This is my first Charles/Molly story, I feel a bit late to the party but this story has grabbed hold of me and really won't let go. R&R, I have more of this written so I'm hoping to update fairly regularly. Thank you!

Chapter 1

After her third deployment, when she came home to Charles, they were back in his one bedroom flat in Bath, the one he'd had since he'd left home. His Mum and Dad had bluntly told him to stop wallowing in his old room and go back to his own place. So that's how he'd ended up back there.
The way he'd described it to her over her tour she was half expecting to come home to some grotty, piss-smelling, bedsit but despite his continued protests she didn't think it was half bad.

"I'm sorry it's so messy." He'd half laughed as she chucked her rucksack down by the sofa. Messy wasn't the right word, Molly had thought, well-lived suited it more. There were trinkets and photos and a rawly overpowering smell of Charles sewn into the seams of the furniture.

"Not bad for a bachelor pad boss-man." She watched him throw her a loose smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, an undercurrent of tiredness she hadn't really noticed before.

"When Rebecca and I were together we had a place but I always hung onto this one, even when Sam was born and we probably could've used the money." He paused and let out a quick sigh. "I think I subconsciously always knew I'd end up back here." He huffed and then shook his head. "And why the fuck am I being all miserable when my beautiful girlfriend has just returned back to me?" He cocked his eyebrow and tackled Molly into a hug.

"Exactly, you tosser, bloody hell if I want depressing I just have to go round to see Dad on a footie night, don't bleeding need it from you as well." He chuckled lightly into her neck and breathed in deeply. The weight of him in her arms, after what had felt like years, was a reminder she was finally home.
He'd hugged her at Brize, but it had been excited and too short and his parents had been stood to the side watching on. He had been a powder keg of happiness, shaky and smiley and too riled up to properly be her Charlie.
Now however he was solid. The grip of his fingers into her shirt was slight but it grounded her against him like an anchor. He was warm and a beacon for her to latch onto, so she let out a breath into his chest and squeezed him tighter.

"You smell like Afghan." It wasn't an insult, Molly didn't think, from the way his breath hitched when he let go of that sentence it felt like it had some levity behind it.
"Well then maybe you can help me wash it off?" Her voice was cocky as she pulled herself back from him. Molly drew her hands down his chest, the bumps of his muscles like a map beneath them.
She could feel the tremble of his body and the catch in his voice.

"I think that sounds like a great idea." His face was level with Molly's now as he dropped his forehead against hers. The deep brown of his eyes burned straight through Molly as Charles traced his hands up the back of her shirt. "Probably the best idea you've ever had in fact."

He was naked apart from the supports strapped around his foot and she wanted to jump him. Three months, 12 whole weeks of jolted, frequently interrupted phone sessions, during which she'd pictured him back at home, lying on their bed, rubbing himself like she was there with him.
In short, 12 weeks of absolute torture.

Molly was perched on the edge of the bath, watching Charles undo the final strap of foot brace and dump it to the side.
"You're watching me like you want to eat me." He laughed and balanced himself against the sink. His limp was most pronounced when he was naked, when he didn't have the Army issue, carbon fibre supports that kept his right foot from dragging every time he took a step. Without it he was a vulnerable canvas of still red scars and no longer hidden disabilities.

Seeing him so vulnerable, when he'd been her unbelievably strong Captain had been something Molly had struggled with. In the end though she realised rehab could only do a little, slowly, where the bullets had done so much, so quickly.
If she thought about it for too long she could still see the blood pouring from the jagged scar across his stomach, and so she didn't let herself.

"If I can't appreciate you when you're naked what is even the point of me coming home. Three whole months without getting to see this." She raised her eyebrows as he licked his lips.
"I'll admit phone sex isn't quite the same." He cupped himself briefly as he padded across the tiles towards her.
"Mmm, no it is not." Her hands found his waist as she dragged him towards her, her eyes level with his belly button. "But first, I need a wash." With a quick squeeze of his arse, which left him laughing and almost falling over his own feet she dropped herself into the bath, warm, soapy water pulling the tension out of her immediately.
"Fucking tease." He grumbled and she flipped him the finger.

Molly closed her eyes and let a slow, steady breath out. Behind her eyes she could still feel the heat and the tension, the stress of Bastion. She exhaled the dust and warmth and grime that had clung to her unendingly.
This third tour had followed only a couple of months after her second, if Molly Dawes could be held to one thing, it was that she never left a job half finished.

A soft grunt from Charles' direction forced her to open her eyes.
"Need a hand Charlie?" He shook his head as he flopped down behind Molly, the force of it sending water splashing over the sides. "You've gotten better at that." She beamed up at him from where she'd settled herself between his legs. He pouted in response.
"Is being able to get into a bath really something to brag about?" She shoved his leg playfully where it rested around her waist.
"It is when some twat face Taliban paralysed your bloody foot you numpty." His arms snaked around her waist, his chin resting on her head.
"When you put it that way, makes me sound pretty cool."
"Proper war hero."
"Don't appreciate the sarcasm Mols." She let herself be held, let herself enjoy the domesticity of something so simple. He smelt like home, masculine and strong and clean. Getting used to loving Charles, not Captain James had been more than just his newfound vulnerability. She loved him for more than his appearance of course but the changes were new things she had to learn about him. He no longer smelt of sand and sweat and starchy, army issue soap, he kept his hair loose and wavy, not as tight to army regs as it'd once been. He'd filled out the sharp lines of his cheeks with some weight and his muscles had softened under her touch. He was as beautiful as he had always been, but she was learning to love him even more as he was now.

His hands traced up her stomach, fingers dancing lightly under her chest. "I missed your boobs." He sounded so wistful she couldn't help but laugh.
"Proper nice to know you care about the important things."
"Your boobs are important things." He was so defensive it was almost funny. He dropped his head to start kissing her neck, hands working across her chest with familiarity. "Very, very important things." Molly sighed and started to turn herself around, fully intending on getting her hands on as much of him as possible. "Not yet." It was a whisper against her ear. His strong arms pinned her back against his chest. "Let me take care of you first." It sent shivers through her, the heat of his breath against her cheek.

"What did I do to deserve you?" She sighed as his right hand dipped below the water.

"I ask myself the same thing every day."

"Me and Charlie were thinking of coming down to see you lot in a few days if you want that." Molly was tucked up on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket watching some shit on TV.
"That sounds nice Mols, your Dad wants to show Charles off to his mates, that his own daughter's dating a posh fella." Belinda was on the other end of the phone, putting on Charles' accent. Molly laughed lightly. "Plus we haven't seen you since you got back."
"Yeah well, Charlie wanted to come and get me and that, show off his walking. Brize Norton's not even that far from Bath really, his Mum dropped us off." Molly could hear her Mum sigh.
"You're not ashamed of us are ya Mols?"
"Fuck off Mother am I hell." Belinda laughed weakly and Molly ran a hand through her hair. "Genuinely, he just wanted to come get me, he's been having it rough without me about to help him, think he just wanted to see me as soon as."
"Don't blame him, you're a bloody saint, this place is a shit show without you."
"Alright then, he's packing my stuff away for me so I should probably go and help." Molly shrugged the blanket off her shoulders and stood up. "Love you mum."
"Love you too darlin' speak to you soon."

Molly padded across the carpet in her socks, past the little kitchen and towards the bedroom. She stopped at the door, Charles was perched on the edge of the bed facing away from her. He was just in his boxers, his back lit up softly by the bedside lamp. This room felt as though it told more stories than Charles could ever tell her. A lot of things about Charlie gave that impression.
The walls were decorated in photos of him as a teenager, arms around friends and family.
She felt as though she was stood in a time capsule. The Charles James who was a bright eyed, bushy tailed army officer cadet with a glistening career ahead of him sat in front of her.
If she looked close enough she could follow the timeline further. His Sandhurst acceptance letter was clearly pinned on his wall surrounded by an array of photos of Charlie. She could have presumed they were recent, he hadn't changed much over the years, except for the fact his rank was betrayed by his uniform and Molly was staring not at the Captain, but at Lieutenant James.
Molly could recognise the landscape anywhere however, could spot the dust in the cracks of a smile and the tan lines that come from wearing full kit on patrol. Afghanistan gave itself up easily.
The photos of Sam were clustered into their own section just above his desk, pinned with much more care than the others.

"Thought you were supposed to be packing my stuff away." He let out a grunt and jumped to his feet, hand grabbing for something against his leg. "What are you doing, were you having a wank or something you dirty bugger?" Molly laughed and walked towards the edge of the bed.

The lamp light flickered as Charles span around.

Molly stopped.

Charles stopped.

It was a moment, only a moment but she saw fear in his eyes. She saw a look she hadn't seen since she'd had her fist in his abdomen trying to stop him dying in front of her. He looked at her like he was drowning, he was drowning and she couldn't save him.
She could almost hear him screaming her name.

His hand trembled against his thigh.

"Thought I was supposed to be the jumpy one mister." Her smile was a cease fire. He forced his eyes up to look into hers and ran a hand through his hair.

"I, um, I just got distracted, you surprised me. Sorry if I gave you a fright." She looked at the photos of him on the wall and back to the man in front of her.

"Now help me put my crap away." She wondered if he still recognised himself in them.

"Yes ma'am." If she had noticed that his hands were still trembling as he reached for her bag, she chose not to say anything.