AN1. Hello! I've debated for a little while on whether to write, and then whether to share this story or not. It's more angsty than I usually like to write, but it's persistently floating around my head, so I have eventually come to the conclusion that I will have a go regardless. If it's an utter disaster, I can stop, and we can all just pretend that this never happened ;-)

Anyway, first chapter is below. This story is written on the basis that everything leading up to, and including, Smurf's funeral, actually happened. The rest of what we saw on screen after the funeral should be disregarded. I am really quite anxious about the change in tone, as it feels like a bit of a departure from the other two stories I've written. I really hope you all enjoy it though, and delighted to hear any feedback that anybody wants to give. I do know where I want to take this, but it will take a bit of time to write and fill in the blanks, so the uploads may not be the quickest.

Oh, and one more thing! Each chapter is named after a song which fits in my head with that chapter. For me, part of what made OG as good as it was, was the soundtrack. I really love music, and since I started writing creatively, I usually do it with certain songs in mind because it helps me to visualise the atmosphere I've tried to get across. Poncey, I know, but just thought I would share the inspiration with anybody who's even remotely interested!

I'll shut up now and get on with it...

Chapter 1 - Unfinished Sympathy

Charles

23 May 2014

Charles James nursed a glass in front of him, tapping its bottom edge intermittently against the table as he studied the amber liquid inside of it. The bitter aftertaste of the whisky was sticking to the roof of his mouth, and doing nothing to quell his aching throat.

Soft music played overhead, and he sat at the end of the sticky leather booth, leaning his elbows against the wooden bench in front of him. The discomfort of the seat did nothing to assist the ache in his abdomen and leg, and he registered absent-mindedly that he should probably get up and walk for a couple of minutes, to keep up his prescribed daily exercises. He hadn't done them for a couple of days now. The physio would have his head on a plate when he arrived at Headley for his next rehab session. He couldn't quite bring himself to care too much though. At least he was alive, which was more than could be said for Smurf.

It wasn't the first time he had attended the funeral of one of his men; far from it. But he had been under the false impression that, for once, he had come home from a tour where his platoon would remain intact and complete.

This time, he was the one who had almost died, before he had been pulled back from the brink. But fate had cruelly intervened at the last minute, and today, he had attended the funeral of yet another of the young men under his care. One of the men he was charged with keeping safe and alive.

He didn't think he would forget the sheer desolation on Candy Smith's face for as long as he lived. The guilt gnawed at his insides. She had given both of her boys to him, handed them over to his care, and he had let her down in the worst of ways. He could feel the tears begin to prick the back of his eyes again and looked down to try and stem them as he remembered the grief-stricken look on her face, together with the only words she had uttered to him today.

"I gave the Army my boys. And they gave me back a flag."

The memory struck a fresh pain in his chest, and he lifted the drink in front of him, swirling it around in the short crystal glass. He brought it to his lips, the liquid burning as it assaulted his hoarse throat. His eyes watered again as he swallowed what was left down in one, wishing with everything in his body that it would act as some sort of anaesthetic for the pain. That it would numb him. The last four hadn't, so he wasn't sure why he thought this one would be any different. He brought the glass back down with a gentle thud against the wooden surface.

"My round. Same again?" he stood, as he watched for any sign of affirmation from the men surrounding him.

The members of two section nodded from their places around the table, staring mournfully at the glasses set out in front of them, nobody sure of the right thing to say. In truth, there was nothing right to say in the situation, and instead, the table had been forced into silence as they all allowed private memories and thoughts of their former friend, and colleague, to play out in their heads.

They had all travelled to Newport together that morning, knowing that they were a unit, and they had to pull through this as one. They were staying in the hotel they currently drank in and would travel back home in the morning. All except Molly. She had already been in Newport with Candy when they arrived, and was staying at Smurf's childhood home for a couple of days. The thought rankled with him far more than it should have. He couldn't quite believe that he was now jealous of a dead man. He was truly pathetic.

Brains was the first to break the long silence at the table, drumming his fingers on the solid wood as he spoke, desperate for something to end the haunting level of gloom descending. If Smurf was here, he would have been the one lifting everyone's spirits with a wisecrack. He motioned to stand as he spoke.

"Sit down boss. You can get the next one in. I'm getting them this time."

"It's fine Brains. I'll get one more round and then I'm going up to my room."

"We can't leave yet." Brains looked at him seriously, brow furrowed in a knot. "Molls said she would try and make it along once she had made sure Mrs Smith was sorted out."

Charles focused on maintaining eye contact with the man in front of him, trying to convince himself that he wasn't affected by the mere mention of her name. "We've been here for hours. She isn't coming."

"She'll be here. She wouldn't miss this." Fingers interjected, looking up for almost the first time that evening.

Mansfield agreed with the boss though, and buoyed by the alcohol in his system, he spoke his mind.

"She ain't gonna come out here with us for a drink, she's just buried her bloke."

They all looked at Mansfield warningly as he mentioned the elephant in the room, nobody else willing to mention it in front of the boss. It was against the rules after all.

"He wasn't her bloke Mansfield, don't talk bollocks." Dangles knew exactly what Smurf had been like with Molly. He was a lovesick puppy but he'd never seen any true indication from Molly that she felt the same. Mansfield was talking out of his arse as usual.

"He fucking was" Mansfield swore adamantly. "I swear to god, those two were loved up. You'd have to be blind not to see it. And anyway, why's she staying with his mum if it's not true?"

Kinders nodded from his seat in the corner before adding his opinion.

"I reckon he's right lads. I mentioned to her in Cyprus that I'd clocked it. She didn't say anything, didn't deny it."

"That don't mean it was true." Brains concurred with Dangles on this one. There was no way Molly and Smurf were together, and he knew exactly why. He wasn't as clueless as the rest of the lads. He peered into his empty glass regardless, acknowledging that he wasn't going to win the debate, and not wanting to push it further with the boss standing right there. Nobody else had clocked the bossman's quiet despondency at the tone the conversation had taken, but Brains had. It was always the quiet ones you had to watch for, and Brains didn't often miss a trick. Hence the nickname.

Luckily, none of the rest of the men had noticed their captain still standing at the table, simmering quietly, fists clenched at his sides. "Can you lot shut the fuck up? I'm buying one more round and then I'm calling it a night. I suggest you all do the same. You can wait here for Molly all night if you'd like. She's clearly not coming."

"Nice to see you've got such faith in me bossman." A lone female voice cut across the argument from behind him.

He closed his eyes, feeling himself stumble very slightly. Must be the whisky. He tried desperately not to whirl around at the mere sound of her voice. Whilst part of him was desperate to look at her, the more sensible part of his brain reasoned that seeing her would be a very, very bad idea right now. He was emotional, bordering on drunk, and was at the very edge of his ability to be sane and rational after the events of the day.

She didn't wait for him to turn around, and sat down at his now vacated seat. He took the opportunity to break the silence, looking at her for the first time. She had changed from her uniform, unlike the rest of them. She now wore simple jeans and a black top, her hair released from its usual bun to fall around her shoulders. She looked at him hesitantly. He held her gaze for a few seconds before dropping it again, looking to the side awkwardly, trying to hide his pain as well as he could manage, arms crossed over his chest, hands burrowed under his armpits. He was retreating, protecting himself.

"Drink, Dawes?" he silently marvelled at his restrained tone, feeling the wall of tension which existed between them as though it had been constructed from bricks and cement. Maybe he was more sober than he'd given himself credit for.

She ignored the tension, staring at him more resolutely now. "Vodka and coke please. Double, since I've obviously got catching up to do" she murmured, surveying the table full of empty glasses. He nodded slowly, trying his utmost not to stare, and retreated to the bar, limping very slightly as he moved.

He was determined to get this over with. He would get the drinks in, pay, and get away from this room as fast as he possibly could. Staying here in the mood he was currently wallowing in, would lead to absolutely nothing good. He was smothered by the guilt of the whole situation, and simultaneously ripped apart by the fact that he and Molly were very evidently not going to be together. Not now.

It had been easier at the church today to form the necessary sense of detachment; to act as her boss rather than the man who, not less than three weeks ago, had taken her to dinner and declared that he loved her, that he wanted her to be brilliant. Now, it was as though everything that had happened between them had been a dream. It now bore as much relevance.

As he stood at the bar, waiting for the drinks, he unwillingly revisited that night. He vividly recalled all sorts of images of Molly naked under him, panting his name in reverent tones, wrapping her legs around his waist, as he thrust back and forth on top of her before they came apart together. It had been the best 24 hours of his life. Anything had seemed possible when it was just the two of them, in each other's arms.

They had spent the night together, a mass of naked limbs wrapped up in each other, talking for hours about everything and nothing. They had only paused the talking on a couple of occasions; when lust and need overtook the need to speak. All too soon, the morning arrived and she had reluctantly gathered her things and travelled back to London. He had dropped her off at the station, pulling her towards him for a lingering kiss; no finesse, just raw passion, trying to convey just how much of a difference she had made to him. She had nearly missed the train; wrapped up in his hold, granting him more sweet, brief pecks on the lips before she left.

"Don't miss me too much" she had grinned impishly at him as she walked away. He knew he wasn't likely to comply with that request given that she had his heart under lock and key.

That had been the last time he had seen her. Until today. They had spoken on the phone every few days afterwards, and sent text messages back and forth. But that all stopped on the fateful day that Smurf collapsed in front of her. The first time he had any type of communication with her since she had phoned to tell him the news was in the church today. He had tried, god knows how many times, to call her, with no response. He got the message, loud and clear.

He wasn't sure where he had found the strength to leave her alone, to detach himself. But he had. He had even managed a smile and a half laugh at her Tardis joke (oh how he wished he had one of those), and told her that 'if there was ever anything he could do' then he would.

As if she was just one of his soldiers. As if he wasn't in love with her. As if they hadn't made love for hours on end, until they had collapsed in each other's arms and slept for hours, neither suffering from nightmares for a change. The whole charade of pretending none of that had happened had eaten further at him, increasing the gnawing sense of pain that threatened to erupt inside of him tonight.

She had told him in the church today that she was going back to Afghan, and it had been yet another nail in the coffin of them. He could see the distance in her eyes. He could also see the guilt reflected in them. Deep down, they both knew that they had played a part in Smurf's death. If they hadn't had that moment in the compound, it was unlikely that there would have been a shooting. They could have captured Badrai alive, and avoided the whole nightmarish situation they had now become embroiled in.

He didn't blame her though. He blamed himself. It was his role as their CO to avoid this very situation, to lead by example and avoid becoming emotionally involved. He had taken his eye off the ball the minute he had become involved with Molly.

She wasn't to blame. He was.

It still didn't quell the burning resentment that he felt when provided with overwhelming evidence that she loved Smurf though. And it was certainly a hot topic of conversation tonight. He knew exactly what the other lads were thinking, and whispering about when they thought he wasn't listening. About how she had taken Smurf's engagement ring, and was still wearing it round her neck when they came home. About how she had been with him when he died, and was staying with his mum now. They were questions he was asking himself. Back on that day and night in Bath, he quite frankly hadn't cared how strong her friendship with Smurf was. It didn't matter to him. But now, a toxic combination of guilt, pain, and jealousy was tearing up his insides. Which was why he had to leave, preferably now.

He realised that the barman had filled the tray in front of him with his requested drinks, and was waiting expectantly for payment. Charles apologised for his lack of attention before handing over a couple of dog eared notes from his wallet and taking the tray away from the bar. The drinks rippled and some began to overflow onto the tray, a combination of his uneven limp and uncoordinated stumbling. Those whiskies were now beginning to have an effect on his balance, and he felt a slight sway pull him as he walked.

He slammed the tray down a little harder than he had anticipated, and drew the attention of everybody seated at the table with the action. Baz Vegas dutifully lifted the drinks from the tray, ignoring the spillage that swirled around the bottom of it, and handed them out. In the meantime, a chair had been provided to him in place of the seat he had been in, which was now occupied by Molly. He would need to sit opposite her, in the only spot currently unoccupied. Just what he needed.

Brains took his opportunity, and cleared his throat before raising his glass midway in the air.

"Now that we're all here, I'd like to say a few words. Smurfoid was a one off; a piss-taking, sheep-shagging, daffodil munching, Welsh wanker." A few muffled laughs rose into the air from the table. "But he was our piss-taking, sheep-shagging, daffodil munching, Welsh wanker. And we loved him for it."

"To Smurf." He raised his glass fully in the air.

"Smurf" the rest of the table matched him, raising a glass to their departed comrade.

::::::

He hadn't left. Of course he hadn't. As soon as he sat down and realised that leaving would involve dragging himself away from her company for the first time in weeks, he couldn't pull himself away. Even if it hurt, he wanted to be near her. He didn't add much to the conversation, just polished off his drinks in relative silence. He had lost count of how many he had drunk now. He remained a quiet observer as the banter began to flow, the copious amounts of alcohol on the go beginning to have their effect.

"We should do this every year. All of us, come to Newport on this day every year to remember him." Kinders was beginning to slur slightly now, but everybody at the table appreciated the sentiment.

"He would have liked that" Molly spoke quietly but resolutely, still miles behind the rest of them in the drinking stakes.

Kinders didn't stop there though, although he should have "it's ok, you know Molls" he launched an arm around her shoulder as he spoke. "You don't have to pretend with us lot that you're ok"

"Course I'm not bloody ok. I was at my best mate's funeral today."

"Molls. We all know you and Smurf were more than best mates. I told you in Cyprus that I knew you two were loved up. We're all family here, there's no need to pretend for our benefit."

Charles closed his eyes tightly, resting his head against the firm chair behind him, willing himself not to say a word. Molly certainly didn't say a word to correct Kinders, just looked at her hands.

He felt his stomach lurch, and suddenly released he was in trouble.

He felt a force propel him from his chair suddenly, shocking himself when he realised that it was his own body taking charge. He looked at the curious faces around the table, wondering why he had stood so suddenly, with such intent.

"Don't mind me" he tried not to look at her as he said it. "Call of nature", he beckoned his head towards the toilets, indicating where he was headed, and stumbled down the narrow corridor towards his destination.

He could feel the room spin as he moved towards the gents. The sweet, choking smell of perfume sat in his throat when a group of women passed him, dressed up to the nines, heels clacking on the hard floor.

"Alright soldier!"

"Cor, he's a bit of alright ladies. Check out the uniform."

He ignored them as he elbowed his way past the crowd, now feeling the bile rising in his throat. The door slammed forcefully behind him as he made it to a cubicle just in time, emptying the contents of his stomach into the white bowl. He felt the cold beads of perspiration on his head as he leaned against the cool porcelain, willing himself to get it together.

::::

When he had composed himself as much as possible, and flung copious amounts of cold water at his face in an attempt to sober up, he made his way towards the exit. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he exited, bloodshot eyes meeting him in the reflection. How the hell had it come to this?

He felt his footsteps stall before he was even past the threshold. She stood waiting outside, leaning against the wall patiently. At the sound of the door opening, she lifted her head and looked at him. Really looked at him, for the first time that night.

"You alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

She sighed, her irritation becoming obvious. "This reminds me of another conversation at the FOB."

She wasn't the only one who was irritated. "Yes, about the exact same topic, funnily enough." He looked away, every inch the sulking child.

He had to ask. He had to know. Before he could talk himself out of it, he threw the concept out there.

"Did you love him?" He asked under his breath, not quite sure if he was ready to hear the answer.

She looked at him in disbelief. "Of course I loved him. He was my best mate."

"You know what I mean Molly. Were you in love with him?"

"How can you even ask me that?"

"Well I think it's fairly obvious. You arrived at his funeral with his family. You're staying with Candy." He moved closer, until there was barely any space between them, and he could feel her shallow breaths hitch in her throat. He placed his fingers around the necklace which sat around her neck, pulling the bottom of it towards him to hold the offending item between his fingers and hold it between them both "you're wearing his fucking engagement ring."

"You're drunk."

"I might be drunk, but at least I'm being honest. It makes one of us."

"What do you want me to say? I loved him as a best mate. I'm wearing his ring cos he asked me to keep it safe till he needed it."

Her words stung him, and he choked back a laugh in disbelief before responding.

"Bollocks. You heard him Molly. That day in my quarters when you hid in the wardrobe. When he told me himself that he was giving that bloody ring to you. You heard every single word he said. You know he wasn't giving it to you to keep safe. He was asking you to marry him."

She was crying now, but he had to finish. Why the fuck did he start this, he had awoken a deep sense of rage inside him about the whole thing. "You had every opportunity to tell him no, but you didn't. You took it and wore it round your neck instead. What am I supposed to think?"

She looked up at him, tears still cascading down her cheeks. "Alright so I'm a coward! I didn't want to tell him no cos I couldn't face it. I offered to give it back when you were in the hospital, he wouldn't take it."

"Yes and you know exactly why! Because he loved you!"

She shook her head, as if she didn't quite register his point, and it infuriated him even more. He maintained enough self awareness to know that he had to stop this now, but the jealous, irrational, sulking boy inside of him egged him on regardless.

"How many times?" He practically growled at her.

She looked incredulously at him. "You what?"

"How many times did you sleep with him?"

Her jaw widened in disbelief. "Do you seriously expect me to answer that?"

"Well there's at least one that I know of. How many more times?"

He saw the look of disdain in her eyes, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had finally pushed her too far.

"You complete bastard. I can't believe you're actually asking me that. You know it was once, and it was in the past."

"Do I? I don't know anything anymore."

"You're right about that. You don't know anything. You certainly don't know me." She practically spat the words at him.

His head was spinning. He knew this was all wrong, but he couldn't stop it. He couldn't stop lashing out, forcing her to deal with his pain. "For once tonight, we agree on something."

The words were out before he could stop them. A wave of nausea overtook him as he sank to the ground, unable to deal with the spinning for another moment.

All he saw was the back of her head as she stormed out of the hotel, and out of his life.

::::::::::::

AN2. So, that was the introduction. As you may have noticed, it's not the happiest of chapters, and our CJ and Molly aren't in a great place! Neither of them are perfect, and in the situation they are in, it would be strange to expect that of them. The plan I have in mind for this is angsty, although please be assured that I can't abide stories with an unhappy ending, it's just the journey to that part which might be painful! I'd really love to hear what people think of this, and whether it's worth exploring.

Song inspiration is Unfinished Sympathy by Massive Attack.