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1.
She'd been maintaining rhythm for longer than she cared to believe. Another one. The brother was dead on arrival and they'd spent all day battling to save the girl. No such luck.
She met Serena's eyes, peeking out between mask and scrub cap, and her resolve shattered.
A snap of latex gloves and she came back to herself, shaking her head against the swell of failure rising in her gut.
Time of death, fifteen twelve hours.
2.
She'd skipped breakfast again. She allowed herself the simple liberty of hitting the snooze button on her alarm, only to sleep through two more and rush into work. She blamed Serena. One quiet drink the night before had turned into at least four, if her headache was anything to go by.
Serena looked decidedly spritely, and on any other day Bernie would have found it to be endlessly endearing. On this day, though, Bernie was simply trying to keep her head screwed on.
"How are you doing that," she asked, as she watched Serena type at her computer, the glow from the screen unbearably bright to Bernie's eyes.
"Practice. Not my fault you can't keep up, dear."
Bernie let her head drop to her desk, and scribbled her way through reports for what seemed like hours. She was desperate to avoid the fluorescent lights of the ward.
"Time for a pick-me-up?" Serena asked just after ten, rising from her seat, purse in hand.
Bernie heart fluttered at the thought of caffeine.
"Please, dear god please," she answered, reaching for her bag and pushing a five pound note into Serena's hand. "Medicinal pastries would also be hugely appreciated."
Serena chuckled as she popped the note into her purse. She reached out to smooth an unruly tuft of hair above Bernie's right ear.
"Lightweight," she said, dropping a feather-light kiss to the top of Bernie's head before heading on her coffee run.
3.
She was late. Not hugely, just by five minutes, but she felt like an idiot. These fundraising functions always made her nervous to begin with, nevermind that she was unofficially going as Serena Campbell's date.
She'd sworn she'd be at Serena's door bang on time. She had no idea that she'd spend ten frantic minutes looking around her for the pocket watch that was now clipped to her black waistcoat and nestled in the left pocket.
She rang the doorbell, and her hands fell to smooth the fabric against her legs as she waited for Serena to appear.
"What time do you call-"
Serena stopped, swallowed, and drank in the view. Bernie had her hair pinned back with a black jaw clip. It should have looked messy, but instead it looked intentionally inviting. Serena raked her eyes over the crisp white shirt, black waistcoat, black slacks and entirely sensible black patent shoes. Bernie shoved her hands in the pockets of her trousers and blushed under the scrutiny.
"I'm sorry I'm late," she said, though she was almost certain she'd be forgiven if the look on Serena's face was anything to go by.
"Not to worry," Serena replied absently, fingers tight and clenching around the clutch purse in her hands. It too was black, offset against the deep red of her formal gown.
She cleared her throat.
"Ready to do battle, Major?"
Bernie grinned, offering her arm for Serena to take as they made their way to the waiting taxi.
4.
Sometimes Bernie just needed some alone time. Serena teased her and called it 'time out' but she didn't try to follow her after the first few attempts. She respected Bernie's need for space.
Her need to decompress, to process the latest screw-up or successful operation. When she did, she'd be vigilant, setting an alarm on her phone to send her back to work before too long. The roof always granted her the solace that she needed, offering her an expanse of sky to stamp out overly active trains of thought.
Or to daydream her way to her destination, which always ended up being Serena.
5.
She was getting better at drinking weaker spirits, so it at least seemed like she was keeping up with Serena during happy hour at Albie's.
And she was happy. She'd long since stopped caring if anyone saw her staring, in fact loved when Serena caught her out. She loved the way the blush would creep up Serena's chest, how she'd try to hold Bernie's gaze but would inevitably shudder, ever so slightly, and shake herself back into whatever conversation she'd been having across the table.
Of course, Bernie's hand on her thigh under the table didn't make it any easier to concentrate. Sooner than later, they'd fall into a taxi, in Serena's front door, and into bed.
6.
Time slowed down around Serena Campbell. Bernie felt like she was making good use of every second of the day. In theatre, on the ward, at Albie's. Strolling down the vegetable aisle during their weekly shop, the short hop of a drive to work in the mornings.
It was the opposite of working under gunfire, the feeling of stillness that settled over her when she was with Serena.
She'd happily spend the rest of her life making up for all the time she wasted before she met Serena Campbell.