Chapter Text
Bernie looked around her sparsely furnished room and nodded. A single bed, a small chest of drawers, a sofa, a tiny square Formica topped table and a single wooden chair. A ‘kitchenette’ that consisted of a small, ancient fridge with a single burner, propane fuelled camping stove sitting on top. The ‘bathroom’ was a toilet, basin and shower stall divided from the rest of the room by a curtain. The sink did double duty for both hands and dishes. Everything except the camping stove came with the place. If she tucked the stove under one arm, all the rest of Bernie’s belongings fit into a single camping sized rucksack.
Simplicity.
It was what she needed after far too many complicated years.
When she had returned to Kenya, after Jason’s wedding, after finishing things for the final time with Serena, the small flat they had shared in Nairobi had seemed too much. It too had been a furnished rental, but was far nicer than Bernie alone needed. Serena didn’t believe in slumming it, for starters, plus the second bedroom that they had needed for appearances sake was unnecessary. Bernie didn’t allow herself to add the fact that every square inch of the place reminded her of Serena to the list of practical reasons to move out of the cosy two bedroom and into a tiny bedsit. She didn’t need physical things surrounding her to be constantly reminded that the love of her life was no longer hers.
Simplicity.
Bernie lived by routine. As much as a trauma surgeon could, anyway. She bought the same breakfast on the way to the hospital every morning - a cup of strong coffee and a smocha from the same street food vendor. She had instantly fallen in love with the smoky sausage and kachumbari, a spicy, salsa-like tomato and onion salad, wrapped in a chapati. It was both delicious and practical to eat while walking to work. Lunch was taken on the fly when she had time; usually something pressed on her by one of the nurses who complained Bernie was getting far too skinny. Dinner came either from one of a couple of different takeaways on her way home, or if it was too late, a simple bowl of instant ramen was her staple alternative.
Once a week she Skyped both Charlotte and Jason, Greta and little Guin. As long as the sometimes spotty internet connection allowed it. Cameron sent sporadic texts and she was always prompt in responding. She had tried regularly keeping in touch with Serena. However… However, that was anything but simple. ‘We’ll always remain friends’ sounded good in theory. In practice it had felt like her heart was being shredded every time she tried to keep up that ‘look at us, being grown ups, being exes who are still pals’ tone. Maybe it was the same for Serena, because her reasons to begin skipping phone calls and Skype appointments had sounded just about as flimsy and false as Bernie’s excuses.
Bernie had tried her best not to make any friends in Nairobi. Her track record with work friends was… complicated to say the least. She hadn’t counted on the determination of the nurses clucking around her like mother hens. “You’re too skinny, Doctor Bernie. You look tired, Doctor Bernie, you don’t eat properly.” And so them deciding they needed to feed her up had begun. She hadn’t counted on two of her junior doctors stubbornly not taking no for an answer until she finally gave in to going out for beers once a month. They were still working on making it a weekly thing. The two young Australians were also working on getting Bernie to agree to come over for a barbie. So far ‘You don’t want to feel like you’re having your mum round for dinner’ had been holding them at bay. She didn’t think it would last, but dammit, she didn’t want the complications.
Work, eat, sleep. Wake up wishing she could stop the dreams.
Repeat.
Simplicity.
Until things were suddenly not simple.
It wasn’t unheard of to be dragged out of a deep sleep by the ringing of her mobile phone. It was unusual to be woken in the middle of the night by Jason’s ringtone. She grabbed her phone and looked at the time. Three am. Meaning it was midnight in the UK. Other than Guin’s nighttime demands, Jason had always followed a pretty strict routine and it was always ten o’clock to bed for him.
“Jason? Jason, try and calm down. Is there anyone there you can pass the phone to, love?”
“Ms Wolfe? It’s Robyn Miller, from the Holby City Emergency Department…”
Complications.
Approximately four hours after she initially got off the phone with the Holby ED nurse, Bernie was sitting in the departure lounge of Jomo Kenyatta International Airport. Her flight was due to start boarding any moment. She had emailed her boss and her juniors at the hospital, apologising and stating that a family emergency had necessitated an immediate return to England. She would let them know as soon as she could, when (and there was an unspoken if ) she would be returning.
A drunk driver. A fucking drunk driver had ploughed into Serena’s car when she was minding her own business, driving Jason, Greta and Guinevere home from a family meal out. Robyn, bless her, had been keeping Bernie as up to date as possible. Guin was thankfully unharmed, her baby seat having done its job in protecting the toddler. Greta had been taken to St James’s for surgery on a badly broken leg. Jason had a broken clavicle, plus cuts and bruises.
Serena… The driver’s side had taken the impact and Serena was still unconscious in Holby’s ITU. Sacha Levy and Ric Griffin had operated but as of Robyn’s last check in ten minutes ago, Serena was still unconscious.
Complications.
By the time Bernie got to the hospital, Jason had been discharged and had been allowed home with little Guin. Greta was to be kept in for a few days and thankfully Allan had stepped in to help Jason cope for the time being. Bernie had spent most of the train journey from London Heathrow to Holby on the phone to both of them and had been reassured they had everything under control and that Bernie should go directly to Holby City to be with Serena.
The prognosis was positive. They had extubated Serena just before an exhausted Bernie had arrived at her bedside. She had been greeted by a solemn Henrik Hanssen who had assured her that she could stay by Serena’s bedside as long as she wanted. A warm bear hug from Sacha who had waited to discuss Serena’s injuries with Bernie made her realise quite how touch starved and lonely her life had become.
“Please wake up, Serena. It’s all such a mess. I love you. Please come back to me.”
Bernie’s head was resting on the mattress as she gently held Serena’s left hand. She had been murmuring words of love and want and regret as extreme fatigue battled against caffeine and adrenaline. Exhaustion seemed to be winning and Bernie’s hand relaxed as she began to drop off.
Mmmm, one of her favourite dreams. Serena was running her fingers through Bernie’s hair. A simple dream, but one she had frequently and often woke from, still feeling the ghost of Serena’s hands. As always, Bernie kept her eyes tightly shut, trying to preserve the phantom sensations as long as possible.
Bernie’s eyes flew open as the sounds and smells of the hospital suddenly registered and reality crashed over her. She was in England and Serena had been injured. Yet those familiar fingertips combing through her hair continued. She slowly raised her head from the mattress and looked into loving warm brown eyes.
“God, Serena, I thought I’d lost you,” croaked Bernie, as she took hold of her beloved’s hand.
“Never.” Serena’s voice was a husky whisper, but the determined tone was still clear.
There was an awful lot they would need to talk about, but this wake up call was not going to go unheeded. Simplicity was vastly overrated and Bernie was more than ready to embrace the complications.