Chapter Text
“No, no, I don't think this chair is doing you any favors,” Serena says after a moment. “And stop holding your breath!”
“Sorry,” Bernie blurts. She'd been trying to ignore the feeling of Serena touching her. Not to smell her light perfume, maybe even just her hand lotion. Not floral or cloying but something light and happy and clean.
“We need to find a bed,” Serena says.
“What?” Bernie says jerking away. She hisses in pain, Serena lets Bernie’s scrub top fall back into place.
“I can't get any leverage like this,” Serena says. “I say some pain relief and then let me really work on the muscle. See if we can't get it to loosen up a bit.”
“No,” Bernie says. “That’s not at all necessary.”
She stands, or tries too, but ends up on her feet, bent at the waist. She steadies herself with a hand on the desk.
“Bernie,” Serena says as patiently as she can muster, which seems to be not very. “I can see the muscle spasming. You are obviously in pain. Let me help you.”
It does hurt. There is no denying that. She isn’t even sure she can slink home. She isn’t sure she can drive or even get into her car by herself.
“I want to,” Serena says now, her voice soft and low. “I rather prefer you in one piece.”
“Fine,” Bernie says. “Where?”
“On call room, I should think,” Serena says.
They’d have to leave the office, walk past the nurse’s station, beyond the open door of the break room and then hope that no one was actually on call or just trying to cram a nap into their break.
“People will see,” Bernie says, fretting over showing signs of weakness. She’s still new here, and everyone knows she only came to be here because she’d been blown up. Wrecked her spine, had her heart in Oliver Valentine’s hands. Already, that was too much and now she has to hobble through the ward on Serena’s arm like an old woman?
“Let them think what they want,” Serena says, opening the office door and coming over to take Bernie’s elbow. “Though I think we’re safe, as I tend to actually enforce the no sex rule with actual consequences, because I run a hospital ward, not a brothel.”
Bernie stills and stares at Serena in some horror. “Oh! No… I just meant… I meant me.”
Serena blushes. “Of course. Yes. Of course you did.” Gives Bernie a pained smile. “Okay, soldier, here we go.”
No one says anything and Bernie can’t be sure who even sees them because she’s looking at her feet and Serena’s hand on her arm and nothing else. The on call room is in fact empty. It’s really more of a closet, and the bed is rumpled. Serena closes the door behind them and then moves around Bernie to the bed. She pulls the blanket up, yanking it smooth. Turns the pillow over to the cool side.
“Okay,” she says. “Usually I’d buy you a glass of wine first, but in the interest of time, I need you to take your top off.”
“Serena-”
“Stop fighting me, Bernie, I swear we’d be done already if you’d just-”
“Serena,” Bernie says interrupting her. “I don’t think I can.”
“Oh-” She bites her lip. “I’m going to get you an ice pack. Let’s ice it for a bit and see if that… stay here.” And then she’s gone.
Bernie looks around and then eases herself down onto the narrow bed. Uses her feet to kick her trainers off and eases her legs up onto the mattress.
Gasps with pain, curls into herself. That’s how Serena finds her.
“However did you let it get this bad?” Serena asks, setting something on the dinged up nightstand next to them. A paper cup, the ice pack, a bottle of water. She’d been thinking about how she was going to refuse the pain relief and now all she can think about is how she wants it in her body as soon as possible.
“I think it’s the futon,” she admits, too focused on not whimpering to lie.
Serena perches on the edge of the bed and reaches out. “Turn over,” she coaxes.
Bernie presses her face into the pillow and tries to comply. Serena leans over and snags the ice pack, already activated and holds it against Bernie’s back, rubbing her shoulder blade with her free hand.
“You’re too old for a futon,” she says kindly enough. “Get a real bed.”
“Not really in a position to argue,” Bernie mumbles into the pillow.
The ice helps, but Serena’s hand rubbing circles on her back is just as soothing. They sit for long minutes - five, maybe ten in a not uncomfortable silence. Serena’s hand moves from her back to her hair. She strokes Bernie’s head twice and says, “Shall we try sitting up?”
The ice has helped and she sits up and takes her medicine.
“Good,” Serena says. “Okay, top off Ms. Wolfe.”
“Not how I pictured this going,” Bernie says, struggling a little but getting her arm out of the sleeve. The rest comes easier.
“Ah, but you have pictured it,” Serena says with a smirk.
Bernie stutters. “Ah… w-well…”
Serena just smiles and helps her navigate the top over her head.
Bernie’s got on a nude coloured sports bra - something she’s carried over from her previous line of work. She finds them way more comfortable and forgiving of long, stressful shifts. Serena looks but does not react as they are trained to do as professionals.
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a silver tube of something. Hand cream.
“Lie down,” she says.
“It’s already better,” Bernie says. “The ice and the tablets, I think-”
“Lie down,” Serena says again in a tone that does not invite continued arguing. She flips open the top of the cream and squirts some onto her hands. Bernie lies back down on her front. Serena rubs her hands together and there’s that clean, happy smell again.
Serena spends a good amount of time on her. It’s awful at first because she really does work on the worst bit, trying to get the muscle to relax but after a while, it does relax and then when it stops hurting so bad it starts to feel… rather nice.
Serena sweeps her hand across Bernie’s entire lower back a few times and then up her spine. Pauses at a little knot she finds and applies some pressure.
Bernie groans.
“Good or bad?” Serena asks.
“A good bad,” she says into her arms.
“Exquisite torture,” Serena says fondly. “My favorite kind.”
She rubs along Bernie’s spine, up past the sports bra and across her shoulders, the base of her neck.
“I’m just indulging myself now,” Serena admits, brushing her hair aside. “Do you ever just go along for awhile and realize it’s been ages since you’ve touched someone?”
Bernie stills and Serena’s hand pulls away.
“Sorry, I-” Serena says but Bernie turns over. It’s easy. She’s sore now but the sharp pain, the pain that was making her breath catch, that’s gone. She looks at Serena, offers her a small smile.
“I don’t like to be touched,” Bernie admits. “I didn’t come from a very tactile family.”
“Oh,” Serena says. “And here I am just making you miserable for my own selfish…” She falters. “I…”
“No,” Bernie says, shaking her head. “That isn’t what I meant. I just meant I don’t like it, usually, but this was… you’re very good with your hands, Ms. Campbell.”
Bernie reaches out, takes one of Serena’s soft, fragrant hands between both of her own.
“You have beautiful hands,” Bernie says.
Serena smiles genuinely for a moment and then it becomes more of a smirk.
“Drugs kicking in now, Berenice?”
“Oh yes,” Bernie says with a laugh. “You gave me the good stuff.”
“Only the best for you, dearest,” Serena says. She slips her hand away and after only the smallest hesitation, gives Bernie’s flat stomach a pat. “Rest up here for awhile and then I’ll drive you home.”
“Thank you,” Bernie murmurs and closes her eyes.
Serena stays until she falls asleep.