This will be a multi-chap Fic focusing on James and Molly's relationship after the end of Our girl series 1. Prepare for a good bit of angst along the way, because lets be honest it was never going to be easy. Thank again to all of you brilliant people who read and review- really makes it all worthwhile- you are all brilliant.

Shrapnel

She's awake- so suddenly that her head spins dangerously as the 4 walls of their bedroom crashes into view. Lungs burning as if alight, her chest rises and falls in a steady staccato- her hands shaking unceasingly. She thrashes, legs tangled with her duvet. Desperately trying to unravel herself in her attempt to find oxygen. Black implacable darkness is all that meets her eyes and she finds herself choking, lungs restricted as if someone is squeezing her airways closed.A scramble of movement next to her pulls the duvet of her legs and the next thing she knows the room is bathed in light. Charles is staring back at her- one hand on the bedside light, his bare chest rising and falling rapidly- smooth skin still tanned from their time together in Afghan. It's only now that her screams came to an abrupt halt, mouth clamming into silence as embarrassment washes over her hot limbs.

'Jesus Moll' he croaks, eyes frantically searching her own. 'Are you alright?'.She shuts her eyes, unable to look into his concern. Desperately focusing instead on the realignment of her breathing back to natural. 3 seconds inhale, 3 seconds exhale, 3 seconds inhale.

'I'm sorry' she manages to mummer, 'just a sodding bad dream'

She hears him move towards her on the bed, but he still doesn't touch her- clearly watching and waiting for what she needs next. In the silence she can hear her own ragged breathing- desperate gulps of oxygen that become familiar when you're an army medic. It's the same breathing pattern he had followed when he had been shot- forcing the bloodied images of her dream back into her mind.

'Do you want some water?' he asks and she can imagine his forehead creasing as he gazes hopelessly at her, mind desperately searching for the killer solution that will fix all of her problems. He goes into captain mode every time this happens, his natural instinct to restore order surfacing before he can stop himself.

'That'd be great thanks' she hears herself say, words scratching at the back of her throat. There's a pause before she hears him move, He's clearly unsure whether it's safe to leave her alone.

'I'll be fine' she croaks, forcing a smile onto her face as she opens her eyes. 'Honest'

He nods stiffly before padding across the room- long legs encased in the West ham pyjama bottoms she had bought him last year for Christmas.

'Focus on normal' she murmurs to herself. 'Come on Moll, pull yourself together.'

She hears him descend the stairs and just like that the sprawling images crash back in. The bloodied figure of Charles writhing at her feet as Smurf stares at her- face vacant like it had been in the hospital- unseeing hopeless eyes. Her stomach drops painfully as it does every morning, as the realisation that he is no more crashes over her. He's become her own personal ghost- A bitter reminder of how much they all lost on that tour. She shifts, her hair hanging down her back in a heavy mane of rat tails- brushing against the cool cotton of James T-shirt that's pooled round her legs. It's a habit from her last tour to wear scraps of his old army clothing, a ritual which she believed then as she does now that it keeps him closer to her. She grabs the hem of it now, gently wiping at her forehead, slicked in sheen of sweat. The light from the hall is causing the mirror over the dresser to wink sleepily at her and she shudders. The last thing she needs now is to view her reflection. Grey skin and wide eyes would stare back- the night time version of Molly Dawes.

Minutes pass and she watches the alarm clock stiffly sliding onwards, the neon numbers slowly moving to half past 2. She's mentally congratulating herself on surviving through till morning as the past few nights have forced her awake way before midnight, her screams reverberating against the thick walls as James stared on- hopelessly. There's a movement on the stairs and she forces her face back into neutral, pushing the duvet back to the end of the bed to cool down.

'Daddy?' a voice asks and her stomach drops- she's woken Sam again.

'What it is scamp?' James whispers back, loud enough for her to hear the slight inflection of worry in his tone.

'What was that noise?'

'It was just Molly' he replies 'now get back in bed,' there's a rustle of Sam's duvet and she imagines him tucking Sam back into bed, bending to kiss his sons forehead in the darkness.

'Is she okay?' Sam asks.

'It was just a bad dream' he replies 'like you have sometimes'

'Are you going to read her a bed time story- 'Like you do for me?'

'Yes Sam' she hears him laugh.

'Can I give her a hug?'

There's a pause while he considers his request. 'It's a bit late. Get some sleep solider- We'll see you in the morning'

Tears bubble at her eyes but she brushes them away quickly. This is the third night this week that Sam's been forced awake by her shouting, an occurrence which doesn't seem to be reducing anytime soon. She's found herself glancing guiltily at him every morning as he yawns at the breakfast table- fists on his spoon as he scoops coco pops from his bowl.

'You okay?' he murmurs, appearing at the door, glass of water in hand

She nods in response. 'Sorry, I'm such a loon, Pinkie swear it won't happen again'

'You can't control what you dream about'

'Wish I could' she says reaching out to take the water from him, 'Thanks'

'What was it this time?' he asks, sitting beside her on the mattress, hazel eyes boring into her own.

'I-'she slips into silence before answering 'I don't remember'

'Dawes' he warns and there's that look in his eyes- left over from his time as a Captain, the one which gives no room for argument.

'Honest, I don't remember what was going on.' She lies, pushing back her hair so she can break eye contact. 'I just know that it wasn't pleasant'. He moves nearer to her, mattress dipping gently as he stretches out alongside her crossed legs.

'You were screaming my name again' he murmurs, hand brushing through his messy hair and her stomach drops because he doesn't need to know what's going on in her tortured mind. He's got enough to deal with.

'I was screaming Wanker?' she jokes but his lips don't quirk up into a smile.

'Charles' he corrects. 'I'm serious Dawes, if you're suffering from troubled dreams you need to say. Sometimes talking about the dream can-'

'Stop it from happening again' she interrupts before she can stop herself. 'Yeah you've said'

He narrows his eyes and she instantly regrets it. 'Sorry' she says, reaching across to take his hand in hers, warm skin slipping against her own. 'I didn't mean to snap.' He squeezes her hand gently in acceptance of her apology, fingers tracing unseen outlines over her shaking fingers.

'I will tell you if it's all getting too much' she promises, though deep down she knows she's lying.

She hears him snort softly in response, 'I'll believe that when I see it'

'I promise' she protests. 'All it's really doing at the minute is waking me up at an ungodly hour'

'Waking us all up at ungodly hour' he reaffirms and she feels guilt flip her stomach at his light hearted jibe, throat swallowing thickly.

'Is Sam alright?' she asks and he nods in the affirmative, pulling her towards him to rest their heads together, her brown whips of hair pooling over his bare chest. Lungs syncopating with his long slow breaths, calming her further.

'He'll be back asleep by now' he says into her neck, voice muffled against her skin as he drops warm kisses along her shoulder blades.

'Alright for some' she says, fingers moving slowly across his abdomen wound in an attempt to subconsciously convince herself that all is well- that his bloodied skin really is better. She stares at his healing, the skin still mottled and puckered from the impact, her exploration causing him to flinch marginally at the progress of her hot hands.

'Well I for one am glad to be awake'

'You what? You're glad you were woken up by a screaming banshee at 2.00 in the morning'

He laughs softly, 'You do have some impressive volume. All this time I thought it was the headset that made you so loud, but it's actually those lungs of yours'

'Oi' she snaps, slapping him playfully on the arm, palm connecting with the thick muscles hidden beneath his battle flecked arms. 'Says you. On tour you were screaming my name like it was going out of fashion. Dawes. Dawes' she mimics 'Bloody hell Dawes'

'Because you were such a troublesome shit'

'Troublesome' she snorts 'I sound like a naughty school girl'

'That's exactly what you are'

'Ditto' she quips before she can stop herself- laughter bubbling out as he stares at her in mock indignation.

'That's it' he grins, flipping her over onto her back with a thump. Strong arms pinning her down. 'You're gonna get it now'.

She opens her mouth to protest but his warm lips have found her own. Silencing her before she even has a chance to shout back at him. Glorious warmth spreading through her as his lips battle with her own, teasing across her neck and sending her mind blank, Thoughts of Afghan are far from her mind in a few stuttering heartbeats.

The playground is jam packed by the time she arrives, one hand looped with Sam as he skips along, the other holding a melee of bags and football boots.

'I don't remember ever having this much stuff' she protests,You go to a proper fussy school Sam'

He grins back at her. 'Daddy said not to listen to you when you complain about school. He said you didn't go'

'Well your daddy is a proper-'she stops herself just in time as Sam giggles back at her, it's the same smile as his dads, all coy and mischievous. 'Tell him he's a proper Rupert'.

They've stopped near the school doors, In view of the teachers who are ushering hyperactive children into the various classrooms as parents look on- chatting amicably to each other in the dappled shade of the morning. 'It's like a bloomin garden party' she murmurs to herself as one of the parents nearby tips back her head in loud laughter, crimson nails splayed across her Michael Kors handbag. She glances down at Sam- he doesn't appear too tired this morning (all things considered) and a wave of relief washes over her. She's on school drop of duty today, a new role which she's found herself doing more and more since Charles rehab has stepped up- not that she's complaining.

''Here's your stuff then' she says, passing over the various boxes and bags 'you're like a little solider. We don't have half as much kit as you when we go away'

'I'm like you and daddy' is his reply, little chest puffing out in pride. 'See you tonight Molly- I'm off to Afghanistan'

She sends him a mock salute as he marches off across the playground and into school pausing only once to salute back to her- brilliant smile visible on his features. She stands quietly for a while smiling after him, her mind thinking of another little girl- older than Sam whom they had fought so hard to get to school. Before she can stop herself her hand dips to her phone, screen illuminating the recent pictures that have been sent over- carefree joy and happiness the only features visible on Bashira's face.

A soft cough behind her snaps her back to her senses. She swivels to see, Michael kors bag stood behind her- red nails clutching a white iPhone.

'Hi' the woman says, and she notices that she's drawing out the one syllable, a habit which makes her seem even more imposing. 'You must be Molly. Captain James'….. Friend?'

'Hi' she stammers in reply, already deeply uncomfortable. Red nails has a funny sort of glint in her eyes flicking down her body to take in her skinny black jeans and oversized jumper.

'I'm Amanda' She says, face forced into a semblance of a smile- it's a similar look to the one the lions had in the wildlife programme Sam had made them watch last night, glaring across at the wildebeest on the savannah. 'Barnaby is my son; he's in Sam's Class'

'Oh right'

'I'm actually one of Rebecca's close friends' the smile widens, clearly she's going in for the kill. 'Tell me, what does she think of your 'friendship' with Captain James?'

She stares back, shocked. Unable to process the words this women is throwing at her.

'Oh don't answer that' Amanda interrupts 'silly me, it's just she was always so nervous that Charles would fall in with the wrong sort after the divorce. What with him being in the army and all that'

'What's wrong with the army?' she asks, voice low and pained and she doesn't know why she's doing this to herself. Forcing herself to listen to this rubbish.

'Oh nothing, nothing at all' Amada replies breezily, 'it's just you can find yourself mixing with all sorts of unsavoury people if you're not careful'

Silence bubbles between them, rapidly reaching an intensity which grates against her skull as she stares speechlessly back at Amanda's perfectly blended foundation.

'Anyway' Amanda continues 'best be off- send our love to Charles. We so miss having him on the playground. He was always so nice to chat too' and with that Amanda's gone, waving patronisingly in farewell, leaving her reeling. The only evidence of the conversation coming from the faint smell of Miss Dior hanging on the breeze.

Rain has been falling in sheets for what feels like eternity, making easy work of her T-shirt hours before- soaking through to her skin in a matter of seconds. Up ahead Charles is splashing through the puddles, trainers whipping up flecks of mud onto the path and her leggings. She watches him run, shorts a darker shade of blue then when they had set out, bleached to almost black by the rain.

'Oi- Bossman' she yells as her aching legs finally came to a stop. Water choosing that exact moment to slide stealthily down her top, cold residue from the leaves above. He keeps running, disappearing from her view in a matter of seconds as he turns a corner in the thick trees. She lets out a deep exhale, spitting onto the ground to clear her airways and re-steady her breathing. Her burning lungs reminding her of those night time terrors- the sweat, the memory, the gun and she clenches her forehead angrily- muscles attempting to crush the potency of her mind. Glancing at her watch she realises they had been running for well over an hour and she swears softly. A pang of worry gripping her stomach as she thinks of the pressure he's placing on his recovering limbs. As expected he's dedicated himself wholly to his recovery, his stubbornness nothing short of pig-headed in his desire to get better. At first it had been brilliant to see, too many soldiers flounder aimlessly after injury- but recently it's boarded on obsessive, taking over every minute of their time in his pursuit to improve.

Thoughts of his injury flash her mind back to afghan, with its searing treacle heat and overinflated sun- so giant in the sky it looked like a mutant planet, lost on the horizon. She smiles as she remembers how often she had wished to be back in England just to feel the rain trickling down her top as it is now. So she walks onwards, saturated trainers splashing through the puddles with little concern. He reappears up ahead- breathing infuriatingly steady.

'Why have you stopped Dawsey?' he shouts 'and don't you dare tell me you can't keep up with the pace. I'm a fucking invalid'

'You're not my captain anymore' she yells 'I don't have to run when you say'

'Thank god' he grins, 'wouldn't be able to do what I did last night if I was'. She blushes- heat steaming to the surface of her skin before she can stop it and he lets out a bark of laughter at her embarrassment.

'Isn't love stronger than army regulations boss?' she asks.

'Nothing is stronger than army regulations' he replies,covering the muddy ground in a matter of seconds to stand as they had been the day the words were first exchanged.

'Except you Dawse' He adds, hands somehow circling her damp torso, holding her close against his soaking T-shirt before she's realised 'You're my exception'

'Right answer' she replies, 'why couldn't you have said that first time round?'

'Shut up' he growls and his lips have hungrily found her own. She smiles against her mouth as she winds her arms round his neck to pull him down to her height, his hands resting on the waist of her leggings covered in the dark earth of the forest. Before she can stop herself she's teased his mouth open, her tongue flicking gently into his own- as he pulls her hips flush with his strong arms- holding her against him as she kisses him back. He's soaking, her fingers pushing out stray raindrops from his hair as they scrape through his unruly curls- his damp T-shirt pressing into his own.

'We should get back' she says pulling away minutes later , eyes opening into his as holds her close. 'Don't want to catch hyperthermia- no matter how good at kissing you are'

She notices a fleck of mud on his cheek and she wipes it away gently, smoothing across his skin. He's looking at the path up ahead, trees leaning conspiratorially inwards as the rain continues to pour down with a sorrowful expression on his face.

'We've been running for hours' she says, pushing back her jacket sleeve to show him her watch face. 'I think it's time for you to go back inside.'

'Me?' he says leaning away from her to look into her eyes- his own narrowed as he views her. Irritation is bubbling up instantly, she can see it in his tensed shoulder and she almost lets out a huff at frustration because that's not what she meant.

'I meant us' she corrects, 'don't want to overdo it'

'I'm perfectly capable'. He replies, clenching his jaw as he gazes at her. 'The doctor said last week that I could think about upping my exercise. '

'He said you might be able to resume short bursts of moderate exercise' she corrects and she's pulling away from him- hands wrapping round her body to cradle her wet clothes , 'even by your high flipping standards that run could never be classed as that'

'I think I know what my doctor meant'

'And as a medic I'm saying you're wrong.' She snaps and then realises her voice is raised. She forces herself to take a breath before she continues. 'If you put too much pressure on it now the ligaments won't be able to cope later on' she glances downwards, eyes resting critically on the healing wound,

'Nice to know you still have the answer to everything'.

'It's my job to know the answer to this- it's what the sodding army pay me to do'

'I think I'll stick with the advice given to me by the UK's leading orthopaedic consultant' He jibes, liquid eyes clouding to a darker shade of black. 'Rather than the advice of an army medic.'

'Dr Stanton would agree with me 'she protests but her words come out limp- she doesn't have the energy for him right now, not when he's like this.

'Course' he grins back. That patronising smirk undermining all of her authority in one quick glance. It's times like this that she loathes his injury, granted it had been deeply traumatising for him to deal with- but currently it only serves to get between them.

'Piss off' she says, turning to walkback the way they've come. 'I can't cope when your like this- it does my nut in'

He grabs her arm to hold her back, but she shrugs free, stepping ahead of him in the darkening wood.

'Molly' he says, 'Molly'. She ignores him, breaking into a jog before she can stop herself- desperate to get back to the house, away from him.

'You're ignoring me.' He shouts and she hears him let out a sarcastic laugh. 'Hilarious Dawes'

'Stop calling me Dawes' she yells back, 'I'm your fucking girlfriend not your medic' A protest she's making more on principle than the fact she doesn't like it. 'You're doing my head in'

'Everything does you in' he shouts back.

'No.' she fumes and by this point the forest is whipping past her in a hazy blur. 'At the minute it's just the massive prick jogging after me'

She wakes the next morning to the sun bouncing gleefully across the bed sheets, funnelled through a crack in the curtains. Coming in late last night she had managed to force herself through the shower before crashing out on their bed once again to a night of unsettled dreams. She sits up and her gaze instantly falls on the mangled duvet and empty glass of water on the floor- a dark patch of liquid around its base- a spill she doesn't remember making before she fell asleep. Even before she looks she knows his side will be empty but she glances across anyway- determined to torture herself. Underneath the white cotton of the pillow case is the maroon of his pyjama bottoms, spilling out onto the sheet. No doubt he must slept on the sofa.

She loves him- she knows that without hesitation but it's all been so much harder than she thought it would be. It had seemed so simple when she had come home from her second tour of afghan- he had welcomed her back into his life with an intensity which she adored. She can picture his grinning face even now as she appeared on his doorstep for Christmas. But the weeks since then have been such a steep learning curve that it's only just beginning to dawn on her how little she really knows him. Getting to know his parents, his son, his routine, watching his rehab, meeting Rebecca whilst all along the nightmare terrors get worse- Creeping into her mind like old friends and playing out their twisted and painful memories as if on stage- Forcing her brain into the front row of seats.

There's movement on the stairs, his soft footfalls clambering up to the landing with ease and she panics, unsure of what to say to him after yesterday. She's reaching for the duvet before she can stop herself, scrambling underneath it so she can attempt pretence of sleep. She hears him pause outside Sam's door even though he isn't home; he's staying with his mum tonight, a change which has given her a welcome excuse to avoid Amanda from the playground- not that she's mentioned that encounter to Charles. Thoughts of Rebecca force her mind even further into despair. The platinum ice queen- all perfectly chiselled cheek bones and manicured nails. It was fair to say she had been tolerant of molly, smiling wanly at her when they met, even attempting broken shards of conversation through her pursed lips. Yet she was unable to shake the overriding sense that she was being judged, That Sam's mother was silently watching and wondering at the colossal mistake Charles has made.

The door to their room opens, clicking softly on the lock and she hears him pad into the room. She's forced her eyes closed- scrunching them against the golden light that's pooling onto the duvet. Behind her screen of hair she hears a light clunk as he sets something down on his bedside table, then silence.

'I know you're awake' he murmurs after a while, the mattress shifting as he sits down on her side of the bed, his legs brushing against her knees. She doesn't move, stock still- eyes glued shut waiting for his next move.

'Your right eye flickers when you're pretending to sleep' he sighs 'Trust me Moll I've seen it enough times now'. He shifts closer, warmth connecting through the thin duvet and she feels her hands twitch subconsciously- aching to connect with his but she tames them, anger still bubbling under the surface for all the stupid things he's said.

'I'm sorry' he finally says 'I was out of order. I don't know what got into me.' she feels him shift again- duvet shifting between them. 'I guess I've never been any good at being called up on my bull shit'. He's watching her- she can feel his gaze on hers, brushing over her skin like a soft embrace, resting on her right eye causing it to double in its flickering.

'I think it's just this injury' he says, voice halting and sad. 'I'm so sick of it now. All its doing at the minute is slowing me down, holding me back from our life together.' And her heart clenches painfully at that because she gets it, can understand that he's frustrated 'I just want to be better- like it was before, So I guess that's why I'm hitting my training so hard- it's no excuse but I just want to be myself again'

She exhales slowly, hot breath fanning out across their room as her mind spins like a live wire- processing all his emotion.

'And I love you' he chokes. 'You're everything I've always wanted and more. But fucking hell I miss the army. When I wake up in the morning it's the thing I need to be doing. It's like those bloody Rosabaya coffee capsules' he lets out a laugh, warm in the morning light 'I need the army to start my day right. To start my life off again'

Her eyes open slowly to watch him, strong side profile shadowed by the half morning light. He's gazing at the far wall, hands trembling gently in emotion.

'But I'm terrified' he says 'I want to go back but I don't even trust my own command decisions anymore. I put the whole platoon in danger on that last mission, god knows how many we would of lost if you hadn't….' he trails into silence.

She sits up slowly, looping her warm arms round his shoulders and pulling him into her. He smells of toothpaste and aftershave, his skin soft against her neck as she holds him. He's stiff under her touch- mind miles away, lost in the memories of that fateful day, so she squeezes his arm gently, warm pressure slowly relaxing his muscles into calm.

'It wasn't your fault' she murmurs, the familiarity of the lines soothing her own juddering heart as she speaks them. 'Me, you and Smurf were all to blame. We got carried away- let our emotions become more important than the job we were doing.'

'I was in charge' he counters as he always does- gaze still not meeting her own. 'I forced you all into danger when I should have been leading you out from it'

'You're a bloody good captain' she says, voice trembling in the still air of the morning because god dammit it's true. 'I don't care what you think. You saved my arse more than once throughout that tour. Without you I would have been on the first flight home to Brize, but you dragged us all through'

'Not all of you' he murmurs and she sighs gently because he's right- her chest tightening in memory. She chooses her words carefully before speaking again.

'Smurf didn't die on your watch, he didn't even die on tour' she counters, 'none of us could have even noticed something so small' and though she believes the words there are those familiar waves of guilt crashing into her stomach- 'I've got a jitterbug in my head' she remembered him saying, face clenched in anger 'it won't get out'. Warning signs that she hadn't seen, hadn't realised were important until too late.

'They want you back' she reminds him nodding towards the letter splayed open on the dressing table which discusses his next steps after rehab. Her fingers slide across his skin in soothing gestures as she speaks. 'They need you back- there are too many platoons desperate to be terrorised'

He lets out a chocked laugh, smiling gently at her- eyes finally meeting her own. 'And then there's Sam-'

'Who is used to you being away' she interrupts 'and if I'm honest you're probably doing him a favour by not hanging around. Less likelihood of him being a chip off the old block.'

He pulls her closer to him- resting his head on her shoulder. 'I think I need to go back' he murmurs, and it's the first time he's committed to that decision- spoken the words out loud. 'I know it deep down- I'm just shitting myself at what I might find'

'It will all work out' she says in reply as his hands find hers. 'Pinkie promise'

He nods in gentle agreement and then clears his throat, forcing away the vulnerability of the past few minutes as quickly as he can. Emotion has never been something he's liked to reveal, preferring to keep it all inside in a chaotic mess rather than discussing it out in the open.

'Enough on me' he says, forcing a lightness into his tone- slapping his hands gently on his legs like a physical full stop. 'What about your sleep last night, how were your dreams?'

'Fine' she chirps but he looks pointedly away from her to the glass of water stranded on the carpet. A glass of water that she knows was on her dresser before she fell asleep.

'Been having a water fight?' he asks 'How many times do I need to tell you that you can't have one of them by yourself'

'I knocked it this morning you prick' she lies, because once again there is just no need to get him involved, 'My sleep was fine'

'You're sure?' he questions 'because I really think you should see go to someone and talk them through, just before your next tour- as a safety precaution'

She scrunches up her face at him, 'I really don't think I need to'

'Then talk to me about them, I know you're seeing the same thing each night as you always wake up the same. Your breathing starts getting really fast like you're-'

'I'm fine honestly' she interrupts, smiling at him to reduce the sting of his words. 'It's just my body defragging, they'll stop soon.'

'It's been 2 months since your last tour'

'And I'm fine I promise.' He rolls his eyes but she ploughs on. 'But I'll have think about going to see someone if it makes you feel better'

'It really would' he confirms, leaning down to drop a chaste kiss on her temple. 'Thank you'. They sit in silence after that- the light of the morning continuing to crash onto their duvet- brightening as it rises further into the sky. She watches him, long eyelashes fluttering against his tanned skin as they sit together- his face relaxed but impassive. She's reminded of all those times she used to stare at him on tour- glancing across at him when his gaze was angled away to trace the contours of his face, the well defined jaw passed on from his father, the light smattering of stubble across his chin and his lips curving upwards at 2 section pratting about in the distance. He used to catch her, not always but often- turning to catch her blushing gaze in his own, one eyebrow raised in confusion. He's never got it, just how attractive he is, how attractive she finds him- he still can't understand what she means when she tells him just how far out of her league he is.

'Just think' she starts, and now it's her changing the subject 'You could be my boss again'

'Dawes' His voice is slow and steady, patronising as if he's explaining something to Sam.

'Yes boss?'

'I will personally guarantee right now that that won't happen.' he grins. 'In fact I will make 100% certain that you are never my medic again- not after last time'

'Charmed' she says, climbing away from him- legs sliding across the duvet before he can grab her back. 'Not many medics that would save your sorry arse like I did- or treat your bloody blisters'

'I wouldn't have needed you to treat my blisters if I hadn't been forced into new-'

'New Boots' she interrupts 'yeah you said about 50 times on tour'

'Fuck off Dawsey'. And he's reaching out to grab her back, hands splaying across her thighs, sliding up under her T-shirt. She whacks him across the head with her pillow by way of response.

'Are you really provoking me?' he asks, eyebrows are raised as he grins at her. Waiting for her to make the next move, though his hands are not so subtly edging towards his own pillow.

'Depends' she says 'old army veteran like you might not be able to keep up'

'I think you'll find I'm a devilishly handsome army Captain' he corrects grabbing his pillow as she whacks him again. 'And some asshole has just convinced me to re-join, so there'll be no more of that veteran bullshit thank you very much'