A few moments after Mr Matthews, Patrick proceeded back up the stairs to check on the progress of mother and baby. Reaching the top landing, he was met by the most bizarre sight. Sister Bernadette, still sitting down at floor level, was leaning her weight back on her hands shuffling herself towards him in a strange, awkward, almost crab-like motion and her unreliable legs carefully out of the bedroom.

"What in heaven's name are you doing, Sister?" he asked her, hardly able to contain his astonishment at what he saw.

"I thought they should have a moment alone together," she told him quite sincerely, coming to a halt in front of him and having to look very steeply upwards to meet his gaze, "They don't want me just sitting there on the floor."

Really, he adored her. Ridiculous, selfless girl. She looked so small there on the floor craning her neck up at him, yet somehow she managed it without seeming foolish or childish. Strange as her actions had seemed, he had to admit they did make a kind of sense.

"How are your legs?" he asked her, returning to the real heart of the matter, "Do you need any help?"

"They're feeling a lot stronger now," she replied, "Not sitting on them has done them the world of good. I think I'll be able to stand up if you give me a hand."

"Of course," he obliged immediately, extending his hand to take hers.

Her small hand fit into his, and he grabbed her wrist- his fingers wrapping right around- just as he had done with her ankle not long ago. Tension ran down the length of both of their arms, but this time it was at least to some avail, slowly but surely she began to rise to her feet.

"Thank you, Doctor," she told him, "That was very kind of y-..."

She broke off, unable to go on in her surprise. Evidently, her feet were not a steady yet as she thought they were, and she wavered as if she was about to fall down again. Out of the corner of his eye, it appeared that she was much closer to the top of the stairs than she really was and for a moment he really feared that she would fall to the bottom. He did not hesitate; taking one large, swift stride forwards, he was by her in a second, his arms circling her again, holding her steady.

"It's alright, I've got you."

It seemed like the only thing to say.

Holding her steady, holding her upright, holding her inadvertently close to his own body; her back pressing against his chest, her head tucked just beside his chin- he knew she could probably feel his breath on her forehead. One of his hands rested gently around her waist, the other firmly gripped the inside of her elbow. In her initial surprise she had given a sharp gasp of breath; now, with this new proximity, her breath grew quieter but did not calm. Nor did his own. It had been entirely an accident that he had ended up holding her like this, but now he could not let go; while they were still like this it was almost possible to ignore the inadvertent intimacy, it would not be the moment that either of them moved.

But they could not stay like this forever, no matter how much he might want to. And it was more than plain that neither of them was choosing, or able, to ignore the intimacy anyway.

Dropping his hands, he released her. For a moment though, she did not move except to sway forwards slightly, and merely stayed, unattached, with her back so close to his chest but barely touching.

She was a nun, for heaven's sakes! He should not be feeling like this about her, her physical presence should not affect him; it was not fair of him if he let it. But unless he was very much mistaken, she felt it too... But that was beside the point, the point was that he should in the first place be...

He could not help it. He imagined that he was allowed to be with her like this, close enough to touch, actually touching, pressed, held together. Holding on like their lives each depended on it. He imagined some bizarre, impossible state of affairs where she could return how he felt. He imagined that she was his wife, and he could wrap his arms around her whenever, wherever he liked; just standing in the street, in their home, in their bed. His mind could not bare the torture of trying to imagine how it would be to make love to her, but evidently his body was going to give it a try. He struggled, fought to keep himself in check.

Her body swayed away from his as she half turned back towards him and mercifully, mercilessly, the moment was broken.

She looked up into his face. If he had been observing objectively he would have seen that she looked just as daunted as he felt, but all he could think of was the feelings raging through him and of how she had turned too quickly for him to be able to disguise them in his expression. He knew how he felt was written all over his face, and, looking into his eyes like this, she must be able to see all of it. She was quiet for a moment, speechless, just looking at him; and when she spoke, her eyes lowered a little, leaving his to stare at his collar.

"Thank you, Doctor," she told him, "I-... Thank you."

"Don't mention it, Sister," he told her, dismissing her thanks, "It's nothing."

Her eyes flitted momentarily back up to his. It was so very much different to nothing; it was as far away from nothing as possible, and it showed in both their eyes. But of course, she would not mention it. Neither of them ever did. They couldn't.

"I had better go and see to things downstairs," she told him, "Get things tidied up."

"Of course," he agreed, "I'll be down to help in a moment."

"There's no need to hurry," she told him, smiling kindly back up in his direction as she made her way down the stairs, but not turning back far enough to meet his eyes again.

He had ever intention of following swiftly to help her, but for a moment he heeded her advice; staying there at the top of the stairs. His head bowed for a moment and he closed his eyes, pressing his fingers firmly to either side of the bridge of his nose. What on earth were they going to do?

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