#tswsots

The world spins crazily beneath her for a moment, bile rising thick in her throat, and she isn’t sure how she keeps on her feet.

Bernie’s skin is waxy, the usual soft pink flush of color drained away, her lean body so still, almost fragile. And, god, there’s so much blood…

She swallows hard, forcing back the nausea. “What happened?”

“James Fielding,” Fletch snaps, his normally friendly voice tight with anger. “Managed to get his hands on a screwdriver and cornered the Major in the basement.”

She clenches her hands on the rail of the gurney, if only to stop them shaking, snaps "Get Ric Griffin, NOW!" at a wide-eyed Morven before the doors swing shut behind them.

The prep team bustles around them, Raf and Fletch disappearing into the scrub room, and for a moment they’re alone amidst the chaos. She reaches for the edge of Bernie's scrubs, almost black with blood, peeling it back slowly from her pale skin.

"S'rena?" The faint rasp of Bernie's voice makes her jump, heart racing. Bernie's eyes are barely open, glassy with pain, and Serena leans in close, takes her hand without thinking.

"It's all right, Bernie," she says, tries to inject a calm she doesn't feel into her voice. "Ric's on his way. He's going to fix you up, good as new. It'll be just another scar to impress the ladies."

Bernie's hand spasms briefly in her own, squeezing tight.

"Not Ric," she murmurs, soft enough that Serena has to bend even closer to hear. "Want you..."

Panic wells in Serena at the mere thought, every ounce of hard-earned level-headedness washed away in a flood of pure terror. She almost recoils, only the grip of Bernie's hand keeping her in place.

"Bernie, no. I- I can't."

From one moment to the next her eyes clear, seem to look directly into the core of Serena.

“You’re the only one I trust to do this.” There's no doubt in Bernie's words, just the same unwavering support that she's given from the beginning, that Serena’s come to rely on more than she cares to admit. "Please, Serena."

There's so much she wants to say, to tell Bernie. How important their friendship is to her and how it never feels like enough, that she wants Bernie with her always, whatever that means. Instead, she nods with a tight smile and Bernie relaxes, her hand going limp in Serena's, eyes slipping shut just as the nurses approach.

The routine of surgery prep helps calm Serena’s racing mind, the flow of water over her hands letting her push away the thought that it’s Bernie’s blood she’s washing form her skin, lock it and all of fear behind lock and key. Focus is what matters now.

It’s more complex than she hoped; a seemingly unending series of traumas that all require immediate attention. Serena staples and stitches like a woman possessed, knitting back together damaged organs, severed veins, sweat shining on her brow and crimson splattered across the front of her gown. Every move, every second is a race against time, one that Serena feels in her gut that she’s losing.

An unbroken strident tone shatters her concentration, heart seizing painfully in her chest.

Flatline.

For a moment, just a moment, Serena falters, the weight of it all overwhelming her. Her eyes fall for the first time to Bernie’s face — pale and alien in the harsh light — and all she can think is that this is Bernie. Brave, stubborn, brilliant Bernie. Her best friend. The woman she…

You’re the only one I trust to do this.

Bernie’s words surface in her mind, shore up her resolve. No one has ever had her back like Bernie Wolfe, and Serena will be damned if she lets her down.

A sharp whine fills the air as she takes the paddles from the nearby nurse.

“Clear.”

---

Movement flutters against Serena’s hand, so soft she almost misses it. She holds her breath until it repeats — stronger, more intentional. Glancing up at the monitors, she forces a smile through her exhaustion.

“Welcome back.”

“Serena? Wha-” Bernie breaks off, her words thick and slurred, blanketed under the dwindling effects of the anesthesia. She makes to sit up and Serena presses her back down against the bed, meets hardly any resistance.

“It’s all right, Bernie. Just relax.” The beeping of the monitor slows after a moment. Bernie looks so much smaller, delicate compared to her usual vitality, and Serena can’t stop herself from reaching out, brushing the fringe back from her eyes. “You gave us quite the scare.”

Bernie hums a bit, eyes closed. “Like to keep you on your toes.” A wet sort of laugh slips from Serena’s lips, high and a little hysterical, and Bernie’s eyes open, her gaze surprisingly focused. “I knew it. I knew you would save me.”

Her hand finds Bernie’s, tangling their fingers together. Serena knows she’s holding on too tight, but she can’t make her muscles relax, the feel of Bernie’s hand warm and real in her own the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

“I thought you were dead.” The gentle concern in Bernie’s eyes is almost her undoing. “We lost you, just for a minute, but I thought-” A sob breaks free, choking off her words and Serena turns her head away, doesn’t want Bernie to see her weakness.

“Serena.” A tug on her hand pulls her back, breaks through the last brittle wall holding her emotions at bay.

“I thought we lost you. I thought I lost you.” She dashes away the tears on her cheeks with her free hand, the other still tangled with Bernie’s slim fingers. “Bernie, I- I don’t know what I would’ve done, what I would do if you…”

“Hey.” Serena goes willingly as Bernie pulls her down, ends up perched on the edge of the hospital bed. Bernie wraps her up in an awkward hug, both of them mindful of the lines and monitors, of fresh stitches. “It’s okay, Serena. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

She buries her face in the crook of Bernie’s neck, breathes deep until she finds the familiar scent of her beneath the tang of antiseptic, the lingering copper of blood, feels the thrum of Bernie’s pulse against her lips, steady and reassuring.

“You’re my best friend,” she whispers against Bernie’s skin, the words coming easier when she can hide from the intensity of Bernie’s eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that, and I was so scared I’d never get the chance. That you’d never know how much you mean to me.”

Bernie makes a unintelligible noise and Serena lifts her head, concerned. It’s Bernie’s eyes that freeze in her place; dark and fathomless, burning with emotions that echo in Serena’s chest, stoke a flame behind her sternum that flushes her whole body with heat. There’s a moment of perfect clarity and Serena can do nothing but surrender to the gravity that has always been between them.

Bernie’s lips are warm and soft, chapped from the dry air of theater, impossibly perfect, and Serena can’t imagine why she hadn’t done this sooner.

It only lasts a moment. Serena pulls back scant inches, feels Bernie’s soft breath against her lips.

“Sorry,” she breathes, suddenly concerned that she’s got it all wrong, even as a smile threatens to split her face wide.

“Are you kidding?” Bernie’s eyes sparkle up at her, a flush of pink high on her cheekbones. “I’ve wanted to do that for weeks.”

A giddy laugh bubbles out of Serena, Bernie’s fingers squeezing hers that much tighter. She rests their foreheads together, nudges her nose softly against Bernie’s.

“You know,” she says, pressing another soft peck against Bernie’s lips, “there are easier ways to get my attention.”

Bernie’s laugh is a raspy shadow of her usual honk, trails off into a soft groan of pain. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Serena can see that she’s flagging, tucks a few unruly curls behind her ears. “Sleep now, darling. You need your rest.”

Her eyes are closed before Serena finishes speaking. As she makes to pull away, Bernie’s hand tightens in her own.

“You’ll stay?” Bernie’s voice is faint, already halfway toward sleep. A small furrow creases her brow and Serena smooths it away with her thumb.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

[drabble prompts]