Archive of Our Own ^beta

It would have been her first pride. As she saw people around her checking shifts and organising their trip, be it to Holby, London, or elsewhere, Serena felt a similar buzzing, something she had never really felt before being thrown in the middle of it. Why?

Why, indeed, had she been the one person people had come to to mix and match shifts (Dom’s words, not hers)? Well, she was the logical person to go see, after all, the highest in the chain of command who was out and proud. People still assumed Bernie was short for Bernard every now and then, but were quickly educated by well meaning staff.

And now there she was, struggling to keep up with Dominic’s elaborate scheme to get a sizeable amount of the hospital staff in as few cars as possible heading for London. How she wished to be there, while at the same time knowing she wouldn’t have been able to handle it. She would go, eventually, but not alone. This was something she wanted to share with Bernie, something she couldn’t picture herself doing without her.

With Bernie in a country where homosexuality was still illegal, a country she would soon be joining her in, going to Pride, almost carefree, and walking alongside the group that were now looking at her with hope and dreams in their eyes wouldn’t feel right. She did what she could about the shifts, even covered a few herself. If she wasn’t going to go, she might as well make sure they had the best possible time.

*

The night shift had left her exhausted, and she opened the mailbox on autopilot, leaving the stack of mail on the kitchen table before kicking her shoes and deciding against that glass of wine she’d envisaged.

Leaning against the table, a habit of Bernie’s that had rubbed off on her, she could see the appeal now though, she leafed through the pile. Leaflets and the like were set aside, a couple bills pushed away to be seen to the next day, a thick envelope with a familiar handwriting and what looked like too many stamps left in front of her.

“Oh, Bernie!”

Bernie had promised to send her something. Their communication had been spotty due to both their shifts, technology, and the way they operated as people. Bernie wasn’t very good at emails. Actually, no, Bernie was terrible at emails. Serena wasn’t good at leaving messages, feeling like her voice rung empty when she had no one to actually interact with.

Snail mail, as a primary mean of communication, had been ruled out pretty quickly due to the slowness of the mail system in both countries, and all those in between. Bernie had promised to send her something though. It had been a while back, Serena hadn’t thought to write down the date, had expected it to have gotten lost, or for it to still be amongst what was no doubt a mess in Bernie’s temporary flat. But Bernie was a woman of her word.

Serena tried to open the small package by hand, laughing at the ridiculous amount of tape Bernie had used to seal it shut, before giving up and carefully cutting along the edge. Removing the content felt like surgery, she was afraid to break something she shouldn’t, and promised herself she’d have a word with Bernie about her wrapping skills.

Inside was a notebook. Small, barely the size of her hand, its pages fluttered open the second she freed it from the envelope. It was an ordinary notebook that Bernie had personalised in what could only be described as an imaginative way. Serena wasn’t entirely sure what kind of thread Bernie had used, probably not the kind that should be used for embroidery, the letters N-O-T-E-S carefully stitched, above what would first look like mingled lines that Serena managed to decipher to be her own name. Apparently, Bernie’s embroidery skills didn’t apply to cursive.

Serena felt raised lines on the back as well and turned to see a rainbow flag sewn onto the back. Whether it was there for pride or happiness didn’t matter, she knew Bernie enough to know it meant both, especially to her. She checked the envelope, made sure it was empty before heading upstairs. She’d need sleep at some point, and reading this in bed felt appropriate.

A small note was scrawled inside the cover. “An idea from Jason. I need to improve my drawing skills. One small drawing a day… for you.” Serena held her breath before laughing at the intricate mess the title page had become. She wasn’t quite sure what Bernie had been going for, but it was a mess. A beautiful mess.

The first page was a plane. She knew it was a plane because Bernie had been kind enough to write it beneath what she would first have assumed was an abstract doodle. After that was a view from her room. Serena could make out the window and a road, and it was entirely possible that one of the lumps was a car or such moving vehicle.

As she progressed, the doodles got smaller, barely better, with little notes. Notes on how her day had gone, notes on how she missed her, notes on little things that had made her smile that she feared she’d forget to tell Serena, the little everyday things that meant so much more once you were away.

As she went, from page to page, she felt her eyes well up and had to stop for a moment, stroking the rainbow flag at the back in an effort to get herself together. This notebook had all the good and the bad, the frustration and the joys, Serena’s name everywhere, as if she needed to write it and say it as often as she could. Over time, it felt like Bernie was a lot more interested in improving the calligraphy of her name rather than her drawing skills.

The last page, the one right before the cover, was a stunning anatomical drawing of a heart. Serena remembered Bernie saying anatomical drawings were pretty much the only thing she was good at. She had not been exaggerating. Underneath it, three simple words. I love you.

Serena closed the notebook, biting back a sob, running her fingers over the patch with a smile. She lied back, trying to think of a way to thank her, a way to reciprocate. She knew she would have a hard time suppressing her smile the next day. She might as well walk through the wards with a sign that said ‘I love Bernie Wolfe’ in big bold colourful letters around her neck. She was glad Dom was off to London, or he might just be tempted to make one for her.