Chapter Text
Patsy Mount was not one for vapid fluff. When other girls on the ward discussed bridal magazines and double dates and dashing leading men, she demurred and deflected, avoiding engaging in the small talk without condemning those who chose to do so.
She was informally voted "most likely to become matron" due to her love of bleach and distaste for distractions, and as such, had a bit of a reputation for taking herself rather seriously.
So, Delia is a little taken aback to hear the gay echo of "The Farmer and the Cowman Should Be Friends" coming from her reserved friend's room one Sunday afternoon. Patsy is certainly no wet blanket, but she isn't this... Perky.
"Pats?" She queries, peeking her head around the slightly ajar door to see the blonde scrubbing her floors to the beat of the orchestra.
Patsy registers her presence, and her face flushes in embarrassment.
"I'm afraid you've discovered my guilty pleasure, Delia. I suppose it was inevitable- I never seem to be much good at keeping secrets from you."
"Well, I shan't tell a soul that prim and proper Patsy has a soft spot for Rodgers and Hammerstein."
Delia's words tease, but her smile is nothing but adoration.
"I thought you'd be out with the others- had I known I wasn't alone I would have kept the record in its sleeve."
"I just woke up, actually. Seems I'm the only one who got Saturday night shift."
"You poor thing." Patsy stands, brushing the fringe out of Delia's sleepy eyes. "I hope I didn't wake you ."
They stay there for a moment, transfixed, before the chorus of "People Will Say We're in Love" reminds them of warnings given during orientation, and concerned looks from friends, and letters back home filled with everything but news of gentleman suitors.
"You know," Delia quips, attempting to break the tension, "with this getup, you really ought to be listening to Cinderella."
"Don't get me started on Julie Andrews, Deels! You shall surely regret it!"
_
Delia doesn't care for musicals and romantic comedies. She likes art houses and foreign films, films that make you think, make you question everything you've been told up to that point.
There wasn't a theatre in Pembrokeshire, and the only time she'd been to the pictures before moving to London was on holiday with her family.
(Her mam loves musicals.)
Patsy had always been game to see the latest obscure feature with her, even when the other nurses rolled their eyes at Delia's "hopelessly highbrow" tastes. She tried to explain once, to Pats, how much the movies meant to her, how much more than just films they were.
"It's like finding out there was a whole world you never knew existed, you never even knew you were missing, you know? All these possibilities, when you thought your life was destined to be the same as your mam's, and her mam before."
"But there's more to life than marriage and babies, isn't there," Patsy had answered, grabbing her hand and rubbing her thumb across the back of Delia's hand. Delia thought her heart might burst with the feeling of being truly understood for the first time.
"Exactly. You always know what I mean, Pats. How is that?"
"Perhaps we share more thoughts than most people."
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking now, then?"
The blonde had grinned, foxlike.
"You could eat a horse? Let's settle for chips."
_
Patsy is difficult to lie to, but Delia makes excuses for her less frequent trips out with the other girls and extra overtime shifts even though she's not sure her friend believes that she's saving up for a trip back to Wales. Fortunately, she's already got a good bit of money tucked away, and she manages to procure the tickets after only a few weeks of austerity.
The next pressing task is to find a private moment to present them to Patsy- in between work schedules and the sinking suspicion that Patsy thinks she's avoiding her, they've hardly had a private conversation since Delia walked in on Patsy's bleach and Broadway exposition. She opts to leave a note under the blonde's door.
"Pats,
I know it's early, but I want to give you your Christmas present! Meet me after 2nd shift tonight? You bring the booze.
Xo,
Deels"
She hopes Patsy will forgive her enough to show up.
_
The knock on her door is timid (hell, they hardly ever even knock on each other's doors anymore), but nonetheless, Patience Mount in all her glory stands in Delia's threshold, nervously clutching a bottle of scotch.
"Pats! You made it!"
Delia wastes no time with hugs or pleasantries, instead thrusting an envelope in to Patsy's hands (and grabbing the breakable bottle).
Patsy gives her a skeptical look before gingerly opening the paper. Delia has never seen someone's jaw literally hit the floor, but Patsy's comes quite close.
"Oh Delia. You truly might be too sweet for this earth. I can't believe you did this for me!"
Before she knows what's hit her, Delia is wrapped up in a bear hug. Patsy smells of sterility and perfume and the faintest hint of sweat after a long shift, and Delia hopes she never has the chance to forget her scent.
"I know it's not Julie Andrews, but it is still Cinderella."
"At the Coliseum, no less! These must have cost a fortune."
At this thought, Patsy's face turned.
"Oh, Delia, I'm afraid it really is too much. You don't even like musicals."
Delia stops her before her protests continue all night.
"I like you, Pats, and when I saw there was a holiday pantomime I couldn't think of anything more worthy to save for."
"So you're not going home for Christmas?"
"I told my mam months ago that there was much too much work here to be done."
"You cheeky brat!"
Patsy is all smiles as she realizes the extent of Delia's deception.
"I knew you were up to something, but I had assumed I had done something so egregious it merited you never talking to me again!"
"You could never, Pats, not in your wildest dreams. Does that mean you'll go with me?"
"Of course. I do fear you haven't given me enough time to find the proper outfit, though."
_
Delia is usually elated to go out with Patsy. Their outings are a blessed respite from the drudgery of male surgical. Being near the more posh nurse lightens her heart (not that it ever gets too terribly heavy. Every day in London is exciting compared to home- it's hard to get too down in the doldrums), but tonight she can't help the swell of nerves in the pit of her stomach as she waits for Patsy to get ready.
Neither has had the boldness to declare such a thing, but this evening is most certainly a date, and an extravagant one at that.
They used the sheer expense of the tickets as a cover for going just the two of them when inquiring minds asked about their plans for the weekend- given that all the girls made the same pay it was certainly an understandable excuse.
(Patsy was only halfway mortified at admitting that her record collection was more musical theatre than swing or soul.)
Patsy finally emerges from the depths of her closet wearing a beautiful emerald sheath, and Delia feels a little like the proverbial scullery maid in her more modest lilac dress and white cardigan. But it's very difficult to be jealous of Patsy when she gets to look at her all night.
_
Patsy walks with confidence as they find their seats at the venue. She's not wont to talk much about her family, but in spaces like these, her breeding is evident against the backdrop of Delia's amazement at their surroundings.
Cool demeanor aside, Patsy very nearly squeezes the bones out of Delia's hand when the orchestra commences the overture.
(When asked later about the performance, Delia will use empty platitudes to describe the play. She can hardly register the spectacle before her with the heat of Patsy's fingers entwined in her own, and the brilliance of Patsy's smile, and the feeling of Patsy's gasps of elation against the skin on the back of her neck. It's the best play she's ever seen, she supplies, entirely truthfully)
Patsy looks as though she might actually be waltzing on air as they leave the packed concert hall to wait for the bus back to Poplar in the chilly December air.
"Oh, Delia, that was magnificent. I do hope you enjoyed it half as much as I."
"It's a rather romantic thought, isn't it? That for one night, anything at all could be possible?"
An unbidden lump in her throat rises up as the wind brings tears out of her eyes. Patsy's gaze is tender but strong as she calls Delia's bluff.
"You've two hours till midnight, Busby, I suggest you make the most of it."
"Too bad curfiew is at eleven, hmmmm?"
They lapse into silence as they board the bus, huddled together for warmth and thinking back to waltzes and ballads and the hopefulness of fairy tales.
Once they reach the Nurses' Home, Patsy rushes Delia inside her room for the last few minutes before lights-out.
Delia realizes her glass slipper could disappear at any moment, and she stops Patsy from pouring out a celebratory night cap.
"Thank you, Patsy."
The blonde halts, confused.
"Ought not I be thanking you?"
"You know what I mean, Patsy. Thank you for spending your evening with me. I know you don't want for company."
She steps closer, leaving room for Patsy to move away.
"I cherish every moment I spend with you, Delia, surely you must know that by now."
Her voice is low, and raspy, and breathless. Delia can feel the longing from them both lingering in the limited air between them.
"Pats," she stutters, bringing her hand up to caress the other woman's cheek.
Before she can say anything else, Patsy's lips are on hers, in a chaste yet firm kiss. Before she can even close her eyes, it's over, and Patsy is seated on her bed, checking her watch.
"You really should go, Deels, we mustn't invoke the wrath of matron after such a lovely night."
"Right," Delia shakes herself out of her daze,
"You really are too lovely to be really true, Patsy. Good night."
(It's nothing short of a miracle that Delia manages to make it down the hall without tripping over her feet or floating into thin air.)
_
If Patsy finds herself humming Rodgers and Hammerstein on the ward, she chalks it up to the intoxicating magic of live theatre, and nothing more.
She's certainly not a romantic.
She just appreciates a good musical number when she hears one.