A/N: As I mentioned at the end of my previous story, the writing bug got me, and I have too many potential stories fighting over the space in my head and time to write them down right now, so I could not decide which one to start with. So, I start two simultaneously and I'll just see which one I feel like writing for the moment. This is another CJ/Molly story – I can't help it, but they are my fav couple to write and I'm just hoping I'm finding some new plots you have not read before.

In this A/U story, Charles James has left the army and is working in the Royalty and Specialist Protection Branch of London's Metropolitan Police Service. He has a new assignment to protect the Home Secretary, Molly Dawes. I simply must write a crossover inspired by BBC/Netflix series Bodyguard because who would not want CJ as their bodyguard? I mean Richard Madden is nice, but I would have to go with CJ/Ben Aldridge if I could choose. I haven't even watched that series to the end, but I don't need to, my imagination is spinning enough anyway. Grateful if you let me know what you think.

You will not have any problem following the story even if you have not seen any of the two series.

Credits to the creators of both series and thanks for lending characters and part of dialogue to me.

X

Chapter 1

I put on the bullet proof vest, followed by a crisp, perfectly ironed white shirt, a tie with an immaculate knot around my neck, then strapped the holster in place, finally the suit jacket on top. I raked my fingers through my dark curls attempting to make them look orderly, as I met my own gaze in the mirror and put the mask on, the imaginary one that hid the real me from the world. I wondered to myself what this new job would be like, the one as a bodyguard to the Home Secretary.

-OG-

I put my expensive lingerie on, thin nylon stockings to wrap my legs, buttoned up the white silk blouse and tucked it into a black pencil skirt before putting on a pair of Manolo Blahnik high heels to add four inches to my short frame. I gazed into the mirror and smoothed a strand of hair in place and ensured my strict bun looked flawless, knowing that as a female politician I would, in difference to male colleagues, not only be measured by my skills but also by my looks. I could not fail, then the vultures would be there immediately. Then I put the imaginary mask on, the one that hid the real me from the world, and braced myself for another day at work, as Home Secretary of United Kingdom.

-OG-

Monday morning, and I, Special Protection Officer Charles James, was called to a meeting with my superior officer, Chief Superintendent Lorraine Craddock, but I knew that I had nothing to worry about. If anything, I expected praise for my actions during the weekend. There had been times when I had strayed from given orders and gotten bollocks for it, but I felt confident this would not be one of those times.

Sunday afternoon I had found myself on the train from Bath, where me and my son Sam had been visiting my parents over the weekend. Now we were headed back to London and Sam was asleep in his seat. I had been reading a book, but habit made me vigilant as always and I had spotted a man behaving strangely on the platform before entering the train. The man talked in a mobile phone, but when the conversation ended, he smashed the phone into pieces and then threw it into the trash bin. I watched as the man entered the train and then lost sight of him, but an uneasy feeling had planted itself in my gut. Something was not right.

A while later, the conductor walked through the aisle checking tickets. When she walked past a toilet ahead, I saw her knocking the door, but no one answered. She continued her round, but on the way back knocked the toilet door again - still no response. I felt a chill along my spine, a certain sign that something was wrong. I glanced at Sam, but he was fast asleep so after a brief hesitation I got up and followed the conductor. When I caught up with her in her booth, she had just gotten off the phone and seemed shaken. I identified myself as a police officer from the Metropolitan Police, and asked what was going on and then she confided that she had just been informed that there might be a suicide bomber on the train and they would stop at Barnet Shed, a derelict depot, where SCO19 would board the train. However, it was seven minutes to go until then - plenty of time for a potential suicide bomber to act. Plenty of time for us all to blow up. I thought for a while, then told the conductor to stay connected to me on her mobile phone, and at my signal unlock the train doors – I would try to throw the bomber off the train the minute he came out of the toilet. I was counting on him to come out before detonating, to achieve the maximum number of casualties, and that would be the one opportunity to stop him - at high risk but better than not acting at all.

I left the conductor and with heart thumping fast from adrenaline stood waiting outside the toilet door, my eyes fixed on the lock. When it turned from red to green, I told the conductor to unlock the doors and prepared myself to attack the man… but the man came out, looking completely normal, no explosive vest to be seen and he just gave me, a hoovering stranger, a surprised glance before he went away along the aisle. I stood there confused for a few seconds, I had been so certain, all my instincts had told me... and then I thought I ought to clear the toilet so the man had not left a bomb in there. The man's behaviour had been so odd earlier, I had felt so convinced it must be him and… I opened the door and stared into the frightened eyes of a shaking woman, dressed in an explosive vest, in her hand holding a trigger. The man was not planning on doing this on his own, he had left the unpleasant deed to his wife.

Half an hour later it was all over. The train had made the stop as planned, passengers, including Sam, had been evacuated and the police had boarded it. I had stayed with the woman, Nadia. Talking calmly to her, I had managed convinced her not to pull the trigger, instead handing it to the police and give herself in. I had also convinced the police not to shoot her, although words had not been enough. I had had to shield her with my own body because some police had seemed a bit too trigger happy – and I shielded her because looking into her eyes I was convinced she would not push the button, she wanted to yield, and I wanted to save her. Avoid any unnecessary deaths. And so, instead of shooting her, they carefully stripped her off the vest and the whole thing ended without any casualties, the suicide bomber and her husband taken into custody and I was the reluctant hero of the day although my name would be kept out of the media spotlight to ensure I would not become a target myself in case there had been any accomplices.

This Monday morning, however, it made me the target for the praise of my boss.

"It's a miracle you're in one piece", she started. We had a strict working relationship, but I respected and liked my boss.

"It was luck that the bomber changed her mind."

"I don't think it was luck, I think it was you talking her into it. Am I right?"

I just nodded. I guess I'm a man who cannot resist taking action when needed, but I'm not that comfortable taking credit for it.

"Great job Charles, credit to the branch", chief superintendent Craddock said.

"Thanks ma'am."

"So far you have been acting as PPO to visiting foreign dignities", she continued.

That was statitng the obvious and I wondered where she was going. Personal Protection Officer, a role in the Royalty and Specialist Protection Branch of London's Metropolitan Police Service, that was my job a since a few years back. When I decided to leave the army and looked for alternative careers, that had popped up as an attractive option. It was a job which always required me to stay focused and alert during working hours, should there be any threat to the person I was protecting at the moment, but which in reality had been quite uneventful up to now compared to patrolling in Afghan. The other real advantage was that after working hours I was truly free, and it allowed me to stay close to home. Allowed me to see much more of Sam than army life had, to be an active part of his life. No more tours.

"Yes ma'am, that's right."

"Following the events yesterday, the Commissioner's ordered me to review specialist protection to senior politicians. I'm assigning you to a cabinet minister, the Home Secretary."

The background to this was that the suicide vest on the woman on the train was far more advanced than what had been used by terrorists previously, and the country's threat level had been increased from moderate to substantial as accomplices might still be at large.

"Very good ma'am", I simply said. I did not mind much who I was protecting as long as I had a job that kept me near Sam.

"It's a move up", she clarified and I guessed that I had not seemed appreciative enough, so I tried to sound more enthusiastic when I answered this time even if I did not really give a fuck.

"Yes, thank you ma'am.

"You'll start tomorrow."

And with that I was dismissed.

That night I googled her; Home Secretary Molly Dawes.

Of course, I had seen her flashing by in the news before, but I had not paid much attention. She was surprisingly young, an ambitious rising star in politics and the youngest Home Secretary ever appointed. She seemed to have come from a simple background and fought her way up to the top, now one of the most powerful women in the country. I noted two things especially; Her voting in parliament was official and scrolling it through I saw that she had consistently voted against armed forces in Iraq and Afghanistan. She clearly seemed to be against everything I had been proud of taking part of in the past. And secondly, she often smiled in pictures, but the smile never seemed to reach her large green eyes.

Next morning, I dressed the task. If I was to be a tail to the Home Secretary I had to look proper, and anyway shirts and tailored suits was what I was most used to wearing since I put the army uniform on the shelf. Passing the police office, I picked up my Glock and two magazines – this kind of job required being armed.

I had been told to meet up with my colleague, PS Kim Knowles, outside the Home Secretary's office building. Kim had been on the Home Secretary's team for long, knew the ropes and briefed me. As with most of these assignments, there was one day team and one night team covering the Home Secretary. In the current situation, I would be an addition to the day team. She had a driver and behind the car she was travelling in together with her PPO, a backup always drove. They sure went to lengths to keep her safe.

When Kim opened the Home Secretary's car door and greeted her, she also introduced me.

"Ma'am, this is PS James, the new PPO."

When Ms. Dawes agilely got out of the car, I was surprised at how tiny she was. She looked much taller on the telly than she was in real life.

I reached out my hand;

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

I received a firm handshake in return despite that her small hand disappeared wrapped in mine and as her sharp eyes caught mine, it was as if she could read my mind in an uncanny way when she said;

"They always film from an angle, so I look taller than I really am, and sometimes I stand on a box when I give speeches… In case you wondered."

I found himself stammering, I do not know when that happened to me last. Anyway a rare experience for me, as a former captain when shouting out orders rather had been my element.

"I didn't think along those lines, ma'am."

"Sure about that?"

Kim interfered, and saved me from saying something embarrassing.

"You should continue inside now, ma'am."

Then I grabbed the opportunity and added;

"Ma'am, I wondered if we could discuss you using the underground entrance from now on? It would be much safer."

Crossing the yard like she did now, she was far too exposed in my opinion.

She sighed and nearly rolled her eyes, like I understood very little of this world.

"I'm late for a meeting", she just said and strode of with an impressing speed considering her short legs and very high heels. She sure knew how to work them.

Her personal assistent, who tried to keep up with her speed, stopped and half-whispered;

"Molly likes to be seen."

That stopped Ms. Dawes in her tracks and she turned, looking at the two of us with hawk eyes.

"I don't like to be seen. Believe me there are many days when I would like to take an underground route, or even better, stay covered under my duvet for the entire day, but I just don't have that luxury. I have to be seen, otherwise I'm dead as a politician – and then I can't make a difference."

I just nodded, obviously she was was a person who not let herself be played with. The more sophisticated part of my brain reflected that she was indeed not a very sympathetic personality, meanwhile the more primitive part surprisingly and inappropriately presented me a picture of her under her duvet and made me feel I would not mind joining her there, before I cut off both those strings of thought/feeling and focused on my task to protect her.