Hello, this is my first foray into Call the Midwife fanfic, so I hope it's alright.

She hadn't quite been able to shake off the memory. Standing in the clinic kitchen, her hand still damp and cold from being under the tap, still stinging where she had fallen and grazed her palm and the top of her wrist, his hand holding hers very carefully, him, tracing the lines of her palm as much as he examined her wound. Bowing his head and raising her hand to his lips to kiss the inside of her hand, his eyes closing. His lips were so soft. She had had to snatch her hand away from him. It was the most intimate thing another human being had ever done to her. She didn't know what else to do.

She knew it was wrong. She couldn't stop thinking about him. Her mind reeled in tandem; knowing it was wrong, thinking about him, over and over, all day and most of the night. Even when she prayed, she thought of him: heavenly light was now the light from the kitchen window behind his ear; when she read her Bible she heard the words in his voice, even the incense burned at the alter smelled like the cigarettes he smoked. Her definition of God was becoming ever more married to her perception of him. This was so very wrong.

Was this love? And if it was, why did it hurt like this? Love for God never hurt like this. It wasn't even a physical pain; it was a torment of the mind and a leaden heart; images of their moments to together, of his face, stretched back, playing like a reel of pictures, in glaringly vivid colours again and again until she wanted to be sick. Except, it wasn't all bad, not all of it felt bad. In spite of herself, she would feel the most fleeting rush of excitement when she saw him at work in the clinic, a tiny fluttering of the stomach, feel herself colour a little when his eyes met hers for a moment.

She knew she should do something to stop this. Her instinct was to tell someone, but who? As much as it pained her, she didn't dare trust one of the younger midwives; she feared perhaps the temptation to gossip on the lively evenings they spent playing records in each other's rooms would be too great. She cringed with embarrassment at the thought of telling Sister Julienne, who she was sure didn't have an impure bone in her body, how she felt, and she didn't trust Sister Evangelina not to have her exorcised. It wasn't that she was frightened of it, exactly; she was just firmly convince that it wouldn't make the slightest difference to how she felt.

It might have been sensible to purposefully avoid him, but that was nearly impossible when she had to work with him and that too, she was convinced, would probably be useless. She thought of him, whether she saw him or not. But still, perhaps, she had been avoiding being alone with him. She realised this only when it happened again, and she felt a surprising mixture of their situation being familiar with the strangeness of something that has not happened for a little while. She was pinning the new rota for who was on duty to answer the telephone up onto the wall in the corridor of Nonnatus House.

"Hello, Sister."

She turned around, hearing his voice.

He was standing before her a little shyly, at a respectful distance. His hair was looking very neat, she noticed, and the evening light that shone in through the windows had a pleasing effect on his complexion.

"Hello, Doctor," she answered, smiling a little in return, "What brings you here? Nothing's the matter, I hope?"

"No, nothing," he replied, "I came here to see Sister Julienne. We needed to talk about one of Nurse Lee's patients who has been causing us some small difficulties, but it's nothing for you to worry about."

"I hope you made some inroads into the problem," she told him.

"We did," he replied, "Like I say, it is no matter for great concern."

She had opened her mouth to excuse herself and say goodbye, when he, seeming to have realised this, spoke again, in an altogether different voice.

"Sister," he told her quietly, "I also came hoping that I might be able to see you."

"That was kind of you," she told him sincerely, "But I saw you yesterday at the clinic, Doctor."

"You know that isn't what I mean," he replied swiftly, his tone still hushed and his brow creasing in a slight frown, his eyes looking a little hurt, "I understand that you can't have anything to do with me, I know perfectly well that you have vows to keep, and I have the utmost respect that and for you, but don't pretend that you don't understand what I'm saying. I wanted to see you alone," he told her, "I doubt we even spoke yesterday, and if we did it will have been about work. That's why I wanted to see you," he finished a little weakly, "Because it feels like we haven't spoken properly in weeks. I wanted to know how you are."

"I'm very well," she replied, not knowing what else to say.

He raised an eyebrow at her, seeing that she was deliberately and knowing avoiding his real meaning again.

"I don't mean your health," he told her softly, but not without a hint of firmness in his tone, "How are you?"

So he knew then, he knew that what had happened in the kitchen had unsettled her. Who was to say how much else he knew, how much he could reasonably guess? He very much had her cornered, although she was sure it had not been his intention to make her feel like this. Almost without realising it, it seemed, he had taken a few tentative steps towards her, and they were much closer together now than they had been before.

"I-..." she knew she should lie to him, this was the one time for her when lying might be justified, but she felt the wrongness of it catch in her throat. She couldn't mislead him, couldn't knowingly do him wrong like that, "I can't stop thinking-..." she could not finish. She bowed her head, avoiding his eyes.

"Thinking what?" he asked her softly.

"About you," she told him, "God forgive me."

"Don't say that," he reached out, his voice imploring, taking one of her hands gently in his, "It is I who must ask to be forgiven."

She did not dare to pull her hand away, his hold on her fingers, though careful was firmer than before, and she thought he felt less willing to let go. Hesitantly, she looked up at him, meeting his eyes fully and not breaking their gaze in spite of her apprehension.

"You did only what I wanted you to," she confessed, "I am the one in the wrong. I have vowed to forswear this... feeling and you have not. I-..."

"Listen," he told her fervently, "You haven't done anything wrong. Things like this will happen, your feelings are entirely natural. I should have been more careful, but by the time I realised, it-... I think it was too late," he sighed, and she wondered in that moment if he felt as helpless in all of this as she did, "I should have known better. But you have done nothing wrong. There are not many people as good as you, Sister Bernadette," he told her.

She smiled weakly in return. He was still holding her hand. Their fingers were linked now. She bowed her head again, watching their hands together.

"And you're beautiful," he told her, "You're very beautiful."

She looked back up at him, her lips parted in surprise. When she knew she should have dropped his hand and walked away, her fingers tightened against his. He seemed to know that this declaration must join the list of things he shouldn't be saying and doing.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm so sorry."

She couldn't even tell him not to be sorry, her voice had stopped altogether. She knew she should drop his hand and run; she was rooted to the spot.

"I'm sorry, Sister," he told her, "But I have to do this."

She felt him let go of her hand, and raise both of his hands to her face, his thumbs gently brushing her cheeks. His lips pressed briefly into hers, kissing her tenderly. She heard her breath hiss in a tiny gasp of surprise, and her hands rested on his elbows, only partly to imply a semblance of restraint, partly out of pure want to touch him.

As he kissed her again, more deeply, his hands moved away from her face to her waist to hold her. The movement was awkward but then she doubted very much that her nun's habits had been made with this in mind. He was still so soft and careful, and at the same time so warm and inviting. She could not stop him, she did not even want to stop him. This was wonderful, she realised. The perfect antidote to all the pain she had been feeling in the past week. This kiss, this soft, loving embrace, the feeling of his hands on her and his mouth dancing against hers as she kissed him back now, her lips parting under his, and she could not slow down and-...

"Sister!"

If anything could have made her break away from him like a shot, it was that word. She reacted so quickly, that she didn't even have time to withdraw her arms from where they now rested on his chest, her head swivelling around to see who was there, her mind too panicked to realise whose voice it was. She felt Dr. Turner's arms fall from around her and they both took a hurried step back.

Sister Julienne stood in the doorway of her office, her face the picture of shock.

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