Barely four days in and Serena’s on the brink of a meltdown.
Everywhere she goes it seems someone somewhere has to mention Bernie Wolfe.
Direct questions. Offhand comments. Those are to be expected.
But she also catches Bernie’s name on the breeze, while sitting on their bench or walking the hallways. Whispered rumors that float alongside her as she leaves Pulses, as if carried with the scent of her freshly made coffee. Like her ears are attuned to every last trace, no matter how small.
…
“Can you keep hold of this ‘til Bernie gets back? Thanks…”
…
“Did you hear? Major Hero Complex pissed off one too many consultants and they finally got rid of her…”
…
“How long will Ms. Wolfe be gone exactly?...”
…
Serena doesn’t know. Wants to say she doesn’t care, given the other woman’s inconsiderately abrupt departure - tearing out of the ward like a hurricane, leaving her heart in tatters.
But it would be a lie.
Because she cares. Too much. And it hurts, to be haunted by a name. It hurts that she can’t not think about Bernie Wolfe, even if she wanted to.
…
It is with trepidation that she approaches Raf at the nurses’ station. Feet dragging with the weight of the news she carries.
“Susie Miller’s latest assessment,” she says as she hands him a file. Softens her tone and expression and watches him frown in response. “I don’t think there’s anything more we can do.”
“But -”
“We’ve tried everything we can think of,” she says a little more firmly. Because he might be more attached than usual to this particular patient, but there are still limits to their resources, to their abilities. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs before turning away.
And she is sorry, truly, for the inevitable loss of a beautiful young woman, for causing the sadness that glistens in his eyes. For repaying his kindness yesterday - listening patiently and drying her tears - in this way.
“There has to be something…” he pleads, makes her turn back with a sigh. “What would Bernie do?”
“Raf -”
“We just need to think outside the box. Bernie always said -”
“Mr. DiLucca!” she barks. Feels heat rise in her cheeks as the ward around them goes quiet. “Ms. Wolfe isn’t here. So I’m afraid whatever miraculous plan she might have concocted is useless, unless you have plans to transfer the patient to Kiev.”
“No, but…” He frowns again. Hurt no doubt by her words, which, though unintentional, were much sharper than necessary. “We have to try.”
She sighs hard. Deflates as she says, “We have tried, Raf,” because even in the face of a grouchy consultant he never gives up hope, because he doesn’t deserve to be the target of her frustrations.
Brushing a hand across her forehead, she offers, “Go and speak with Mr. Griffin. It wouldn’t hurt to have a fresh set of eyes look over those results.”
He brightens instantly. Says, “Thanks, Serena,” and hurries away with a smile.
She watches him go for a moment, grateful that her outburst doesn’t seem to have affected his boyish optimism. That he’s friend enough to hopefully not hold this against her.
Pushing him away, too, she muses as she slinks back to her office and closes the door, might be more than she could bear.
She drops down into her chair with a huge sigh. Stabs angry fingers at the keyboard as she enters her password. Mutters low under her breath, mimicking the lovable Scot. “What would Bernie do?”
There’s a pause as she looks upon the empty desk opposite. An eyebrow rises, unimpressed. “They expect miracles at every turn now because of you.”
Then another sigh as she opens a file and jots something down. “You couldn’t have gone without leaving an impression on every person in this bloody hospital?!”
Her lips quirk upward in a smile as a memory - one of soft skin, silky hair, and needy lips - fills her with warmth. “No, I suppose not,” she whispers.
Attention now focused across the room, she raises her voice. “But how am I expected to know how your mind works? What would Bernie do?”
She snickers and shakes her head. The notion is as ridiculous today as it was the day they met. “If I knew that… why would I need you?” she exclaims, unable to stop the shuddering inhale and tears that immediately, uncontrollably follow.
Gazing upon the empty chair, her eyes redden as she cries.
“I need you,” she whispers, presses a hand to her heart. “Bernie Wolfe.”