Interrupting your Eurovision joy with Turnadette angst? Sorry?
After much deliberation, I have decided to turn Prompt 21 “Stay with Me” into a full fic of angst, hurt, comfort, and...eventual cuteness. Chapter 1 is just Prompt 21 and the new material starts in Chapter 2. TW: blood, violence, death.
I solemnly swear as a fan and a writer that I will not kill off either Patrick or Shelagh Turner.
I’d say hope you enjoy, but like, nah? Sorry! Also, here ya go, @thatginchygal, here are your tears! <3
This definitely went over the word count and I can’t bring myself to reduce it anymore! Compromise you say? Yes, this is my compromise, based on my 100 Word Challenge! Here’s another tiny series, which hopefully gets completed!
“Dear Sister Bernadette,
Is St. Anne treating you well? I bet their meals don’t compare to Nonnatus House.”
Scratch that.
‘God, this was easier said than done’ thought Patrick. He imagined the written word would exceed his verbal communication, but both were escaping him when it came to Sister Bernadette.
“Why does writing one letter lead to trivial words and my palms sweating!” he exclaimed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I’ve acted out of turn once before” he said, this time, barely above a whisper while a sigh escaped him. It was then that a film reel played throughout his mind.
It was the day of the summer fete and the events that followed happened in one quick blur: cradling her hand with tenderness, despite how rough his hands could be.
He knew what possessed him that day; the need to comfort and care for her. Patrick wanted to cure her loneliness and in the process, she was curing his. He wanted Sister Bernadette to know he had feelings for her and didn’t want to avoid the issue any further.
Patrick’s lips softly rested upon her palm as he heard an intake of breath and for one deceitful moment, he thought he cured her. He felt Sister Bernadette wavering underneath his touch before she retracted.
It was completely inappropriate, but he didn’t regret the kiss. Instead, he regretted walking away and burying the question lingering in both their minds: Am I more than just a colleague to you?
“Perhaps, I’ll stick with the basics. I don’t want to scare her off,“ Patrick said aloud, reaching for a new piece of stationary.
‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘if she replies, I’ll send another letter to clear up any misunderstanding.’
He hoped the letter read as a friendly hello with terms of support written throughout, but the signs of formalities remained with the conclusion of:
could you write a fic about shelagh and patrick post birth?
Heck yes I can Anon.
——————————————-
He takes the baby as she delivers the placenta, cleaning the tiny infant on the other side of the room to give her a remote sense of privacy after she had whispered into his ear to dismiss him.
“Patrick, I don’t want you to never want to make love to me again. Go take care of our son.”
He had chuckled, kissing her temple before climbing off the bed and taking their child from her arms at that, allowing Sister Julienne to complete her job at the foot of the bed. Now cleaned and carefully wrapped in a blanket, his new son slept soundly in his arms, little face scrunching up for a moment before relaxing as Sister Julienne helped Shelagh off the bed and towards the bathroom, his wife giving a hissed wince at moving. Normally, he would have told her off, told her that she should stay in bed and allow herself to be cleaned up like any other mother in Poplar, with a careful sponge bath. He knew better though, knowing that Shelagh would prefer to tidy herself in the bathroom as much as she was able with the help of Sister Julienne.
“Your Mummy is going to stick to anything she sets her mind to, best get used to it little one,” he whispered, kissing the crown of his son’s head as he rocked him gently, legs aching as he wandered back to sit on the edge of the bed. He could only imagine the agony his wife would still be in for a few days as her body recovered from bringing their child into the world if he was sore from a mere hour of her clinging to him and pushing against him as she laboured, her fingers clenching against his as she struggled.
Sister Julienne came back a moment later to collect the soiled towels and blankets, balling them up in order to take them down to be washed. At his slightly panicked look she chuckled, reaching across the bed to place a hand on his elbow.
“She’s just tidying herself and brushing her teeth, she’ll be back in a moment. She did beautifully Patrick,” she assured him with a smile. He grinned, nodding back at her before glancing down at the baby in his arms.
“I never thought we would have… this,” he confessed, motioning to the infant. “It’s more that I could have ever dreamed for. Thank you, for the role you played in bringing our son into the world,” Patrick said. Sister Julienne blushed slightly, her own eyes watery and red rimmed.
“I couldn’t have asked for a better gift than this,” she replied, taking her leave from the room. She returned a few moments later with a tired but refreshed looking Shelagh, the younger woman now wrapped in a clean nightdress and with her hair pulled back into a loose plait. Shelagh clambered onto the bed carefully before laying back against the pillows, holding her hands out until Patrick laid the baby in her arms, watching how she gingerly traced a finger over the child’s cheeks and lips.
“I’ll leave you three to get settled. Enjoy the night to yourselves. I’ll call a locum to cover your practice for you tomorrow Doctor Turner,” Sister Julienne said, collecting her things before heading for the door.
“Thank you,” Patrick and Shelagh called out in unison, their voices soft so as not to startle the baby.
“Sleep well my dears.” With that the elder woman disappeared into the hall and down the stairs. Patrick stood, cracking his back as he went to fetch his pyjamas, watching Shelagh out of the corner of his eye as the baby started to stir. She smiled at the child, carefully shifting him to one arm as she struggled to undo the buttons on her nightgown with trembling fingers.
“Is it strange that I have no idea what I’m doing? I’ve instructed hundreds of mothers on how to breastfeed and yet I can’t stop shaking and feeling as if I don’t know where to begin,” Shelagh confessed, biting her bottom lip softly as she glanced between Patrick and the baby. Her husband chuckled softly, tugging his pyjama trousers on before coming to sit next to her, resting his chin on her shoulder.
“You’re going to do phenomenally,” he breathed against her ear. “Do you want me to talk you through it?” He knew the question sounded daft, his wife having much more extensive experience with breastfeeding mothers than he did, at least in this capacity, but he understood her hesitancy. She would never admit it, but he could feel the exhaustion rolling off Shelagh in waves, despite her valiant attempt to appear strong despite her lengthy labour and delivery.
“Yes,” she answered, gently knocking her head against his. Patrick reached forward, helping to clear the fabric away from Shelagh’s breast as she shifted the baby in her arms.
“Bring him up towards your breast,” Patrick started, watching his wife comply without hesitation. “Now, you’re going to put your thumb and finger around your areola and we’re just going to try and entice him to open his mouth with your nipple.” When Shelagh didn’t move her arms away from her hold on the baby, he reached forward, following his own instructions as he placed a hand on her breast, encouraging their son to open his mouth. Blurry blue eyes blinked up at him for a moment before the baby opened his mouth. “All right, now his lower jaw needs to go on first, then we’re just going to press a bit more of your breast into his mouth and – yes, that’s it,” Patrick encouraged, watching as the baby latched on almost immediately.
“Oh,” Shelagh sighed, amazed at the feeling of the baby suckling.
“That’s my girl,” Patrick whispered, feeling the baby’s chest moving against the back of his hand and his wife’s heartbeat beneath his palm where his hand rested between them, still cradling her breast. The two sat in silence while their son fed, his eyes falling shut after only twenty minutes. Shelagh chuckled softly at him, nudging Patrick until he lifted the infant away from her and rested him on his shoulder, patting his back until he burped softly. Shelagh had finished closing her nightgown in that time and was curled up on her side as Patrick climbed in next to her, resting the baby between them on the bed.
“I’m so tired but I don’t want to take my eyes off him,” she breathed, lids dropping shut as she said the words.
“He’s still going to be here when you wake up. I promise,” Patrick answered, reaching across their son to cup Shelagh’s cheek in his hand. “I love you so much.”
So I have this little mental image of Sister Monica Joan visiting Shelagh once she's back home and going mad with boredom on bed rest (I mean, Sr Ursula just drilled into her poor head the need to be useful, and she already knows the fastest route to the Turner Flat of Requirement). Can't you just picture her, Angela in her lap and perched on a chair beside Shelagh, who is laid out on the sofa? Naturally after talking with Shelagh and playing/coloring/reading with Angela, she will declare they must take a break and have cake. Anyone up for writing a little ficlet expanding on this little image?
Hey guys! With the extremely gracious permission of the recipients, I’m posting the Christmas fics I wrote for the Christmas exchange! Here are the first two. Chapter one is Turnadette and chapter two is Pupcake.
Merry Christmas and have a lovely weekend!
Chapter 1 is dedicated to Alison!
Chapter 2 is dedicated to Denise!
Side note for Pupcake writers, omg I didn’t realize that my autocorrect had turned Patsy into Pasty throughout the story until I was almost done and I was horrified. Your struggle is real.
Something I've definitely learned over the last year or two is that you never know whether the last time you saw someone will be the last time, a morbid thought I know and something I’m trying not to dwell on right now. But this got me thinking about Sister Evangelina's death and the character's last memories with her and wanted to explore this as it wasn’t shown on screen for all characters. This is different to anything I've written before so I hope I've done this justice.
This explores Trixie’s, Shelagh’s and Patrick’s final memories with Sister Evanglina, but I may continue this with other character’s if it’s recieved well.
The news of Sister Evangelina’s death sent shockwaves through the Nonnatus family. She’d slipped away in her sleep, pain free and peacefully which many found comfort in. In the days following her death Nonnatus was kept afloat by everyone’s final memories of Sister Evangelina.
For Trixie, the final time she had seen Sister Evangelina was early in the morning on the day of her death. She’d just got in from a long and tiring birth in which life teetered on the edge. She couldn’t face going to bed just yet so, in the absence of alcohol she’d trudged to the kitchen in search of Horlicks. She’d fallen asleep, slumped on the table before she’d even taken the first sip, tiredness consuming her the moment she’d sat down.
“To bed with you gal,” a voiced barked from behind her, pulling her out her slumber. “I don’t know why you Nurses have to indulge yourself with Horlicks before bed when you’re clearly too tired to even lift the kettle.”
“It’s better than indulging myself with gin,” Trixie had muttered under her breath in response, hoping Sister Evangelina hadn’t heard her, knowing it would result in another lecture, one she was too tired to face. But instead of the onslaught she expected she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, surprising her somewhat.
“You know your problem? You don’t believe in yourself enough. You’ve gone months without a drink, just because you’ve had a bad evening it doesn’t mean you have to drink yourself to sleep. You’re better than that.” Trixie had opened her mouth to question how she knew, but stopped herself, everyone knew she was the eyes and ears of Nonnatus. Instead, she grabbed her hand and whispered a quiet thanks, trying to hide the tears that had formed. Sister Evangelina took the handkerchief from her pocket and dapped Trixie’s eyes gently.
“Now now, enough of this, you know I don’t do tears. To bed with you, you’re clearly tired enough.” Her tone was firm, but without malice, in a way that only Sister Evangelina could achieve. Trixie simply nodded in response and turned to leave but before she could Sister Evangelina took the hankie she’d just used wipe Trixie’s tears and placed it in her hands. “Just in case you need it again.” She’d said with a small smile.
When the news of Sister Evangelina’s death broke Trixie reached to her pocket and curled her fingers around the handkerchief, thumbing the corners slightly before drying her tears with it, just as Sister Evangelina had done so that morning.
-
Between Angela reaching her terrible twos, Timothy constantly needing help with his increasingly challenging schoolwork and the surgery being busier than ever, Shelagh hadn’t managed to drop by Nonnatus as often as she liked, something she now regretted as she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a proper conversation with Sister Evangelina. So, for Shelagh, her final memory of Sister Evangelina was a brief one. The last time she’d seen Sister Evangelina had been at the Tuesday clinic, a few days before her death. The clinic was busier than ever, the Nurses and Sisters were completely stretched to their limits and all were feeling the strain of the last few months. Mrs Penny had rung in sick that morning so Shelagh had no other option than to take Angela to clinic with her, hoping she would just sit quietly and play with the other children by the doll’s house. But Angela was determined not to be parted from her Mother that morning and cried every time she wasn’t by her mother’s side, constantly needing the comfort of physical contact. Shelagh had no choice but to work with her Daughter perched on her lap, if only to save the clinic from her incessant crying. The moment she saw Sister Evangelina walk into clinic she took a deep breath, preparing herself to be reprimanded, something which she didn’t have the energy for that day.
“You indulge that child too much Mrs Turner,” Sister Evangelina started, seeing no need for a customary greeting, she never saw the point in wasting time on pleasantries when there was work to be done. “Put her down so you can do your job efficiently please.” Her tone irked Shelagh and rather than letting go of Angela she held her tighter.
“She’s perfectly okay as she is Sister, I’ll be able to do my job more efficiently if she’s quietly sat on my lap and not disgruntling the other mothers by crying constantly.” Shelagh retorted through gritted teeth.
Sensing her mother’s shift in mood Angela began to stir and removed her head from the crook of her mother’s shoulder. On seeing Sister Evangelina she immediately perked up, and her drooping bottom lip was soon replaced by a gummy smile. She jumped off her mother’s knee and ran straight to the Sister, who couldn’t resist giving her a quick cuddle.
“Now who’s indulging her?” Shelagh smirked.
“I’m sure Miss Angela will be perfectly okay helping me today Mrs Turner, now get organized the mother’s will be arriving soon.” Without another word Sister Evangelina had made away to the weighing station, hand in hand with Angela. Over the course of the day Shelagh kept glancing over to where Angela stood with Sister Evangelina, smiling fondly as she watched the pair interacted. In the days following Sister Evangelina’s death Shelagh thought about that day a lot. She regretted that she’d been so short with the Sister, had she known it’d be the last time she’d see her she wouldn’t have spoke to her in the way she had, but she couldn’t dwell on that as she knew that you can never know when you’re seeing someone for the last time. So instead she decided to focus on that day for the joy it held and the knowledge that on that day her daughter had a final precious memory of the Sister that meant so much to her; even if her daughter was too young to remember she would ensure when she grew older she knew of that day and Sister Evangelina’s memory would forever be kept alive within the Turner household.
-
Patrick’s final memory had also come from that day. He’d found his wife stood in the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea, giving herself five minutes away from the madness of the clinic. It was then he noticed the bags under her eyes on the way in which her shoulders slumped slightly, almost as if she no longer had the energy to keep herself upright. He made a mental note to himself to ask Timothy to babysit one night so he could take Shelagh out and give her a much-needed night off from being a Nurse and Mother and simply allow her to be his wife.
“Penny for them?” the sound Patrick’s voice pulled Shelagh out her trance.
“You’d pay twice as much not to hear them,” Patrick simply shook his head in response, he’d give every penny he had to hear Shelagh’s every thought. He quickly glanced around the small kitchen to ensure no one was about; confirming the coast was clear her pulled Shelagh into his embrace, allowing her to rest her head on his chest knowing she’d find comfort in the steady beating of his heart.
“Tough day?” he asked, placing a kiss in her hair as he did so.
“Angela won’t stop crying and I’ve had Sister Evangelina criticizing my parenting skills yet again,” she sighed.
“I’m sure she’s not criticizing you dear,” Shelagh looked up at Patrick at his words, ready to disagree with him but before she had chance he had caught her lips in a gentle kiss. “You know I’m right,”
“I need to get back to work,” she sighed “so do you.”
“Shelagh,” Patrick called as she began to walk away, she turned to look at him and his eyes conveyed everything he was about to say.
“I know,” she whispered back in response and made her way back to her desk, leaving Patrick to watch her retreating form. Unbeknown to the couple Sister Evangelina had been watching their interaction from afar and caught Patrick as he followed his wife back to work.
“You look after her,” she told him sternly, “she’ll never admit it but she’s struggling right now, she needs you. You look after her,” she repeated, “you promise me that.”
“Sister, on our wedding day I vowed to love and protect her and I have no intention of breaking them vows. I promise you that.” Patrick replied.
“Good,” was the final word spoken by Sister Evangelina to Patrick that day.
When he learnt of Sister Evangelina’s death, Patrick thought back to the final promise he made to her, knowing it was more poignant now. And as Shelagh broke down in his arms that evening, finally allowing herself to cry, he held her tightly as if he could hold the broken parts of her together, and prayed to the God he struggled to believe in, that Sister Evangelina could see that he would dedicate every day to fulfilling his final promise to her.
