She's been waiting for 2 hours now. The time sliding past her at the speed she reckons glaciers move- slow and deliberate. '0.3 km a year' Sam had said, his sticky fingers clasping her warm ones as she walked him home 6 months previously. A jabbering bundle of energy- mind enchanted by the huge blocks of ice his teacher had shown him in school. She certainly feels cold- heavy handed air conditioning whipping through her combats with no trouble.

She shifts, legs feeling the familiar weight of her kit bag. The thick material stretched taught with all her worldly possessions, her kit, her toiletries, his letters. It's stuffed under one of the sticky tables, jammed into her leg to keep it out of the way of the couple sitting nearby. Because lord knows they had to sit 2 seats away from her when 20 other tables were free. Her leg jolts against the table leg, mirroring her fingers as they tear through a pile of those crappy white napkins- Forcing them into strips.

Letting out a small huff of air she picks up her phone- fingers sliding across the cracked surface to flash up the lock screen. A picture of her and a friend grins back, dazzling drunk smiles and arms wrapped round each other- taken on defrag in Cyprus. She fights away the clawing truth. That she changed her lock screen a mere hour ago. Her aching skull suddenly sick of seeing the picture of Charles and Sam which had been there before. His thin face creased into laughter as Sam splashes him on the beach- silver droplets arching in a perfect semicircle to land on Charles's tanned chest. It had felt the right thing to do, an attempt to even the score- but now it just feels pathetic, the actions of a stroppy teenager.

Flicking across the screen with quick finger swipes, her eyes narrow as she sees there are still no messages from him- Save the one sent at 9 this morning. 'See you later Dawsey'- because Charles has always been one for stating the obvious. She starts to ring him again; frustration muddling with common sense in her desperation to work out what's going on, what the hell he's been doing for the past 2 hours. It connects straight through to answer machine and she lets out a swear word before she can even stop herself; censor her words like she has to do for Sam.

'Fuck' it's louder than she anticipated and the couple nearby turn pointedly, the women's lips pursued as if she just eaten a lemon, instead of the huge slab of coffee and walnut cake Molly can see on the plate in front of her. She looks away, imagining the snigger that Charles would let out if he was here with her now- leaning in to whisper something stupid like 'Busted Dawes' in that slow and sensual voice she can recreate so effortlessly in her own head. The phone lets out a high pitched bleep and she's reminded why she's still here, forced to sit next to 2 grumpy sods in Swindon motorway services as she talks to his iPhone.

'Hey- it's Molly' she starts. 'Look. I've rung you a good 5 times now and it's getting on to 4 o'clock. I don't know if you've forgotten about me' She forces a laugh at this point, because really it's almost a joke if he's forgotten to come and get her after a 6 month tour (almost but not quite as she's the punchline) 'but I'm getting just a tiny bit annoyed now. So if you could ring me back that would be great'

She presses the red button, checking the phone again for messages before slamming it into her combat pockets- Her spare pair of bandage dressing scissors clinking against the screen as she does so. Glancing up she notices one of the employees' picking her way over to her and her hand loops into the handle of her rucksack, ready to move. She knows she's drastically overstayed her welcome, her own empty mug the only evidence that she actually has any right to remain sitting. Tepid brown liquid lurking in a porcelain white cup- finished hours before. She draws nearer and Molly can see hot steam rising from a mug balanced on the battered black tray. Her eyes narrow, confused- but the girl is already drawing up to her table and smiling down at her.

'Coffee for you' the girl says, tactfully placing the mug away from the considerable pile of mauled napkins. The impact of placing it causing a few millimetres of hot liquid to slop over the edge onto the saucer.

'Oh but I didn't-'

'It's on the house' the girl interrupts smoothly, 'least we could do'

For a millisecond she is confused, eyes narrowing as she wonders at the rationale behind this gesture. Until shifting her head she catches sight of herself in one of the tactfully placed mirrors- wide brown eyes and combats stare back. She fiddles awkwardly with her sleeves- hands pulling the well-known fabric further over her thin wrists as if hoping to pluck the garments off her slim frame.

'Thanks' she replies, forcing a smile across her worried expression for the briefest of instances. 'I promise I'll be out of your hair soon'

'S'alright' the girl shrugs and Molly notices that her name is 'JJ'- letters just visible on her worn name badge. 'It's not as if it's busy'

They both glance round in unison then, eyes trailing over the half empty tables and abandoned chairs- some still cluttered with cups and teapots.

'It's my….. Friend' she says, the correct prefix catching in her throat and refusing to form. 'He said he'd pick me up.'

JJ nods, moving to transfer a rogue mug from a neighbouring table onto her now empty tray.

'Bet you wish you'd never asked now' the young girl says, smiling in sympathy. Molly's stomach squirms in guilt as she nods in agreement but she ignores it- mind refusing to entertain sympathetic thoughts of Charles.

'Apparently there's a hold up at the junction before us' JJ continues, nodding towards one of the many TV screens displaying the traffic for the local area. Molly's stomach sinks as she spots a multitude of red traffic warnings clustered on the route Charles will be taking. Fatigue finally begins to crash over. Eyelids turning heavy as out of the corner of her eye she watches JJ pick up the scrumpled muffin wrappers from the next door table, Leftovers from 2 lads that had been in earlier

'Do you have far to go?' she asks, more out of politeness than interest Molly thinks but she's glad of the opportunity to talk to someone.

'Bath' she says, 'I think '

'You think?' JJ asks and suddenly Molly isn't sure why she added that part in. Because of course she is going to go home with Charles to their flat- quite why her treacherous mind is trying to unravel that decision is anyone's guess, her heart flutters strangely at the thought.

'Bath' she confirms, 'I'm going home to Bath' Though it feels like its herself she's trying to convince rather than the girl stood in front of her.

'Lovely' she smiles back at Molly, 'Apparently it's really pretty there'

'I always thought it was a bit shit' she admits, invoking that familiar pull she always gets when she thinks of him, 'but it's pretty bloody nice'

A phone begins to ring and she jumps visibly but it's not her own. Her mobile lying dormant in her combats- a dead weight, as useful to her as her rifle would be for stirring her steaming coffee. Thankfully JJ is looking back to the cash desk from where the noise is emanating.

'Better get that' she says, picking up her now loaded tray before she hurries away.

'Thanks again' Molly mummers 'for the coffee'

The lights have dimmed- a gradual acceptance of the darkness that is drawing up outside. Streetlights giving the carpark that plastic orange glow that reminds her of East London. A world away from the soaring landscapes of Afghan.

The coffee from the hour before is half finished in front of her- tomb cold in its white mug. She feels guilty as it was a gift and she didn't manage to finish it, but if she's honest she couldn't manage anymore. The hot liquid had dragged down her throat- eyes fixed on that stupid phone as the minutes ticked their way past 6. The stroppy couple have gone and an entirely new set of customers have taken their place- this time sat a respectful difference from her so she immediately likes them more. Though they are not entirely indifferent, she's noticed that the young son keeps stealing glances at her over the top of his I-pad.

'That ladies in the army' she hears the mum say, voice low but audible in the hush. 'She's very-'

But she doesn't get to hear what they think of her as her phone begins to vibrate- shaking ceaselessly against the wooden table top as if it's about to explode. She narrows her eyes as she sees the caller ID- eyes flicking to read the time. She lets it ring a few times, her anger refusing to let her shaking fingers function.

'Hey' she snaps, leg beginning to jig in a restless staccato because god dammit his excuse better be good.

'Moll' he says, voice slightly distant because of the hands free. 'How was the flight?' She can hear the smile in his voice as he talks, her face beginning to break into an answering one but she quashes it- eyes taking In the 2 empty coffee cups and torn napkins scattered across the table, the remnants of the last 4 hours.

'Fine' she replies, takes a breath and then continues 'Did you get my voicemails? I'm sat waiting in the services'

'Have you been there long?' he asks and she realises that he hasn't heard any of the 20 she must have left him. Pulse quickening in frustration as she pulls the phone closer to her ear so she can hear him better.

'Yes you bastard' her tone is light, but the implication behind it isn't. 'Been here since 2- Brains dropped me off on his way home'

'Shit. And it's… '

'It's 6.30 now' she finishes for him

'I'm sorry' he murmurs and she has to stop herself melting, because he always known how to draw out the syllables in that word to make her weak- A tactic he's very successfully honed. 'They wouldn't let me go. Training was meant to be over by lunchtime but the fucking idiots couldn't grasp what we were trying to achieve. How hard can it actually be to patrol across a sodding field and answer fire from a pretend ambush?'

'Clearly impossible' she jibes, but he keeps talking.

'They started pissing about after a while- pushing their limits you know? It turned a bit ugly after that'

She could well imagine the scene, a section of new recruits all trying it on with their new Captain- attempting to see just how far they could push it on a Friday afternoon. Blissfully unaware of the fact that he was meant to be meeting his girlfriend at the services after 6 months apart. She winced on their behalf- imagining him as he had sometimes been in Afghanistan. A power house of muscle and anger- words whipping through the air to smack at your feet.

'How many did you make cry?' she asks

'5' he snaps back 'all lads. But they deserved it'

Though he isn't implicitly stating it, she knows that he's on the defensive. He knows that she's never been very good at accepting the hard-line manner he has to take with the recruits. A sticking point on their tour, as to her his harsh words were there to be refuted rather than accepted. It was a dangerous game they used to play- her erring just slightly on the right side of respectful as he shouted the orders.

She bites her lip- censoring her words before she speaks again.

'You okay?'

'Not really' he says letting out a deep sigh. 'We would have been home right now if it wasn't for that massive bunch of Cockwombles. But instead I'm stuck on the outskirts of Salisbury- waiting in a-'

'You've just set off' she explodes. The young boy glancing up from his iPad to stare wide eyed. Family swivelling in unison to gawp at her as she gets pointlessly to her feet before sitting back down.

'I told you. We overran'

'By 6 hours' she exclaims back.

'Do you really think I had any fucking choice in the matter' he growls, voice sending shudders of desire down her spine which anger her further. 'I'm probably facing a disciplinary for the fact I even left at all'

'Charles I can't actually cope with this right now' she says 'I need you to-'

'I'll be there in just over an hour' he interrupts, as he always does when he can sense her getting angry. His attempt to shut down the conversation so she can't start shouting. '1 and a half with the rush hour'

She glances hopelessly up at the TV screen, covered in those red warning lights that she's come to know so well this afternoon.

'It will be longer than that' she says, forcing her voice into calm 'the traffics hideous'

'Fine' he concedes, '1 hour and 45 minutes' A statement which makes her roll her eyes heavenward at his childish addition of 15 minutes to the journey time. His cocksure arrogance starting to grate on her throbbing brain.

'We'll be back in Bath before you know it- I'll text your mum and tell her to push back the party another hour'

'Party' she echoes tonelessly, because really she should of known better than to believe he wouldn't spring this on her at last minute.

'As a welcome home' he says voice dropping in volume as if hoping she might not hear him. 'It was your mum's idea. She's come over for the weekend with your dad and she was desperate to organise something'

'She's staying with us?' she asks, even though she's pretty sure she doesn't want to know the answer to that particular question.

'Yes'

She stays silent.

'I tried to explain that you wouldn't appreciate a massive-'

'Massive?' she echoes- well interrupts. because she knows what Belinda's like when she gets onto an idea. A lifetime of experience causing that cold feeling of dread to drop into her stomach.

'30 people' is his reply and she can imagine him wincing- waiting for the fallout that happens round about now.

'This is a sodding joke' she says, eyes narrowing to slits even though he's not stood in front of her.'I'm sorry but I'm not going to that. There's no effing way'

'Molly-'he starts, but she gets in their first.

'Look I'm shattered. We had a rough flight over. Turbulence and the whole shebang before an hours car journey with Brains and Fingers to get me to Swindon services. I love them both- but not after 6 months together and 50 games of snog, marry, avoid'

She hears him start to laugh but she cuts him off, because although it may sound hilarious to him it really wasn't funny at the time.

'I've been sat here now for 4 hours, waiting for you to get here. So what I need.. is….' She trails off, words formed before she knows what it is she really wants. Silence blaring between them as he waits for her to finish. Weirdly the words don't come and there's that weird fluttering in her heartbeat again as she thinks about him- about them.

'I'll be there as soon as I can' he says 'I'm sorry it's been crap Dawsey- but just wait out for a couple more hours'

'I don't want to wait out' she snaps and it's the first time she's ruined that little catch phrase of theirs.

'Well there's nothing I can do about that' he replies- and she recognises that tone. It's the one he uses with Sam when he's playing up and she instantly resents him for it. 'Jesus Moll, I tried as hard as I could to get away on time but they wouldn't let me go'

'You're a captain' she hears herself say

'That's doesn't mean I can do whatever the fuck I want.' his voice is cold and scornful at her implication 'I think your confusing me with the Chief of general staff'

'Surely they could of let you go' she says 'don't they have a shred of compassion for the fact im coming home?' She hates herself for saying it because it makes her sounds spoilt and that's not what she is. But she's so sick of being reasonable and rational. Calm under pressure after half a year of civilians dying left right and centre in a place that's more hell zone than country.

'Last time I looked you're not draped in a union jack- so I don't think they sodding care'

Her chest tightens painfully at his words which remind her of Smurf. That gaping hole of friendship that's been vacant for over a year now .He senses her silence, realises that's he's taken it one sentence to far and doesn't continue. Stopping himself before he does more damage. It's another indication that they're still getting to grips with each other away from Afghanistan, working out just how far they can push each others humour when they're not on tour.

'I just want to go home' she says, voice pleading, faint traces of her 12 year old self breaking through to the present.

'I know'

'To our house- with no else there'

'I know' he repeats, fractionally louder 'Ditto'

Suddenly she's desperate to have him all to herself. Hot whips of jealousy slamming through her at a rate that borders on ridiculous. The thought of having to share him with a whole heap of family and friends for a whole evening doesn't seem achievable, even with her grit and determination- honed through 3 successful tours. Its been half a year since she's slammed into his arms, breathing in that heart juddering scent that is so unbelievably Charles. The same scent that followed her around in bastion- a clingy ghost that haunted her every move when he was nearby.

'Let's just cancel it' she hears herself say 'I'll call mum myself and tell her'

'What the hell Dawes?' he says and its like he's thrown a giant bucket of ice water over her, pulling her back into reality just by snapping out 4 stupid words. It hurts- because clearly he's not as desperate to see her as she is to see him. His sense of duty, his ingrained training to do the right thing- overriding any desire to be spontaneous. And even though she knows he's right- her protestations are more for show than action, she cares too much about the effort her mother will have put in to let her down at last minute. He could at least of entertained the idea for a bit longer instead of shooting it down in a cloud of smoke.

'I don't like the fuss' she says, mumbling her words like a stroppy 5 year old. The conversation is redundant to her now, she just wants to get him off the phone.

'I tried to say that'

'Yeah well, you should of just cancelled' She replies, pulling the phone away from her ear so his voice diminishes to a light buzzing. It gives her a sense of power- just like changing the lock screen- to not listen to him when he's talking to her. He's blown her off one too many times in this conversation and its starting to hurt.

She presses the phone back against her ear, cracked glass catching on sensitive skin of her earlobe. 'And I don't want...' He trails off 'Are you even listening to me Dawse?'

'No' she replies, before she can stop herself. Her 12 year old self roaring to the surface before she can stop it. She's been in this situation too many times in her life whether its conversations with her dad and detentions with her teachers. Her answer has become automatic, a reflex response to that particular question.

'I thought not' he snaps, 'Your well out of line Private' He doesn't seem to realise that he's disciplining her as if she's back under his command and it angers her- that after all this time he still sees her as one of the lads of 2 section. 'All im doing is trying my bloody hardest to get you home'

'Well try harder' she snaps back, 'I've been afghan for the past 6 months whilst you've been swanning about in Salisbury- playing at guns with your sodding platoon. I deserve better than to be sitting around in some shitty service station, waiting for you to pull out your finger and arrive'

It's only when he inhales deeply that she realises the words have been said out loud. That she's done the thing that she promised herself she would never do and compared each other, a comparison she knows he's been doing internally every day since she's been away.

'Fucking hell Dawes' she hears him murmur, voice trembling across the hands free to her shocked present. 'I'm sorry'

And it's like someone's pressed a switch, because all of a sudden the room begins to swim in front of her eyes, despair crashing through to her brain at those 2 words of his which sound so vulnerable and raw. She bursts into tears, the first that she's let out since this tour began. Huge racking ones that bubble up seemingly out of nowhere to crash down the phone to Charles.

'Im- Im' she tries, breath coming in gasps of air. 'I'm sorry' she stammers. 'God when did this...get so- so out of hand'

She hears him start to say something in reply but she pulls the phone from her ear, slapping it down on the table so she can crash her head into her hands. She feels multiple gazes on her- burning through the thin modesty of her hair. Customers beginning to swivel at the sight of a fully kitted army medic sobbing into her coffee. Liquid hot tears streaming down her face to splatter on the table below. She knows that this anger, this anguish is not all directed at Charles. It's mainly been reserved for herself, packaged away neatly until she can express emotion again and it just so happens that its suddenly spilling out.

She sucks in her breath and she notices JJ staring over at her- hands holding a carton of milk which she's pouring into tea. Blinking quickly she tries to dispel the moisture pooling round her eyes, wiping away the excess with the back of her hand in angry swipes- but more continue to fall. Her skin feels as if its burning red at the attention and she desperately tries to get her breathing back in check- get some control back into her life. Deep down she had always known that coming home would be hard- the tour had been difficult and she had never felt in the right headspace with it all. Though her CO had strongly disagreed when she'd hinted at that- eyes narrowing as he tried to convince that she had done a brilliant job.

The reality was, she had felt inadequate without Charles- smiling reassuringly across at her, telling her she was a 'bloody good medic', that she was fixing the tiny cogs through her small acts of compassion. At times she had found it near impossible to keep going- which didn't and doesn't make sense as she's already been on tour without him and coped just fine. It's a new development and she despises it- hates him for it because she's never needed anyone to justify who she is or what she stands for up until now.

Nothing's changed since the last tour and yet everything has because he's started picking up the pieces in his own life. He's no longer just waiting for her to come back; he has a purpose for himself now- as today has shown. She had been so happy for him, the day he had taken up his commission to continue as a Captain- because if anyone needed to be in those regulation combats it was Charles. Yet it had altered them, changed where they both stood in the relationship and she was still trying to get to grips with her new position. Because even though he says that she is more important to him than the Army- that's never been his style. He can't help himself but put his duty first, the scar on his leg a constant reminder of the day he got it wrong.

She wipes her face again, the fabric itching her blotchy as she tries to get a grip. She needs to sort this now- apologise and then go and find somewhere quiet to sit because people are going to start approaching her soon and asking if she's alright. She lets out a shuddering breath, eyes flicking towards her phone and they freeze. He's already hung up on her. And with that fresh tears begin to fall, a waterfall of emotion sliding down her hot skin as she tries her hardest not to let out the strangled sob that's clawing at her throat.