.

Bernie introduced Serena as her partner, and no one batted an eyelid, so Serena figures this particular group of people is fine with the fact they are together.

As the night progresses, it is clear that Bernie is greatly admired and well liked. She is almost everyone’s boss, but is gently teased throughout dinner and the drinks that follow.

With a few beers in him, Samuel shares that Bernie is the best doctor he has ever worked with.

“It’s the way she performs surgery. She’s so confident and strong, and she thinks in a way no one else does. I want to be like her when I grow up.”

Samuel is 31. Serena smiles in her wine glass, absurdly proud of Bernie and her achievements.

“And she teaches. She’s not like other big shots. She takes the time to explain and then she lets you try for yourself,” Samuel continues, his shining eyes trained on Bernie, who is deep in conversation with Dr Mwangi, an emergency doctor.

“Why don’t you marry her, then?” An amused voice says behind them.

They both turn to see Esther. Samuel flushes but he recovers well.

“There is only one woman for me, Esther, and you know it’s you. Why don’t I buy you a drink?” He offers smoothly.

“I already have one, lover boy,” Esther replies dryly.

Samuel’s face is the picture of sadness.

“When will you give me a chance, Esther?” Samuel asks plaintively.

Esther lets out a big laugh. Serena likes her already.

“Go get your drink, lover boy.”

Samuel leaves them with wounded eyes. The bar they chose is lively but the music isn’t loud enough to make conversation difficult.

“I feel like I know you already. Bernie does nothing but talk about you,” Esther says.

Serena blushes.

“It’s been months of “Serena would know what to do” and “Serena is the best vascular surgeon” and “Serena looks amazing in her scrubs””

Serena squawks an offended “what?”, and Esther bursts out laughing.

“Ok, ok, maybe she only implied the last one. But I am so happy you’re here. She missed you so much,” Esther continues more seriously.

“I did too.”

“You going to marry her before Samuel does?”

Serena splutters. Another great belly laugh comes out of Esther. Bernie looks up from her conversation and Serena can see her roll her eyes, even on the other side of the bar. She’s wearing tailored linen trousers and a tight black shirt that has Serena’s heart beating fast.

It’s not like they haven’t discussed the future. After all, Serena moved to another continent so they could be together, and the words “for eternity” echo around every time they look at each other with shining eyes.

But marriage? Neither of them have fond memories of the institution, and Serena has rather grandly declared in the past that she would never remarry. Now, however, looking at Bernie smile and laugh and just be, Serena feels a little differently. What would it be like, to be married to Bernie? To be her wife? The word makes her lightheaded for a second.

Esther nudges her and guffaws, her head shaking.

“We could power the entire hospital with the heat of your looks,” she says with great amusement.

Serena blushes, embarrassed, but also oddly proud. Not bad for two women over fifty, she thinks while she takes a swig of her frankly revolting wine.

“And what about you and Samuel?” Serena asks to focus the attention away from her.

It’s like Esther and her are already close friends. The other woman has an easy quality to her, a disarming smile that Serena can’t resist.

“He’s too young for me. And he thinks too much of himself. We will see in a few years,” Esther replies.

Serena is impressed. Samuel is handsome and obviously thinks the world of Esther. And she can see what attracted him in the first place. Esther is like the sun. She warms everyone near her. She has amazing curves, and is obviously proud of them. Samuel is not the only one looking at her tonight.

That’s something that Serena is consciously doing more of, noticing women and what she likes about them. It’s not even sexual. She is just more aware. And women are amazing, she’s come to realise. Bernie chief among them.

Samuel comes back from the bar and drags Esther to the dance floor, and she goes willingly, her great laugh ringing above the music. Bernie is at Serena’s side the next second.

“Having fun?” Bernie asks with soft eyes.

“I am. I like Esther very much,” she replies.

They watch the couple dancing. Samuel looks like he’s in heaven and Esther is shaking her head, laughing but throwing some pretty impressive moves nonetheless.

“She likes you. I can tell,” Bernie says.

The crowd around them means they are pressed against each other, and Serena can feel how warm Bernie’s skin is, even through their clothes.

Bernie leans towards her and her lips brush Serena’s ear. Serena shivers.

“But then again what’s not to like?” Bernie whispers.

Serena laughs and she stands a bit closer to Bernie.

“We’ve never danced together,” she says suddenly.

They never had the occasion, even in France. The closest they have come to is swaying together with Guinevere in Bernie’s arms, Serena humming a soothing melody.

“No. And I’ll have you know I am an accomplished dancer,” Bernie says, a little smug, just like when she’s done something spectacular in theatre.

“I would hope a decorated officer of our armed forces knows how to waltz and fox-trot,” Serena replies, never missing a beat, her eyes alight with delight.

Bernie smiles.

“And samba. Our mess officer is Kandahar was a good teacher.”

Serena flushes at the thought of Bernie pressed against her. Bernie chuckles, obviously fully aware of where Serena’s thoughts have taken her. But then her eyes turn downwards.

“We can’t dance together here,” she says with regret in her voice.

Serena is about to say that she understands, that she came to Kenya fully aware of all the consequences, but Bernie’s lips are at her ear again.

“But there are places. Esther told me,” Bernie continues.

Serena’s heart aches at the sweet hope in Bernie’s eyes. Bernie wants to dance with her, and in the UK they would have little difficulty in finding an appropriate place. Here, however, they are faced with far more obstacles.

As ever when faced with a problem, Serena resorts to humour.

“As long as you don’t get me arrested, Bernie, I will gladly put on a pair of heels and dust off my dancing skills,” she says firmly.

Bernie’s eyes light up and Serena suddenly wishes they weren’t in public. It must show, because Bernie clears her throat, entranced with her beer bottle, her fingers picking at the label.

“We’ve stayed long enough, no?” Serena asks lightly.

Bernie presses her lips together, eyes dancing, and nods. They wave their good byes, and are followed outside by Esther’s great laugh. Serena refuses to feel self conscious.

Bernie flags a cab that thankfully has air conditioning. The driver is blasting Nigerian pop and drives like a maniac, but they make it home in one piece and Bernie throws him enough shillings to cover the fare.

Daniel greets them warmly from his booth, calls out a cheerful “Evening Doctors” in a terrible British accent.

Serena pounces as soon as the door to their flat shuts behind them. Bernie ends up with her back against the wall in the hallway, Serena between her legs, Serena’s hands in her hair.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all evening,” Serena gasps out against Bernie’s lips.

Bernie moans in reply, her hands splayed on Serena’s lower back, pressing her closer.

“I am going to rip this dress off,” Bernie manages to say, eyes dark.

The thought thrills Serena, but she likes the dress very much, a soft and comfortable beige number, and wants to keep it. Instead, they stumble to the bedroom, never stopping their kiss, and end up on the bed in a heap of limbs.

Serena slithers on top of Bernie and grins. It’s dark outside but the lights of the city give the room an ethereal glow. Bernie’s hands ruck up her dress to her waist, and then over her head.

“So beautiful,” Bernie breathes out, her voice awed.

Serena smiles, and they end up in each other’s laps, facing each other. Serena whimpers at how close they are, her sensitive skin enjoying the friction with Bernie’s clothes. Bernie drags her teeth along Serena’s neck, nipping at the pulse point and sucking the skin underneath her ear. Serena keens, arches her back, tries to get closer, her hips moving in circles.

Bernie reaches around her back to unclasp her bra, her hands flat on Serena’s back. Her breasts feel heavy and tight, and she cries out when Bernie bends to take one in her mouth.

“God, Bernie, yes,” she hisses out, head thrown back.

Bernie seems content to worship every inch of her body. She sucks and nips and soothes, until Serena is mad with desire. She tries to hurry things along by slipping her hand between her own legs but Bernie chuckles and grabs her wrist, brings it behind Serena’s back.

“Behave, Serena,” Bernie whispers in her ear.

Her entire body is shaking, and Bernie is still fully clothed. It really isn’t fair, Serena manages to think, before Bernie presses her fingers past the waistband of her underwear and she loses all rational thought.

She groans, and then gasps when Bernie starts a rhythm, her lovely, talented fingers deep in her. Bernie’s eyes never leave hers and it’s quite the sight, Bernie Wolfe and her dark eyes.

It doesn’t take long for her to come, head buried in Bernie’s shoulder. In her defence, she had ogled Bernie all night with less and less puritan interest. It still feels new, being this attracted to Bernie, and sometimes the depth of her desire surprises her, as if Bernie is tapping into a part of her that she hadn’t known even existed.

Bernie is whispering words of love in her ear and she lets herself be enveloped by Bernie’s love, rocking slightly in their embrace.

The night is still young.

Chapter Text

Serena’s first day at work is a series of revelations. The hospital is as chaotic as Nairobi, and much bigger than the one in Holby. As the main hospital in the city, it offers every specialty under the sun, and Serena looks in amazement at the list of wards next to the lifts.

She sees they even have a hip replacement unit, if ever the trauma ward fails and Bernie needs work, Serena thinks snidely. She still has not forgiven Holby for closing the AAU trauma unit and offering Bernie work beneath her station.

The trauma centre is brand new but there is a marked difference between AAU and the ward she steps into. The equipment is older, the noise level tenfold, and to the untrained eye there is no logic to the movements of doctors, nurses and patients.

Serena, however, recognises Bernie’s touches. The doctors are well trained. The nurses are attentive and professional. The ward is organised with a triage system, with more acute injuries at the front, and less pressing ones at the back. Everyone is receiving adequate care.

“Thoughts?” Bernie asks behind her.

They are both wearing white lab coats, the likes of which Serena has not worn since university. Serena finds them hilarious, but they are part of their uniform. No civilian clothes allowed here, even for consultants. Underneath the coat are navy scrubs, far more attractive, especially on Bernie’s lithe frame.

The trauma centre is attached to a ward that is a mix of A&E and AAU, and works very much the same way as the one in Holby did. There is even a shiny red phone that doctors eye warily when they walk past. The theatres are off a corridor at the back of the room.

There’s even a nurse station in the middle, and Serena feels a little pang of sadness as she imagines Fletch and Raf bantering there as they always did in AAU.

“It’s all very familiar,” Serena says, looking around.

The ward is much bigger than at Holby, and Serena can agree that leading it requires two surgeons. She can’t imagine how hard Bernie must have worked to open it.

“Let’s get you introduced,” Bernie says.

She claps her hands once. Despite the noise and general chaos, everything stops. Even the patients turn to watch. Serena hides a smile. Ever the imposing Major, she thinks.

“Everyone, this is Dr Campbell. She is our new co-lead. You will remember from my email last week that she specialises in vascular surgery, but is a general surgeon well trained in trauma procedures and a precious addition to the hospital and the trauma centre.”

Serena tries not to blush or preen and to take it all in stride.

“She is also a very good friend from back home, and hates late paperwork, so you have been warned,” Bernie adds in a softer tone.

She gets laughs for her efforts and soon staff come forward to shake Serena’s hand. Everyone seems friendly enough, and even though she sees no other female doctor, the men don’t look put out at having two female bosses. Bernie’s skills must have laid any suspicion to rest.

Samuel sidles up next to her and gives her a brilliant smile. While still a junior doctor, he has enough experience to mentor a batch of younger trainees, and they trail behind him with wide eyes. Was she ever this young? She wonders as she smiles kindly at them. She is also cheered to see women in the group and promises herself to keep an eye on them.

The best introduction to any job is to just get stuck in. And stuck in she gets. Soon after Bernie shows her their office, the red phone rings and they are called into theatre. A crushed arm from an RTC. It’s eerily reminiscent of their first surgery together.

Bernie smiles when Serena puts on the magnifying glasses.

Despite the new hospital, the unfamiliar theatre and the nerves of performing well, Serena slips into the surgery easily. She feels calm and collected, reassured in part by Bernie’s presence.

They’ve always worked well together, like two dancers performing an intricate but beautiful choreography. Today is no different. Serena tackles the blood vessels, does not rush.

The arm is saved after two hours. Serena massages her temples and gives Bernie a happy smile.

“I don’t want to alarm you, but you have a fan club,” Bernie says with a tilt of her head.

Serena follows the movement. There is a gaggle of younger members of staff by the observation window. Their eyes are wide and they look impressed, which does wonders to Serena’s ego.

“Come on hot shot, I’ll buy you a coffee,” Bernie says with a smile when they leave theatre.

The juniors fly away as soon as they emerge onto the ward. From a patient’s bedside, Samuel gives Serena a thumbs up. She smiles back.

The cafeteria is a happy hub of noise and the food looks pretty good, even if it doesn’t include pastries. The coffee is excellent, rich and dark and strong, and it perks Serena back up in no time.

A few people come over to their table to talk to Bernie, and she ends up being introduced to good cross section of the hospital. Every new arrival talks to Bernie with obvious respect, Serena notes with pride.

It’s clear by the end of the day that Bernie has managed to build something incredible. The red phone rings 5 times, all serious injuries that would have stretched Holby and its state of the art equipment, yet all are treated efficiently and the patients are saved. Everyone knows where they are supposed to be, and the ward runs like a well oiled machine even though it only opened a few months ago.

It’s also a happy ward. More junior members of staff are not intimidated to come forward and ask for help, and they are not treated condescendingly in return.

Serena had been a little worried before starting that there would be no real place for her in the trauma unit. Bernie, for all her strengths, has always been very confident in her abilities to the point of stubbornness and even arrogance. But when designing the ward, it’s obvious Bernie had her in mind. The juniors under them have expressed interest in vascular surgery, and even the equipment on hand in theatre is specific to vascular surgeries. It warms Serena’s heart to see how well they compliment each other, in life and in their specialities.

As they walk home after their shift is over, the early evening air warm and full of cooking smells, Serena brushes Bernie’s shoulder with her own.

“You’ve done well, Major,” she says quietly.

Bernie is still uncomfortable with compliments, so Serena tries to pace herself and not gush all over her and do something embarrassing like throw herself at her feet declaring her love and admiration.

Bernie still ducks her head and shrugs.

“I had a lot of help. We have a good team. And you’re here now. It was easy today because you’re here. And I am so glad,” Bernie says with feeling.

Trust Bernie to turn around a compliment into praise for Serena. She does that a lot. Serena is beginning to understand they have different ways of expressing their love. Serena has always used words, will make grand declarations in hospital foyers, will shout “I love you” from rooftops. Bernie generally prefers actions. She leaves gifts, buys coffee, builds the perfect ward for her to co-lead.

Like everything in a relationship, it took time getting used to. Serena has learned to accept gestures instead of demanding words, and to respond in kind. Bernie is more open with her feelings, if a little rusty after decades of reserve and denial.

No wonder a long distance relationship was a little challenging.

“Me too, darling. Me too.”

That evening, after dinner on their balcony, Serena speaks Bernie’s language of love. She takes Bernie to bed, undresses her slowly in their darkened bedroom. She reaches for the massage oil on Bernie’s nightstand and doesn’t stop massaging Bernie’s back until every knot has disappeared.

Serena loves Bernie’s back, she loves watching the muscles tense and relax under her hands. Her skin is so soft, and the sounds Bernie makes are almost sinful. There is a spot on Bernie’s lower back that elicits the most delightful whimpers when Serena presses down with strong thumbs.

By the end, Bernie is almost liquid underneath her, so Serena has the upper strength. She turns Bernie onto her back and Bernie stretches like a satisfied cat, stark naked and absolutely beautiful.

“You have the most wonderful hands, Ms Campbell,” Bernie praises.

Serena puts her head on her hand and gazes down at her. She caresses Bernie’s hair, and leans down and kisses her softly.

“I am even better with my mouth,” she whispers against Bernie’s lips.

A strangled sound escapes Bernie’s throat. Serena smirks. She kisses Bernie again, unhurried and almost languid, until Bernie huffs in frustration, her hands clutching at Serena’s shoulders.

“Serena,” Bernie moans, her eyes closed.

Serena only smiles in her neck and nips at her earlobe.

“Yes, darling?”

Bernie makes that strangled sound again and Serena feels it right between her legs. She hums happily, like she has all the time in the world, when all she wants to do is bury her head between Bernie’s thighs.

But Bernie is a wonder, a treasure and she deserves to be pampered. So Serena takes a scenic route down Bernie’s body. She sucks Bernie’s earlobe into her mouth while she thumbs her nipples and Bernie whimpers, writhing beneath her. Her leg slips in between Bernie’s and Bernie grinds against it, mewling in Serena’s mouth.

“Easy there, soldier. I have plans for you,” Serena says, her voice low and deep, just like Bernie likes it.

And like it she does. Her eyes get desperate and her mouth works around words she can’t seem to get out. Serena smiles and slowly kisses her way down Bernie’s torso, lavishing the taut skin with her tongue. Instead of Bernie’s freckles, she traces her scars. The one bisecting her sternum, which brought them together, in a sense. The faint one at her side, caused by barbed wire during an obstacle course. The C-section scar that gave Bernie Charlotte. All these scars make up Bernie Wolfe and Serena loves them.

By the time Serena reaches the C-section scar and traces it lovingly with her lips, Bernie is a babbling mess of want. Serena looks up at her from her resting position on Bernie’s thigh and basks for a second. She thinks “I did that” with pride.

And then she takes Bernie into her mouth and Bernie goes to pieces.

Serena has to keep her hands on Bernie’s hips so that she doesn’t throw her off. She sucks and licks and sucks again and again, and Bernie comes with a shout and her heels digging into Serena’s back.

When she gets her breath back, Serena peppers her face with kisses and holds her tight.

“You weren’t kidding around tonight,” Bernie says, still panting.

Serena smiles. She doesn’t say that she just spoke Bernie’s language of love. Well, she doesn’t have the time to say anything, because Bernie has her reply all set.

The first major trauma incident Serena experiences happens exactly like Bernie told her it would, when they were going through different scenarios late one night in the office on a night shift.

A protest rally. Over corruption.

The protest starts peacefully, and they all watch it on the TV bolted to one of the walls of the cafeteria. It’s almost joyful, with colourful banners and chants, but Serena and Bernie’s Kenyan colleagues are uneasy. Samuel keeps glancing at his phone. He has friends at the protest.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he says, his teeth worrying his bottom lip.

Serena stands next to him in silent support. She is out of her depth here. Bernie is on the phone with a police liaison, and she announces the first casualties.

The first wave has minor injuries. Contusions, broken limbs, some light internal bleeding. They are treated efficiently by the more junior members of staff, and promptly discharged.

Serena spots Esther and her team efficiently unloading patients in the ambulance bay, but they have no time to chat and after a wave and a greeting, the paramedics go back into the fray. Serena hopes they stay safe.

There is a lull around lunchtime which feels a little surreal. Then there are reports of shootings and all hell breaks loose.

Serena treats wounds she has never seen before, and she often has to do it on her own because Bernie is dealing with the same thing in another theatre down the hall. The adrenaline keeps her going and focused, and she doesn’t see time pass.

One patient after the other lie on her table, some with bullet wounds, others with knives still buried in them, even one with a bottle embedded in his skull. Serena works fast and well, orders around Samuel and a young nurse who looks two seconds away from tears.

They have to think on their feet, to revise their options, to improvise. This is trauma surgery at its core. There are no carefully crafted plans. It’s brutal and fast.

Finally, the flow slows down, and then stops around midnight. The last patient, a teenager with a bullet in his leg, is wheeled out of theatre.

Serena has been on shift for over 14 hours. Her scrub cap is drenched in sweat, and she can feel her arm muscles screaming in agony. Samuel closes his eyes and massages his wrists and hands. The young nurse, Olive, just slumps against the wall.

“You did amazingly well,” Serena congratulates them.

No one died in their theatre. Some came close, but Serena and her team had skill and luck on their side. Samuel smiles weakly at her and nods.

“Both of you go home, I’ll handle the paperwork,” Serena tells them.

Samuel protests but Serena waves him off and finally he takes Olive away with him. The young woman looks dead on her feet and she is covered in blood. Serena sighs and washes up slowly in the prep room. She makes way for the clean up team and goes in search of Bernie. Her legs are heavy and achy, and she desperately needs food. The come down from the adrenaline is making her all jumpy and nervy.

The ward is busy but almost quiet after the chaos of the day. Bernie is doing observation rounds, and just the sight of her calms Serena down. She spots her and they head to the office, where Serena slumps down on her chair.

The office is pretty similar to the one they shared at Holby, minus the fancy computers but with bigger windows and nicer indoor plants that Bernie hasn’t managed to kill yet.

Bernie looks as shattered as Serena feels.

“I’ve done obs. Night shift started three hours ago, so we can leave when we want,” Bernie says as she moves behind Serena.

Her hands knead Serena’s shoulders. Her thumbs dig into stubborn knots and Serena sighs with relief.

“I don’t think I can move,” she replies with her eyes closed.

Bernie lets out an amused huff.

“Let's go, hot shot. I’ll draw you a bath.”

Serena drags herself up and they walk home wearily, barely paying attention to their surroundings. They can still hear police sirens in the distance, but for now they put their work behind them, one step at a time.

“Samuel said you worked like a woman possessed,” Bernie says as they cross the road.

Serena hums.

“The truth is I just had to keep going because otherwise I would have keeled over,’ she admits in the foyer of their building.

Daniel looks relieved to see them. He knows what they do, and tries to ply them with candies to express his thanks.

The flat is quiet and pleasantly dark, and Serena just wants to slip into bed, but Bernie orders her into a bath. She sinks into the warm water with a moan and closes her eyes.

Her entire body is sore, and her eyes are dry and itchy. Her stomach rumbles in protest at the lack of food.

What a day. She sees the patients again, one after the other, screaming and terrified. She smells the blood and the metallic scent of fear and shudders. It had been relentless, and so after while she had pushed everything away to focus on her job, but now, in the quiet of the bathroom, the screams and the horrifying injuries come roaring back.

She doesn’t realise she’s crying until Bernie comes in with a cup of herbal tea and a plate of samosas. Taking one look at her, Bernie sinks to her knees and hugs her, clothes and all.

“That’s it, let it all out,” Bernie murmurs in her wet hair.

Serena sobs and shakes and rails at the violence she saw today. She’s been living such a sheltered life, she realises. Far away from mass violence, where the most horrific injuries she ever treated were stab wounds between angry young men and RTC injuries caused by careless drivers. What she saw today was carnage and it is a stark reminder that she’s now living in a very different part of the world. She wonders what horrors Bernie has seen for her to be this cool under pressure. They never really speak about her tours, and after today, Serena doesn’t think she wants to know.

Bernie just embraces her and stays silent, and after a while she does feel better. All the energy that powered her throughout the day has been leeched out of her. She can barely feel her legs.

The water is getting cooler and so Serena lets herself be cared for. She is as docile as a kitten when Bernie helps her to get up.

Bernie dries her off and feeds her fruit and samosas in bed, and when Serena falls asleep, she does so in Bernie’s arms, safe and loved.

Chapter Text

Days off in Nairobi are very different from the ones Serena had in Holby. Then, they were spent doing chores, being with Jason, or later, trying to have as much sex with Bernie as possible. Now, they are spent discovering her new city.

Serena’s been in Nairobi for three months when they go to the national park for the first time. Bernie’s not ever been, and so they pack lunch and water and head out in the death trap that is Bernie’s car.

It’s a hot and dusty day but they leave early enough to avoid crowds. It’s a week day, and even though they left the ward in good hands, Serena knows Bernie is always a little anxious at leaving it behind. She’s brought a guidebook and lists all the animals they have a chance of seeing. At the word “giraffe” Bernie perks up.

“Really? So close to the city?” She asks, voice full of wonder.

“Yes, and rhinoceros and even lions,” Serena confirms with a smile.

“The kids loved Sophie, the toy. Did you have one? For Elinor?” Bernie asks as they wade their way through traffic.

Serena pauses at the familiar twinge. Bernie just puts a hand on her thigh, but doesn’t offer any platitudes, for which Serena is grateful.

“She did. She was more interested in anything with a reflective surface, though,” Serena says with a fond smile.

Bernie laughs and squeezes her thigh and it feels good to just be able to talk about Elinor without sadness.

The city stops abruptly at the park gates. They pay the entry fee and suddenly they are in a different world. The savannah stretches for miles, only interrupted by low bushes, twisted gangly trees and the skyscrapers on the other side of the park.

It’s refreshing to pay a resident fee, and the rangers look at them with respect when they figure out they work at Kenyatta. Two young guides offer to take them on their own private tour, and so off they go, way ahead of the tourists still waiting for their ride.

“Look at us, going up in the world,” Bernie quips as they get in the Jeep.

Serena snorts and rolls her eyes.

“You won’t be saying that at the fundraiser next month.”

Work functions are possibly Bernie’s worst nightmare, and since Serena moved to Nairobi, she has gone to precisely none of them. Next month, however, is one they can’t miss. The Kenyan government is throwing a gala at State House, the equivalent of Number 10, and the hospital CEO has basically ordered them to attend, albeit very politely.

Bernie grumbles a curse and Serena laughs, but the further ribbing she intends to dish out is interrupted by their first glance of wildlife. It’s a herd of zebras, and Serena is in love.

“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” she says, looking at them in wonder.

“Is that from Sound of Music?” Bernie asks.

Serena laughs and shakes her head, and she takes advantage of the guides talking to each other about routes to lean forward and kiss Bernie’s cheek.

“It’s the Wizard of Oz, and take a photo of them, please.”

Bernie was given an expensive camera by her old army unit when she was discharged, and has never really used it. She fumbles with some of the knobs and buttons, but dutifully takes photos of the zebras, and far more of Serena, who complains but who not so secretly loves it.

Their two guides lead them to a rhinoceros grazing by a pond, and the whole scene looks like a postcard. It’s made even better by having Bernie pressed against her side, her hair tickling Serena’s neck. She’s wearing shorts and looks beautiful with her tanned skin. Serena tries not to stare at her legs for too long, but they are truly magnificent, and Serena is only human.

They have lunch in sight of a pride of lions. The heat is strong, so they stay in the car, but it still feels magical to share this with Bernie.

Sometimes she still can’t believe that she’s really here, miles from where she used to have a life, in Kenya, with the woman she loves. She pictures telling all this to a younger self, and even the Serena from two years ago would have laughed in disbelief.

Bernie gives her the last grape and traces her thumb in a fleeting caress, her eyes dark.

Younger Serena was missing out.

The sight of Bernie’s smile when they first see giraffes is something Serena will cherish for a long time. Bernie looks at them with childish glee and takes a dozen photos. The guides look at her and smile.

“Doctor! Here, take these leaves and stand on the roof,” the younger one says.

Bernie is like a child at Christmas. She carefully climbs onto the roof and looks down at Serena, her eyes shining with happiness. She stands with her arms extended and her hands out, the leaves flat on her palms.

The younger guide makes an odd clicking sound and a giraffe turns its head. Serena holds her breath, her head out the window. The giraffe steps closer, huge and suddenly very solid and Serena is very aware that this is a wild animal. They might herbivores, but Serena knows giraffes can be violent and territorial.

Bernie stands still, her eyes wide. The giraffe is still taller than her and sniffs her hair, which makes Serena hold in a laugh. The giraffe decides Bernie is no threat and has a tasty treat, so it lowers its head a bit and a huge black tongue comes out to grab the leaves. Bernie looks down at Serena, her mouth opened in excitement, and then she laughs.

“It tickles!”

The guides laugh as well, and the giraffe looks at all of them imperiously before re joining its herd a few feet away. Bernie comes down and whoops with delight, and when she sits next to Serena she hugs her tightly, her lips at her ear.

“This was amazing. I love you,” she says a little breathlessly.

Serena holds her tightly.

“Me too, darling.”

And as the sun is setting on the park, Serena looks out of the window on their way back and she smiles, matching the toothy grin on Bernie’s face.

When they get home, the sun is setting, a giant ball of red fire on the horizon. The heat has abated somewhat, and they can sit on their balcony with wine and fruit. Serena still hasn’t managed to find a local red that doesn’t strip paint, but she is actively looking. She’s put some of the staff on the case, and they like to report their findings after their days off. So far, no joy, Serena grumbles quietly as she sips the harsh Merlot.

There is wine in Kenya. The mountains to the east of Nairobi have a climate that is favourable to vineyards, but the production is small, and Kenyans prefer beer and spirits.

Celeste, the French obstetrician who works two floors above them, is almost as invested as Serena in finding local wines that aren’t heavily taxed like imported foreign ones. They would much rather swap awful imported Italian vintages for ones grown in Kenya, but it’s proving to be quite difficult.

In the latest development, Celeste heard from a patient that there was a mad Austrian trying to grow red grapes on the slopes of Yatta plateau, east of the capital. Serena hopes the rumours are true, because what she’s been drinking has been truly awful, and she’s not making the switch to beer.

She’s thinking about all of this with a frown, and she only looks up from her glass when she hears Bernie chuckling.

“Still thinking about your wine quest?” Bernie asks with a smile.

It’s easy for Bernie. She likes beer and whiskey and there is plenty of that around. Samuel even took her to a microbrewery in her first month in Nairobi.

“I don’t care if I have to grow the wine myself, Bernie. I will succeed,” Serena replies.

“I could plant a few vines next to the blood lilies,” Bernie jokes.

Serena pouts, and Bernie honks unapologetically.

“We could go look for it, you know. A day trip in the mountains? I would knock on every farm door to find grapes for you, Serena,” Bernie says, her eyes still dancing.

They have not been outside Nairobi yet. Kenya has a wealth of national parks and beaches, and lovely mountains and even jungles to the west. Serena can’t wait to explore it all with Bernie.

“I will hold you to that, Major,” Serena drawls, trying not to wince at the wine.

And Serena knows that in a few weeks or months, Bernie will organise a trip and take her by surprise. Bernie loves a good surprise. And Serena has learned to be more spontaneous in return.

“You know, Celeste has mentioned heading to Mombasa to go the beach. We could go with them,” Bernie says.

Celeste’s husband, an anaesthetist called Peter, is from that region. Serena has seen pictures of the beaches along the coast, the Indian ocean sparkling and the sand blindingly white.

Plus, there would be the added bonus of Bernie in a bathing suit.

“I would love to go,” Serena replies, clearing her throat, distracted by the image she’s conjured up.

Which is how, the following week, they are in Celeste’s people carrier, Serena at the front, Bernie in the back, navigating the traffic to get out of Nairobi and onto the motorway to Mombasa.

Celeste is a tall French woman with ginger hair and fair skin, and she always sticks out like a sore thumb. People on the street stare at her, often dumbfounded at her clear green eyes and her loud French accent. She is so causally elegant that she wouldn’t look out of place in a fashion magazine, or at least at a Parisian terrace holding court.

Her son, 10-year old Baptiste, is precocious and adorable, and is currently making Bernie listen to his favourite Kenyan pop songs on a beat up smart phone. Bernie looks more confused than anything else, often asking if the song has actually started.

“Bernie, you tell him if he annoys you, ok?” Celeste says as she cuts in front of a moped.

Serena holds onto the door handle, silently offering prayers to a god she thinks doesn’t exist.

The motorway is a dog-eat-dog world. The most brazen drivers get ahead, and the cautious ones get stuck behind beaten up lorries and busses. Serena even sees a man on a scooter with a goat strapped to his back. The goat looks nonplussed. Celeste zooms past, honking as often as she accelerates.

It’s a long drive, but they have the weekend off, and Celeste has done it numerous times over the years, even without Peter at her side, like this weekend.

When Serena comments on the state of the road, full of potholes and debris, Celeste bursts out laughing.

“And this is the nicest road in the country! You should see the rest of them!”

Celeste has worked all over East Africa, the majority of her career in refugee camps, and is obviously used to rough driving conditions. She swears at a lorry carrying coffee beans, and flips off another as they fly past.

“I met Peter over a broken Jeep, did I ever tell you? He was standing on the side of the road, looking in the wrong place, so my convoy stopped and we lent him a hand, and it turned out he was on his way to our camp!”

“I met Bernie over a broken car too! But it was mine, and it was in the hospital car park,” Serena shares.

“Love at first sight?” Celeste asks with a cheeky grin.

Serena flushes.

“Looking back, yes, I think. At the time, though, I just thought she was very interesting,” she replies, watching Bernie smile in the rear view mirror.

She winks at her and Bernie’s smile widens.

“What about you and Peter?”

Celeste checks that Baptiste is still engrossed with his phone and wearing earphones.

“Oh, have you seen him? Built like a mountain that I wanted to climb!” Celeste laughs.

Serena laughs so hard she forgets to be terrified of Celeste’s driving skills.

The house they are staying in belongs to Peter’s family. They have a rotation system between cousins. It’s only a few blocks from the beach. There’s a small pool, and their bedroom overlooks a luscious tropical garden with hibiscus bushes and clusters of palm trees. After the hustle and bustle of Nairobi, it’s a balm to the senses.

They are just outside Mombasa, in a pleasant area full of restaurants and hotels. For the first time in months, Serena and Bernie are not the only white people at the local market. Celeste has tasked them with grocery shopping, and Serena happily loads Bernie with fresh produce.

After dinner, they all go for a walk along the beach. The air is fresh and sweet. Baptiste runs around them before joining other kids in a football game. Everyone is laid back and time seems to stretch like toffee. It reminds Serena of school holidays in the summer, when a few weeks felt like a lifetime.

Serena and Bernie walk together like they always do in public here; close enough to touch but without actually doing so. It took a few weeks to perfect, but Serena greatly enjoys brushing against Bernie as they stroll, Celeste showing them places of interest.

They stop for a drink at a beach bar and they enjoy watching people pass by, tourists and locals alike, all dressed up for their Saturday night outings. Serena sits close to Bernie, their thighs touching under the table, their bare arms pressed together by their drinks.

This is what happiness is like, Serena thinks as she watches Bernie talk to Celeste, a wide smile on her face and her eyes alive. Sitting here, on the beach, with the woman she loves.

She breathes in the salty air and smiles.

Celeste bides them good night when they get back to the house. The drive was exhausting, and Serena promises to look after Baptiste in the morning so she can get a lie in.

Their bedroom is cool and airy when they make their way upstairs. The smell of blooming hibiscus floats though the open windows, and so does the sound of doves cooing at each other. Serena hums happily when Bernie slips her arms around her waist, her back to Bernie’s front.

“Is your back ok? I packed the oils,” Serena says, her eyes closed.

They are gently swaying from side to side. Bernie kisses Serena’s neck.

“It’s ok. Baptiste gracefully gave up the most comfortable seat in the car.”

“Good.”

Serena turns around in Bernie’s arms, slips her hands into her hair and kisses her soundly. Perhaps there is something in the air of Mombasa, or perhaps it’s just how soft Bernie’s hair is, but Serena just needs to have her, right now.

“You look so lovely,” Serena whispers against Bernie’s lips.

And she does. Bernie’s in shorts, always a firm favourite of Serena’s, and her legs seem to go on for miles. They make their way to bed, kissing, their hands busy with removing their clothes.

Serena lies down and encourages Bernie to come on top of her with gentle hands and soft kisses along her jaw. She can feel how wet Bernie is on her thigh, and the sensation is electrifying. She doesn’t hurry, though. The evening heat is making her languid and so she savours Bernie’s mouth, her hands back into Bernie’s hair, pulling slightly. She smiles when Bernie gasps. She sucks Bernie’s bottom lip into her mouth, and tugs at Bernie’s hair again.

Bernie cries out.

“God, Serena,” she moans.

Serena grins a little devilishly. How fortuitous that her love of Bernie’s hair is equally matched by Bernie’s love of having it played with. Quite roughly at times.

Tonight is not one of those times, though. Serena gently cups Bernie’s breasts, the movements of her hands mirrored by the ones of her tongue in Bernie’s mouth.

“I love touching you,” Serena says as she scrapes her teeth down the column of Bernie’s throat.

Bernie whimpers and bucks against Serena’s thigh. Her hands are on either side of Serena’s head and her arms are strained with the effort of keeping her up.

“Come up here,” Serena says, her voice low.

Bernie blinks. Serena slides her hands down from Bernie’s hair, down her back, to the back of her thighs. She tugs. Bernie blinks again.

“S-Serena, are you sure?” Bernie stutters.

This isn’t something they’ve ever done before, although Serena can’t think of a reason why. Just the thought of it makes Serena bite her lip, and Bernie’s eyes darken.

“Yes. Please,” Serena says, voice firmer than usual.

Bernie reacts instantly. She scoots up carefully, and her thighs are around Serena’s head. Serena looks up and smiles at the tableau Bernie presents. All toned muscle and soft skin glowing in the low light, topped off by Bernie’s very dark eyes.

Bernie is panting harshly even before Serena sucks the pliant flesh of her inner thighs. She grabs the headboard with shaky hands when Serena takes pity on her and slowly drags her tongue through her wet heat.

It’s a different angle, is all Serena can think for a second, and then Bernie keens and throws her head back. Serena watches, her mouth at work, and she is lost. Bernie looks enraptured, her eyes wide, almost in disbelief. Serena holds her gaze as her tongue traces patterns, lazily at first, and then faster.

There’s a muffled cry and Bernie comes, and she falls to the side, trembling from head to toe. Serena takes her in her arms and holds her, pressing kisses to her lovely face.

“Oh darling, you are so beautiful,” Serena whispers.

Bernie is still trying to catch her breath but she smiles, her eyes wet.

“That was-that was something. God, you are so, so good,” Bernie replies, her voice shaky.

Serena tries not to look smug, but she fails spectacularly. They end up smiling at each other, listening to the doves until Bernie regains motor function. When she can move again, she slides on top of Serena with a dangerous smirk that makes Serena’s heart race.

“You like hearing that? That you are so very good at this?” Bernie says.

Serena gulps and she feels herself flush. Giving Bernie pleasure is always a turn on, and right now she is two seconds away from desperate. Bernie, like with everything, seems to sense it, and doesn’t make her wait. She slides a hand down Serena’s trembling body, spreads her legs gently and presses two fingers into her, curling them just so.

Serena closes her eyes and moans. She holds onto Bernie’s shoulders and rocks back and forth, Bernie matching her thrusts.

Pleasure builds and builds, she can feel it in the bottom of her spine, and suddenly she cries out, the sound barely contained against Bernie’s neck.

Celeste is on the other side of the wall, and Serena really doesn’t want an awkward conversation the next day. She thinks they already pushed it when Bernie grabbed the headboard like a lifeline.

Bernie turns off the light, slips behind Serena and spoons her, both sweaty and spent.

“I didn’t know sex could be like this,” Bernie whispers after a while.

The room is quiet. The overhead fan is the only sound in the darkened room. Serena holds Bernie’s arm against her middle.

“That it could be this fun and this good,” Bernie continues with wonder in her voice.

And Serena understands. She’s always loved sex, but sex with Bernie is on another level, one that she didn’t even know existed.

“I love you, that’s why,” Serena whispers.

And Bernie must get it, because she kisses Serena’s neck, and Serena can feel her smile against her skin.

“I love you,” she replies with a dreamy tone that means she’s close to sleep.

Serena shifts to make herself more comfortable and she falls asleep soothed by Bernie’s heartbeat.

They are rudely awakened by an excited Baptiste. It’s just gone past 8 am when he barrels into the room. Serena startles and grabs the sheet to cover her and Bernie, who just groans and buries her face into a pillow.

“Serena! Maman said you would give me breakfast and watch me in the pool!” He shouts as Serena tries to calm her racing heart.

“All right, yes. Give me a second. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Baptiste bounces out of the room.

“What was that?” Bernie asks grumpily.

“That was a tornado called Baptiste. I’m going to feed him and make sure he doesn’t drown in the pool,” Serena explains as she gets up.

“I’ll drown him,” Bernie mumbles.

Serena laughs.

“You stay in bed, darling. I’ll see you in a sec.”

Bernie grumbles something rude and turns over, falling back asleep instantly. Shaking her head fondly, Serena puts on her bathing suit, a black one piece, and a kaftan she picked up at a market in Nairobi. Baptiste chooses his cereal and babbles happily about the pool while Serena makes enough coffee for everyone.

She sips her first cup with a happy sigh. Her body is pleasantly sore, and she’s looking forward to lazing in the sun with a good book. The sun is shining and the palm trees are swaying in the light breeze coming from the ocean.

“Are you and Bernie lesbians?” Baptiste suddenly asks.

Serena chokes on her coffee, liquid splattering on the table and the floor. She coughs and coughs. Baptiste looks at her, visibly concerned.

“What?” She replies a little inanely.

“Well, Joseph at school said that two men together were gay, and two women together were lesbians. And Maman said you are together. So are you lesbians?” He asks with a little frown, like he’s figuring out a complicated math problem.

Baptiste goes to the French school in Kilimani, so Serena hopes the teaching there is a bit more liberal than in local schools.

“Uh. Yes. We are,” Serena replies.

She’s not ready to get into bisexuality this early in the day, before she’s even finished her first cup of coffee.

“Ok!”

And then he jumps up, unconcerned and more excited about the pool. Serena follows dumbly, and wonders if this was the most uncomplicated coming out ever.

Baptiste is splashing around with an inflatable crocodile when Bernie makes an appearance. Serena drags her eyes up and down and whistles appreciatively. Bernie is in a bikini. A black bikini that is held up with four tiny strings. Serena’s throat is suddenly very dry.

Bernie ducks her head and blushes.

“Bernie! Are you going to play with me? Serena says she doesn’t swim before 11,” Baptiste pleads with big eyes.

“Sure, love. Let me put my stuff by Serena’s,” Bernie says kindly.

“You can kiss her, you know. I know you are lesbians,” Baptiste says proudly.

Bernie whips around, eyes wide. Serena closes her eyes in silent prayer.

“Qu’est ce qu’on a dit hier, Baptiste? Que c’était un secret,” Celeste says as she joins them outside.

And yes, it is a secret. Here in Kenya it is, anyway. Bernie relaxes and goes to join Baptiste in the pool.

“Sorry, Bernie,” he says when she reaches him.

“Hey, that’s ok. Don’t worry about it,” Bernie replies.

And then she dunks his head into the water with a great honk that startles birds away.

“Baptiste is a clever child. He understands,” Celeste says from the sun lounger next to Serena’s.

Serena smiles. Baptiste is a sweet boy, and he’s adored Bernie ever since she let him adopt Jade, the ward cat.

“It can’t be easy for you, living like this,” Celeste continues softly.

“It’s-It’s not, but it is what it is. I am getting used to it,” Serena confesses.

Celeste nods and stretches her long limbs, her face turned to the sun with a smile.

“When I introduced Peter to my father, he stopped talking to me,” Celeste says in an even voice.

“Because he’s black?” Serena asks.

Celeste nods.

“I’m from a small town in the middle of nowhere, and Peter, bless him, he stands out, you know? My father was so angry. Told me I was making a mistake, that we were too different. He kept saying it wasn’t because Peter was black, but because there was too much of a gap in our cultures,” Celeste says, rolling her eyes.

Serena watches Baptiste play with Bernie, his small body alive with excitement, his hair all over his eyes.

“And now?” She asks quietly.

“Having Baptiste really helped. Suddenly, my father had a grandson. I’m an only child and my mother died when I was very young, so this was big for him. And it’s taken a while, but he’s better. And Peter has the patience of a saint. In France, we still get stared at, even in Paris.”

Serena snorts in disbelief and anger.

“So, Baptiste gets it. He understands more unconventional love stories,” Celeste says.

Serena turns to her and smiles.

“Thank you, for telling me this,” she says.

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?” Celeste replies with a grin.

And Serena laughs and nods. She hasn’t had many female friends in her life. Surgery and its long and antisocial hours does limit friendship options somewhat. She is glad to have Celeste and Esther to share a coffee with during breaks or a drink after their shifts.

Bernie’s honk echoes as Baptiste flings water in her face.

And Bernie, she is glad to have Bernie. Always.

Chapter Text

Bernie huffs and puffs in their bedroom, turning this way and that, displeasure obvious on her face.

“Darling, we have to leave in less than 20 minutes,” Serena reminds her as she re enters the bedroom, make up freshly applied.

Bernie looks up, ready to complain, but words don’t leave her mouth. She stares at Serena, seemingly struck dumb.

Serena grins and twirls, delighted at the effect her dress is having. It’s a gown in a deep burgundy, and it fits like a glove.

Kenyans take formal functions very seriously, and the one they are going to tonight is one of the highlights of the year, so Serena has pulled out all the stops. The dress is tailored, something that is much cheaper to do here than in the UK. It dips low at the front and hugs her waist. She is wearing some of her mother’s jewellery, a gold necklace and assorted bracelet. And she spent a bit longer on her make up. She’s quite happy with the result, and even happier with the look in Bernie’s eyes.

“You look gorgeous,” Bernie whispers, her eyes still wide.

Serena smiles. Bernie doesn’t know about what she’s wearing underneath the dress, and can’t wait to show her when they come home.

“Thank you, darling. And while you look absolutely ravishing, you will need to put some clothes on. We don’t want half the guests to faint before the President makes an appearance,” Serena says dryly as she tries to find a matching shawl.

While the outside temperature is still in the high 20s, air conditioning makes for chilly conditions. She’s so distracted with the search for a scarf that she doesn’t realise Bernie has selected a dress. When she turns around, Bernie is slipping on heels, facing away.

Bernie is a vision. Serena has never seen her in a dress, Bernie much prefers tailored suits, but tonight’s shindig had very specifically called for cocktail dresses and Bernie has certainly delivered. Serena’s eyes start at the black heels, of modest height but still enough to highlight Bernie’s calf muscles. The dress is black as well, in a satin-like material, and it hugs Bernie’s frame beautifully, finishing just above the knee. It’s sleeveless and shows no cleavage but Serena just stares at her toned arms. She licks her lips, heart thundering, and there is a strange buzzing sound in her ears.

Bernie turns around, her hair up, and Serena wants to kiss her neck and take her to bed, and she blushes like a teenager when Bernie smirks at her.

“Do I pass inspection?” Bernie asks in a teasing voice.

Serena clears her throat, her fingers playing with her necklace and she flushes.

“I’m, huh, well. You look very…very beautiful,” Serena stammers.

She feels like a teenager. Well, how she imagines a teenager would feel, because she’d never felt like this before Bernie. This urge to touch her, to mark her in some way, that seems to come from the most basic part of her, she doesn’t think she’s ever experienced that before.

Bernie looks very smug and Serena kisses her cheek, careful not to leave a mark behind. There will be plenty of time for that later. For now, they let Daniel hail them a cab and make their way to State House, a sprawling mansion that looks like a cross between the White House and a Greek temple.

There are photographers lining the red carpet to the entrance, but they are not at all interested in two doctors from England. Serena does preen and pose a little though, because how often in life does one get to do this? Bernie laughs and shakes her head, but she hands Serena a flute of champagne when they enter the reception room. It’s grand, with chandeliers, ornate ceilings and waiters in white tuxedos. There are hundreds are people milling about in their finery.

“If you make the papers, I’ll send Jason a copy,” Bernie promises.

Serena flutters her eyelashes, and would have stuck her tongue out, but their boss descends on them like a hawk and whisks them away to introduce them to various officials.

Serena is used to this. After all, she was periodically in charge of running a big hospital. She knows when to smile, when to flatter, when to use her never ending reserve of small talk. What’s surprising is that Bernie is holding her own. She observes her for a while, stealing glances while Bernie talks to a group of Kenyan politicians. They are all men.

“…an improvement from 15 to 20 beds, and we are looking to increase that number,” Bernie is saying.

One of the men is standing awfully close to her, and Serena decides to hate him on the spot.

“What an achievement, Dr Wolfe. The hospital is very lucky to have you. The city, even,” he says with a smile that makes Serena’s hackles rise.

Bernie smiles back, oblivious. The man is obviously very important, the others defer to him and let him speak. He’s wearing an expensive suit and Serena can see a diamond studded watch peeking out from his sleeve. Bernie continues her spiel, and Serena has to go back to her own little group.

Their boss might be showing them off like prized poodles, but he knows what he’s doing. Serena and Bernie make quite the impact, and judging by the smile on his face by the time dinner starts, they have secured quite a few donations.

Serena is led to the dining room by a charming couple who run an AIDS clinic, and it’s only when she’s seated that she turns to see where Bernie is.

“Your co-lead seems to have made an impression,” one of her new friends says.

Serena follows her gaze and she’s startled at the hot spike of jealousy that stabs her heart. The man from earlier is pressed against Bernie’s side, and is leading her to their table, a hand on her lower back. Bernie still appears to be in the dark about his intentions, and is chatting to him enthusiastically, much to the man’s delight. They arrive at the table and Serena realises he is sitting with them, on Bernie’s other side. Serena seethes, even more so when she understands, judging by his aides whispering to the staff in a corner, that the man has engineered a tricky name card substitution.

Bernie sits next to her and turns to her straightaway, a wide smile on her face.

“Serena, this is Minister Otieno. He’s in charge of health and social services. Minister, this is Dr Serena Campbell, my co-lead,” Bernie says.

Serena gives him a tight smile that seems to confuse Bernie a little.

“Minister, a pleasure. I look forward to discussing women’s health and encouraging more women to become doctors and consultants.”

Serena knows her voice is clipped and that she should get a grip. She can’t help it. The Minister smiles that bland politician’s smile, and focuses once more on Bernie, who is still frowning in confusion.

Their starter arrives, something with fish, and Serena bites the inside of her cheek every time the Minister touches Bernie’s arm, or her hand, which is a lot.

She drinks a bit more than she should. The wine is much better than what can be found in restaurants. Her other neighbour engages her in a discussion on the NHS, and that distracts her until dessert.

There are a few speeches. Someone gets an award. Serena hears none of it, because the Minister is definitely not talking about health services to Bernie. Serena listens as he prattles on about the national parks in the north, the lodge he owns in one of them, how beautiful it is this time of year, how Bernie should come visit, anytime, really, anytime. Bernie deflects every offer like a pro, politely but firmly, and if Serena wasn’t drowning in a pit of jealousy, she would admire how skilfully Bernie keeps her distance.

Unfortunately, she is. Every touch from the handsy Minister makes her see red. The only reason she doesn’t cause a scene is that it would be professional suicide. Back in the UK Serena would have draped herself all over Bernie, would have kissed her hours ago, coped a feel even, decorum be damned. Here, however, they are for all intents and purposes two single gal pals running a ward together. They are chummy flatmates. It drives her crazy.

It drives her crazy that she can’t lean forward and whisper incredibly dirty things into Bernie’s ear to make her all flustered. That she can’t reel out innuendo after innuendo to make the good Minister blush.

She knows Bernie isn’t going to up sticks with this sorry excuse of a man. It just infuriates her that this arse thinks he can put the moves on her Major, without Serena being able to do much about it.

For one second, she regrets coming to Kenya, where showing affection to the woman she loves would mean at best getting shunned socially, and at worst getting arrested and deported. She wants to be back at Holby, kissing Bernie in hospital foyers.

“At least promise me the first dance,” the Minister insists.

Serena bites her tongue so hard she tastes blood. Bernie pauses, obviously looking for a way out, but she ends up dipping her head in acceptance. She looks back at Serena with eyes full of regret, but it’s not like the two of them were going to twirl around the dance floor, Serena thinks crankily.

The band starts up a popular tune and Serena watches on as Bernie is led into a waltz. At least the Minister behaves and keeps his hands where they are meant to be. Bernie is graceful, but it’s clear she is uncomfortable. Her mouth is pinched in the fakest smile Serena has ever seen.

Serena’s boss invites her to dance and she accepts, more for something to do. She can’t just stand there and glare, upset at injustices she can’t fix. The dance floor is packed with couples, all twirling under the huge chandeliers.

“Minister Otieno is married, you know,” her boss says as they start the first steps of their waltz.

Serena looks up in surprise. John Mutua is not one to gossip, and he runs the hospital with a tight fist that is eerily reminiscent of Henrik Hanssen.

“He always does this. Hones in on a pretty woman and follows her around like a puppy,” John says as they twirl around the dance floor.

Bernie looks at her over the Minister’s shoulder and she rolls her eyes, which makes Serena smile.

“I wouldn’t worry, though. Dr Wolfe is clearly taken,” John continues.

Serena misses the next step and they fumble slightly. John tightens his hold and on they go.

There is a moment where Serena panics. She pictures them being driven out of the country. People pointing at them, maybe even shouting at them. Are they getting fired? What is she going to tell Bernie, who worked so hard to build her trauma centre? Is this how Bernie felt in the army?

“No need for dramatics, Dr Campbell. The hospital needs you. I couldn’t care less about your personal life,” John says with a slight smile.

Serena breathes in and out, concentrates on not messing up the next steps.

“Besides, I do so enjoy your contributions to the board,” John adds, his eyebrow raised in a trademark Serena Campbell move.

Serena snorts, her breathing back to normal. She hates the board. They are all stuck up and unimaginative, and Serena keeps butting heads with them over every little thing.

“I hope we haven’t…made things awkward for you,” Serena says delicately.

There really isn’t a subtle way of asking if having a couple of gay ladies on his staff is causing problems.

“No, not at all. You are very discreet,” John reassures her.

This is such a strange conversation, because Serena has barely begun to think of herself as bisexual, and has barely even come out to anyone apart from Baptiste.

She has not encountered a smidge of discrimination apart from the odd bit of innuendo at Holby. And now she’s in Kenya, where coming out to the wrong person can have devastating consequences. The 180 change is giving her whiplash.

“And incidentally, you make a very striking couple,” John says with a wider smile.

Serena smirks proudly, looks over at Bernie, and almost sighs at how beautiful she is.

The music ends and they all clap politely. Bernie begs off another dance from the Minister and excuses herself, making a beeline for Serena. John tips an imaginary hat and smoothly grabs the Minister, offering a drink and a cigar. Serena is pretty sure him and Bernie clap hands in a “well done” high five as they pass each other.

“Well, well, well, Ms Wolfe. You weren’t lying, you are a most accomplished dancer,” Serena says as Bernie finally gets to her.

Bernie does a little shimmy and Serena’s throat suddenly feels dry. That dress really is something.

“And John knows about us,” she adds as they head to the bar.

Bernie’s eyes go wide and she looks at John and the Minister talking in a corner.

“What did he say?”

“He’s fine with it. Said we made a striking couple.”

Serena orders more wine. Bernie looks a little dumbstruck, but she grabs the wine glass handed to her and drinks a long gulp.

“I only wish we could tell Minister Sleazy over there,” Serena grumps.

Bernie laughs and shakes her head.

“Oh, that’s right, make fun. Not long ago you were threatening Fleur with murder,” Serena with a raised eyebrow.

“She told you?!”

Bernie actually looks offended and Serena can’t help the laugh that escapes her lips.

“Of course! First thing she did the next time I saw her.”

With many an eyebrow wiggle and even more innuendos, Serena conveniently forgets to add. She’d actually found the whole thing adorable, but she won’t ever say that either.

They sip their wine and continue to network throughout the evening, and just as Serena’s shoes are starting to pinch, John sends them home. Serena is a little buzzed, but pleasantly so, and she has to work at keeping her hands to herself in the cab.

Bernie’s hair has started to escape its bun and Serena desperately wants to kiss her neck. The jealousy from earlier still has her pumped up, and all night she has been wanting to stake her claim on Bernie, as primitive as that sounds.

She barely makes it out of the lift, just stares at Bernie with very dark eyes as they go up. Bernie gulps, fumbles with the key, and they tumble inside their flat.

Serena pushes Bernie against the wall as soon as the door clicks shut behind them. They are flush against each other, Serena’s hands buried in Bernie’s hair, the clasp discarded and on the floor.

“All night I’ve waited to do this. You make me crazy. You are so beautiful, I want you so much,” Serena pants against Bernie’s lips.

Bernie whimpers and Serena promptly loses her mind. She reaches down between them and rucks up Bernie’s dress, her lips on Bernie’s neck.

“So beautiful and all mine,” she whispers harshly in Bernie’s ear.

She’s never said anything like this in her life, and maybe her impotence at the situation from earlier is to blame, but the words are thrilling and Bernie gasps.

“All yours,” Bernie moans, almost delirious.

Serena feels it all the way between her legs. It makes her lightheaded and she has to take a second to ground herself, but then Bernie cants her hips. She slips her hand under the waistband of Bernie’s underwear and the world stops turning.

Bernie is so wet and warm. Serena moans against her neck, so turned on she’s afraid she’s going to hyperventilate. She doesn’t bother to remove Bernie’s underwear and slides two fingers in her, her breath catching at the cry she gets for her efforts. Bernie’s head thuds against the wall, her eyes closed, her face contorted in a grimace of pleasure.

“I can’t stop thinking about you. All the time. I just want to make you come, all day, everyday,” Serena says in a throaty rasp.

Bernie’s eyes fly open and they are as black as the night, twin pools of raw need. Serena slips a thigh between Bernie’s legs to get more leverage and Bernie mewls.

“You feel so good. So, so good, my darling,” Serena says next, enthralled by the effect her voice is having on Bernie.

“All yours,” Bernie repeats, as if in a trance.

“Yes, all mine. All mine,” Serena echoes.

Her thumb swipes and her fingers curl, again and again, and all Serena can think of is “mine, mine, mine”, on a loop, and of how amazing Bernie feels.

Bernie comes with a strangled shout, her back arched off the wall, her hands clutching at Serena’s shoulders.

Her knees buckle, and Serena has to hold her waist so they don’t fall to the ground. Instead, they slide down the wall in a heap of trembling limbs.

“Jesus Christ,” Bernie pants, her cheeks red.

Serena nods, robbed of speech, and now a little embarrassed at her caveman-like behaviour. She’s about to apologise when Bernie curls a hand at the back of her neck and kisses her, hard.

“You are mine, too,” Bernie says ferociously, her eyes intent.

“Always,” Serena replies, her heart full.

Bernie smiles and she gets up, pulls Serena with her. They throw their heels off and the shoes thud against the wall by the door, and they kiss their way to bed, bumping into furniture before they stumble towards their destination. They bounce onto the mattress, Bernie on top of a trembling Serena.

Serena can’t stop whimpering in Bernie’s mouth and she’s so far gone she doesn’t realise Bernie has managed to take off her dress.

“Oh, Serena. Look at you,” Bernie says with wonder in her voice.

Serena smiles, eyes shining, and watches as Bernie takes in the underwear she’s wearing, lacy and black and very flattering.

“A vision,” Bernie breathes out.

She lowers her head and kisses her slowly, her teeth nipping at Serena’s bottom lip, their legs intertwined, Bernie’s hip rolling against Serena.

Serena gasps when Bernie licks her neck, sucking at her pulse point. She feels like she’s on fire, and Bernie is only teasing the flames.

“Please, oh please, Bernie,” she whimpers, her hands in Bernie’s hair, tugging and pulling.

She can feel Bernie’s smile against her neck.

“No need to beg, my love. I’m going to give you everything you need,” Bernie breathes in her ear.

That does nothing to quench her desire, and she watches, squirming, as Bernie shimmies down her body.

They know what the other likes, by now. Bernie looks up as she worries Serena’s nipples with her teeth, smiles when she makes Serena cry out. Serena’s head is thrown back onto the pillow, her feet curled in the sheets. Bernie soothes the bites with her tongue as she caresses Serena’s inner thighs, teasing and building Serena up and up.

Serena sobs when Bernie takes her in her mouth. She is incoherent, and only a jumble of moans and whimpers leave her lips, so close she can taste it.

Bernie’s eyes never leave hers, their hands linked on Serena’s hips. When she comes, it hits her like a train, her eyes screwed shut and muscles taut. She doesn’t know how much time passes, but she’s in Bernie’s arms and Bernie is kissing her temple, her cheeks.

“I take it all back. I love work functions. We should go to one at least one a week,” Bernie says sleepily.

Serena hums, burrowing in Bernie’s side, a leg thrown over her, her face in her neck.

“Ok, but no flirting with politicians,” Serena replies, her body warm and content.

“I’ll try not to get flirted with if you do the same,” Bernie clarifies, her lips on Serena’s forehead.

“Deal.”

Serena is going to kick herself for not removing her make up or doing her night time routine, but Bernie is comfortable and she feels so loved and happy. She doesn’t move and falls asleep listening to Bernie’s deep and steady breathing.

Chapter Text

The Skype ringtone chimes and Serena hurries to answer it. She set herself up on the balcony as the day is overcast and there is rain in the air, and the temperature is pleasant.

Jason fills the screen, a big grin on face.

“Auntie Serena, how are you?”

They talk once a week, usually on Thursdays in the early evening as Jason has the day off from work and Serena finishes earlier. It also allows Serena to see Guinevere before she goes to bed. And just as Serena goes to reply, the baby appears, obviously handed to Jason by Greta.

Guinevere is 10 months old and stands proudly on Jason’s lap, trying to touch the screen. She babbles and smiles when Serena smiles at her.

“And how is my darling niece?” Serena coos.

Guinevere waves her hands excitedly, the babble getting louder. She has a sort of ginger Mohawk and is wearing a lovely green dress that Serena sent the previous month.

“She chewed through an entire packet of tissues, and has decided that napping in the morning is no longer acceptable,” Jason says, turning to Guinevere with a stern expression.

Serena smothers a smile. Guinevere grabs Jason’s glasses with a shriek of delight and Jason melts and laughs.

It’s been hard to see Guinevere grow up without being there. Serena left when she was four months old. But Jason and her have kept to their Skype dates religiously, and it is fascinating to see her develop. She also sends an outrageous number of gifts, and chief amongst them in Guinevere’s heart is Sophie the Giraffe, bought after their national park excursion.

“She’s still teething, poor thing. I hope she chews on Sophie most of the time,” Serena says with a fond smile.

Guinevere has moved on from Jason’s glasses to play with a small notebook, scrunching up the pages with glee.

“She likes to sleep with her. When she decides to sleep.”

Jason, much to Serena’s pride, is a hands-on father who dotes on his daughter. He takes her to the park, the pool, the museum. He reads to her at night, feeds her in the mornings before work. Guinevere focuses him and challenges him, and being a witness to their relationship is a blessing.

Of course, the ups have downs as well. Like any new parents, Jason and Greta panic and make mistakes. Serena and Bernie have been woken up a few times in the middle of the night by a hysterical Jason and a screaming Guinevere, only to talk both of them down.

But Guinevere is a happy child. She is bright and active. She’s curious. Serena might be biased, but her great-niece is possibly the greatest child in the world.

The sliding doors of the balcony open and Bernie steps out, only wearing very small shorts and a tank top, glistening with sweat, her hair pulled back. She’s been for a run in their local park, and Serena tries not to stare.

“Jason! Guinevere! Hello!” Bernie says with a toothy grin.

Serena puts a hand on Bernie’s forearm, brings her closer until they are pressed together, Bernie’s hip resting by Serena’s temple.

“Auntie Bernie, I hope you are staying hydrated. It is above 25 degrees in Nairobi,” Jason says.

Bernie honks out a laugh that startles Guinevere, who shrieks something that sounds like Bernie’s name.

“We think Guinevere is almost ready to say her first word, so we are monitoring her closely. We have had false alarms in recent weeks, but I shall keep you informed when she does say something,” Jason informs them.

Guinevere jumps up and down on Jason’s lap, her hands stretched out to grab the screen. Bernie is very popular, and Guinevere usually squeals with happiness every time she sees her. It’s adorable, and Serena has stopped taking the favouritism to heart.

“It’s bound to be something like “dada”, Jason,” Serena says.

“Or “mama””, they hear Greta in the background.

“Exactly. But you’re right, it is an important milestone, and we would love to know as soon as it happens,” Serena says.

Greta likes to send them videos of Guinevere, and the last one had shown them their grand-niece covered in bits of brie, having thankfully missed out on the lactose intolerance of her mother.

“We have other news to share, Auntie Serena,” Jason says suddenly.

Serena sits up, worried, and she feels Bernie’s hand on her shoulder, grounding her.

“Greta and I have decided to get married. It’ll be easier for Guinevere and for taxes, Alan said. And I love Greta, and she loves me, and so we are going to see a registrar next weekend.”

It’s all very no non-sense, just like them, but Serena can’t help the tears on her cheeks.

“Congratulations, to both of you,” Bernie says when it’s clear Serena can’t find her words.

Jason grins and Guinevere squeals. Serena gives them both a watery smile.

“I’m-I’m thrilled Jason. I’m only sorry we won’t be with you to celebrate.”

It does sting, to be so far away. But she couldn’t live with the alternative. A life without Bernie would not have been a life at all.

“You are coming back to Holby for Guinevere’s first birthday, so we can do it then. Greta says babies don’t remember their early birthdays, so I’m sure she won’t mind if we also celebrate us getting married,” Jason says, very reasonably.

Serena nods, still teary. She lets Bernie take over for a bit, listens to her coo at Guinevere and to her ask questions to Jason about work and the latest Doctor Who trailer. She watches him, her beloved nephew, who has grown so much in the time she’s known him. She is so proud, and a fierce love burns through her chest.

“You’ll take pictures? At the registry office?” Serena finally asks.

“Greta’s mum and Alan are going to be our witnesses, so they can take pictures to show you.”

Greta mumbles something Serena can’t hear, and Jason smiles.

“We will think about you and Auntie Bernie, Auntie Serena. Guinevere will be your representative,” Jason says.

Guinevere claps her hands and squeals, and so that’s that.

They say their good byes, blowing kisses to Guinevere. Despite the sweat, Bernie leans down to kiss Serena’s cheek, and they smile at each other.

“He’s done well for himself, our Jason,” Bernie says as she stretches.

The “our” makes her heart twinge happily. She leans back on her chair, eyes bright at the picture Bernie makes, all toned and lithe, muscles straining. She follows a bead of sweat rolling down Bernie’s sternum, all thoughts of Jason soon forgotten.

“Need a hand in the shower?” She asks innocently.

Bernie looks up, flushes, and grins.

“Not an offer I’m ever going to refuse,” Bernie replies.

They race to the bathroom, laughing and jostling, and Bernie makes it to the shower well ahead of Serena, who is more than happy to be the slower one. She has an excellent view of Bernie’s shapely bum.

She lets Bernie take her sweaty work out clothes off, and smiles when she realises Bernie is putting on a bit of a show. The shorts come down slowly, over tight thigh muscles and defined calves, and Serena just leans back against the closed door with her arms crossed, her eyes following every movement.

There’s a flush spreading over Bernie’s chest, but she keeps her dark, intent eyes on Serena as she takes off her tank top, back arching and chest thrust forward. Serena bites off a moan when she sees beads of sweat rolling down Bernie’s taut stomach, wants to lick them off.

Bernie is left in her sports bra and underwear, and she peels them off with her back turned to Serena, definitely blushing now. Her scars are on show, and Serena knows Bernie can be self conscious about them.

It only takes two steps to take Bernie in her arms and to kiss her firmly, hands on Bernie’s hips.

“I’ll get you all wet,” Bernie protests.

Serena draws back, smirk firmly in place.

“That’s the idea,” she says, her voice low and intent.

Bernie huffs a laugh, and wastes no time in undressing Serena, her fingers tickling Serena’s sides until Serena squirms away and laughs.

The water in the shower is blissfully cool, and Serena closes her eyes, her face tilted under the spray. She smiles when she feels Bernie’s arms around her waist.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, soldier,” she says playfully, grabbing the shower gel.

Bernie does a little mock salute, which earns her a swat on the thigh, and submits to a perfectly above board soaping. Serena reins in her libido until they are both clean and have cooled down, and then she presses against Bernie gently until Bernie’s back is against the tilled wall. Bernie’s eyes are huge and dark and she looks beautiful and Serena needs her like she needs oxygen in her lungs.

Serena murmurs words of appreciation as she kisses the wet skin under Bernie’s ear. She tells her how gorgeous she is as she licks the scar on her neck. She tells her how soft her skin is as she palms her breasts, slippery under the shower jet. She tells her how much she loves her as she spreads her legs and slips two fingers into her, moaning at how wet Bernie is.

Bernie holds herself upright by holding on to Serena’s shoulders and she rocks into the rhythm, her eyes wide and unfocused, breathing erratic and harsh.

Serena loves her like this, on the edge of falling apart, and she tells Bernie so, enjoys how much wetter the words make her.

“I love you, my darling. Look at you, you are so beautiful. I love you, I love you, I love you,” Serena says right in Bernie’s ear.

Bernie cries out and comes, and Serena has to hold her up as her legs tremble and shake.

They stand there, locked into a tight embrace under the cooling water, and Serena’s heart is so full of love she thinks it might burst open.

“Come on, my love. We’ll freeze,” Serena says gently.

They dry each other off, Bernie’s smile a little dreamy and unfocused, and Serena lets herself be led into the bedroom. It’s much darker now, and the clouds outside their window look angry.

They lay on the bed and kiss, unhurried, with the whole evening ahead of them.

“You’re ok? About Jason?” Bernie asks quietly.

Serena smiles and nods. She tangles her legs with Bernie’s.

“I’m ok. I’m very proud of him,” she replies.

Bernie looks up at her from beneath her fringe, as she always does when she talks about feelings.

“You’re not sad you won’t be there when he gets married?” She asks.

And Serena also hears the underlying question.

“A little. But I wouldn’t change anything, Bernie. I am happy here, with you. And we’ll get to celebrate with them soon,” she says firmly.

Bernie nods, a small smile on her lips, her fears laid to rest. When she kisses Serena again, there’s more pressure and intent and Serena smiles, spreads her legs, and brings Bernie on top of her.

“Now how about I show you how wet you made me?” Serena says, her eyebrow raised.

Bernie sputters and blushes.

“From the shower, of course,” Serena drawls.

Bernie snorts, but she spends the evening finding out anyway, while a storm rages outside their window.

Serena leaves theatre, chatting to Samuel about the surgery they’ve just performed. He really is a bright young man. Serena knows he will go far. The surgery went well and was a good teaching opportunity, so Samuel is delighted. They round the corner back onto their ward, and pick up their paperwork.

“Dr Campbell, it’s my birthday next week, and I’m having a party at my parents’ house. Would you come? With Dr Wolfe too, of course.”

Serena has told him a hundred times to call her by her first name, but no success so far.

“Of course, I’d be delighted. Bernie as well, I’m sure.”

The trauma centre team often socialise together in the evenings and on days off, and they all know each other well, from the most junior nurse to Bernie and Serena at the top of the totem pole.

A week later, they are standing in front of huge gates leading to a mansion the size of State House. Serena checks the address once again and this is where they are meant to be. She frowns at Bernie, who shrugs and rings the doorbell.

A security guard with a gun lets them into lush tropical gardens. Serena is starting to feel slightly foolish in her outfit, a simple linen dress. An honest to god butler opens the front door and the grand foyer of the house is packed with people. There is enough marble to redo the Vatican and Serena’s eyebrow crawls to her hairline.

“Did you know Samuel was Bill Gates?” Serena whispers as they wander around the first floor, flutes of champagne in hand.

Bernie shakes her head, mouth open when they set eyes on what looks like a genuine Picasso. The rooms are huge, and all the bay windows open onto the gardens and the pool. It wouldn’t look out of place in a magazine. The furniture is formal and probably horribly expensive and everyone is dressed to the nines. Serena is glad she pushed Bernie to swap her shorts for tailored trousers and a shirt. She thinks she just saw a famous Nigerian pop star, one that Olive has been raving about.

“Bosses!” A voice rings out.

They turn around and see Samuel waving enthusiastically from a corner. The birthday boy is wearing a suit, and he looks very uncomfortable. Next to him must be his parents, a couple in their early sixties.

“Mum, Dad, this is Dr Wolfe, and Dr Campbell. Bosses, Paul and Constance Maina,” Samuel says excitedly.

“Ah, the famous Dr Wolfe. Samuel has talked so much about you that I was wondering if marriage was on the cards!” Mr Maina says.

Bernie lets out a strangled sound and shakes her head with a tight smile.

“Dad!” Samuel chastises.

“And Dr Campbell, a pleasure to meet you. Samuel tells me you’ve been mentoring him,” Mr Maina continues unabashed.

They shake hands, and Serena decides she doesn’t like him. She knows men just like him. Men who think the world owes them everything, who don’t take no for an answer, who are sure their opinion is fact.

“I have indeed. He is a wonderful doctor. You must be very proud of him,” Serena says, tightening the hand shake.

“We are, we are. We just need to find him a good wife,” Mrs Maina says.

Samuel flushes but doesn’t say anything, and it’s all a bit tense. Serena doesn’t think that now is the time to mention Esther. She has a feeling Mr and Mrs Maina wouldn’t approve of the match. Esther’s misgivings perhaps now make sense.

“Well, plenty of fish in the sea, isn’t that what they always say?” Serena says with false joviality.

“Yes, quite. Are you married Dr Campbell?” Mrs Maina asks.

The tone is high and sarcastic, because Samuel must have said they were both single, even though he knows they are together.

“Divorced, and happily so,” Serena replies with the biggest smile possible.

Bernie snorts in her champagne, and gives them all big innocent eyes when they all turn to look at her.

“And what of you Dr Wolfe?”

“Same here, I’m afraid,” she replies with a brash smile that Serena loves so.

“Ah, well, I’m sure you will find plenty of willing men here tonight. You two are quite the catch!” Mrs Maina says condescendingly.

Bernie makes that strangled sound again as she nods, and they take their leave before they both burst out laughing. They take refuge in a corner by an open window. Samuel follows, apologies at the ready. Serena holds up a hand.

“Never apologise for your parents, Samuel,” she says from experience.

He still looks very contrite and embarrassed.

“They have been on my case to marry ever since I graduated from medical school,” he says, forlorn.

Bernie puts a hand on his arm. Serena knows she wants to hug him tight, as if she would Cameron, but now is not the place, especially as Samuel’s parents are watching them like hawks.

“You take your time, Samuel. I know all about pressure, but do no make the mistake of giving in,” Bernie says.

Serena wonders if she’s talking about herself. Did Bernie’s parents pressure her into marrying Marcus? She makes a mental note to ask her later. Bernie, while much better at expressing her feelings, is still a bit of clam. Serena has a tried and tested approach of giving her an in, and waiting to see if Bernie takes the bait.

Samuel sighs and nods, and goes back to greeting the hundreds of guests. They find their hospital crew hanging out under a cluster of palm trees. Serena hopes they haven’t been relegated there.

Esther is in fine form, laugh booming and scaring a pair of doves. Lauren, their American trainee, is looking at the white columns that support the house with her mouth open. From the looks on their team’s faces, it’s clear no one knew Samuel’s family was well off. Olive, their youngest nurse, is staring at the crystal flute she’s holding.

“Why would he even bother with medical school? He could just take over his father’s business. He’s an only child,” Olive says, confused.

Serena is not confused. She knows all about being an only child and the pressure that comes with it, self imposed and otherwise. She remembers Adrienne’s behaviour when she was taking her A levels, pushing and nagging, desperate for Serena to do well. And then what she had said when Serena had introduced her to Edward: “Well, he’s no prize, but who knows if you can do better?”

Serena knows all about desperately trying to impress parents while finding your own path.

“It would have been a great loss for us though, wouldn’t it?” Serena just says while sipping her overpriced champagne.

Olive shrugs. She’s young, and very impressed by the waiters in their uniforms.

The party continues well into the night. There is food and more drinks, and younger people are overjoyed when a well known DJ starts a set on the terrace. Samuel manages to get away from his hosting duties for a few songs, and he even gets to dance with Esther.

Serena and Bernie get dragged on the dance floor for a popular pop song, much to the hilarity of their colleagues. It’s in Swahili, and everyone knows the words, and the choreography that goes with it. Serena is tipsy enough to attempt it, and she ends up in Bernie’s arms, laughing.

The lights on Bernie’s face sharpen her cheekbones, and she looks beautiful and happy. In any other situation, Serena would lean for a kiss, but here she just smiles and squeezes Bernie’s shoulder.

“Hey, bosses! Have you checked out the fountain with the flamingos?” Samuel shouts as he passes by.

Flamingos? Serena frowns but shakes her head, and Samuel vaguely points to a place behind some trees and vegetation. Bernie takes her hand and they walk pressed together in the darkness. The noises of the party fade away when they round a corner, and Serena gasps when they reach a fountain with flamingo statues. The place is deserted, the flowers of nearby plants are glowing silver in the moonlight, and the smell of jasmine floats in the air. They sit on a bench tucked away in a little alcove, away from prying eyes.

“Samuel is little joker,” Serena grumbles, but it’s good natured.

Bernie laughs and puts an arm around her shoulders. She scoots closer and puts her head against Serena’s. They look at the fountain, the sound of the water soothing. Serena crosses her legs and slips a hand on Bernie’s thigh and sighs happily.

“I love our life here,” she says after a while.

Bernie turns to her, eyes shining in the low light.

“Me too.

“And I love you,” Serena adds, leaning forward.

Bernie smiles against her lips.

“Me too,” she replies.
They kiss slowly, mostly chastely, just brushes of lips. Serena sucks Bernie’s bottom lip into her mouth and Bernie hums. It’s hard to keep her hands to herself, but Serena behaves. Barely. She still slips a hand in Bernie’s hair, always unable to resist touching and playing with it. Bernie kisses her cheekbone, and then that spot just under her ear that makes her shudder.

“You just wait until I get you home,” Bernie whispers in her ear.

Serena squeezes Bernie’s thigh in warning, but it just makes Bernie chuckle. The wench.

“Promises, promises,” she drawls, her voice low.

Bernie’s eyes are very dark. Serena gulps and stares at her lips before shaking herself.

“Let’s go back before we give the flamingos a show,” she says after clearing her throat.

It takes Bernie a few seconds to agree, but another kiss is incentive enough. When they reach the party, Samuel winks at them and Bernie ducks her head with a blush. Serena wonders if she’s been played, but the outcome was so pleasant that she is willing to overlook it.

Esther drives them back in her lovingly restored VW bug. Bernie is squished at the front, and it’s hard to hear themselves talk because there is no air conditioning so all the windows are open.

“So, what did you make of the Mainas?” Esther yells above the noise of the traffic.

“Interesting people,” Bernie says, her jaw tight.

“Yeah, right? Too much money and not enough sense. Samuel has been running away since he was a child,” Esther says.

“Is that why you won’t date him?” Serena asks, partly because she’s had enough champagne to dare.

“I’ll date him when he stops running and stands up to them. Can you imagine him introducing me as his girlfriend? I think his father would faint!”

Esther laughs, her shoulders shaking.

“You’re not afraid he’ll agree to be set up?” Bernie asks, concerned for her favourite registrar.

Esther shakes her head.

“Samuel is like a slippery eel, he placates and placates, but one day will come when he will need to be brave. You need to brave for love,” Esther says seriously.

Bernie twists in her seat to look at Serena, her eyes soft. Serena blushes. They’ve had to be plenty brave to make their relationship work. Serena is reminded of a kiss in theatre. Of an apology in their office. Of a good bye on a rooftop. And more recently, of a surprise visit that ended with a kiss. Serena puts a hand on Bernie’s shoulder and scratches lightly at her neck, smiles when Bernie shivers.

“You’re right. You have to be brave for love,” Serena says softly.

The night flies past the car windows, and Serena is right where she needs to be.

Chapter Text

Serena’s phone dings on her nightstand. It’s just gone 8 am, and Serena is supposed to get up anyway, so she blearily looks at the screen.

“You will be pleased to hear Guinevere said the word “bunny” two minutes ago.”

Serena blinks and then a smile slowly spreads across her face. She goes to wake up Bernie, but her phone dings again.

Another text from Jason.

“She has been saying it continuously for the past three minutes.”

Serena laughs. She turns and slips an arm around Bernie’s waist. Bernie snuffles and twitches.

“Wake up, darling. Guinevere said her first word,” Serena whispers in her ear.

Bernie hums. Her hair is all over her face.

“Wassit?”

“Bunny.”

Bernie frowns, her eyes still closed, and turns to her side.

“Bunny?"

Just as Serena goes to answer, her phone dings again, this time from Greta. It’s a video. Bernie opens her eyes and they snuggle to watch it together.

It’s Guinevere, still in her baby gro. Her ginger Mohawk is in disarray, so she’s obviously just woken up. She is looking at the phone camera and squealing “bunny” over and over again. Bernie laughs with delight.

“Look at her! So clever! I wonder where the bunny came from? Is it from a book?” Bernie asks.

Serena shrugs, still smiling. They watch the video a couple more times and text their congratulations. They are all booked for their visit in a couple of weeks, so this piece of news is exciting rather than bittersweet.

Serena stretches, a happy smile on her face. They have a rare day off together, and it’s just started the best way possible.

“Coffee?” Bernie asks, disentangling herself from their embrace.

Serena makes a little bereft noise, but coffee does sound nice, so she lets her go. She opens the blinds, sees that it’s going to be a beautiful day. Temperatures have cooled down as they approach summer, which is of course winter here, and Serena has enjoyed the respite. It does mean an increased rainfall, but the vegetation has never looked so lush.

Bernie comes back with two mugs and they get back in bed, re entangling themselves.

Serena thinks she likes these moments best of all. They never had enough of them back in Holby, and in France they always seemed to be outside, taking advantage of a never ending summer. She sighs happily as she leans back against Bernie’s front. They have no firm plans. They have minimal chores. This is bliss.

So of course they get interrupted. Not by a phone call from the hospital, though. There is a loud banging on the door, and a frantic voice calling for help. Bernie jumps up with years of Army conditioning behind her, and Serena follows slightly more slowly.

It’s Marie, their next door neighbour. While they don’t know each other very well, they always greet each other in the hallway or the lift or around the pool, and her son, Thomas, is very cute and friendly. She’s normally very put together and elegant, but today her hair is all over the place and she’s only wearing a house dress and she’s barefoot.

“Doctors! It’s Thomas! He is choking!”

They run through the open door to Marie’s flat and the 4-year old is quickly turning blue. Bernie and Serena sink to their knees in tandem, and raise him for Bernie to do the Heimlich manoeuvre.

“Was he eating?” Serena asks calmly.

“I don’t know! He was like this when I came out of the bedroom to give him breakfast!”

Marie is beside herself, her voice high and panicky. Bernie does the five abdominal thrusts, counting them loudly. Thomas is coughing, which is a good sign, but nothing is coming up.

“Alright, Thomas, I’m going to reach into your mouth to see if anything is blocking your throat, ok?” Bernie says, as calmly as Serena.

She opens his mouth, and Serena gives her her phone so she can shine the light into his airway.

“Yep, it’s a piece of something. I’ll do the cycle again,” Bernie says.

“He’s going to be fine, Marie, don’t worry,” Serena adds for the distraught mother.

Bernie does five more thrusts, giving Thomas encouragements all the while, and finally a marble comes shooting out, hitting the window with a loud ping.

Marie comes swooping down to hold Thomas in her arms, sobbing with relief.

Bernie smiles, and Serena sits down on a chair, trying to get her breathing back to normal.

“Why, why did you eat that marble Thomas?” Marie is almost shouting, shaking the boy.

“I just wanted to look at it, mummy, I promise,” Thomas says, crying.

Then there is further conversation in Swahili, and Serena can only understand the words “stupid”, “love” and “son”, so that’s probably their cue to leave. Bernie gets herself off the floor, still in her shorts and tank top, and Serena suddenly feels a little self conscious in her rumpled sleep shirt.

Marie tries to ply them with food as a thank you, her relief palpable, but they manage to escape with only, weirdly, a bunch of grapes.

The incident fades from memory until the next day, when there is another knock at their door. They have just come home from their shift, and Bernie is making another stew variation. The flat smells amazing. Serena has just had a shower, and she answers the door.

It’s Emmanuel, Marie’s husband. He looks grave. They haven’t really ever interacted. Emmanuel owns a few convenience stores downtown and he works constantly.

“Doctor Campbell. I wanted to thank you for saving Thomas’ life yesterday. I know I can’t ever repay you for what you did, but please accept this,” he says, not coming into the flat even though Serena motioned for him to enter.

Bernie comes out of the kitchen, drying her hands in a dish towel. Emmanuel gets more uncomfortable. He’s holding a box of dried fruit and almonds.

“Thank you. But you didn’t have to, we were just doing our jobs. Why don’t you come in?” Serena says as she takes the gift with a kind smile.

Emmanuel shakes his head, his mouth in a tight line. He looks at Bernie, at Serena, and takes a step back. Serena frowns, confused.

“No, thank you, I have to get back for dinner,” he says quickly.

Bernie is assessing him with calculating eyes. She suddenly smiles and extends her hand.

“Well, it was nice to see you anyway. Please pass on our greetings to Marie and Thomas,” she says with a bright voice.

Emmanuel looks at Bernie’s hand and his mouth twists in a grimace.

“I will. Good night,” he just says.

He leaves without shaking Bernie’s hand. Something dark and heavy settles in Serena’s belly. Bernie scoffs as she closes the door.

“Well, seems like the good businessman is not a fan of the gays,” she says lightly.

Serena stares at door. She feels bile rise and breathes in and out to get the feeling to pass.

“You think he’ll say anything?” Serena asks as they enter the kitchen.

“I doubt it. We’ve just saved his son’s life. Probably wouldn’t sit well with his beliefs to tell on us. So ergo the gift, but not the handshake. I think we got the better deal,” Bernie says with a laugh.

“How can you be so flippant?” Serena asks, setting the table with a bit more force than necessary, a plate hitting the table with a loud clang.

Bernie turns from the stove with wide eyes.

“I’m not, I just…Serena there will always be people who treat us differently because we are two women together. What Emmanuel did was unpleasant, yes, but not the worst that can happen, especially here,” she explains.

Serena sighs and nods. It just had never happened to her. She remembers incidents at Holby. Flippant remarks, hurtful words, refusals from patients to be treated by LGBT staff, and she had always put a stop to it. But it felt very different to be on the receiving end of it, even for something this minor.

“Sorry, it just felt…so wrong. I mean, seriously, a handshake?” Serena says, outraged.

Bernie smiles at her softly. She sets the stew on their dining table in the living room and they sit down for dinner. Bernie is silent for a while.

“We’ve never talked about this. It’s my fault, I should have…asked at least. How do you feel about me being a woman?” She asks. She puts her hands up when Serena starts to smirk. “I meant, not physically, but in the grand scheme of things.”

Serena falls silent. Truth be told, caught up in the greatest love affair of her life, the fact that Bernie is a woman never really held much importance.

“I think I’ve told you before I’d never been more than friends with a woman. But…I’ve reassessed and, there are definitely women in my life that I’ve admired, fiercely. I can’t help but wonder, if I’d been more aware, if one of them had kissed me in a theatre,” Serena trails off with a smile.

Bernie laughs.

When Bernie fled to Kiev, leaving Serena distraught and confused, Serena looked back at her life in a new light. There was that biology teacher who she wanted to do well for. She didn’t remember her name, but she had this image of a kind smile and long, shiny dark hair. And what about her mother’s friend? The one who wore tight dresses and who once fed her homemade chocolate truffles, the taste decadent on Serena’s tongue. And then that girl in her anatomy module at university. Something about a northern accent and an energy she found fascinating.

These were all fleeting and vague, but still. Serena had sat in her living room, bottle of wine empty on the coffee table, a little stunned.

“So, bisexual?” Serena says with a shrug of her shoulders.

Bernie nods and takes Serena’s hand in hers.

“If that’s what you want. And I’ll always support you whatever,” Bernie says.

Serena is pretty sure those are words Bernie wishes someone had told her, back in the day.

“And what about you?” She asks.

Bernie takes a breath and she tightens her hold on Serena’s hand. This feels momentous.

“I’m a lesbian,” Bernie says simply.

“And I love you, and you are amazing. And so brave, my darling,” Serena replies in a very soft voice.

Bernie’s eyes are a little wet and she sniffs with a smile.

“I’d never actually said the words out loud,” she explains.

Serena leaves her chair and sinks to her knees by Bernie’s seat. She embraces her tightly and kisses her sternum, wanting to erase years of pain and knowing she can’t.

“You amazing, fearless woman,” she says, muffled by Bernie’s shirt.

Bernie kisses her head and they stay like this for a minute, giving and receiving strength in equal measures.

“Come on, my mystery stew is getting cold,” Bernie says after a while, voice wet but sure.

Serena sits back in her chair, feeling much lighter about everything. She hopes Bernie feels the same. After all, she wasn’t the one burdened by decades of internalized homophobia.

Later, in bed and under the cover of darkness, Bernie says a bit more.

“I was never unhappy, as such. I just felt like I was missing something. All the love songs and the books and the movies, all these feelings, and I didn’t understand any of it. I thought it was all a big exaggeration, a big con. So I married Marcus and we had the kids and life ploughed on. He was a good husband, a good father, and a great friend. It was all very…nice,” Bernie whispers on her back, Serena tucked at her side.

“And you never looked at women?” Serena asks.

Bernie chuckles, as if she’s laughing fondly at her younger self.

“Oh, I did. I always loved women. Very much. My friendships were very passionate, but I always shied away from taking the last step, and no one could make it for me. So I always backed off, without really knowing what was happening. It was just never even an option.”

“And then there was Alex,” Serena says, trying to keep the jealousy from her voice.

From the amused twist of Bernie’s mouth, she doesn’t think she’s very successful.

“And then there was Alex,” Bernie confirms. “She was so confident. Knew exactly what she wanted and who she was. She saw how I looked at her. Realised I wouldn’t make the first move. So she kissed me. In a supply closet of all places. And it was…I can’t describe it. I felt awake. Alive. I felt right,” Bernie continues quietly.

Serena smiles and holds her tightly.

“Next thing I know, the IED hit and I was rudely brought back to reality,” Bernie says. “But then I met a cheeky vascular surgeon who just wouldn’t leave me alone,” she continues, laughing.

Serena lets out an offended squawk. Bernie kisses her forehead.

“Everywhere I turned, there you were, offering me coffees and chats and drinks,” Bernie laughs as she continues to kiss Serena, her cheeks, her mouth.

Serena wants to protest, she really does, but she knows Bernie is right. She was fascinated with Bernie from the start. Desperately wanted to be her friend.

Bernie slips on top of her and kisses her deeply. Serena moans, and all objections are lost. Her night shirt is rucked up at her waist and Bernie kisses her neck, her breath hot on Serena’s skin.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you, back then. I wanted to be near you all the time,” Serena confesses, already panting.

Bernie growls under her ear, and brings her hand to cup Serena’s breast.

“And I found you so interesting and so beautiful, and I just wanted to look at you work and wanted you to be happy,” Serena continues, her back arching off the mattress.

Bernie’s other hand creeps up Serena’s inner thigh and Serena whimpers.

“And I knew it wasn’t normal, to want to be so close, all the time, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to be around you,” Serena moans.

Bernie grinds the palm of her hand between Serena’s legs and Serena mewls, a little delirious.

“I wanted you too, for so long,” Bernie breathes out.

Serena can’t stop rolling her hips and Bernie matches every movement, her lips latched to Serena’s pulse point, and it feels so good, so right, and so cathartic, all at once. Bernie drags her teeth down the sensitive column of Serena’s neck and Serena comes with a muffled cry.

“So beautiful,” Bernie says as they snuggle afterwards.

Serena tries to swallow, her limbs heavy, her body languid. It’s like she’s underwater.

“Snap,” she murmurs.

Bernie laughs. Serena will return the favour in a minute, but for now she breathes in the scent of Bernie’s skin, burrows in her arms.

This is home. Everyone else be damned.

Chapter Text

They land in Holby and it’s raining and cold, a typical English spring day. Serena is wearing a coat for the first time in 7 months, and it feels bulky and heavy. Bernie, who managed to sleep the entire 8 hours of their flight, bounds ahead of her to get them a cab.

It feels odd to head to a hotel in a town she called home for years. Serena sold her house a few weeks before she moved, gave half the money from the proceeds to Jason, and told him to spend it on a deposit for a home of his own, or to put it in a savings account for Guinevere.

The hotel is nice, and Serena does appreciate crisp linens and a good bathrobe.

As they walk to Jason and Great’s place down the high street, Serena looks around and finds it hasn’t changed much. A new café opened next to the florist her mother liked. There’s an extra set of traffic lights before the junction to the hospital.

It feels the same, yet it feels very different. It’s quiet. It’s very white. It’s a little boring.

Although Holby is a nice town, quaint in many ways and safe and green, it seems devoid of the vibrant colours and sounds and even smells of Nairobi. Where are the reds and the yellows? Where are the brash prints that women favour? Where are the car horns and the shouts and the loud music? Serena even misses the smell of meat and street food.

One thing she enjoys, though, and that she does straightaway, is to hold Bernie’s hand as they stroll down the road. No one bats an eyelid, Serena notices giddily. Bernie smiles and rolls her eyes a little, but her grip is strong.

Jason greets them with a wide smile, and Guinevere barrels into them as soon as they enter the flat. She’s been walking for a week or so, and is an absolute menace. She zooms around the living room, and when Bernie leans down to kiss her head, looks up at her with such happiness that Serena has to laugh.

“Bunny! Bunny!” Guinevere squeals.

“Still on that are you, little one?” Bernie asks with a soft smile.

Guinevere holds her arms up and Bernie scoops her into her arms. Serena sits on the sofa and looks at them with a happy smile. The flat is small but airy and light, and Greta has good taste. The living room has lovely furniture, and Guinevere’s toys have been neatly put away.

“She has started to say other words, Auntie Bernie,” Jason says as he brings out tea for everyone.

“Ah yes?”

Serena still can’t quite believe that Jason is married, the wedding band visible on his finger. She feels proud, and also old, all at the same time.

“Yes. In fact, I have an idea,” Greta says from where she’s standing by Bernie.

She turns to face her daughter, and points to Jason.

“Guinevere, who’s that?”

“Dada!”

Everyone smiles and claps.

Next, her face still serious, Greta points to herself.

“And who’s this?”

Guinevere squeals with happiness.

“Mama!”

Another round of applause. Bernie bounces her a little and Guinevere giggles. Greta turns to Serena and asks the same question.

“Rena!” Guinevere answers.

Serena puts a hand on her mouth. She tries not to cry like an idiot. She’d felt so guilty and sad at leaving them behind, but Guinevere knows who she is, she recognises her. She’s emotional enough to almost miss what happens next.

“And who’s this, Guinevere?” Greta asks, pointing at Bernie.

Guinevere twists in Bernie’s arms and gives her a big toothy grin.

“Bunny! Bunny!”

Bernie’s eyes go very wide. Greta crosses her arms and looks smug.

“Auntie Bernie, you were Guinevere’s first word!” Jason exclaims.

Bernie looks completely stunned.

“Well, I’m…I’m sorry?” She says, obviously not sure what her reaction should be.

Serena muffles a laugh, because of course that’s what Bernie would say.

“It’s fine, Bernie. You are an acceptable role model for Guinevere, and already her great-aunt,” Greta reassures her in her blunt no non-sense voice.

Serena presses her lips in a thin line and nods seriously. Guinevere wriggles in Bernie’s arms so Bernie sets her down, but the toddler then grabs her hand to show her her toys. Serena whips out her phone and takes a few sneaky photos, because the look of concentration on Bernie’s face as she gets presented with Sophie the giraffe is something she doesn’t want to ever forget.

Their week-long stay is a whirlwind. Serena tries to cram in everyone she wants to see, and Bernie seems happy to tag along. They have dinner with Fletch, the Fletchlings, and surprisingly, still no Jac. She owes Sasha twenty quid, but she’s not about to just hand it over. They look happy and the kids are settled and healthy.

They have drinks with the AAU team, and Fleur manages to join them, blood painted lips and swagger to match. She’s got a girlfriend, though, so the ribbing is minimal. Bernie and her still spend the entire evening teasing each other, Fleur begging Bernie to teach her at least one of the 13 ways to kill someone with only bare hands. She quips that she already knows quite a few, thank you very much, and Bernie blushes and laughs.

Dominic invites them over for dinner and they spend the evening making outrageous plans for his wedding. At the suggestion of an ABBA tribute band, Lofty puts his foot down. The two men don’t seem in a hurry to actually go through with the ceremony, secure in their love and short on time to do any real planning for the moment.

They go on a day trip down to London to visit Charlotte, and Serena is glad because she still knows little about Bernie’s daughter. She’s waiting for them on the train platform, as lanky and blonde as her mother.

“I thought we could head into town for lunch? And maybe the Tate for an exhibit?” Charlotte says with a shy smile.

Another Wolfe woman who likes activities, Serena thinks wryly as they take the bus. She watches and listens as mother and daughter catch up. They are very similar. Charlotte has her mother’s quiet nature, and her brains, judging by the philosophy degree she’s undertaking.

“It’s all about the dissertation. I’m going to be spending the summer in the library,” Charlotte says.

“And then what’s next?” Bernie asks, because she’s been fretting about that for months.

Bernie wants Charlotte to be fulfilled and happy. She doesn’t care about money, she makes enough for her daughter to study her entire life, if that’s what she wants.

Charlotte ducks her head and Serena recognises the move as a stalling technique. Bernie does the same thing.

“Well, I was thinking about taking the Civil Service entrance exams,” Charlotte says quietly.

Serena’s eyebrow rises but she stays quiet.

“Really? Well, that’s…that’s great. What would you want to do?” Bernie asks.

“Work at the Home Office, or anything to do with the environment, or…just something that matters. Something that means something, that has an impact,” Charlotte says.

Both Bernie and Serena smile at the passion in her voice. Charlotte has always been more reserved and it’s nice to see her get excited about anything. To be 23 again, Serena thinks wistfully. But then Bernie slips her hand in hers when they get off the bus, and she decides 54 is just as nice, if not better.

They have lunch by the river. It’s a sunny day and they manage to get a table outside. Charlotte talks about her flatmates, her professors and her classes, and she wants to know all about Kenya. Bernie and her don’t talk as often as Bernie would like, but Charlotte keeps an erratic schedule of library and study sessions, and is hard to pin down.

“And it ate from your hand? An actual giraffe?” Charlotte asks incredulously, even after having seen the photos.

Serena laughs at Bernie’s excitement, and she puts giraffe appreciation down to another Wolfe trait. It’s also endearing, when Bernie goes to the bathroom, that Charlotte looks at Serena with a shy smile, clearing her throat with her eyes peeking out from under her fringe.

“She looks really good,” Charlotte says when she’s sure Bernie is gone from earshot.

“I think she’s very happy to see you,” Serena replies, because it’s true.

Bernie’s been excited about their visit for weeks, and especially about seeing Charlotte. Serena even tried to get her to go to London without her so she could spend time alone with her daughter, but Bernie had insisted.

“Yeah. Me too. But, I’ve never seen her look this…content?” Charlotte says, a little hesitant.

It’s obvious she’s trying to find the appropriate words, so Serena waits.

“I think it’s you. It’s, it’s love,” Charlotte continues, blushing.

Serena smiles and hums, knows that whatever Charlotte saw on her mother’s face, she can probably see on Serena’s too.

“So, um, you know. Thanks. For being there for her. And loving her,” Charlotte mumbles.

Serena leans over the table and puts her hand on top of Charlotte’s.

“Hardly a hardship. But you’re very welcome,” she says with a smile.

When Bernie comes back, she looks at them both with a surprised expression, but it’s obvious she’s pleased they are getting along.

They end up walking along the Thames to the Tate. Serena won’t remember much of the exhibit, because she’s too enthralled by the novelty of Bernie Wolfe delivering scathing comments on the contemporary art on show. Who knew the woman she loves had such a low opinion of cubism? Charlotte joins in, and Serena spends the afternoon in stitches, trying desperately not to laugh too loudly.

It’s Picasso, so it’s allowed. Charlotte has a few choice words to say about him too, and Serena marvels at how her mind works, so sharp and incisive. If Serena is the queen of one-liners, Charlotte excels at crafting arguments.

When they part at the tube station, Serena is genuinely sad to see Charlotte go. Bernie’s eyes are wet, and Serena can see how tightly the two hug.

Bernie might need excitement, action and purpose in her life, but she will always need to touch base with her family. Serena watches as Bernie wipes her tears. She puts her arms around Bernie’s waist as Charlotte leaves and waves.

“You’ll see her again soon,” Serena whispers in Bernie’s ear.

Bernie sags against her a little, and sniffs. Serena tightens her hold, buries her face into Bernie’s neck, her lips finding skin.

“Come on, it’s getting cold and we have a train to catch,” Serena says gently.

On the way back, Bernie holds on to her hand and gives her a few watery smiles, and by the time they get to their hotel in Holby, she’s in a quiet mood, but better.

Bernie needs time to process, Serena has learnt. She needs to do it quietly. In this, they are very different. Serena rants, she lets it all out, she talks and talks until she feels the problem has been resolved.

When they get to their room, Serena announces she’s going to have a bath. She just kisses Bernie on the cheek and pats her thigh. They had food on the train, they have nowhere to be, so Serena sinks into the warm scented water and sighs happily. She has dimed the lights and the room is bathed in a half glow coming from above the vanity mirror.

Above the sounds of the water rippling, she can hear Bernie pace a little, and then settle on their bed. Serena itches to go over and help, but she knows it wouldn’t do any good. Bernie would just retreat further and further.

So, she takes her time washing instead. She takes her time with the shampoo and the conditioner, with the shower gel. She’s about to get out when there’s a knock on the door and Bernie steps in, looking a little sheepish.

“Hey,” Bernie says, hesitant, as if she wouldn’t be welcome.

Serena smiles and beckons her over.

“Join me?” She asks with an inviting quirk of her eyebrow.

Bernie only pauses for a second before she takes her clothes off. Serena can’t help the flush of desire at the sight of Bernie’s body, but she only touches Bernie to help her get in the bath, her back to Serena’s front.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Bernie sighs, her head pillowed on Serena’s shoulder.

Serena hums her assent and slips her arms around Bernie’s torso, holds her close. Bernie fits nicely against her.

“This part is always the hardest. Saying goodbye,” Bernie says quietly.

Serena caresses Bernie’s arms, kisses her neck.

“Bringing back bad memories?” Serena probes gently.

Bernie nods. She closes her eyes with another sigh, and this one is deep and a little tortured.

“The kids would have nightmares for weeks after I left on tour. I felt so guilty it would make me sick,” Bernie confesses.

They’ve talked about this before, Bernie’s guilt. Her perceived inadequacies as a mother are deeply rooted, almost as firmly as her sense of duty. The two war constantly, and it is something Bernie battles with even now her children are grown.

“You have all moved on now. Your children are good people, darling. They love you. And they love you for who you are, and they are so proud of you,” Serena soothes.

Bernie makes a little sound in disagreement, but doesn’t say anything.

“You have a good relationship with both of them, but you all have your own lives, and that’s good, right?” Serena continues, her voice low.

“Yes. Independent wolves. I just, I don’t know, it’s hard to say goodbye,” Bernie says.

“I know, darling. I know. It won’t ever get easier. But then we also have hellos,” Serena whispers gently.

That is what Serena has learnt in therapy over the years. That, as cliché as it sounds, life is a circle. Life, death, hellos, goodbyes, they form the tapestry of a lifetime.

The tension finally leaves Bernie’s muscles, and she turns to kiss Serena, lightly at first, and then more deeply.

“Thank you,” Bernie says against her lips.

“You’re very welcome, darling,” Serena replies.

Bernie leans her head back on Serena’s shoulder, puts on her hands on Serena’s raised knees. They are quiet for a while. Serena grabs a washcloth and gently washes Bernie’s torso, her arms, her legs, wants the water to take away all that has ever bothered the woman she loves.

She squeezes a dollop of shampoo in her hand and massages Bernie’s scalp. Bernie sighs and purrs, shivers when Serena’s fingers dig into her nape.

“That feels so good,” Bernie whispers.

“I want you to feel good, you’ve had a long day,” Serena replies.

She continues her massage, makes sure to keep it soothing rather than exciting. She presses kisses to Bernie’s hairline. The shower head can be detached, so Serena unhooks it and gently rinses off the shampoo. Bernie closes her eyes and hums.

The conditioner is silky and Serena takes great pleasure in ensuring every strand of Bernie’s hair is covered.

“Let’s leave it on for 5 minutes,” Serena says quietly.

Bernie nods. Serena wishes they had candles, or music, something soothing with wind chimes or acoustic guitar. She almost snorts at the image of Bernie listening to whale songs to unwind, it’s so incongruous. But she wants Bernie to relax and to shut off her brain for once. She mulls this conundrum as she traces patterns on Bernie’s wet collarbones.

The conditioner comes off and Serena thinks Bernie will want to get up, not one to stand still, but she stays put, just leans back against Serena’s front.

Serena is about to ask if she has anything else on her mind, but then she spots the flush on Bernie’s chest. She smothers a smile. She moves Bernie’s hair to one side and grazes her teeth from her ear to her shoulder. Bernie whimpers. Bingo.

Candles and music can sod off, Serena decides. Her action woman needs something a little more hands-on to relax.

She lets her hands trail along Bernie’s legs, all the while pressing kisses on Bernie’s neck and jaw. Bernie tries to turn around but Serena tuts.

“Let me do all the work, darling,” Serena whispers.

Bernie nods with a shaky sigh. Serena sucks in Bernie’s earlobe into her mouth, smiles at the moan she receives for her efforts, and drags her blunt nails along Bernie’s inner thighs.

“God, yes, Serena,” Bernie murmurs.

“That’s right. I know what you need, my darling,” Serena purrs.

A gasp dies in Bernie’s throat, and she spreads her legs, her head thrown back in pleasure.

This isn’t the time to tease, even though Serena does love a desperate Bernie Wolfe. No, instead Serena brings a hand up Bernie’s torso to cup a small breast in her palm, and the other slides between Bernie’s legs. Bernie moans.

“I’ve got you, my love. I’m right here,” Serena says, her voice low and deep.

Bernie hisses, her body jerking in time with the rhythm Serena sets. Serena keeps it slow and light, murmurs words of encouragement in Bernie’s ear. She is transfixed by the ripples her hands are causing, and when Bernie comes with a strangled whimper, Serena feels it in her core, her muscles clenching in sympathy.

Bernie is boneless in her arms, looking far more relaxed than if Serena had lit a thousand candles.

“Think you can stand up?” Serena asks after a few minutes, smug as hell and probably hiding it badly.

Bernie snorts and gets up, albeit on pretty shaky legs. Serena hands her a plush bathrobe and leads her to bed, plasters herself to her side, and fends off Bernie’s wandering hands with a sleepy chuckle.

“Rain check?” She murmurs.

Bernie hums and turns off the light. She looks as tired as Serena feels.

“Thank you,” Bernie whispers in the dark.

“Always,” Serena replies.

Chapter Text

“RTC, male casualty, conscious but possible internal bleed, 10 minutes,” Bernie announces to the ward.

Serena looks up from her patient notes at the other end of the room, and Bernie nods. Her patient isn’t critical. They are still waiting for blood results anyway. She removes her lab coat, and joins Bernie in the prep room. They wash their hands together, and help each other into their surgery scrubs.

“I was thinking that rice dish for dinner?” Bernie says as they wait for the patient to arrive.

“With the sweet potato?”

“Yeah, maybe add the mutton from yesterday?”

Serena smiles at her, nods happily. She has managed to find an actual drinkable Kenyan wine, and, thanks to Olive, their favourite nurse, found a shop that stocks it. The red will go nicely with the dish, even though it is only a Merlot blend, and not a Shiraz.

They are still talking about their evening plans when Samuel comes bursting though the doors, his eyes wide with terror. It’s his day off, and Serena is about to ask what the problem is, when he turns to the gurney following him.

“It’s my father!” He shouts, his voice high and frantic.

And Mr Maina is indeed lying prone behind him, his eyes open, but his face contorted in pain.

“Ok, Samuel, calm down, tell me what happened,” Bernie says, all business now.

Her voice is sharp and demanding, and it does the trick. Samuel turns to her and he breathes in and out, and he obeys.

“BP regular, but scans in A&E have shown internal bleeds around the liver, and in his left leg,” Samuel recites, his training taking over once again.

Serena and Bernie look at the scans and the notes.

“You take the liver, I take the leg?” Serena offers.

Bernie nods, and they wheel Mr Maina in.

“I want Samuel! I want him to operate!” He shouts, panicked.

“That’s not possible, Mr Maina. But he will be right there when you wake up, and he will be observing as well,” Bernie says soothingly.

The anaesthetist comes in and Serena takes the opportunity to squeeze Samuel’s arm.

“Come on, go grab a coffee, call your mother, and you can come back and observe,” Serena says gently, pushing him a little when he drags his feet.

He leaves, notably calmer than when he came in, and Serena takes her place opposite Bernie by the operating table. Mr Maina is still conscious, but the anaesthetist is setting up.

“I’ll be ok? What if I lose my leg?” He asks, tears in his eyes.

“You have here the best vascular surgeon I’ve ever worked with, Mr Maina,” Bernie says, her eyes sparkling above her mask.

He mumbles, his eyes close, and he’s under in a matter of seconds.

Bernie finds the liver bleed and stops it. Takes a few minutes to check the area for any further damage, but Mr Maina is lucky.

The leg however, is in far worse shape. The front of the car shattered the bone when it crumpled against the lorry, and Serena is also worried about nerve damage.

Bernie closes up and joins her at the bottom of the table. She whistles when she sees the extensive damage.

“Well, he won’t lose the leg, but the rehabilitation is going to be brutal,” she says.

Serena nods when Bernie hands over the screws and plates needed to repair the bone, and for the next few minutes Serena wouldn’t look out of place on a construction site. It’s heavy but delicate work, and Serena winces at the smell of bone being drilled, but she’s glad when the plate holds.

“Looks clean. Good work,” Bernie murmurs.

It’s high praise indeed. This is Bernie’s bread and butter. The harsh glint of the metal against the bone is jarring, but Serena knows it will save Mr Maina’s leg.

“Ligaments next,” Serena says, still in the zone.

Bernie stands next to her and helps throughout. It takes time, and there are tricky patches, but finally she stands aside so that the wound can be closed. The leg has a good colour despite the impressive suture track running down its side.

The interphone grizzles.

“Bosses? Is he going to be ok?” Samuel asks, voice trembling.

Bernie turns to him and holds her thumb up. He visibly sighs and slumps against the observation window.

A few hours later, Serena has finished her latest ward round. Bernie is tackling some overdue paperwork for once, so she stays clear of office to avoid giving Bernie the chance to procrastinate.

She’s on her way to the cafeteria for a coffee when she hears raised voices coming from one corner of the ward. Samuel is by his father’s side, and they are obviously arguing, judging from Mr Maina’s flushed face and Samuel’s clenched fists.

“I won’t come,” Samuel says, voice hard.

Mr Maina tries to sit up, but the pain is too strong and so he slumps back down.

“Your mother will be devastated,” he spits out through clenched teeth.

Oh, good shot, Serena thinks from her spot in the shadows.

“She’ll have another one lined up next week. They’re all the same anyway,” Samuel says.

Mr Maina closes his eyes, his mouth drawn in a tight line.

“Why must you make everything so complicated? You have a duty to…”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Samuel suddenly gets up from the chair he was sitting on and the scream of the metal legs scrapping on the floor is enough to make his father stop.

“A duty? What duty? I have a duty to my patients. I am a doctor. My duty doesn’t include marrying a woman I do not love, simply to make you happy,” Samuel says very clearly.

It’s obvious Samuel has never talked to his father like this before. Mr Maina’s eyes are very wide.

“We just want you to be happy,” he whispers.

Samuel leans down, eyes as hard as his voice.

“This. Does. Not. Make. Me. Happy,” he enunciates.

Mr Maina tries to get words out, his throat moving, but nothing comes out.

“I am very sorry you got injured today. I will give you a recovery plan, and go through it with you and mum. But if you try to set me up with another vacuous woman who is only interested in my last name, I will stop visiting,” Samuel says.

Serena watches as the registrar leaves without another word. Mr Maina looks like he’s been hit on the head with a brick on top of all his other injuries.

“Time to change your dressing,” Serena announces brightly as she approaches.

Mr Maina is as docile as a kitten.

“Do you have children?” He asks after a while.

Serena pauses. The question still hurts, even after all this time.

“Yes, but my daughter died a few years ago,” Serena answers, the reply no longer making her want to scream and sob.

While her mental health has vastly improved, there are still very difficult days when she retreats within herself. Bernie gives her space, makes sure she eats and bathes. Sits with her when she can bear it, rocks her to sleep. Serena knows now that those dark days pass, eventually, and they are less frequent.

Still, saying the words out loud hurt, and Mr Maina’s face is the picture of contrition.

“I am so sorry, Dr Campbell,” he replies, and the words are heartfelt and horrified.

She shakes her head with a soft smile.

“Thank you,” she says.

He stays silent for a bit after that, but eventually he gets restless.

“You must think me heartless. With Samuel,” he says.

Serena’s eyebrow climbs to her hairline.

“I have no doubt you want what’s best for him. Only, it seems you two disagree on what that is,” Serena says lightly as she works.

And, lord, does she get it. The number of times she butted heads with Elinor on everything from her studies to her friends is staggering.

“He’s a grown man, though, and a good one. An excellent doctor. Surely you must trust his judgement?” Serena asks, hands careful when the dressing comes off.

“Yes,” Mr Maina admits. “But what if he ends up with someone unsuitable? I don’t want him to have regrets.”

The dilemma of parents everywhere, Serena muses. She finishes re dressing the wound, happy that the sutures are holding. She sits on the bed, eyes kind.

“Of course not. But do you really think a man like Samuel, who is clever and kind, and who just wants to fall in love, would choose someone unsuitable?” She asks.

Mr Maina mulls it over.

“Perhaps not,” he allows.

Serena smiles and pats his arm.

“And he’s not going to marry someone at the drop of hat. You’ll get to meet her, and see for yourself. Give him a chance, even if it’s a woman you wouldn’t have chosen yourself.”

She gets up after one last pat, rounds the corner and runs smack into Samuel, who stares at her with wonder in his eyes.

“Boss, you…thank you,” he whispers.

Serena draws him into a hug, and he tightens his arms around her.

“He’ll come to senses, you just wait,” she whispers.

He nods, his eyes a little wet, a far cry from the confident and cocky registrar she’s used to working with every day. He points to the papers in his hand.

“I better go and tell him how long all of this is going to take,” he says.

She smiles as she watches the two men talk to each other cautiously. She hopes Esther hasn’t given up on Samuel, because she’s pretty sure things are about to change for the better.

She’s wondering about Kenyan weddings when she steps into the office, and stops at the door. Bernie is studiously working at her desk, her hair up in an untidy ponytail. She’s still in her scrubs, and Serena spends a few seconds shamelessly ogling her.

Esther’s words from their first meeting come floating back. What if there was a ring on Bernie’s finger? The thought swirls and swirls until she shakes her head. Bernie looks up at the movement and her smile is so soft Serena’s heart skips a beat.

“Samuel’s dad doing ok?”

“All good. Having a little heart to heart with his son,” Serena says as she slips behind Bernie.

Unlike at Holby, their office does not have windows looking into the ward, which makes their lives a lot easier. They often take a few minutes during the day to touch base, and Serena loves nothing more than to slip her hands in Bernie’s hair and kiss her, or to just be near Bernie and her comforting presence without raising eyebrows.

Now, she puts her hands on Bernie’s shoulders and slowly massages the tense muscles.

“Do you ever wonder what your parents would have thought of us?” Bernie says after a minute.

Serena looks down in surprise. Bernie rarely talks about her parents. Serena only knows that they are dead, that her father was a career officer, and that her relationship with them was strained at times.

“My parents?” Serena replies, thinking. “They probably would have been a little confused. My father was very much a typical man of his time, hardworking but not very aware of what was happening outside his comfort zone. I’d like to think you two would have gone on well.”

Bernie looks up and a soft smile graces her features.

“And your mother?” She prompts.

Serena sighs. Her hands are still working out the knots in Bernie’s shoulders and she smiles when Bernie hums happily, almost purring under the attention.

“I wish I could say she would have understood. But, she was a difficult woman and we had a complicated relationship. I think she would have been scandalized at first, and worried about what people would say. But,” and here Serena leans down to kiss Bernie’s temple, “she would have found you very impressive. You are certainly far more suitable for me than my previous relationships, and you definitely make me a lot happier.”

Bernie huffs her assent and turns her head to kiss Serena softly.

“Damn right, I do,” Bernie whispers against Serena’s lips.

Serena laughs.

“Don’t let it go to your head, Major,” Serena warns.

Bernie’s eyes are shining. She shakes her head.

“Too late,” she replies cheekily.

Serena rolls her eyes and goes to sit at her desk. There is still paperwork to complete before they can clock off. Bernie is still looking lost in thought.

“What about your parents?” Serena asks.

Bernie looks up, confused.

“What would they have thought? About us?” Serena probes.

Bernie huffs out a little laugh and she looks at the ceiling.

“The worst thing is I think they would have loved you. You are kind and sharp and so clever. My father would have served you his best whiskey, my mother would have asked you where you got your wonderful dresses. But, I’m pretty sure they would have never looked past the fact that you’re a woman, and I bet they would have referred to you as my “friend.””

Bernie’s voice breaks on the last word and Serena is back up in a flash and at Bernie’s side the next instant.

“They were very strict. And very proper. And although my father was very proud that I became an army officer, he didn’t think it was right for a woman to leave her family for such extended periods of time. My mother thought the same,” Bernie says softly, with her eyes still trained to the ceiling.

Serena lets out a soft “oh” and slips a hand in Bernie’s hair, draws her to rest her head against her middle. She can see Bernie’s eyes are wet and sad.

“They never really liked Marcus either. Found him too soft for letting me do what I wanted. It got a bit better when we had the children, but then my mother was extremely unhappy that I continued going off on tour.”

The pain in Bernie’s voice is making Serena’s heart twinge.

“My-my father died of a heart attack when I was in the Balkans. I never got to say good bye, and when I got home for the funeral, my mother was so heartbroken. She died a year later. Just, wasted away. I was holding her hand when she passed and the last thing she said to me was that I should be a good mother to my children. And I realised that she didn’t know me at all. That she never had.”

The tears come as Bernie buries her head in Serena’s stomach. Serena holds her as tight as she can, devastated that Bernie has had to go through all of this.

“I’m sorry. We’re at work. It’s just all this stuff with Samuel’s dad, and I,” Bernie mumbles wetly against Serena’s scrub top.

Serena kisses the top of her head.

“You don’t need to apologize. Not ever. I am so sorry this happened to you, because you are the most wonderful woman I have ever met,” Serena says fiercely.

She wishes she could show Bernie how she feels, because words feel inadequate after decades of Bernie thinking she was never enough, never quite right.

“You have accomplished so much, darling. And I am so proud of you. And if your parents were to see you now and not think that, then-then they are not worthy of you,” Serena says with passion.

Bernie sniffs, but she nods after a minute.

“Also you make the best mystery stew in the world,” Serena says with a smile.

Bernie laughs wetly, tears still caught in her throat, but she squeezes Serena’s waist.

“The secret is in the cornbread paste,” Bernie says, voice a little firmer.

Serena kisses each of Bernie’s eyelids, her cheekbones and her mouth. She lingers and presses softly, lets the kiss comfort them both. When she leans back, Bernie is smiling and the sadness has left her eyes.

“What do you say, darling? One more hour then home?”

Bernie nods and they get back to work. The ward outside bustling along.

Bernie does end up making a rice dish, and when they head to bed, Serena briefly considers what she’s about to say. This isn’t the first time Serena has thought of suggesting this.

“When I was in France, and then back at Holby, I saw a therapist a couple of times a week. It really helped, and in fact I’m thinking of maybe trying to find one that would do Skype sessions. Would you-do you think that would be something you would be interested in?” Serena says a little cautiously.

She loves Bernie with all her heart, but she is in no way a qualified mental health specialist. There is a fear of saying the wrong thing, of hindering progress instead of helping.

Bernie obviously mulls it over, her jaw working as she thinks.

“Why don’t you think it over?” Serena says hastily.

Bernie nods and they slip into bed. Serena scoots closer and puts her head on Bernie’s shoulder.

“I won’t bore you with the usual clichés, that “mental health is as important as physical well-being”, etc, etc. But it works. I’m the proof it does,” Serena says softly.

Bernie turns and looks at her with dark solemn eyes.

“Have I been that bad?” She whispers, almost fearful.

Serena’s heart stops.

“No! No, Bernie. There is no bad. Trust me on this. I just felt very supported in therapy. It was a chance to look at certain times in my life and to recognise how they shaped me. I went for Ellie, but in the end I learned a lot about myself. I just want you to be happy, darling,” Serena rushes to say.

Bernie nods.

“I think of it like going to the dentist. You have a wonky tooth? You go to the dentist. You have a wobble about your parents, or your work, or anything? You go talk about it,” Serena continues, more light hearted.

Bernie smiles, lets out a soft “yeah”.

“And that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me about it. I want to know. I just want you to get the best care possible,” Serena says, encouraged.

Bernie kisses her forehead.

“Ok.”

Serena hums happily and they embrace, legs entangled. Bernie turns off the light and comes straight back into Serena’s arms.

“I love you,” Serena whispers fiercely.

She can feel Bernie smile against her temple.

“I love you too,” Bernie whispers back.

Chapter Text

Serena is having a coffee during her morning break when Esther comes in the cafeteria, big grin on her face, hair freshly done and uniform impeccable. She grabs a seat opposite Serena and sits down.

“What are you doing Saturday night?” Esther asks.

Serena frowns, because Esther has a cheeky smile on her face, and that can only spell trouble.

“Nothing. Bernie and I are off,” Serena says a little suspiciously.

Esther claps her hands and her eyes dance with joy.

“Perfect!”

She leans forward until her chest almost touches the table and motions for Serena to do the same. Serena snorts but scoots closer, intrigued.

“So, you know how you said that maybe you and Bernie would like to go dancing? Like, in public?” Esther whispers.

She sounds like she’s selling state secrets, much to Serena’s amusement.

“Well, I heard from a friend, who heard it from his cousin, who heard it from her boss, that there was an event this Saturday,” Esther continues, her voice so low that Serena struggles to make out what she’s saying.

Serena mouths an exaggerated “ok”, but still looks left and right to see if anyone is paying them attention. The cafeteria is almost deserted, and the few customers are busy staring at their phone or the TV.

“Where? Because I am not going to some seedy bar, Esther,” Serena says firmly.

Esther shakes her head, and slips her phone across the table. If this were a spy movie, Serena would be receiving nuclear codes, but as it isn’t, she takes a peek at the screen and sees a digital flyer. It’s glaringly pink and is covered in lipstick prints, but it does promise a night “just for girls”. Serena looks up, eyebrow arched.

“Is this genuine? We’re not going to head there and all get arrested?” Serena asks seriously.

She is not risking her livelihood, nor Bernie’s, for a twirl around a dance floor.

“No, no, it’s all real. It’s at the cousin’s boss’ friend’s house, in Muthaiga,” Esther explains.

Serena looks up, surprised. Muthaiga is one of the most upmarket neighbourhood of the capital, and is more commonly known as the “Beverly Hills of Nairobi”. Samuel’s parents live there, and Serena remembers the gated streets and huge mansions hidden by tall palm trees and forbidding fences.

“Who the hell’s house is it?” She asks, trying not to raise her voice too much.

Esther looks around once more, and she winks.

“Well, I’m not 100% sure, but I’m pretty confident she’s a VP from Safaricom,” Esther says.

Serena looks at the flyer again, considering it.

“She’s done things at her house before. Low key, tasteful stuff. You’re not walking into a sex dungeon.”

Serena flushes and glares at Esther, who looks back without even flinching.

“My friend says it’s going to be half foreigners, half locals. No one is out, so it’s all hush hush and safe. This flyer was sent round a super private WhatsApp group. You should go. You’ll have fun. And then you can tell me all about it because I am dying to know what happens there!” Esther says.

It’s a convincing pitch. Bernie and her haven’t gone out in a while, and the ward has been very busy, so letting their hair down would be very welcome.

She nods with a small smile and Esther beams, laughing with delight.

“Amazing! I’ll tell my friend, so she can, I don’t know, put you on a list or something. I have to go. My shift starts in 5 minutes.”

And off she bounds, attracting looks from all the men in the room. Serena chuckles and shakes her head, and hopes she hasn’t made a monumental mistake.

Bernie enters the living room and Serena forgets how to breathe. She feels her mouth open, but no words come out.

Bernie is wearing a new suit. Not like the ones she usually favours, light colours in linen she wears around town on days off, but tailored black trousers, a starched white shirt, and a tuxedo jacket that hugs her slim waist. Her hair is up in a clasp, leaving her neck bare and inviting, a smooth white column all the way to the first opened buttons of her shirt. Serena can see her collarbones peeking out, and her pulse races in response. Bernie is also wearing mascara, and her eyes are huge and dark and smouldering, and Serena doesn’t know if she’s going to survive the night.

“I take it you like the new outfit?” Bernie smirks.

Serena swallows. She’s hot and flushed, even though she’s wearing a light dress.

“Ye-yes. Yes. That is one hell of a suit, darling. You look absolutely stunning,” Serena manages to breathe out.

Bernie smiles, obviously very pleased with herself.

“I got it made last month. Thought I would make an effort, considering who will be on my arm at these events,” Bernie says from underneath her fringe.

Serena clears her throat and tries not to blush under the appreciative eyes Bernie drags up and down her body. She’d also wanted to make an effort. The week has been unseasonably warm for July in Nairobi, so Serena has opted for a black dress with short sleeves that flows from a cinched waist. They will look very handsome together, Serena knows.

“Ready to go?” Bernie asks.

Serena steps forward and slides her fingers along Bernie’s collar. She sees Bernie gulp and she smiles, presses herself against Bernie’s chest. She is careful not to smudge her lipstick when her lips brush Bernie’s ear. Bernie shivers.

“I’m looking forward to dancing with you, darling. But I want you to think about coming home, and all the things I’m going to do to you,” she drawls.

Bernie breathes out harshly, and she can only blink when Serena winks at her and heads for the door. Serena is almost at the lift when Bernie comes rushing out, her cheeks red.

The house they arrive at has security on the door, burly men with earpieces and a foreboding attitude. Already they can hear music, and the gates open to let them through after their names are checked against a list. A path leads them through landscaped gardens, to a huge terrace with an infinity pool, potted plants and tables laden with drinks and canapés. The music is coming from a DJ mixing in a gazebo just off the main house.

It’s a balmy evening, the sky is pink, and the air smells of expensive perfume and heady jasmine. Serena looks around, takes in the luxurious house with minimalist furniture in tasteful tones of white and grey, and suddenly it hits her.

All the guests are women. All of them. There must be at least two hundred of them milling around the gardens, drinking on the terrace or dancing by the DJ booth.

“I have never seen anything like this,” Bernie whispers, her eyes wide in amazement.

Serena nods. It truly is something. There’s a range of ages and races, and it’s obvious that some of these women are on the prowl. There’s a frisson in the air, and so Serena steps closer to Bernie.

“Let’s try to find our host, and then I believe you promised me a dance, Major,” Serena says.

And she takes Bernie’s hand for the first time in public in Kenya. It is liberating. She is almost giddy when they reach the house. Women are definitely looking at Bernie with appraising eyes, and Serena glares at them until they stop, amused smiles on their faces.

A woman is holding court in the middle of the living room, and so they get champagne and work their way through the group until they reach her. She turns to look at them and her perfectly sculpted eyebrow raises in acknowledgement.

“Ah, our English doctors. Welcome, welcome. I have heard so much about you. Doing great work at Kenyatta, yes?” She says in a melodious voice.

She is stunning. Tall and slim and dressed in a gold gown that shows off the smoothness of her skin. It’s clear she is used to attention and praise, even though she can’t be over fifty. When Serena introduces herself and Bernie, the woman extends a hand and Serena is almost compelled to kiss it.

“Grace Kamau,” the woman says warmly.

They all shake hands and exchange pleasantries.

“I hope you enjoy yourself tonight. And you are always welcome to join us for future little soirees,” Grace says, clearly dismissing them for the time being.

Bernie almost bows.

“I think we met the head of the lesbian mafia,” Bernie whispers as they make their way back outside.

Serena laughs.

“The Godfather would have been far more compelling,” she quips.

It seems the music is following a decade-an-hour theme, and right now they seem to be in the 70s, so Serena takes Bernie to the dance floor so they can sway on some Santana.

“Am I leading?” Bernie asks.

“I would think so, yes. I’m the one in heels. Let’s try it. I shall forgive any mishaps, my darling,” Serena replies.

And so Bernie holds her in a loose frame, a hand on her waist and the other clasped in Serena’s.

“Oh, I think we can do better than that,” Serena purrs.

She steps closer, and loops her arm around Bernie’s shoulders, smiling devilishly when their breasts are pressed together. Bernie huffs out a laugh but leads them in a simplified samba pattern.

Like in theatre, they work well together. Their movements are fluid and they make quite the pair among the other dancing couples. It’s so freeing to be able to touch Bernie like this in public. Serena had not noticed how much she missed it before this moment. She takes advantage and presses her lips against Bernie’s temple.

The tempo changes to something slower, so Serena just slips her arms around Bernie’s shoulders and Bernie does the same around her waist. They sway together, their foreheads touching.

“This is nice,” Bernie whispers.

Serena smiles and for once she can kiss her softly, her hands on Bernie’s face.

The 70s make way to the 80s, which isn’t really a decade for traditional couple dancing. Serena just makes Bernie laugh by demanding extravagant twirls and dips during ABBA and Bonnie Tyler.

They slow dance during a Madonna ballad, and when Serena looks around, she smiles at all the women dancing together. How refreshing, she thinks. A woman winks at her over her partner’s shoulder, and somehow Serena understands it to be kinship rather than seduction. More of a “can you believe this?”. She smiles back and then kisses Bernie’s cheek, utterly content.

They take a break during the 90s to explore the gardens. It’s dark but there are fairy lights everywhere. They stay on the lit paths after they startle a couple canoodling against a palm tree.

Rounding a corner hand in hand, they come across a small pond with herons. Lit torches line the edge, and it’s calm and quiet away from the party. Bernie gallantly gives up her jacket so they can sit on the grass. It’s still warm out, but Bernie insists on keeping Serena close.

“I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold,” Bernie says.

Serena snorts, very amused at Bernie’s chivalry.

“Are you putting the moves on me, Ms Wolfe?” She asks, faking offence.

Bernie’s face is the picture of innocence, all wide eyes and open mouth, but then she cracks.

“Is it working?”

Serena drops her eyes to Bernie’s lips. Bernie looks stunning in the low light, and even a little rakish with her open collar and the strands of hair escaping her bun. She leans forward and they kiss, softly at first, then more deeply, falling backwards onto Bernie’s jacket.

It’s all a bit hazy after this, because Bernie’s lips are intoxicating. It’s a kiss made up of dozens of smaller kisses that bleed into one another. She bites off a moan when Bernie sucks a spot under her ear, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin. She has her hands in Bernie’s hair, the bun long gone, and Bernie whimpers every time Serena scratches her scalp.

Somewhere, Katy Perry screeches that she kissed a girl and liked it, so the 00s have started.

“You are fantastic kisser,” Serena murmurs.

Bernie’s lips are swollen and plump and Serena can’t resist another kiss that turns into another, and then a third.

“You’re not too bad yourself, Campbell,” Bernie whispers.

They smile at each other. A cacophony of crickets has started to chirp around them.

“Back to the party?” Serena says.

She’s not twenty anymore, and she doesn’t want to think what all of this is doing to Bernie’s back.

They walk back hand in hand, smiling at other couples doing the same, and Serena finds herself liking this camaraderie. How strange to know she has something in common with all these women.

It’s obvious that while some have paired up during the party, more came in established couples. Grace Kamau, their host, is dancing with a very attractive young woman, the two intertwined as they sway around the dance floor. They make a striking couple, the gold of Grace’s dress beautiful against the emerald green of the one her companion is wearing.

Serena and Bernie end up talking to a lawyer from Mombasa and her Dutch partner, and it’s refreshing to share their story with people who know what they are going through.

“Honestly, I don’t see us settling here. Holland is far more appealing,” the Dutch woman says.

Serena makes appropriate noises, lost in thought. When she moved to Kenya, there wasn’t an end date. Bernie and her are both on rolling contracts, and judging by their boss’ smile every time he sees them, they are not about to be asked to leave.

“Hey, ready to go? It’s getting late,” Bernie says gently.

Serena nods, and relinquishes Bernie’s hand with a heavy heart when they get into the cab.

“You alright?” Bernie asks as they head back into the heart of the city.

“I’m just thinking. I love it here, I really do. The work is interesting, the people lovely. I love this weather,” Serena says.

“But?”

Serena smiles. Bernie is looking at her without any judgement.

“But. Do you see yourself living here for ever? Somewhere where I can’t even hold your hand in public?” Serena asks frankly.

Bernie doesn’t need to think for long.

“No. No, I couldn’t,” she answers.

They stay silent for a few blocks.

“A couple of years, at least?” Serena says.

Bernie smiles.

“Deal.”

Serena feels much lighter. Now she can return to the more pressing matter of Bernie looking good enough to eat. She wills the cab to go faster, and for once traffic is on her side.

They wave good night to Daniel, and Serena loses the heels as soon as they get in.

“Night cap?” Bernie offers.

Serena nods and accepts a glass of wine. Bernie opens the balcony doors and they stand there, surrounded by their tropical plants, looking onto the arboretum and the city below.

“And, you’ll tell me? If you get homesick and you want to go back home?” Bernie asks.

“I’m going to say something very cheesy, darling, but I think you need to hear it. Home is you. Home is where you are,” Serena says intently.

Bernie smiles a toothy grin and nods.

“Now, this suit is truly a work of art. I think I need to see it hung up,” Serena says saucily.

Bernie laughs at the bad pick up line, but she follows Serena to the bedroom anyway. She helps Serena out of her dress and makes a little strangled sound at the lingerie set she discovers underneath.

Serena takes great pleasure in taking off Bernie’s jacket and shirt one button at a time, a kiss rewarding Bernie’s patience after each one is undone.

The room is almost cool so they slip under the duvet, laughing at their own eagerness. Bernie gently pushes Serena onto the mattress and straddles her thigh, and Serena can only watch as Bernie licks her way down her body. She still has a bit of mascara left on her lashes, and her eyes are black and big and intent as she takes a nipple in her hot mouth. Serena sighs, her hips writhing under the solid weight of Bernie’s body.

“You are the most beautiful woman, Serena,” Bernie whispers reverently.

There is something in the way Bernie says her name and it always thrills Serena to her core. This time is no different and Serena feels herself growing slicker and slicker under Bernie’s mouth.

She slips her hands in Bernie’s hair and tugs when Bernie settles between her thighs. Bernie gasps and looks up with a stern look.

“Don’t distract me,” Bernie warns.

Serena flutters her eyelashes, and is about to say something cheeky, but the words die in her throat when Bernie lowers her mouth and licks a sure line between her legs.

“Yes,” Serena encourages, the last sound drawn out between clenched teeth.

Bernie is so good at this. And she loves doing it. Has spent hours and hours making Serena come with her very skilled mouth. Tonight, however, Serena is already keyed up from dancing and from Bernie in that suit, and so when Bernie adds fingers, curled just so, she cries out and her hips fly off the bed and she comes with a joyous shout.

When she gets her breath back, Serena smiles at Bernie who is looking at her, her head on Serena’s belly.

“You know, I could just wear the suit around the flat, if you like it so much,” Bernie says with mock seriousness.

Serena snorts and swats her shoulder.

“Less of the cheek, you. It’s not my fault you looked like a wet dream. I am but a weak woman,” Serena bemoans, dramatically flinging her arms in the air.

Bernie laughs and they end tumbling around the bed, stealing breathless kisses until Bernie is on her front and Serena pressed against her back, moulded to her curves.

“Very weak to your charms, Major,” Serena purrs in Bernie’s ear.

Bernie moans, her hips wriggling against Serena’s belly. Serena keeps her mouth where it is, pressing kisses to Bernie’s neck. Her hand trails down Bernie’s body to settle between her thighs, and the other slips into Bernie’s hair, pulling until Bernie gasps.

“God, Serena, yes,” Bernie says, her eyes closed tightly and her face pressed into the pillow.

Here, Serena has to concentrate. Seeing Bernie like this is usually works her up so much she loses all control. She keeps a firm hand in Bernie’s hair, her hand making a fist at the back of her head, and gently spreads Bernie’s legs, her own thigh slotting nicely in the gap.

“You look so lovely like this, darling,” Serena says between kisses on Bernie’s neck.

Her voice is low and deep and Bernie trembles at the words. Serena slowly presses two fingers into her, moaning at how wet Bernie already is.

“On your hands and knees, my love,” Serena orders.

A soft mewl comes out of Bernie’s mouth as she complies. Serena still has a handful of hair and she tugs firmly until Bernie’s head is pulled back. Her back arches slightly and she spreads her legs further. The picture she makes is one of the most erotic sights Serena has ever been blessed with.

“Oh, how I wish you could see yourself. So beautiful,” Serena breathes out.

She shuffles on her knees in between Bernie’s thighs and uses her hip to start a rhythm, curling her fingers until Bernie cries out. Bernie’s arms are trembling under her weight, but she looks so enthralled that Serena continues at the same pace.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” Bernie keeps saying, the sounds all blending into one.

Serena smiles, licks a trail down Bernie’s back, tugs Bernie’s hair a bit harder and Bernie explodes, body jerking, a low keening noise in her throat.

They collapse onto the bed, and they end on their side, Serena spooning Bernie tightly. Bernie is panting like she’s run 10 miles, and they are both covered in sweat.

“I need to start exercising,” Serena huffs, her heart still racing.

Bernie chuckles, the wench. Serena squeezes her waist in warning.

“Lauren goes swimming every Wednesday. You could join her if you wanted,” Bernie offers to placate her.

Lauren is the 25 year-old American who hopes to become a trauma surgeon and who has a professional crush on Bernie. She also looks like an athlete, and Serena doesn’t fancy being laughed out of the pool.

“I would suggest running with me, but I don’t think that would be your thing.”

Serena laughs and shakes her head, her face buried in Bernie’s hair. They are starting to cool down.

“I have a much better idea. Why don’t we continue our own personal kind of exercising, yes?” Serena says, nipping Bernie’s earlobe.

“That sounds like an excellent plan,” Bernie replies.

She’s obviously falling asleep, curled up in Serena’s arms. Serena smiles fondly and kisses her temple. The sound of the ceiling fan lulls her to sleep too and she snuffles into Bernie’s neck, before succumbing to slumber.

“Trauma call. ETA 5 minutes. Possible bullet wounds,” Olive announces from the nurse station.

Serena nods and goes to wait by the ambulance bay. Samuel joins her. The ward is pretty quiet, but Bernie is in theatre with a nasty bowel resection.

“I took my cousin to the cinema yesterday. Saw that new Marvel. She stole all my popcorn,” Samuel says as they wait.

“That’s a woman’s prerogative, Samuel,” Serena replies.

“Well, so what, you and Bernie steal each other’s popcorn?” Samuel asks incredulously.

“I never said it was logical,” Serena laughs.

Samuel is about to reply when the ambulance arrives. The paramedics unload a gurney and two people come out with the patient, a man and a young woman. They both look terrified.

“45-year old female, mugged at gun point, gun was discharged in the thigh, no exit wound,” the paramedic recites at they enter the ward.

Serena slaps on gloves and turns to the patient when they reach the observation bay. Samuel grabs an empty chart and stands at the ready. Serena leans forward and stills. Her mouth hangs open in shock.

It’s Grace Kamau.

“Boss? CT? Bloods?” Samuel prompts.

“Uh, yes, yes.”

She turns to the two people who came in with Grace.

“Any allergies?”

They answer at the same time. “No.” The young woman rolls her eyes and shifts to Grace’s side. Grace is pretty out of it, and mumbling incoherently. The blood has seeped through her trousers, and Serena can clearly see the entry point of the bullet. The paramedics have correctly assessed that nothing vital was hit, but they still need a scan to check and to determine the extent of the damage.

“All right, get on it Samuel,” Serena orders.

He nods and takes Grace away, and Serena is left with the mini entourage.

“Friends? Family?” She asks.

“I am her husband. My name is Henry.” the man says.

It takes everything for Serena to remain neutral. Thanks to years of treating some pretty freaky injuries, from taps stuck in bottoms to weird sex mishaps, her face does not change and her eyebrow remains in its normal position.

Internally, however, she is just screaming “what?” over and over again.

Henry is extremely handsome, about Grace’s age, and is obviously a snazzy dresser judging by the tailored suit and the matching pocket square. He wouldn’t look out of place in GQ.

“OK, and you are?” Serena asks, turning to the young woman.

“Her personal assistant, Angel,” she replies.

Here, Serena bites the inside of her cheek so hard it almost bleeds. Serena recognises her from the party and remembers how close she danced with Grace. Judging by the concern in Angel’s eyes and the way she’s kept close to Grace, Serena would bet her entire salary that Angel is not merely a personal assistant. The young woman can’t be a day over 30, is tall and slim and has the looks of a model, with clear pale eyes and long dark hair.

“Right. Well, please have a seat in the family room, and I will keep you updated. In all likelihood she will need an operation, but her life is not in danger,” Serena says kindly.

Both sigh in relief, and Serena watches them go, confused by the entire situation.

After that party a few weeks ago, Serena did a bit of research on their host. After all, the woman did seem to know everything about them, so it was only fair. There had been no mention of a husband, but she was certainly ambitious, rose through the ranks at a steady pace and lauded internationally for her leadership skills.

The CT scan and bloods don’t reveal any complications and so they wheel Grace into surgery. By now, Serena has become a bit of an expert in removing bullets lodged in tricky places, and this comes in handy when Samuel points out the location of this one, embedded in muscle.

“Right. Easy does it people. Let’s not butcher Mrs Kamau’s leg. Samuel, small tongs please.”

Samuel hands over the tool and leans forward, eager to get a good view.

“Do you know her? It seemed like you’d met her before,” Samuel asks as Serena works.

“We met at a party. A fundraiser,” Serena lies.

“I didn’t know Henry Juma was married,” Samuel says.

“Who?”

“Henry Juma. The husband. You didn’t recognise him? Olympian, two gold medals at Atlanta? National treasure? All around heartthrob?”

Serena shakes her head.

“Well, he’s really famous here. He’s a sports commentator now, and he has an academy for young runners outside Nairobi,” Samuel explains as he holds a torch for Serena to see better.

“Yeah, super popular. And a bit of a playboy, I guess. Never married. No girlfriend lasted very long,” he continues.

Serena smothers a snort. She’s beginning to see what’s happening a bit more clearly, just as she slowly removes the bullet. She patches up the meaty thigh muscle, and lets Samuel close the wound and deal with the clean up.

Henry and Angel are still in the family room. Serena wouldn’t describe the atmosphere as icy, but it’s not friendly either. They both look up when Serena comes in.

“She did great. You can see her when she wakes up in a bit. We have a cafeteria downstairs if you want a coffee or some food,” she says gently.

She turns to go, intent on finding out if Bernie has finished her own surgery and to spill the beans on this juicy piece of gossip, when Angel catches up with her in the hallway.

“She’s really going to be ok?” She asks, her eyes full of relieved tears.

“She really is. She’s going to have quite the scar though, and she will need round the clock care for the next few weeks,” Serena says as they walk across the ward.

Angel nods. She wipes her eyes with shaky hands and her mascara smudges on her cheeks.

“I was so scared. She’d just gone to a meeting and said she would walk to the restaurant and meet me there and when she was late I knew something was wrong. She’s never late. Never for me, anyway,” Angel sniffles.

Serena smiles kindly and squeezes her shoulder. She’s experienced the liberal meaning Kenyans give to time, so she appreciates the importance Grace gives to Angel.

“And I got a call from the paramedic and it was just three blocks down, so I ran and ran, and when I got there she was so pale,” Angel says between great sobs.

Serena hugs her and rubs her back soothingly. Angel is trembling.

“I haven’t even told her I love her,” Angel confesses, her voice wet with tears.

Serena embraces her harder. After a minute, Angel steps back and looks around. She dries her eyes and swallows a few times.

“I remember you from the party. You were hard to miss, really. You and your partner, the blonde in the tuxedo,” Angel says with a smile.

The corner of the ward they have ended up in is deserted, so Serena allows herself a pleased blush.

“I have to admit I was surprised to hear Grace is married,” Serena probes.

Angel’s face darkens and she sighs.

“It was getting suspicious, her being unmarried. People were starting to talk, and it was making things difficult at work. So, she found Henry.”

“Who was in a similar predicament, I assume,” Serena says.

Angel smiles and nods.

“A match made in heaven. Everyone wins. Except for her, for him, and for me,” she says bitterly.

Serena sighs. For all her frustrations with keeping her relationship with Bernie a secret, she remains extremely privileged. Her family loves her, the people she cares about all support her, and this Kenyan parenthesis is just that, temporary. She can’t begin to imagine the societal pressure on Grace, Angel and Henry.

“I am so sorry. You are welcome at her bedside anytime. And anything I can do to help, let me know, please,” Serena promises intently.

Angel nods and goes back to sit with Henry. Serena shakes her head at how ridiculous and mean the world can be. She resumes her search for Bernie. She needs a hug.

The afternoon brings several RTC injuries, and Serena and Bernie are both in theatre until the end of their shifts. Serena makes sure to check on Grace before they leave for home. Bernie follows her to a curtained off bed at the back of the ward.

The lights are dimed. Angel is sitting on a chair at Grace’s bedside. They are holding hands. Grace is conscious and smiles when she sees them. Serena is once more struck at how beautiful she is, even when not made up for a party.

“Ah, my saviour. Angel told me you would give me the bullet in a little bottle, is that true?” Grace asks, her voice raspy.

Serena laughs.

“Sure. I’ll have it prepared,” she promises.

Bernie steps forward and checks Grace’s chart, nods when she finds everything to be in order.

“You’ll be able to go home late tomorrow,” Bernie says.

Grace smiles and Angel strokes the skin of her wrist with her thumb. Serena wonders how long they’ve been together. They seem so at ease with each other.

“Have you spoken to the police?” Serena asks.

Grace grimaces when she sits up, but she waves her hand in dismissal.

“They are useless. But, who knows, they might make an exception for the wife of the great Henry Juma. This farce might have more than one advantage,” Grace says.

Bernie’s jaw is working, and Serena knows she wants to say a great many things. She puts a hand on her elbow to stop her.

Give them mangled bodies, horrific injuries, gaping wounds. They can fix those. But this, this they cannot fix. It’s frustrating and it makes Serena extremely angry, but they can’t change an entire country’s views.

“We shall see you tomorrow. The night shift nurse is called Olive, and if you ask her how her boyfriend is, she’ll share a box of mandazis her mother made,” Serena says.

Grace laughs and and nods, and they leave her rest under Angel’s watchful eyes.

A few days later, Serena and Bernie are hard at work in their office. The board, in their infinite wisdom, has asked for financial projections a month early. The only sound is the frantic clicking noise of two keyboards being used.

Serena is in the middle of bed turnover statistics when there is a knock on the door. Bernie grumbles a “come in” that doesn’t sound exactly inviting, and the first thing they see when the door opens is a giant assortment of flowers.

“Where should I put it, bosses? This stuff is heavy,” Samuel’s voice says from behind it.

Serena watches with wide eyes as he brings the huge basket in. He puts it in a corner on the floor, between two filing cabinets.

“What on earth?” Serena says.

There’s a card in the middle of all the white orchids. She shoos away Samuel who is lingering with curious eyes. Bernie closes the door behind him.

“Dear Dr Campbell, please accept these as a token of my appreciation. Thank you for taking such good care of me while on your ward. I hope to see you soon in better circumstances. My regards to you and Dr Wolfe, signed Grace Kamau,” Serena reads out, her eyebrow almost touching her hairline.

Bernie chuckles. She touches the delicate petals of an orchid. They are stunning, and look extremely incongruous in the utilitarian office.

“The Godmother owes you a favour,” Bernie says in a very bad Marlon Brando voice.

Serena laughs, as much for the impersonation as for the correct popular culture reference.

“Who’s your secret admirer?” They hear from behind the closed door.

“Go back to work, Samuel!” Serena shouts.

Chapter Text

“Mum! Serena! Over here!”

Bernie and Serena whirl around at the shout and they smile widely. Cameron and Morven duck around a group of schoolchildren and their luggage and they all hug and talk over each other.

Serena holds Morven at arms length and smiles.

“You look good!” She exclaims.

Morven is happy, that much is obvious. She looks healthy and untroubled, and it has a lot to do with the man next to her, if the way she looks at him is any indication. Cameron has been enveloped in a Wolfe hug, and Bernie is not letting go. His protests would be more authentic if he wasn’t hugging back just as hard.

“Oh wow, mum, that is some car,” Cameron says as they reach the kerb.

Serena laughs and rolls her eyes in agreement. She lets Cameron have the passenger seat.

“How was your flight?” Bernie asks as they navigate the late afternoon traffic.

“You mean our three flights? We were doing fine until the Dubai-Nairobi leg, but then we were sitting behind these Russian businessmen who just drank the whole time and sang these weird folk songs,” Cameron laughs.

They do look exhausted. Serena shows them the bathroom and their bedroom as soon they get back to the flat, and leaves them to it.

Bernie is in the kitchen, having promised everyone a feast of epic proportions, and Serena can see the makings of a rice dish and a pot of stew. She is swaying to some imaginary tune. Serena slips her arms around her waist and puts her head on Bernie’s shoulder.

“It smells nice,” she whispers against her neck.

Bernie hums happily, adds chopped onions to a sizzling pan.

“They settle in ok?” She asks.

Serena kisses the back of her neck, smelling the sun lotion Bernie always puts on her face before leaving the flat. It says home to her, now.

“I think they’re going to have a shower and a nap,” Serena replies between more kisses.

Bernie nods. Chopped garlic and tomatoes join the onions in the pan and the whole kitchen smells delicious. She puts a lid on the pan to leave it all to simmer, so Serena risks pressing herself flush against Bernie’s back and palming her breasts.

Bernie sucks in a breath and stills.

“Serena,” she says, her voice full of warning, but she cranes her neck to kiss Serena anyway.

Serena hums innocently.

“Hey guys, I was wondering where the-oh wow, ok, yep, should have knocked. On the non-existent door,” Cameron stammers.

Bernie turns bright red and Serena laughs. She releases Bernie and pats her hip in apology.

“It’s ok, what did you need?”

Cameron is looking at the ceiling, as red as his mother.

“A hair dryer. For Morven,” he says after clearing his throat.

Serena nods and takes him away, mouthing a “sorry” to Bernie as she leaves. She’s trying really hard not to laugh because mother and son both look mortified. It’s not her fault Bernie is especially beautiful in the early evening sun. She can’t be accountable for her actions when Bernie’s nape looks so inviting.

Dinner is lively and happy. Bernie has outdone herself with the food, and Serena is graciously sharing her best Kenyan Merlot. Cameron hasn’t seen his mother in months, and Bernie watches him intently, as if she can’t believe he is really here.

She can be proud of him, of both of them. Their supervisors in Jamaica have given them glowing praise.

“So where is next?” Serena asks after she tops everyone’s drinks.

Cameron and Morven look at each other with smiles. Cameron has an arm around Morven’s shoulders. They do make a handsome couple, Serena thinks.

“We’ve applied for a placement in Panama. Thought I could revive the good old Spanish,” Cameron says.

“My old uni professor is out there, and it looks like a solid programme, with a lot of focus on general surgery,” Morven expands.

Bernie nods, obviously delighted that Cameron is doing well and that Morven is still determined to become a surgeon. Serena remembers how thrilled she was when Cameron resumed his medical training.

And how far has Morven come. From a shy and reserved F1 to the confident surgeon in training of today. Serena hopes she’s had a bit to do with that transformation.

Bernie fusses when they go to bed, wants to make sure they have everything they need. She lingers at their door. It’s almost as if she thinks Cameron will vanish in the night. Serena puts a hand on her lower back and steers her to their bedroom, after wishing everyone a cheery good night.

When they are alone, Bernie smiles a little shyly.

“He’s doing well, he looks good. Happy,” she says as she undresses for bed.

For the past month and a half, Bernie has been having weekly Skype sessions with a therapist from London. Geoff came highly recommended by one of Bernie’s old regiment pals. Although he specialises mostly in PTSD related issues, he seems to understand all too well the gnawing guilt that comes with serving abroad.

There have been improvements in how Bernie talks about her children and her relationship with them. Instead of talking about Afghanistan as a time where she’d left them behind, she now simply says she was at work. Step by step, Bernie is learning to be kinder to herself.

That also includes dealing with her parents and her sexuality. Serena wonders if Bernie will ever be as confident about those as she is about work and her professional abilities. She hopes so.

“He looks great. They both do,” Serena agrees readily.

Bernie smiles, a bit more certain. They slip into bed and turn off the light. As usual, they gravitate towards each other. Serena caresses Bernie’s cheek.

“They’re going to have a great time,” Serena whispers.

Bernie nods and they kiss, soft sleepy kisses that won’t lead anywhere, that are just there to soothe. Serena falls asleep in Bernie’s arms, her ear to Bernie’s heart.

“A gin tonic for Serena, another for mum, and a piña colada for my beloved,” Cameron says with a flourish as he returns from the bar laden with drinks.

The sun is setting on the beach. They are still in their bathing suits though, and Serena tries not to let her eyes wander too much over Bernie’s bikini-clad frame. It’s proving to be quite hard because Bernie likes to stretch and is in constant movement, always going for a swim, or eager to join a volleyball game.

Bernie is gorgeous. Sometimes it hits Serena like a brick. Miles and miles of leg, toned muscles and tanned skin, and that hair, that glorious hair, all slicked back from the water.

“Earth to Serena?” Morven says.

Serena starts and clears her throat. She sips from her chilled drink, feels the liquid cool her throat.

“We were thinking of firing up that grill outside? For dinner?” Morven continues.

Serena nods, her eyes still watching Bernie, who is lying on her stomach and drinking from her glass and looking straight back at Serena with very dark eyes.

Serena gulps.

She is so distracted by the beads of salt water still dripping down Bernie’s back, that she doesn’t realise the turn in conversation until it’s too late.

“Well, you should have plenty of experience doing that,” is all Serena hears Cameron say.

Morven gasps, and Bernie’s face darkens before she leaps to her feet and storms off, shoulders tight. Cameron looks instantly regretful, but his mouth is set in a stubborn line.

“Cameron!” Morven chastises.

“What? All I said was that she had experience hiding!” He exclaims, a guilty expression on his face.

“Yeah, not the same thing, you idiot. Here she has to, then she was in denial,” Morven says.

Serena looks the to the sky, a sinking feeling in her stomach. Of course Cameron would hit right where it hurts. Morven stands up, filled with determination.

“I’m going to catch up with her and bring her back. Serena, knock some sense into him,” Morven says as she runs down the beach towards Bernie.

Serena can still see Bernie striding towards the southern end of the bay. She debates joining Morven but Cameron is looking crest fallen and in need of a talking to. She straightens up and turns towards him, her best CEO face on.

“Explain,” she says, her voice steely and firm.

Cameron shrinks back, and even though he’s only wearing a bathing suit, it’s like he’s back on AAU on his first day. He looks down and traces shapes in the sand with his finger.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. It just came out. I guess I’m still…I don’t understand,” he says, not looking at Serena.

Morven has reached Bernie and Serena can see they are talking and walking at the edge of the water.

“What don’t you understand? I thought you’d make your peace with your parents,” Serena says a little accusingly.

Cameron came to visit them in France, and he seemed fine with them being together.

“I have! I have! I swear. I just…I was thinking about things recently, you know, because of Morven and how great she is, and I think we might be, might be the real deal. And I thought of my mum and dad and how there was always something…something missing. I realise that now. And I don’t understand why she kept at it all these years. Why didn’t she leave? Why did she even marry him in the first place?” Cameron rushes out.

He’s obviously had this on his mind for a long time. Serena takes a second to curse the Wolfes and their inability to just sit down and hash things out.

“Cameron, you-you have to realise how different the situation was for your mother back then. Being with women was never an option. She grew up in a time and in a family where it just wasn’t done,” Serena says.

They are still sitting on their towels in the sand and this conversation seems incongruous, but it obviously needs to happen. Cameron nods, his eyes still on the floor, his mouth drawn in an unhappy line.

“Yeah. I get that, I really do. It’s just so, so sad. For her. To have been trapped all these years with us, unable to be who she truly was,” he says finally.

Serena smiles. Underneath all the bravado and cheek, Cameron is still a sweet man who is devastated his mother had to hide herself away.

“From what I understand, your mother was so deep in denial that she didn’t even know before it happened,” Serena says gently. “It’s not like she was lying to anyone.”

Cameron shrugs. Serena scoots closer to him and puts an arm around his shoulder.

“She really wasn’t. And she had you and Charlotte, and you both mean the world to her. She wasn’t trapped. She had you, and she would do it all again in a heartbeat,” Serena says.

While keeping her cards close to her chest, Bernie has hesitantly talked about her therapy sessions. Geoff has managed to prise open a veritable treasure chest of repressed guilt and anger, and Bernie is slowly working through it all.

“But that’s terrible, it’s like saying ‘hey, you’re being held at gunpoint, but have these sweets for your trouble’. And you know the worse thing? I had no idea. Charlotte had no idea. Mum was miserable for years and years and I didn’t have a fucking clue,” Cameron says.

His face twists in a grimace and his shoulders shake, and then he starts crying. Serena gathers him up in her arms and even though she can feel him trying to resist, big fat tears spill down her shoulders and back.

“You were a child, Cameron. How could you have known or helped? Bernie wasn’t unhappy, she truly wasn’t, and she needed to get there herself,” Serena says gently.

Cameron nods and sniffs, exactly like Bernie does when she’s upset and Serena is suddenly overwhelmed by how much she cares about him. She embraces him more tightly and tries to replicate a Wolfe hug.

“And look at how happy she is now,” Serena says.

Cameron pulls away and wipes his eyes awkwardly.

“She is, yeah. I’ve never seen her like this, it’s like France all over again but more so,” he admits with a smile.

Serena nods encouragingly. Cameron takes a minute to clear his throat and regain his composure, and once he does he seems less self conscious.

“That’s down to you, Serena. She loves you so much,” he says with a wider smile.

Serena colours a little, absurdly pleased.

“And it’s also down to your mother allowing herself to be happy. She’s worked a lot on herself. You two should talk about it,” she says.

Cameron is about to reply when Morven and Bernie re appear, Morven still with fire in her eyes and Bernie obviously embarrassed at her outburst.

“Right. Well, Morven and I are going to head back to the house and start on dinner. Why don’t you two grab some beers at the market?” Serena says, all business, as she gathers her towel and her beach bag.

Morven and her are gone before either Cameron or Bernie can protest. They giggle like schoolgirls as they walk back, arm in arm, along the now familiar tree lined street. They have Celeste’s husband’s house for the weekend, given in thanks for babysitting Baptiste a few evenings. Serena wanted to turn the offer down, thought it was too much, especially as Baptiste was a dream to look after, but Celeste had insisted.

“Do you think they will actually talk? Or just look at each other with brooding dark eyes?” Morven asks as they unload their beach stuff in the living room.

Serena laughs.

“I think today might be the day they put their cards on the table,” she says.

They head to the kitchen and put together a salad. They light lemon scented candles to keep mosquitos away and put them outside around the terrace. The steaks are marinating when Bernie and Cameron appear, both looking a little sheepish. Cameron offers the pack of beers like a sacrificial lamb.

“Sorry about the, you know, general freak out,” he says after clearing his throat.

Bernie sidles up next to him and puts an arm around his shoulders and they smile as is to say ‘we are good’. Serena breathes a small sigh of relief and she directs both of them to take a shower while she sets the table.

As Cameron walks past, Morven swats the back of his head and he squawks in offence before squirreling away upstairs, cackling like an idiot.

“He’s lucky he’s so attractive,” Morven says as she helps Serena set the table.

Serena hears the shower from their bathroom start upstairs, and tries not to imagine Bernie naked, her face turned to the spray. There is definitely something in the sweet air of Mombasa, she thinks wryly.

“The damn Wolfe attractiveness gene strikes again,” Serena says fondly.

The table is set and ready, and Serena and Morven have opened a bottle of wine, when Bernie comes down, wringing her hair to squeeze the last droplets out. She’s wearing an oversize linen shirt that comes down to her knees and her sun kissed skin contrasts nicely with the white of the shirt.

Dinner ends up being a little boozy, and the earlier tension on the beach is forgotten by the time they get to ice cream.

Morven and Cameron say their good nights and go upstairs tipsily, giggling when Cameron trips on the last step.

Serena finishes wiping the kitchen counter and slumps on the sofa, revelling in the soft cushions. Bernie brings in the last candle and joins her.

“That was a lovely dinner, thank you,” Bernie says, snuggling into Serena.

Serena hums happily and puts an arm around Bernie’s shoulders to draw her closer, a hand in Bernie’s hair. She plays with the soft tresses as Bernie kisses her cheek and makes herself comfortable.

“You’re very welcome,” Serena says softly.

“And I’m sorry I walked off earlier,” Bernie whispers.

Serena kisses her forehead.

“That’s quite alright. It was a bit of a charged moment,” she reassures Bernie.

They sit quietly for a minute, just enjoying being close.

“We talked. With Cameron. He apologised for a lot of things that I don’t think he needed to say sorry for,” Bernie says after a while.

“Why do you think he did?” Serena asks.

Bernie chuckles and kisses Serena’s temple.

“You sound like Geoff,” she explains with a sparkle in her eyes.

Serena smiles and waits.

“I think we’re very similar, him and me. He’s not very good at talking about feelings,” Bernie says.

Serena smothers a laugh at how Bernie says ‘feelings’. It’s not different from how she herself would say ‘office gossip’ or ‘exercise’.

“But we talked anyway. And I explained a few things that reassured him, I think. He was sure I was desperately unhappy his entire life. And I wasn’t. So he feels better. And I do too, for having talked to him,” Bernie explains.

Serena can’t even begin to process how momentous that is for Bernie. Talking and sharing with her son without clamming up.

“I am so glad, darling,” she simply says, doesn’t want to spook Bernie too much.

Bernie huffs, obviously satisfied with herself, and her hand traces patterns on Serena’s bare knee.

“He told me what you two talked about. Thank you, Serena,” she says softly.

Her big dark eyes are open and vulnerable and Serena feels her heart twinge.

“Always, my darling, always,” she says intently in Bernie’s hair.

Bernie suddenly swings a leg over Serena’s hips and settles on her lap, her hands on the back of the sofa. Serena automatically goes to hold her at her waist, looks up and sees Bernie smile softly.

“You are so good to me,” Bernie says.

And she kisses her slowly, Serena sliding her hands up Bernie’s back, holding her flush against her body.

“Oh come on! Your room is literally up the stairs!” a voice says from the kitchen.

Serena turns to see Cameron holding two glasses of water, his cheeks pink.

“So is yours, and yet here you are,” Serena replies dryly.

Bernie honks in her neck, her breath tickling Serena’s skin. Cameron grumbles something and scurries back to the first floor, leaving Bernie and Serena shaking with laughter.

“He is right though, perfectly serviceable bed in our room,” Bernie says, her voice rich and full of promises.

Serena nods eagerly. She’s been ready ever since Bernie stepped out of the bathroom in her bikini this morning.

“Lead the way, Major,” she replies.

They make sure to close the bedroom door securely. Cameron does seem to have a knack for interrupting them, and Serena is not taking any chances, not when Bernie is already pressed against her back, her hands everywhere.

“God, this dress,” Bernie moans against Serena’s neck.

Serena grins. She’d bought it on their last trip to Mombasa, giggling with Celeste while Bernie was playing football with Baptiste on the beach. It’s simple white linen, but the cleavage on show is generous and Serena knows it accentuates her curves to her advantage.

“You’re so beautiful, Serena, all the time,” Bernie continues, walking them to the bed, still plastered to Serena’s back.

Serena flushes. Bernie always makes her feel 10 feet tall. When Serena leaves the bathroom in the morning before work, half asleep and a bit grumpy, Bernie’s eyes always light up. There is no need for words when Serena can see the effect she has on Bernie, every day.

Not that it isn’t nice to be told, Serena muses as Bernie reverently lowers her onto the bed.

She puts her weight on her elbows, her feet still on the floor. Bernie takes a second to look at her and Serena flushes, pleased as punch. She’s about to grab Bernie to bring her to bed on top of her, when Bernie bites her lower lip and sinks to her knees.

Serena moans at the sight. Bernie scoots between her legs and puts her hands on Serena’s thighs. The dress is already rucked up and Bernie’s hands are hot on her skin.

Bernie looks up from underneath her fringe, her eyes dangerously dark. She leans forward and kisses Serena, open mouthed and a little frantic and Serena can’t help but moan at the first touch of Bernie’s tongue, wet and sure. Bernie’s hands have rucked up her dress even more, and it now lies at her waist.

It hits Serena that as much as she has been ogling Bernie the entire day, Bernie has been doing the same thing. Bernie has that look in her eyes, the one that makes Serena feel like she’s the only woman in the world. Bernie never does things by halves, and it’s as if she wants to swallow Serena whole.

“Can I? Please?” Bernie asks, her hands at Serena’s hips.

Serena nods, her throat dry. Her thighs tremble as Bernie slowly removes her underwear. It gets thrown over Bernie’s shoulder. Bernie spreads her knees and Serena is totally exposed. The thought that she should feel self conscious crosses her mind, but Bernie is looking at her with such love and desire that she feels emboldened instead.

“See what you do to me?” Serena says, her voice low.

Bernie swallows and nods, still on her knees, her hands on Serena’s thighs, her thumbs caressing the sensitive skin.

“That’s because I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Serena continues.

Bernie inhales sharply, her eyes black.

“Me too,” she whispers in reply.

Serena smiles. She shifts her weight onto one hand, and brings the other to Bernie’s face, marvelling at the soft skin of her cheekbones.

“I want you so much,” Bernie says.

Her voice breaks on the last word and Serena’s heart clenches at the emotion there.

“Then show me, darling,” Serena replies simply.

Bernie lurches forwards and kisses her hard. Serena whimpers, bereft, when Bernie yanks her dress off, but it turns into a moan when Bernie takes a nipple in her hot, wet mouth. Serena lets herself fall onto the bed, her hands buried in Bernie’s hair.

She wants to last, she really does, but Bernie has been teasing her all day and her mouth feels amazing. She wriggles impatiently and tugs on Bernie’s hair when Bernie dares to chuckle.

“You terrible tease,” Serena complains, her back arching off the bed, desperate for more.

Bernie quiets her with more head spinning kisses, and finally, finally, licks her way down Serena’s body. Even though she is ready to scream in frustration, Serena swoons at the care Bernie shows her with every kiss, every nip, every caress.

Cherished. Loved. Desired. Bernie makes her feel all three as she licks the soft skin of her inner thighs.

While normally Serena tends to be on the more controlling side of things in bed, she is not above begging. And beg she does, plaintively, prettily, her voice raspy with need. She knows how it affects Bernie, what her voice does to her.

She laughs, high on her success, when Bernie finally takes pity on her and takes her in her perfect, perfect mouth. She forgets that they have people on the same floor, and she screams the house down. She feels Bernie moan against her when she pulls on her hair and the sensation spurs her on, her hips rolling into Bernie’s mouth in a jerky rhythm. Bernie seems intent on wringing every ounce of pleasure out of her, and worships her with her tongue and her fingers, and Serena actually fears she might pass out. Just her luck that her partner’s way of expressing her thanks is by killing her with orgasms, Serena thinks deliriously, pleasure building and building.

She comes with a shout, possibly Bernie’s name, but she’s too out of it to know for sure. She slumps against the mattress, boneless and panting.

Bernie crawls off her knees and kisses her and holds her tightly. After a while, she laughs.

“What?” Serena asks, her voice hoarse.

“Do you think we’ve traumatised Cameron?” Bernie says, her eyes sparkling in the low light.

“Serves him right for interrupting us all the time!” Serena says primly.

And if Serena’s screams haven’t kept Cameron and Morven up, Bernie’s honk will certainly do the job.

The day Cameron and Morven leave for their safari in the north, Bernie and Serena are back at work, refreshed after their few days off at the beach.

Serena is showing off her tan to Celeste in the cafeteria and making her laugh with an impression of Cameron’s face when he’d seen the pretty mouth shaped bruise on his mother’s shoulder, when Esther walks in with a shocked expression on her face.

“I said yes,” she just says as she sits down next to Serena.

Serena frowns, confused, but Celeste claps her hands and coos.

“You did? Tell us everything!”

“He came in the office, and he gave me a blood lily and he just…I don’t know, he looked shy, for once. No bluster, no swagger, just him. He invited me to dinner, and I said yes,” Esther says, still looking shocked.

Serena can feel a huge smile bloom on her face.

“Yes! Allez Samuel!” Celeste exclaims, obviously as delighted as Serena.

Esther actually blushes, something Serena has not ever seen her do in the time she’s known her. She watches in fascination as Esther smiles a shy, delighted smile.

“Where is he taking you? What are you going to wear? Do you want my gold bracelet?” Celeste fires all at once.

Esther finally snaps out of it and a booming laugh comes out.

“He is picking me up after work tonight. Very casual, he promised. So, I don’t need any shiny jewellery,” Esther says. “I’m looking forward to it. I just hope…” and here she trails off.

Serena puts her hand on top of Esther’s.

“Perfectly normal to feel a little nervous. You’ve both been wanting this for a while,” she says kindly.

Esther sighs and nods.

“I feel like a silly teenager, it’s ridiculous. I know him! I’ve known him for years,” Esther says almost angry at herself.

“That’s why you’re nervous, Esther. You two are good friends. You don’t want to mess up a good thing,” Celeste offers.

“Exactly. But he’s crazy about you. And you about him. It’ll be fine,” Serena adds reassuringly.

Esther huffs out a laugh and waves her hands in front of her as if to dismiss the topic entirely.

“Was it like this with Bernie? You were friends first, right?” Celeste asks after Esther has composed herself once more.

Serena automatically looks around to see if anyone is listening, and Celeste and Esther nod at her with understanding eyes.

“Bernie was hesitant to lose our friendship, but only because she’d lost some in the past. I don’t think she realised our friendship could be a foundation to our relationship, not something to be sacrificed,” she says.

Esther nods. Her many bracelets jingle when she sips her coffee. She has her hair up today and it shows off her cheekbones.

“I like that. A foundation,” Esther says.

That evening, Serena engineers to be outside the hospital. She drags Bernie with her, and they stand just outside the entrance, hidden by a potted palm tree.

“It’s in situations like these I wish I still smoked,” Bernie muses, squinting in the setting sun.

“Not if you ever wish to be kissed again,’ Serena replies dryly.

“You didn’t use to mind!” Bernie protests.

“That was before I was sure I wanted you around for the next 50 years,” Serena quips with an arched eyebrow and a smirk.

Bernie is about to reply when her eyes widen and she grabs Serena’s wrist.

Esther and Samuel are coming out of the hospital with shy smiles on their faces. They’re looking at each other in that foolish way young lovers do. Only, Esther is fast approaching 40 and Samuel found a grey hair in his fashionable stubble last week.

It doesn’t matter.

They walk towards the main road, gazing at each other.

Samuel walks into a lamppost.

“Let’s hope they actually make it to the restaurant,” Bernie snorts.

Serena watches as Esther laughs but she slips her hand into Samuel’s. Samuel looks like he’s won the lottery.

“I bet they will,” Serena says softly.

Chapter Text

2 years later

Serena doesn’t quite remember how they got roped into this. All she knows is that she is surrounded by women of all ages, Bernie and Celeste at her side, and they are singing loudly in front of locked gates. Bernie sings loudest of them all, completely off key, and Celeste is almost breathless with laughter, her shoulders shaking.

The sun is high and the heat is strong, but Serena is used to it by now. Everyone around them is in high spirits and dressed to the nines. There are elaborate hats and colourful prints, and the lady next to her, who she thinks is Samuel’s aunt, is in an eye watering shade of pink.

The song they are chanting amid much ribbing and laughter finally does the trick and the bride appears at the balcony on the first floor of the modest house. Esther is smiling and laughing, the great boom audible even amongst the noise they are all making.

She looks beautiful in a long white dress, her hair up in an elaborate do, her skin glowing and her eyes shining with happiness.

Bernie whistles and Celeste cheers and Serena catcalls. The other women around them sing even louder, and finally the gates open.

All of them have come to get the bride. All of them women from Samuel’s life. Aunts, cousins, friends, united in their wish to show their support and give their blessing, and accompany Esther to the church down the road where Samuel is waiting anxiously.

Esther comes down with her parents and siblings. They all look proud and happy. Esther’s mother in particular presides over the proceedings with a glee that speaks of years of worry for her single daughter in a society that still attaches a lot of importance to marriage.

But today, there is no worry, no doubts, and Esther links her arms with her mother and her younger sister, and off they go down the road. They continue singing, joyously, and Serena finds herself carried away, buoyed by the general happiness of their thirty-strong group.

Bernie slips her arm in the crook of hers, and they smile at each other. Bernie is wearing her smartest linen suit, her hair brushed and her make up light. She looks beautiful.

“Come on, Campbell! Loud and clear!” Bernie shouts.

Serena laughs and when they start on the next verse of the song that Samuel’s cousin taught them, she bellows. There’s an energy, almost a high that lifts all of them.

The church is bedecked with flowers and at least here Serena is on more familiar ground. This is an Anglican church, after all, and there is a priest and hymns and vows to be repeated, as there would be in the UK.

But there is also a wonderful gospel choir, and again a vibrancy that would be hard to match anywhere else.

Samuel waits at the altar, proud and handsome but also very obviously full of nerves, so Bernie tries to make him laugh and Serena blows him kisses that he catches with his hand.

When Esther appears on her father’s arm and walks down the aisle, Serena cries. Bernie’s eyes also look suspiciously wet, and they watch as Esther reaches Samuel, who looks overcome.

The ceremony is beautiful and simple and lovely. The couple recite their vows with slightly trembling voices and Serena is a bubbling mess when they exchange rings.

After, when they wait outside to throw confetti, Celeste stands next to Serena and Bernie with Paul and Baptiste. Baptiste is almost as tall as Serena, now. He looks very handsome in his suit, and he doesn’t need babysitting anymore.

“Did you see what Constance is wearing?” Celeste whispers in Serena’s ear.

Serena turns and presses her lips tightly. Samuel’s mother is wearing the biggest hat Serena has ever seen, and she looks like a puffy blue meringue.

“It’s certainly something,” she replies with a laugh caught in her throat.

The newlyweds come out of the church and kiss and pose for the photographer, and they get pelted with confetti. Baptiste has handfuls of the stuff and is liberal with his aim.

The reception is at Samuel’s parents’ house. It was a concession to them, for not holding the wedding service at their local church. Even though they were dubious when Samuel introduced Esther to them, Esther won them over pretty quickly, one booming laugh at a time.

There is dinner and speeches, and throughout Serena stays at Bernie’s side, in the midst of their little hospital group. Olive has brought her husband and her young girl. Celeste dances with Paul and Baptiste, the teenager too embarrassed to continue for more than one song.

During a lull, Serena is sitting at a table waiting for Bernie to bring her a drink, when Samuel joins her. He looks happy and perhaps a little drunk.

“You having fun, boss?” He asks.

“Always am when I’m with you lot,” Serena replies with a smile.

Samuel laughs.

“That was a wonderful ceremony, Samuel,” Serena adds.

He ducks his head and blushes, no doubt a little embarrassed at his earlier tears.

“Thank you for doing the singing. It meant a lot. You mean a lot,” Samuel says.

Serena is now sure Samuel is a little drunk. He is rarely sentimental, always more comfortable hiding behind a joke or a cocky attitude. But this is a special day.

“You and Dr Wolfe, you-you changed my life, you know that, right?” Samuel says, and his eyes are wet.

Serena puts her hand on his arm and squeezes it.

“The consultancy, Esther, my parents, everything, that’s thanks to you,” Samuel continues.

Samuel recently passed the exams and completed the review process to become a consultant. Serena spent the better part of 6 months coaching him and when he announced he’d been confirmed, Serena had felt such blazing pride, she’d been a little breathless.

“You earned all of it, Samuel. You are so smart, and kind, and you deserve all the happiness in the world,” Serena says intently.

Sometimes Serena can’t believe her luck, that she’s found a surrogate family she loves as much as the one she has in Holby. Samuel, Esther, Celeste and her son are a part of her, now.

Samuel suddenly grabs both of her hands and looks into her eyes.

“And you, you are special, Serena,” he says firmly.

In all the time that she has known him, he has never called her by her first name.

“You are so strong, and so generous of your time and your person. People are better from knowing you,” he says.

Serena scoffs and tries to remove her hands, but Samuel holds on.

“They are. I know I am,” he says.

Serena smiles. Manages to keep the tears at bay.

“Come here, you big soppy idiot,” Serena says fondly.

She draws Samuel into a hug and holds him tight against her. He’s basically a surrogate son by this point and she loves him so very much.

“Is this a private party or can I join in?” Bernie says with a smile.

Serena motions for her to get in the hug, and all three of them hold each other while the band plays an upbeat rendition of “You are the wind beneath my wings”.

Later, as the party is in full swing, Serena and Bernie get some air on one of the balconies. The room they are using for dancing has become a bit stuffy, and Serena is glad for the break. The night air is still warm and the view of the palm trees and landscaped gardens below is breath-taking. The sun has already set, but it has left behind an explosion of pink and purple, and a flock of doves fly past in the distance, gently cooing at each other.

The band has moved onto soulful Kenyan ballads, much to the delight of every couple present. Bernie is leaning on the railing, a slight smile on her face, a glass of whiskey held loosely in her grip. She looks relaxed and happy, her hair down and blowing in the breeze.

Serena feels a little dizzy from the love that bursts in her chest, as strong as in the early days. And the question comes again, unbidden, what if she asked Bernie to marry her? To make their love official, as did Samuel and Esther today? What if ‘for eternity’ came with a wedding band and a piece of paper and a tax break?

‘My wife’ Serena thinks as she looks at Bernie, and her belly swoops.

She must have made a sound, or moved, because Bernie turns to her, her eyes warm and lovely.

“Alright?” Bernie asks, straightening up.

Serena nods, her throat dry and she takes a step right into Bernie’s personal space.

“They looked lovely today, Samuel and Esther,” Serena says.

Bernie’s breath hitches when Serena puts her hands on her collar, her fingers grazing the fine skin of Bernie’s neck.

“And the ceremony was beautiful. And those vows. In front of all their friends and family. It does make one think,” Serena continues, her fingers now caressing Bernie’s cheekbones and jaw, the slight tremor in her voice betraying how nervous she suddenly is.

Bernie’s eyes are very dark and suddenly very intent, like they get in surgery when Bernie is totally focused on the task at hand.

Emboldened by this, Serena drops her hands to take Bernie’s, and looks at her, hoping to convey the depth of feeling she has for her.

“I know we don’t need a piece of paper, or a ceremony, or anything, in fact, to prove what we mean to one another, and I certainly wouldn’t want to assume that…”

Bernie lunges at her and kisses her soundly, her arms snaking around Serena’s torso, and Serena smiles against her lips and her heart thuds and thuds.

“Is that a yes?” Serena asks when they come up for air.

She looks at Bernie sternly, daring her to pull the same stunt as in the hospital foyer years ago, but Bernie is smiling widely.

“Yes to what? You technically haven’t asked me anything,” Bernie says with way more cheek that Serena feels is acceptable.

Serena flushes and clears her throat.

“Would you? Marry me?” She says, her stomach in knots.

Bernie smiles and smiles and then she laughs, and takes Serena in her arms and swings her around, laughing even harder when Serena gasps in surprise.

“Of course I will!” Bernie almost shouts.

Serena wants to cry for one crazy second, and then she slips her hands in Bernie’s hair and kisses her, open mouthed and a little wild, Bernie matching the intensity without hesitation.

“Hot damn ladies!”

They whirl around, wide eyed, and Esther is standing by the open bay door, obviously drunk and gleeful at having caught them.

“Save it for later, the band is playing some absolute tunes, and I want to dance with my best gals, come on!”

And who are they to deny the bride on her wedding day? Esther stumbles back inside, and they look at each other with soft eyes. What just transpired hangs heavy between them, and Serena would much rather seal the deal with more kisses, but Esther is very dear to her.

“Don’t worry, we have the rest of our lives in front of us,” Bernie says knowingly as they follow Esther.

Serena puts a hand on Bernie’s arm to stop her.

“For eternity, yes?” She asks with an amused smile.

Bernie smiles back, only rolling her eyes slightly, mostly at herself.

“For eternity,” she promises.

Serena smiles. Life is full of uncertainties. Her profession and her own experiences have shown her that. Daughters die, great-nieces are born, people move to Africa. But, looking into Bernie’s eyes, she has a perfect moment of absolute clarity.

She knows that wherever they end up, be it in Nairobi or back in the UK or anywhere else in the world, she will be by Bernie’s side and Bernie will be by hers.