Chapter Text
Shelagh’s glasses fogged as she left the warmth of the train. The direct service to Oxford had gotten her to her destination early and now it was hours before she could properly check-in to the conference hotel. It was just as well, she thought, taking a moment to step from the flow of pedestrian traffic to wipe at her lenses. She could leave her bags at the desk and set up in a seating area to edit her presentation slides. Her topic, preterm labor in advanced maternal-age multiparous populations, wasn’t the most exciting lecture to be given this conference but was a needed one. Many of the Hendy Street Clinic patients in Poplar had multiple pregnancies and maternal age at first birth was ever rising.
It was cold, but not snowing, as she walked the short distance to the hotel. A modern set-up greeted her as she entered the large glass doors. She caught her breath as the warm air rushed over her and gave up trying with her glasses, finally pushing them up to hold back her hair. She blinked slowly to gain her bearings, noting the standing sign that welcomed conference attendees. Stepping near it, she once again wiped at her bothersome specs, replacing them to read the fine print on the placard. All proceedings would take place on the second floor, beginning later in the afternoon. Confident in her correct location, she went to the check-in desk, affirming her reservation and stowing her luggage as she had planned.
Through the din of travelers and hotel guests she picked up the gentle sound of Christmas music, snippets of familiar lyrics following her as she looked for a quiet place to work. Here and there small, lit trees and garlands decorated the open areas of the lobby. The holidays were quickly approaching and something in the warm white fairy lights made Shelagh feel cozy and safe as she found an empty alcove with a cushioned seat and small table. As she booted her computer and flipped through her handwritten notes, she thought about adding a page of Christmas ideas to her diary. She would work Christmas morning, as was her habit. It was a shift she rarely missed. There was something special about babies born during those small, joyous yet quiet hours--hope renewed for the year ahead. But later that evening she thought it might be nice to have friends round for desserts and drinks. Jotting a few quick lines concerning recipes and cocktails, she also added in a few notes on presents and a reminder to pop to the shops for new gift wrap.
The presentation looked exactly as it had the night before. All slides present and correct, bibliography available as a QR code for any interested parties. And yet she could not stop editing it, removing a word or changing a sentence here or there. She was a competent speaker and easily followed her own notes. There was nothing fiddly about it nor anything to worry over. But she could never down one presentation until another was set-up and ready to start. December was always slow for such things. The new year would bring a fresh round of conferences and information to explore. Until then her patients would keep her busy but her off-hours were long without research to fill them.
“Sometimes the flat is too quiet,” a remembered voice played through her mind. Dr. Turner had said that concerning the times when his young son, Timothy, was away at his Grandmother’s home. Her heart squeezed inside her chest as it often did when she thought of the handsome doctor. Almost ten years they’d known one another now. At times she felt she still knew him so little. But in so many ways they were similar, sharing a common work ethic, a desire for lifelong learning, and an understanding of just how loud silence could be.
Watching the blinking light of her cursor, she gave an idle thought to what he might think of her presentation. He would be at the conference. A sunrise speaker, his planned topic was on the history of hospital birth and specialist care for newborns. So often the pair of them had interacted over red-faced babies, new to the world but already so indignant in their cries. Each birth was a new miracle, but over the years some of them blended together--a crying baby and a sweaty, happy mother--but what stood out was the moments in which she and the doctor worked together. Memories he would share of Tim as a little one, research papers they would discuss, the terrible time after his wife’s illness and death, and how cognizant he was of her heartache as her own long term relationship came to an end.
And then there was a moment. The moment. Not too long ago. In the staff kitchen. His eyes had been so dark and full of--caring? Admiration? It was little more than a brush of hands and a spark, feather light. With a racing heart, she saw him then, not only as a friend and well-regarded colleague, but as someone she was irrevocably attracted to, mind and body. It was all so clear in her memory: the line of his jaw, set of his lips, the soft fall of his fringe against his forehead. A fraction of a movement would have brought her lips to his, but at that fleeting thought and before she could act, he pulled back, stammering an apology.
And now they were, as always, more than friends but less than lovers . Closing her laptop, Shelagh only wished her heart would understand what her mind already knew.
--
“Thanks for lending a hand, lass,” Phyllis said to Shelagh, as the attendee she had been helping walked away. “Heaven knows we asked for a separate check-in station to ease the wait, but the best they could do was one long table.” Phyllis did not look impressed with their circumstances.
“Come on, Phyllis,” Barbara cajoled, seated behind her own laptop. “The line is gone and we all worked terribly hard.”
Shelagh smiled at her two friends. She had offered to assist with conference registration after a frantic text from Phyllis had arrived on their group chat. There had been some mismanagement of the prior arrangement of check-in locations, but the three of them had been able to deftly handle the situation once a table had been secured by the hotel organizers. For her part, Shelagh was only glad they had synced Google Drive before leaving Poplar.
“You are right about that, Barbara,” Phyllis admitted, fanning herself briefly with a copy of the hotel map. She tapped a few buttons on her laptop. “We’re at nearly 73%,” she said, nodding approvingly. “Some will arrive tomorrow, instead. I say we give stragglers five more minutes and then join the party!”
From the conference room down the corridor music and merriment carried. “I do like how they’re offering a short mixer tonight,” Barbara confided. “And that with our shift we’ve completed our membership duties!”
Shelagh giggled with Barbara as Phyllis pretended stern disapproval but let her own smile grow. They each began to tidy up the worktop, Shelagh collecting badges as the five minutes began to wind down into mere seconds. Names of past coworkers and other association members caught her eye as she neatly stacked the lanyards, but a brief tussle with the corridor door made her stop and look up from her task. Her heart started to beat a rapid tattoo as she watched Dr. Turner make his way through. He was attractively disheveled, she mused, taking in his windblown hair and the slim lines of his dark overcoat. His briefcase was high on his shoulder as he struggled with his rolling suitcase on the hotel carpet. But after a quick tug he righted the wrong, coming to stand before her, ruddy-cheeked and seemingly nonplussed.
“Nurse Mannion,” he said, a broad grin crossing his face.
His charming smile and the look of relief on his face was enough to leave Shelagh at a momentary loss for words. The ID badges in her hands forgotten, she started to speak but was cut off by Phyllis.
“You’re the last one in,” she said, handing him his attendee swag bag. Her expression and tone said what her words did not: that being late was a habit of his that she did not appreciate. “It’s a good job we waited as we did!”
“We didn’t wait too long, Dr. Turner,” Barbara assured him, giving him the conference program and event schedule. “But you almost missed the mixer!” She paused. “Oh, and don’t forget that you can download the conference app for the program and room information!”
Shelagh bristed slightly as the young nurse continued to talk. She was not at all pleased with Phyllis’s veiled accusation and at Barbara’s attempt to soothe the doctor. She was certain there was a reason behind his tardiness and if anyone should comfort him, well. “Not to worry, Doctor,” she said, easily now picking out his badge. “You’ve missed nothing of import.”
“I do apologize,” he said, rubbing a hand across his cheek. “There was some mix-up at hotel check-in and…” he paused, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. Thank you for holding the queue for me.”
Appearing somewhat abashed, Phyllis said, “Not to worry, Doctor. We’ll look at it this way--you’re more than on time for your sunrise lecture!”
Tensions eased, they all laughed, Phyllis waving Barbara and Shelagh toward the party. “I’ll take care of this,” she said, packing away the registration paraphernalia.
Barabra brooked no argument, disappearing into the large conference room. As Phyllis arranged the supplies, Shelagh stepped away from the table and smiled up at the doctor. “Are you going back to the lobby?” she asked, indicating his travel case. “I left my luggage at the desk and need to walk that way myself.”
“I am,” he said, a bit of a sigh creeping into his voice. “It really is the silliest thing--they claim to have no record of my booking, even with my confirmation number.”
“Oh, dear.” Shelagh grinned at him as he held the door open for her, even as he deftly managed his bag. “It does seem as if the hotel is fully booked,” she mused, startling somewhat at the crowds now loitering in the lobby and at the bar. She recognized some coworkers and acquaintances.
“Ms. Higgins,” he said, referring to their floor’s admin clerk, “was absent when my reservation was made. A junior admin made the confirmation and their email does list this specific hotel.”
“I’m certain it’s a misunderstanding,” she said, as they waited their turn to speak with the support staff.
“I’m sure you’re right.” His smile was now lopsided. “I’m happy to have a friend to wait with, anyway.”
Shelagh’s cheeks heated but with a pleasant warmth of happiness. Even if nothing more happened between them, she would always be grateful for his friendship. “Quite,” she agreed, trying not to smile too widely.
A hotel staffer signaled to them, but the doctor urged Shelagh ahead. “I believe my complaint will take longer,” he said, with a slight wink.
Shelagh’s heart fluttered as she gave a nod of appreciation to his offer. And it did take only moments for her to retrieve her bag, though in that time Dr. Turner had been called to the opposite end of the desk and was already speaking with an employee. She lingered for a moment, trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible as she walked around the queue and neared the doctor from the opposite direction. He was calm in demeanor, but she noticed that his forefinger was rubbing against his thumb, a clear tell that he was anxious. As the minutes began to pass she wondered if she should excuse herself, but didn’t, instead continuing to attempt to be unobtrusive by paging through her conference program.
“That’s me told, I’m afraid.”
Shelagh startled, looking up from an abstract to see Dr. Turner finished at the desk and now standing before her. “What’s happened?”
“You were right. The hotel is fully booked. My confirmation seems not to exist. I can try another hotel or go home for the evening. Tomorrow, I’ll catch the early train for the Sunrise Session.”
“Oh, but you’ve just arrived!” Shelagh rolled the proceedings booklet as her hands moved with nervous energy. “You’re the keynote speaker. And that session begins at half-seven!”
“I’ll need to ensure my timeliness.”
The sparkle of humor in his eyes and his infamous half-smile did funny things to her tummy, causing her to speak perhaps before she should. “You could stay with me,” she said, trying to tamp down a blush at her bold offer. “It’s a room meant for two,” she hastened to explain. “Twin beds.”
“I couldn’t impose,” was his immediate response. “You’re working on your own presentation and I would only …” He looked down, his thumb and forefinger meeting briefly before finishing his thought. “...Crowd you.”
Shelagh smiled softly, though she noticed her voice was a bit high as she reassured him. “I’m certain you would be a very reasonable roommate.”
“You’ll have to check with Timothy,” Dr. Turner said, with a laugh. “He would be happy to share my shortcomings.”
“In that case…” she giggled.
He blinked at her, and then seemed to rethink his position. “If you’re confident I wouldn’t be a bother?”
He could never be a bother. But in a split second Shelagh realized that sharing a room with him would mean sleeping in the same room as him and waking up there, too. “Of course you wouldn’t,” she managed, trying to push away thoughts of his sleep-tousled hair and what his jaw might look like with the shadow of morning beard’s growth.
“If you change your mind, I will take the train home,” he said, hitching his briefcase up his shoulder. “But if not--then, thank you, Nurse Mannion. You’ve really made things a lot easier with your offer.”
It was her turn to blink at him before shaking herself from her stupor. “Shall we?” She indicated the room keys.
At his nod, she led the way to the lift. Her body felt strange, as if in an elated and terrified state that it was lighter than normal. But she chose their floor and smiled at him as the doors closed.
After exiting the lift it took only moments to find their… Shelagh took a deep breath. Their room.
The green light flickered as she inserted the keycard into the door’s reader. A slight intake of breath from the doctor had her looking back in confusion. His face seemed to have drained of all color. Concerned, she began to speak, but then saw what he did.
Inside of the room, there was only one bed.