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Our Girl (and the characters, storylines and ideas related to them) belong to writers and any other relevant Copy Right owners. This story has not been written for any profit and no infringement is intended.

The Knower of Roads

Don't go anywhere without me.
Let nothing happen in the sky apart from me,
or on the ground, in this world or that world,
without my being in its happening.
Vision, see nothing I don't see.
Language, say nothing.
The way the night knows itself with the moon,
be that with me. Be the rose
nearest to the thorn that I am.

I want to feel myself in you when you taste food,
in the arc of your mallet when you work,
when you visit friends, when you go
up on the roof by yourself at night.

There's nothing worse than to walk out along the street
without you. I don't know where I'm going.
You're the road, and the knower of roads,
more than maps, more than love.

In The Arc Of Your Mallet – Rumi

Chapter One

The sound of Katy Perry warbling about fireworks blasting out of Molly's phone announced that she had a call. Jarring and noisy, it interrupted her current occupation of staring sightlessly at the beige walls of her hotel room in Cyprus. She turned from where she was sitting cross-legged on her bed and reached for the iPhone, unsure if the call was a welcome or unwelcome intrusion.

The screen showed a UK number but not one with which she was familiar. Sliding her finger across the touch screen, she accepted the call. The likelihood was it was a PPI call centre or ambulance chaser company about a crash she'd never had, in a car she'd never own, never mind driven. Either possibly seemed like an opportunity for relief from the shouting silence of her own thoughts that had been her only company since her conversation on the beach with Kinders.

"Hello?"

"Hello, may I speak to Private Molly Dawes, please?" A female voice queried. She was soft spoken with an accent from somewhere up North, perhaps the posher end of Yorkshire, Molly thought absently. The woman's tone was professional and completely unfamiliar to Molly, but the use of her rank suggesting something official.

"Yes."

Molly stretched, uncrossing her legs and moved to sitting on the side of the bed. The rush of blood through her straightened out legs caused the muscular burn of pins and needles and made her huff out a breath in pain.

The tingling in her legs made her wonder just how long she'd been sat lost in her own thoughts. A quick look at the clock on the bedside cabinet gave her an answer. It was two hours since she'd left the beach claiming she needed a nap. The truth was she'd been seeking an escape from the efforts of the members of her Section who were trying so damn hard to bring up her mood while not mentioning the elephant-in-the-room subject of why she needed the mood boost in the first place.

Hearing Kidders tell her that Captain James was having yet another operation in the same breath as telling her how loved up she was apparently with Smurf had about been the final straw on her proverbial camel's back–her own guilt making up the rest of the weight.

The pressure of everything just felt like too much today. She was exhausted in every way possible. Being stuck in a holiday resort on orders from the army while trying to stop herself bolting at the first opportunity onto a plane back to the UK was taking all the self control she had left. Bothering to set the story straight, yet again, regarding her actual relationship with Smurf to Corporal Kinders hadn't seemed worth the effort. Maintaining polite coherent conversation had been enough of a drain.

She could not shake the feeling that it was all so self-deserved because if sleep was hard to achieve and food had become more of forced routine than enjoyable activity, that was her just punishment for being an epic fuck up.

"Hello?" the voice at the end of the phone asked, sounding less sure.

"Sorry, I mean…yes, speaking." Molly replied in a distracted rush.

"My name is Anna, I'm calling from the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Birmingh –"

Heart in her mouth, Molly jumped to her feet and cut the woman off mid word. "What's happened, is he alright? Oh, God–"

Molly's panting breath was all that could be heard for several seconds followed by the sound of painfully contained, soft sobbing.

For Anna, Molly's obvious distress was heart-breaking, but she had an important purpose in making this phone call. Keeping her voice soft and steady she tried to calm Molly with rank and formality.

"Private Dawes," she said projecting an authority well practised after years of service in the R.A.M.C.

"I'm sorry…I just–"

Another hitched breath followed another as Molly struggled to even out her voice. Two fat tears escaped the sheen of others gathered under green irises and dark pupils flared wide with fear. The first two tears were followed by several more before Molly felt she had enough control of herself to speak.

Voice stronger, Molly wiped her face and said, "I'm sorry. I'm being a prannet. Please, what did you need to tell me?"

To Anna, Molly sounded terribly young and lost to be having to deal with this so far away and alone. Army practise meant decompression was the norm before repatriation after a tour and it was done for the wellbeing of serving personnel, but perhaps was not so much in the interest of someone in Molly's circumstances. All Anna could hear from her end of the phone was a woman holding herself together by the thinnest of threads who should have been home not stuck out in Cyprus.

"Molly, may I call you Molly? I know it's hard, but I need you to be calm…"

"I am, I'm sorry. I've got a handle on myself now. Molly is fine. I mean to call me, if you like."

Good girl, Anna thought. You're a strong one.

"I'm calling with an update about Captain James. My apologies that there hasn't been contact earlier. Your details were omitted from his next of kin paperwork. He's been asking for you, and I've corrected the omission on his records. Do you have a pen?"

There was the sound of a drawer opening, paper shuffling, banging and a softly muttered curse of 'bollocks', in the background before Molly returned to the call.

"Yes, in my hand now."

Anna recited a telephone number and then a mobile number.

"Do you need me to repeat those?"

"No. I have them written down."

"Good, the first is the ward telephone number; the second is Captain James' mobile. I just wanted to check you had both. He isn't going to be able to speak to you directly yet as he's still rather out of things due to his medication, but he has been taken out of the medically induced coma which is positive progress.

"He will be going for another operation tomorrow. The Orthopaedic surgeon, Major O'Brien, is going to be performing a further procedure on the Captain's leg as things haven't been progressing quite as we would like."

"Okay. How is his abdominal wound, any infections or complications?" Molly asked.

"No, thankfully. It's just the leg that is causing concern, but Major O'Brien is an excellent surgeon. The Captain is in good hands."

"Thank you, it's a relief to have news."

"If you call the ward tomorrow evening, there should be more news. As I said, you've been added to his N.O.K. paperwork so there won't be any problems with making contact. All things being well, you might be able to speak to Captain James himself within the next 48 hours. I know he would like to speak to you."

Molly's silence from her end of the phone spoke loudly to Anna as she waited patiently for the overwhelmed young soldier to collect herself.

Forcing herself to take a deep breath, Molly sat back down onto the edge of her bed, conscience that she was shaking in reaction as her body calm down from its earlier adrenalin fuel fight or flight panic.

Mind racing, she considered her options. They were travelling back to the UK early doors tomorrow on an unglamorously army style troop transport on a Hercules to RAF Brize Norton followed by a bus back to barracks. What she needed to find was an opportunity to slip away. She had a vague idea of the distance between the air base and the hospital, Google would likely provide her with the answers of how to get from one place to another.

"Molly, are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I'll do that, phone tomorrow I mean. Thank you for calling. It means a lot to know how he's doing. With being stuck in Cyprus and all."

"Decompression and normalisation," Anna said wryly. "There's the normal way and then there's army way of dealing with life, I guess. I'm sure I know where you'd rather be regardless of the army way."

Despite herself, Molly laughed finding a comfortable sort of kinship because she was speaking to another person who got the lifestyle they shared.

"Thank you for looking after him, when I couldn't be there."

She'd want to say: tell him I love him, but with the lack of definition of what exactly the feelings between them meant, she instead asked, "Tell him I'm thinking about him, please."

"I will, but you'll be able to tell him yourself soon, I'm sure."

"I hope so, Anna." Molly replied a waver in her voice again.

"Keep strong, Molly. He's a fighter."

The tears were back, and Molly was aware that Anna, for all her kind patience, likely had other families to contact by phone with updates on loved ones.

"I should let you go, I guess. Thank you for the call. I can't explain how much it means to me to have news. Never was much of one with words me."

Anna laughed. "I think you express yourself with plenty of eloquence. I've said bollocks to the odd bit of furniture myself from time to time."

"Oh shit…I mean, sorry!"

Molly flushed, flustered on two counts as something occurred. One, that her clumsiness scrabbling for a pen, with resulting potty mouth, had been overheard and, two, the very real possibility that she was talking to someone of rank. "I mean, sorry about that, Mam."

"No rank, name, or number needed for this call Molly Dawes, just get yourself back to the UK safely and come and see your Captain when you can. I think you're the medicine he's been waiting to see."

"I will."

"Goodbye, Molly. I'll look forward to meeting you in person soon."

"Bye, and thank you again."

Molly ended the call, and lay back on her bed with a heavy sigh. She felt an odd mixture of relieved and tearful to have received news, even if it was news of a further operation. Feeling stronger, she forced herself up onto her feet, wiping away the damp trail of tears from her face. She walked over the wardrobe and pulled out her Bergen to start packing. After so many days of no news and no direction or purposed except her own guilt and anxiousness, it was good to know what to do.

Even if she didn't know how this was going to play out. One fact filled her with hope; he'd asked for her and in the face of that, nothing else mattered.