New Zealand and Charles James
This is my first fanfiction piece. Like a lot of Antipodeans, I did not know of this series until it arrived on our screens earlier this year. In conversations with male colleagues who watched the series, I discovered an admiration for Molly's gutsiness, bravery and beauty as well as a respectful and somewhat apprehensive regard for her ability to deal to the Smurfs of the world, AND the Charles's too. In NZ, we women would likely call her 'stroppy' and cheer her on. S
The women I've talked to mostly agree with me that his hotness is his best quality when it comes to Captain CJ. For most of us, nostalgia rules. It is a very long time ago that there were real CJ's in my world. Trust me, they were there and it's nice to have my memory jogged… and to smile when I do remember them.
Of course these characters from Our Girl belong to the supremely talented Mr Tony Grounds and the BBC. Some others I have mentioned are real soldiers and rugby players. The All Black team for this year's RWC was announced here recently and I am hoping that the management team remember to take a few spare players' jerseys this time. The Beaver story DID happen….
We have three official languages in New Zealand, English, Maaori and New Zealand Sign. I use key Maaori terms because they are the correct words.
CHAPTER 1 Decision Time and a Bath Rugby Story
Captain Charles James was well aware that he was putting off making some pretty important choices. If he were really honest, he would admit that his primary focus for the past few months had been Molly, specifically his obsession with getting her into their bed as often as possible. He was besotted with her and acknowledged freely to himself that all his physical and psychic energy was being focused on their passionate, frequent and still thrilling lovemaking. If even a small amount of that energy could be diverted into decision making, he would not be avoiding either the issue of his return to work or communication with his superior officers such as Beck. He really did need to focus!
Rehabilitation had gone exceptionally well and he was feeling increasingly confident that he would soon be able to take up a more active role in the military than he had thought possible only a few short months ago. Major Beck had refused to accept Charles' letter of resignation from his commission until a clearer picture emerged of his physical capacity after his wounds healed.
As well, he had needed time to deal with the internal stuff…even the toughest, most experienced officer could not come through such traumatic events as those Charles had experienced without emotional and psychological effects. Of course he had been fragged but the bad dreams, unwanted daytime flashbacks and disorientation of the first few months of his recovery were less troublesome with each passing day. At Headley Court he had learned the value of talking therapy, having been referred to a psychologist with special skills in helping soldiers deal with PTSD.
Molly and he had grown ever closer after her return from mentoring Afghan medics. She had charmed his mother and father from the minute they had met her. Her lack of guile, energy and strong moral compass impressed them; the easy and comfortable relationship she was building with Sam, their grandson, warmed their hearts. Most of all they saw how complete and joyful Molly and Charles were together and how much in love. This tiny, brave Cockney medic had saved their beloved son's life and helped mend his heart which had been so damaged by his painful divorce. Number 20 Royal Crescent was full of laughter, teasing and hope for the future. It was as if all their lives were starting over.
And yet Charles still felt restless and unfocussed some days. Unwilling to make the contact he had promised, he had not spoken to Beck because he was really not yet ready to talk about his return or otherwise to active service. He could not find the drive and passion which had so characterized his army career before his injuries. Molly was worrying about him.
"You might gonna need to have a holiday, Boss," she suggested. "You didn't have any Cyprus like the rest of us. You haven't had time to decompress, just hospital and Headley Court. Go out with your friends a bit. Have some fun, for fuck's sake."
Ever a dedicated Rugby man, Charles had finally talked Molly into a Saturday afternoon outing at the Bath Rugby Club. There was a family day coming up to celebrate the 150th birthday of the club and a good few of his former team mates would be there, he thought. Sam was growing upwards rapidly and it was looking as if he would be at least as tall as his Dad before long: he was showing real promise as a forward in his age grade team with a talent for lineout jumping. Charles looked forward to supporting Sam on the sideline, now that his own leg was much stronger for standing and watching sport.
Molly found Rugby both confusing and boring, being a West Ham football supporter all her life. Sam had pleaded with her to watch him in what was a very important game and she had agreed to go, seeing this as another way to strengthen the bonds growing between the three of them. While she conceded that supporting her men at a rugby match was just tolerable, wearing the Bath supporters' shirt that Charles had bought for her was, however, a bridge too far!
Over the season that followed the three of them went to all of the games that Sam played at the home ground. Sometimes they met up with Rebecca and her new husband, sometimes they were accompanied by Charles' dad, Richard, who loved to watch his grandson play as much as he had enjoyed watching his son in earlier times.
Late in August 2015, great excitement was evident in the club. The World Cup was due to start in a couple of weeks, the English team had just been announced and six Bath boys had been selected in the national squad of thirty-one. Even Molly was feeling the buzz. Charles' friends and their wives and girlfriends had very quickly made her a welcome part of their social set and she reluctantly owned to enjoying the atmosphere of the place.
Charles' friends had let him know that they found Molly to be very attractive…he still wrestled with jealous feelings from time to time. Who wouldn't? She was an amazing, beautiful, brave woman and he so much in love with her that he could still not so much as brush past her without feeling overwhelmed by his physical need for her. He could not countenance any thought that another man would so much as look at her, let alone lust after her or touch her.
Molly knew how to tease Charles mercilessly and on this particular day commented as she had before on the rather large portrait of the good looking, dark haired New Zealand Rugby player on the wall. She commented on his muscular frame and the fact that his All Black jersey seemed short and tight…dead sexy, she reckoned and laughed knowingly at the nickname under the portrait. Beaver? There was a second photo of him in a better fitting Bath club jersey. Beaver….now where did that come from, she wondered out loud, along with approving comments about how very appealing his legs were. Charles was furious with her but his friend Simon, who understood Charles' struggles with jealousy were because of his insecurities about the possibility of losing her, calmed him down somewhat then told her Beaver's story.
Apparently he had been an All Black who had fallen out of favour because he was erratic and drove the rugby public insane with his unpredictable form. He had been left out of the last New Zealand Rugby World Club squad and had spent the time while the tournament was being played in his home country drinking beer, having fun and catching whitebait, a prized local delicacy. He had gotten a bit podgy around the middle,having watched the Cup games from his sofa rather than play in them. Towardfs the business end of the tournament, several All Blacks had been injured, specifically those who could kick goals. Stephen Donald , to give him his real name, was famously contacted by the All Black coach who had been furiously texting him while he was out of range on the Waikato river.
Stephen was asked to bring himself and any whitebait he might have caught to the Auckland hotel where the team was staying. The chefs would cook the tiny fish as a treat for the team. As for him, he was required for the Final match against Thierry Dusautoir's French team. There were no All Black jerseys in his size left throughout the land and no time to make any more, so he would need to borrow the smaller one he wore in the photo on the Bath Rugby Club wall. A photo of Dusuatoir next to that of Beaver also drew Molly's loud and appreciative approval together with comments about his desirability, bedroom eyes and probable French lovemaking expertise. Charles was purple with rage by this stage: Simon recognized the piss-take and was howling with laughter.
The upshot of the Stephen Donald story was that he had kicked the winning points, had become a New Zealand national hero overnight, Dusautoir and the French were left defeated and distraught, and the Bath Rugby Club had signed Beaver up to play for the next season. Beaver's time there had been unspectacular, to say the least, and he was currently headed back home, via an equally mediocre sojourn at a Japanese club. He was said to be looking forward to playing for the Chiefs again, drinking New Zealand beer and more whitebaiting on the Waikato River.
CHAPTER 2 Ngati Tumatauenga – Tribe of the God of War
Something about this New Zealand story stuck with Molly. In Afghanistan, when mentoring local medics, she had met a Kiwi girl who had served with the New Zealand Army in Bamyan Province and was also mentoring Afghan medics. Their job had been very similar to that carried out by the British in Hellmand and these two young women had struck up a friendship based on their common experiences as Army medics.
Karena the Kiwi had invited Molly to New Zealand any time she and James felt like a break and some new experiences. Quietly, Molly contacted her friend and did some research on things to do and places to go if only she could talk the Bossman into taking a break, having some fun and refocusing on his next moves.
As well, she knew that Karena's training as a New Zealand Army medic had been longer and more comprehensive than hers. Her friend was well on the way to completing a degree in paramedical studies, something that Molly had been thinking about for herself. She would be able to investigate Karena's military training, meet some of her mates and have a good look around.
She had found out from Karena that 2015 was a very special year in New Zealand history, particularly from a military point of view. The centenary of the ANZAC landings in Gallipoli was commemorated in April. Many thousands of Kiwis and Aussies made the pilgrimage to the Dardanelles, this arrival of thousands having become an annual rite of passage for young people from both countries. At home, dawn ceremonies were attended by ever increasing crowds, permanent memorials were opened and Sir Peter Jackson's startling life size Western Front Exhibition had opened in Wellington. There were other anniversaries: the end of the war in the Pacific in 1945, the famous Maori Battalion's stand at Monte Cassino.
The training base for new recruits was, Karena reported, at Waiouru In the middle of the North Island. In its vicinity were the exceptional National War Museum, three volcanos which rumbled from time to time and some seriously good ski fields. For a military couple it would be easy to make contact with staff at Waiouru and to work out some excellent r& r. They had money left from their last Afghan deployments. All that was necessary was to talk Charles into the holiday, to get bookings made and to get gone as fast as possible.
Convincing Charles might be easier if she laid it on thick about the upcoming lack of bedroom time once they were redeployed. Their relationship, now in the public domain and acknowledged by Major Beck, meant that they would be going separate ways for months at a time. To honest, she did not know how she would cope with this enforced "waiting out" any better than Charles would. They were so perfect together, as if their bodies had been made to fit one another's, their hearts aligning more each time they made love. And this was what happened when they were together, alone. Not sex, not what she had teased Charles about with the photos of the Rugby boys. They were engaged in making a love that would sustain and nourish them when they were apart as well as thrill and surprise them with its intensity and variety each time they touched one another.
Molly chose her time well to broach the subject of the holiday in New Zealand. Charles had just read an article in a military publication about Willie Apiata and had expressed his admiration for the courage shown by this first recipient of the Victoria Cross for New Zealand. The act of bravery had been in Bamyan Province, Afghanistan in 2007: when Charles read the citation he realized there was little difference between Apiata's achievement and that of Molly who had received the Military Cross for saving a wounded comrade in a situation of extreme risk to her personal safety. He would like to meet this man who had since left the military and had dropped out of sight. It would be an adventure to go looking for the soldier and to introduce him to Molly. They would undoubtedly have a lot in common, but not in physical terms. Photographs from the time of the award were of a huge man, bearded and long haired who could easily pass for Taliban and who looked rather like Sohail.
So, Charles agreed that a trip to New Zealand was a possibility. It would need to happen immediately; who knew when new orders for deployment might arrive for Molly, or an order for him to present himself to Beck? Oh, and there was the matter of the Rugby World Cup happening in Britain in a few weeks' time . He needed to be back for that: the Bath boys were going to help destroy the All Blacks and he wanted to watch that…
I'm not sure whether this will appeal to Northern hemisphere readers and lovers of CJ and/or Molly.
Your feedback would be appreciated whether you come from there or closer to my home, in the Waikato, New Zealand.
I plan to follow them in NZ if enough of you are interested… and if Molly can talk him into the trip