A/N Since my obsession with 'Our Girl' is far from over, I thought I'd give this writing malarkey another shot. Thanks to those who reviewed 'Together at Christmas.' Hope you enjoy this one.
Characters and certain dialogue are the property of Tony Grounds and the BBC. Apologies to them again for using and abusing some lines.
James' Family Home - Bath - Early October 2014
Captain Charles James opened the front door and his heart skipped a beat. Private Molly Dawes was stood on the door step, dressed in casual clothes; her hands in her pockets and an overnight bag slung over her shoulder. She was a little later than she'd said, but it didn't matter, she'd come back to him just as she'd promised.
"Missed me?" she said, smiling broadly.
He didn't trust himself to speak, but returned her smile and allowed himself a little laugh. She was more beautiful than he remembered, radiant even. He opened the door wide and nodded to her to enter. She ducked under his arm and walked into the hallway. She turned back to look at him, still smiling. He was rooted to the spot, standing there, just drinking her in. He'd been waiting for this moment for what seemed like forever and now that she was finally here, he felt a rush of pure, unadulterated joy run through him. He allowed the front door to swing shut behind him. She giggled nervously as he closed the gap between them. He took her in his arms and kissed her.
"I guess that's a yes then," she said breathlessly, when he eventually released her.
His eyes ran over her face. "Christ Molly you have no idea," he spoke at last, his voice thick with suppressed emotion.
He took her bag and placed it down on the floor by the stairs. Holding her hand, he led her down the corridor into the kitchen at the back of the house. He gestured for her to sit down at the island unit and she took off her hat and coat, placing them beside her.
"Tea?" he asked. She nodded and he busied himself making her a cup, his back to her. She could tell he was shaking a little and she slid off the stool and went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
"You ok?" she murmured, leaning her head against his back. His breathing was ragged; he was trying to compose himself.
He turned in her direction, his head lowered. She noticed a single tear roll silently down his cheek.
"Charles?" she questioned, concern etched in her voice, as she reached up to brush the tear away. He caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing it gently. "I am now Molly," he answered at last and took her in his arms again, holding her, as if he would never, ever let her go.
When they parted eventually, he sat her back down on the stool and finished making the tea. He gave it to her and sat beside her; his eyes never leaving her face. "So how's it been?" she asked, finding it hard to cope with the lack of conversation.
"Hell Molly, if you must know," he half-laughed, but they both knew there was a ring of truth in what he'd said.
"You told me to go," she retorted, relieved though that his mood was lifting. She hated the thought that he'd been unhappy.
"Yeah, what on earth was I thinking?" he mused, shaking his head. "You finished?" He was looking at her intently now and she thought she could see that familiar look in his eyes. The look that made her insides melt. He took the cup from her and set it down on the work top.
"I see you're still limping, Charles," she said, "which is a shame because I was gonna make it up to you...for my absence an' that...but I'm not sure you're up to it," she teased.
He shook his head laughing, "Well you'll never know unless you try me." He pulled her to her feet and she picked up her coat and hat. Holding her by the hand, he began to guide her out of the kitchen, back along the hallway to the stairs.
"I take it your parents are out Charles?"
"Yes Molls. Dad's working up in London and Mum's made herself scarce. She won't be back till late. She knew you'd be coming," he said, as they climbed the stairs hand in hand.
"Really?" She couldn't resist giggling, "Well, I guess that depends on your performance." He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't think of a suitable retort. She'd floored him. He felt himself blush.
They reached the first floor and continued to the end of the landing. He opened the door to his bedroom and pulled her inside, closing the door behind them. She stepped further into the room and laid her coat and hat down on a sofa near his bed. She turned to look at him. He hadn't followed her; he was still stood by the door, his arm resting against it. He was watching her.
The anticipation was driving her crazy. It had been three, long months and her whole body was screaming out for him to touch her. In Afghan, during the daytime, she'd buried all thoughts of him holding her, caressing her, kissing her. It had been so hard but she'd been there to do a job and, to coin his bleedin' catch phrase, she'd 'needed to focus'. At night though, she'd allowed herself to think of him; the things he could do to her and how he made her feel. He had infiltrated her dreams over and over again.
She began to physically quiver with need for him.
Why was he waiting out? She knew he wanted her; she could see it in his eyes.
She couldn't bare it any longer. She closed the gap between them and broke the silence.
"Charles, I love you, I've missed you, I need you please," she pleaded, her voice a soft whisper.
He rolled his tongue along his upper lip and she moaned softly. His eyes were boring into hers. He reached out and took her face in his hands. He ran his thumb along her mouth, bent his head and began to kiss her, tenderly at first. Her lips were soft and pliant beneath his. He was taking his time, enjoying the taste of her again. She wrapped her arms around him; her fingers entwined in the curls at the nape of his neck. She pulled him closer and deepened the kiss. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her over to the bed, all the while his mouth never leaving hers. "Show me how much Molly," he said huskily, as he laid her down gently.