AN: This came to me whilst waiting for Xfactor. I apologise if it's not the best piece, but I had to get it down on 'pen and paper'. Hope you enjoy it. Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own. All rights are, of course, the BBC's.
Please read and review! :)
GB
xox
Paris
Despite the heat of the day, Afghanistan falls victim to cooler nights. The breeze is sharp, is chilled enough to send goosebumps across Molly's skin as she lays back against the plastic roof of the camp's toilet block, eyes focused entirely on the bright stars as they twinkle high in the sky. Her mind wanders through the days events; the easy patrol through the little village, the little girl learning how to walk over dusty pathways, holding on to her Mother's hand for dear life, the Farmer with four goats that offered her one in return for keeping his home safe. She smiles, mind flowing towards her Mum and Dad, her brothers and sisters, wonders if they're missing her, struggling to cope without her, or if they've simply learned to move on, pretend she was never really there in the first place.
Her eyes sting, lids heavy as exhaustion sets in. Even after four months, the daytime heat is a struggle, the kit is still heavy, weighing her down, makes it difficult for her to move limbs. She closes her eyes as another soft breeze sends shivers through her body, is just too cold and too shattered to move, to carry her tired self back to her tent, where her bed - less comfortable than the roof, she notes - is waiting. She gives in, lets herself slip away to places where there are no wars, only laughter and family and friends.
"Come to Paris with me," a voice, low and rough, whispers into her ear, startles her awake. She yelps in surprise, grates her elbow against the rough roof, grazing the skin enough to sting, as she bolts upright, heart hammering. She rubs at her eyes, makes them focus on a sheepish looking Captain James who's sitting a few inches away from where she'd been sleeping.
"Shit, Sir. You almost gave me a Sean Connery!" she scorns, doesn't sound half as firm as she should do, just because he is her CO, and she has just been caught sleeping where she shouldn't be.
"A what?" Capt. James' brow furrows in confusion as he tries to decipher her choice of words, put the phrase together in common English to make sense.
"A heart attack," Molly corrects, forgets that her comrades are less than fluent in cockney slang, despite the amount of time she spends with each of them. "What are you doing up here any way?"
"I could ask you the same thing, Dawesy," Capt. James counteracts, an eyebrow arching as he leans back on his hands, watching her, visually tracing her face.
"I was watching the stars," she says simply, tearing her gaze away from his dark, commanding eyes and returning it back to the black sky, tries to ignore the way her skin prickles, goosebumps spreading over her arms, and this time, it's not because of the cool air. "I don't get to see 'em much back home."
"You can see them plenty in Bath," James says, and she can feel his eyes on her, takes every bit of restraint not to give in and look back at him. "You don't even need to sit on top of the shitter." Molly laughs at that, a quiet but full sound, something that James relishes, wishes to hear more of, tries to remember it, locks it away somewhere at the back of his brain where it's safe from harm. "It's no place for a lady, Dawes."
"I'm no lady," Molly scoffs, looks over at him, had almost forgotten just how close he's been sitting to her, drinks in those chiselled cheekbones, the sharp jawline shadowed by dark stubble. "It's the only place I can be alone, Boss." Quieter, honest, raw.
"It must be tough, being the only female in the platoon."
"Nah, it's all right, Sir. They're all top blokes here, I've dealt with worse," Molly says, smiles a little, doesn't like the way James' eyes darken, his brow creasing.
"You have?"
"I can promise you, them Taliban ain't got nothing on some of the geezer's I've had the luck of meeting around London on a girls night out." She shrugs one shoulder casually, the mood having shifted, feels heavier. "I can handle my own." It's said as a promise, and he nods.
"I don't doubt that, not for a second."
Molly smiles, reverts her gaze back to the sky, leans back on her hands, is very aware of Capt. James' being just a hairs width away. She chances a glance out of the corner of her eyes, is slightly relieved to see he, too, is staring up at the great unknown, the worries of war temporarily forgotten as they bathe in the beauty around them, smoothing out the lines on his forehead, around his eyes, makes him look younger.
"Can I ask you something, Boss?" Her voice is quiet again, full of curiosity, brows knitted together when he turns to face her.
"Anything," he answers simply, and she hesitates, only for a second, wonders if she really needs to know anything that could lead to providing answers about his personal life.
"Why did you sign up?" she asks anyway, because she realises, in that moment, that she wants to know every last detail about him.
"Would you believe me if I told you it was a rebellion?" he asks, his eyes twinkling, reminds Molly of the night sky.
"Doesn't sound like you," Molly scoffs, raising an eyebrow.
"My parent's wanted me to be a doctor, and I wanted to be anything but," James shrugs, doesn't seem offended by Molly's outburst, instead smiles at her honesty, likes the way she thinks she knows him, realises he wants her to know every piece of him. "What about you?"
"Me?" Molly asks for confirmation, because she can't imagine why James would want to know anything about her.
"Yeah, Dawes, you."
"Oh, well, I got trollied on my birthday, chundered outside the recruitment office. Went back the next day, figured I had nothing to lose by trying. I didn't think I'd actually get this far."
"I'm glad you did," James says, his voice quiet and gritty, eyes intense as they lock onto hers.
"You are, Sir?" She forces out, her chest constricting, can feel fluttering in her tummy – butterflies? His fingers brush hers, just for a second, her heart stutters, and then the door below them opens as a half asleep soldier heads for the john, jolts them back to reality, pulling them apart.
"Yes, you're a bloody good medic, Dawes, an asset to 2 section," James says, clearing his throat, wiping clammy hands over his trousers before he forces himself to his feet, takes a step backwards just to add a little more distance, hopes the humming in his body calms.
"Thank you, Boss," Molly smiles, despite the sudden cold front, wonders if she imagined the whole damned thing.
"Go and get some sleep, Dawes," James orders professionally, before heading to the edge of the roof.
"Yes, Sir," she nods, but doesn't move from her spot as she watches the Captain begin to descend from the roof. "Just quickly, Sir?"
"Yes, Dawes?"
"What did you say earlier? When I was, you know-?"
"What did you think I said, Dawes?"
"I don't know. I thought I heard you mention Paris, Boss."
Captain James just smiles, reveals brilliant white teeth, before hopping down and crossing the quiet camp towards his tent.