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Time passes slowly whilst a gradually burning flame, clouded with wisps of worry and concern, starts to burn and scorch at recently promoted PC Yasmin Khan’s chest.
She had made dinner earlier in the evening, setting up a table for two in the apartment she shares with her girlfriend, Jo, waiting patiently for her arrival. Having gone cold, she’d given the food a sigh and reheated it, saving her girlfriend’s plate for later.
Another long night, she muses, settling on her purple velvet couch and pulling a cushion to her chest to ease the ache there. She's not angry at her girlfriend for missing their meal, per se, simply worried about the seriousness of the incident and why it meant she’d had to stay behind... for three more hours, no less.
Ignoring the monotonous white noise of the television, she picks up her phone and settles back, lips moving at the same time as she types.
Hey, babe! Please call or text me back, I'm starting to worry. X
Her mobile makes a quiet ding of confirmation as the message is sent, and she stares at the screen for a few, long moments in the hope that at least it’ll show the message has been read and her concern has been made aware.
It's another gruelling two hours before there’s a familiar jingle of keys in the lock and the front door slowly inches open, revealing a drained and forlorn head of department for Weston Park Hospital’s Accident and Emergency Department. The blonde all but drags herself through the door with a quiet 'evenin’, babe. Sorry I’m late', dropping her polka dot rucksack at her feet and strolling as if on instinct over to her girlfriend. She sinks, with the grace of a baby deer, into the couch at Yasmin’s side and immediately slips her arms around her waist, burying her face in her shoulder and breathing her in as though she hasn’t seen her in months.
Yaz is momentarily shocked, blinking in quick succession as she watches her little performance. There's something about Joanna’s features which makes her chest clench ever tighter, anxiety riddling through her and making her briefly panic.
Jo picks up on her breathing, lifting her head slightly and raising one arm to tap out a seven-beat rhythm on the back of her hand, where scars from her heroic actions a year ago still linger. She continues this while Yaz breathes in, then changes it to four when she exhales.
“Babe, did something happen at work? Are you alright? What’s all this about?” Yaz quizzes, reaching out to pull her closer on instinct, protective but comforting. Her breathing has calmed, as always, with Jo’s silent, gentle reassurance. It's a process they’d found helped best with her infrequent panic attacks.
“S’been a tough day, that’s all. Could you just... hold me for a bit? If that’s okay?” The blonde wavers on the last few words, hoping against hope that her girlfriend doesn’t notice.
“Babe, what hap- okay. I can do that... So long as you tell me what’s happened, once you’re feeling up to it?” She earns a slow, hesitant nod in response, tucking her knees up and taking up the entirety of her personal space when she slips smoothly into her lap, face nestling into her neck. She smells of disposable gloves and hospitals and bravery and courage, though her current state insinuates vulnerability and annoyance – Yaz expects she’s frustrated at herself; a bad habit she’s constantly being lured into.
It’s a long, quiet wait until the blonde doctor finally starts to relax, tense shoulders easing and the quick, pulsing beat of her heart slowing to a more casual pace. She draws her face away and begins to fiddle and toy with the material at the hem of her scrubs – she'd been in such a rush to leave, she hadn’t bothered changing.
“We lost a patient today.” Jo finally whispers, meeting her girlfriend’s gaze. Yaz has never seen her look so utterly defeated, her bottom lip trembling and her hazel eyes momentarily glistening with unshed tears. She reaches up to catch the first one to fall, giving her a sympathetic look as she takes her hand, entwining their fingers to offer a gentle squeeze. She stays quiet, letting her continue at her own pace.
“Her name was Anne; she was ninety. She was a hell of a woman, Yaz. She started learning to fly a plane at seventy and she’s only just earnt her green belt in karate! She had, I mean.” She falters, taking a shaky breath and diverting her gaze to their hands. Tears drop in an uneven pattern from strong cheekbones, landing on the hands interwoven between them.
“She was amazin’, Yaz. And do you know what the worst thing is about all this? She passed alone.” At this, the dam breaks and Joanna chokes on a quiet sob, falling forwards into Yasmin’s waiting arms. She melts against her shoulder, dampening her pyjama top and causing her girlfriend’s heart to crack and tear with her loss. She's never seen her this upset – sure, she’s seen her stressed and overwhelmed, but never this open and vulnerable. The woman in question must’ve meant a lot.
“She wasn’t alone, though, was she, Jo? You were there. And, considering you were so close, I really doubt she was at all unhappy or disappointed by that. You can’t blame yourself for this, love.”
“But I -”
“No, Joanna. No buts. This is in no way your fault. Don't even think about blaming yourself for something like this.” She gives her hands a squeeze, wiping away the rest of the tears framing her features in a surprisingly youthful form. She looks like a child guilty for stealing too many cookies from a jar, quietly torturing herself from the inside out for being so, undeniably, her.
Her girlfriend is entirely too giving and selfless and generous for her own good, which is why she feels the need to remind her sometimes that she can’t save everyone.
“Take some time to grieve. Have another good cry, if you need to, but do not blame yourself. Please. It doesn’t achieve anything, in the long run.”
“Thank you.” The blonde nods, slow and fatigued. Exhaustion oozes from slumped shoulders and the way her eyes don’t shine as bright as usual. She feels numb.
“What do you say about me running you a nice, warm bath to help you relax?” Yaz murmurs, swiping the last of her tears away with the side of her thumb. The corner of her lips lift in a grateful, relieved smile.
“That sounds perfect, Yaz. Oh, wait! I missed dinner! Friday is pakora day! I love pakora!” Her voice is gruff with emotion, cheeks still damp. She looks as though she might cry again – over food this time.
“Hey, don’t worry. I made some extra. Re-heat it while I get the bath sorted, okay? I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”
Avoiding a fresh torrent of tears, Yaz breathes a relieved sigh and stands, pressing a kiss to her girlfriend’s forehead in the process. She sidles into the bathroom with a quick glance back, ensuring the blonde has approached her food before she disappears.
There's a pebble-turned-candle balanced delicately on each corner of the bath while it fills with hot water and plenty of bubble bath, as well as a bath bomb Joanna had recently become a fan of. It's the shape of a star and turns the water into a galaxy of blues and purples and glitter she’ll find clinging to her skin for the next week. It’s worth it to bring Jo’s smile back, even briefly.
Ten minutes later, the bathroom lights have been dimmed and the candles have been lit, so Yaz pokes her head around the door to call out for her girlfriend.
Joanna is perched at the breakfast bar, finishing up her meal with a satisfied hum before, on instinct, her head turns so she meets Yasmin’s gaze.
“Bath’s ready, babe.”
Once they’re inside the bathroom, Joanna gives her girlfriend a slow, subtly enamoured smile. She eyes the mix of the colours, the candles, and the two glasses of wine beside the tub.
“You’re far too good to me, Yasmin Khan.”
“And you’re far too good, Joanna. Now, chip chop, the water’ll get cold.” She claps her hands together quietly, turning to head for the door.
“Aren’t you going to join me?” Jo’s voice comes from the other side of the room, where she’s peeling her navy top over her head and setting it aside.
“If you want me to?” The blonde still sounds a little frail when she whispers a timid “yes, please”, so she gives in to her request right away.
Yaz makes space for her when she steps into the tub a few minutes later, opening her arms so Joanna can settle against her front. She brushes a kiss against her shoulder and sighs a soft breath against her smooth skin. Joanna takes one of her girlfriend’s hands, entwining their fingers.
Every touch and brush of lips against skin is warm and affectionate, a form of communication which can’t be seen or heard, simply felt.
And Joanna has never felt so loved. She sinks against her girlfriend in thoughtful, comfortable silence, letting soft hums and purrs leave her throat when she cards shampoo-foamed fingers through damp locks.
The water has almost completely lost its heat by the time they peel away from each other and step out of the tub, and Yaz fetches them towels while Joanna drains the bluey-purple liquid from its residence.
Soon after, fluffy-pyjama clad, cozy and fresh, the pair of them retire to their bedroom for the evening.
Two steaming mugs are cradled in cool palms, filled to the top with caramel hot chocolate (with the exception for Joanna’s, which Yaz is fairly certain is ninety percent marshmallow, five percent hot chocolate, and equal two and a half percent measures of milk and hot water).
“You surprise me every day, Jo.” Yaz teases, raising an arm so Joanna can settle against her; she’d been giving her a puppy-dog look and shuffling closer for a while now. She draws faint circles into the soft, woolen material covering her shoulder, despite how much she’d wanted to simply slip her hand beneath.
“I can’t believe you don’t like marshmallows, Yaz! They’re amazin’.” The blonde retorts through a mouthful of the fluffy, sugary substance. There's a line of froth along her upper lip which Yaz decides not to point out, if only so she can admire the way she eventually swipes it off with her tongue.
“I can’t believe you haven’t suffered from a sugar overdose yet.” She laughs into her mug when the doctor gives her one of those ‘I-definitely-have-at-some-point' looks, lips curving into a callow grin.
There’s a sense of triumph in Yasmin’s dark pupils when she catches her expression, setting her mug aside and slipping beneath the sheets.
“How are you feeling now, love?”
“Better, actually. Not so... numb and frustrated.” Joanna nods, words murmured against her shoulder.
“That’s good. What do you say about taking the day off tomorrow? I don’t think jumping back into it all will make you feel any better.”
Her initial response, as someone whom adores their job almost as much as their partner, is to shake her head in dismissal and refuse to lose precious hours when she could be saving lives. However, if there’s one thing she’s learnt in her job, it’s that personal problems have the potential to do more damage than good.
She sighs, curling her fingers into Yaz’s star-littered pyjama top to gently draw her closer. She's not usually one for constantly seeking comfort, but today’s events had taught her to hold her loved ones just a touch closer.
“Okay. Just one day, though.”
“Just one day, I promise. I know how much you love your job, so thank you.” Yaz tips her girlfriend’s chin up, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to her lips.
“Thank you for looking after me, Yaz. I love you.” There’s a flash of surprise to Yasmin’s pupils. She knew Joanna loved her, but they hadn’t actually admitted it aloud to each other yet. She blames her girlfriend’s fatigue, her pulse quickening beneath Jo’s ears.
“I love you too, Jo. Now try and get some sleep for me, okay? You look proper exhausted.”
They lay like this, Joanna’s limbs curled around the dark-haired woman’s in a loose bear hug, until the blonde doctor has fallen into a light slumber, her breaths evening out against her chest.
Once she knows her girlfriend won’t be waking any time soon, Yasmin reaches for the laptop settled on her bedside table, turning the brightness of the screen down before she clicks on the search bar and starts typing.
‘Flying lessons, Sheffield.’
A coy, entirely-too-loving smile dances across her full lips. She’ll give Jo a day she’ll never forget, in memory of one enlivening, free-spirited individual her girlfriend had come to call family.