AN: So I posted this last night, but I was so unhappy with the overall finish, I had to delete and try to polish it up – so second time lucky.
This is the first instalment of (possibly) three pieces. I'm not sure if I'm any good at multi-chapter fics, so please bare with - it's a sort of experiment!
Feel free to leave reviews – because that's what keeps me motivated. Hopefully I'll have it all finished and posted by the end of the week. I dislike posting WIP's but this has been on my computer for long enough now.
All rights to respective owners.
Lacey.
xox
We all fall down
He wakes with the feeling that the day is going to be a good one; one where everything goes to plan and it all just seems to be easy. He's been lucky and had several of them lately, and he doesn't stop to question why. Instead, though he knows that he's wrong, he assumes it has something to do with returning to Bastion for the final stretch of their tour.
It's early; the pinkish orange hue of the rising sun stretches and blends with the softening blue that's left behind as the shadow of nightfall gradually retreats. Captain James slips out of bed and into his combat boots, grabs his towel and heads for the shower block so he can steal a few quiet moments before the men, and woman, of his section begin to stir.
Showering is a process that usually takes him no more than three minutes – a rule he's pounded into the soldiers within his charge – but the cloudless sky promises a day full of sunshine and ease; a mirror of the day before, and the day before that, and he ends up spending a few extra minutes under the barely warm, streaming water, and in the privacy of the shower stall, he allows himself to feel content.
The smell of fried bacon and sausages wafts through the air a little while later, making his mouth water and stomach grumble. Almost as if it's an alarm clock, the soldiers of his section begin to filter out of their tent, yawning and stretching, and already teasing with the usual smutty banter that passes between them. Captain James heads to the mess tent, where the majority of the soldiers are already lining up, and leaves with a bacon butty in one hand and an instant coffee in the other. He has no intentions of hanging around the boisterous men – he's pretty sure he's heard something about a sausage challenge, which really isn't his sort of entertainment. Instead he heads straight for his usual breakfast spot; a small space behind the Pizza Hut cabin, where the noise is minimal and the morning rays are caught perfectly.
She's already there by the time he gets there, which surprises him, because she's no morning person.
Private Dawes is sitting on top of the large generator cage, knees pulled up to her chest, hands cradling a steaming cup, eyes closed and face turned to the sky as she soaks up as much sun as possible. As if she can sense him watching her, she turns to him and smiles, all teeth and dimples, and he can't help but smile back. His eyes stay locked on her, even after she's looked away and shimmied over a little to make room for him to sit with her; which, of course, he does, as he has done for too many mornings to count, now.
It's a new routine he welcomes eagerly, because there's something almost intimate about spending the first few moments of her day with her; when he can still see sleep in her eyes, when her chocolate tresses fall loosely around her shoulders, when she's happy to sit in silence because she's not quite awake; it's like her guard is down and she's completely bare to him.
He may have only known Dawes for five months, but there are feelings that run far deeper for her than he'd ever felt for his wife, Rebecca; a fact that makes him angry – at himself, at her, at the whole damn situation. But if there's one thing he prizes himself on, it's his ability to mute the little voice in his head that tells him he's being devastatingly unfair to the woman – the mother of his child – that's waited at home for his return for the entirety of four damn tours. He may have been willing to be painstakingly ignorant to their dying marriage, but apparently she wasn't. Part of him had hoped that if he could just make it through another tour, it'd all smooth out and be okay. The divorce papers that had finally arrived yesterday had proved his theory wrong.
And it's those papers that haunt him as Dawes stands before him later that morning, boldly flirting within earshot of his section, and he knows she can see the doubt in his eyes, hear it in his voice, and when she asks if he regrets this, her, he cant answer, because it's not her he doubts, but himself, and they agreed to wait out so he's not having this conversation here. So instead, he orders her to get ready for their mission, and he walks away, tries to place distance between himself and the guilt and it's not until he's left her standing there, staring after him, that he realises he wants anything but distance.
He kits up.
The mission reads easy on paper. The location has been marked on their map, and the ANA are positive they can be there within twenty minutes. Dawes sits opposite him, and her knees knock against his with each bump in the gritty road, but he can tell from watching her that she's anywhere but here. Her attention is focused on the retreating horizon barely visible through the grated window, and her brow creases with worry. It takes every bit of his restraint not to reach over and smooth the lines out with his thumb.
As if she can feel his gaze on her, she turns to him. "Reckon they're expectin' us, Sir?" He can see the fear there, etched in her irises.
"Let's hope not," he returns, and she nods, but he can tell it's done nothing to reprieve the anxiety that's tormenting her. "We'll be in and out," he promises.
And he's right.
The intel was bad, Badrais continues to allude them and Dawes was struck by a volatile insurgent, but they've put a stop to a small terrorist cell dedicated to building IED's and have detained three insurgents without any gun fire, so that still makes for a good day in Captain James' book. Six of the eight ANA soldiers stay behind whilst they await another vehicle, and he and Dawes head back with the other two within thirty minutes of arriving.
Large, rolling grey clouds begin to fill the sky a few minutes into the return journey, and though the sun is being swallowed by the ominous sky, the heat doesn't let up. The humidity rises, and if they were uncomfortable before, it's even worse now. He wishes for his air conditioned hut and to strip himself of his heavy kit.
When small, scattered raindrops begin to fall from the darkening sky, and a low grumble of thunder is heard somewhere in the distance, Dawes turns to Captain James and smirks.
"Well, who'd have thought it, ay, Boss?"
He begins to smile back, a witty remark on the tip of his tongue, but everything is suddenly jerking sideways, wrenching his body to the right, and then he's violently thrust forwards, limbs flailing like a ragdoll on a spin cycle. His ears fill with the sound of the world ending; loud and booming, and he can hear Dawes screaming so he knows she's in motion too, he just doesn't know why.
It goes pitch black, his head pounds and body throbs, and he can't tell which way is up and which way is down, and he's not entirely sure he's even conscious any more.
TBC