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Molly sat quietly on the edge of the bed, watching the ridiculously awful film that Geddings had chosen to put on. She'd already happily downed three beers, but even in her tipsy state, she still couldn't tolerate five more minutes of it.
"I think I should be heading home," she said, standing herself up. Pain seared through her head as she did so, bringing her crashing back down.
"Fucking lightweight, you are," Gedding laughed. "Think you need to sober up a bit first. Come on, we'll walk into town for a coffee. The fresh air alone should work wonders."
Molly knew she didn't have much choice but to agree. Years of being teetotal had certainly weakened her ability to hold a drink. It was already late afternoon and she hadn't planned on staying out too late, even hoping that she might get an early night. She couldn't help but laugh at herself, and the realisation that she'd become old before her time. Still, she thought, there was no harm in being mature.
The walk took about half an hour, but it felt so much less. 'There's fit, and then there's army fit' she remembered being told once. It was so true. Being able to walk for miles in the unrelenting Afghan heat with a fully loaded Bergen was certainly testament enough to the training each and every soldier had to go through.
As Molly and Geddings reached the town, they headed straight for the coffee shop. The cold winter air had frozen her extremities, but had been of little help supressing her nausea. The hot coffee, handed to her in a takeaway cup, was her only hope at sobering up before Christmas.
They wandered through to the castle grounds, admiring the beautifully green park, as the sun set around them. It was blissfully silent, with little more than the noise of trees rustling in the wind. A dog ran across in front of them, the owner chasing behind.
"Not sure who's walking who there!"
Molly watched on with a smile. "I would have loved a dog when I was little."
"Don't you count?"
"Oi, you cheeky git!" She shook her head, wrapping her hands tight around the warm cup. "My parents had too many kids to feed, I reckon. Do you have any siblings, Corp?"
"A brother and a sister actually; both married with kids now."
"Didn't you want that for yourself? Or are you married to your job?"
"Something like that." He turned his head slightly to look at her. "I met someone, years ago now. She was quirky and crazy and strong-minded; but my career got in the way and now it's too late because she's with someone else. I think that's why I volunteered for this transfer. I figured I'm in it for the long haul now, so I may as well give myself a new challenge."
"Didn't think about quitting the army completely then?"
"You must be having a laugh. Can you honestly imagine me being a civvy again?"
Molly stared at him for a moment. "Nah, I guess you're right."
"What about you, Dawes? Not ready for civilian life yet?"
"I dunno if I'll ever be ready to quit… not completely. I guess working at Headley kinda feels like a halfway point. Being an army medic is the only career I've ever really known - if you don't count working in a nail salon that is - and I'd like to think I'm semi-decent at it. Plus I get to be near Charles this way."
"You're pretty serious about him, aren't you?"
"Of course," she fell into a daydream, thinking about the man who could singlehandedly give wings to the butterflies in her stomach, whilst making her insides melt all at the same time. She knew she was head over hills, crazy about him.
"I'm happy for you," Geddings said, sitting down on a nearby bench.
"Really?"
"Yes, really. It's pretty bleeding obvious how much you love the bloke. I wouldn't mind meeting Mr Perfect one day though, maybe get some pointers."
Molly laughed, joining him on the bench and enjoying the darkness that had surrounded them. She leaned her head back, gazing into the night sky.
Suddenly a firework exploded above them, and whilst Geddings looked up, enjoying the spectacular sight, Molly quickly dove underneath the bench, bent down on all fours as the explosions continued.
"Molly?" Geddings knelt down in front of her, holding out his hand. "It's ok, it's just fireworks."
She stared at him, her eyes filled with terror. Her whole body was shaking with uncontrollable panic as she crouched there, squeezing his hand so tightly it began to turn blue. Geddings didn't react to it, instead reaching out his free arm and squeezing her shoulder, desperately trying to find a way to comfort her and help her to calm down.
The fireworks stopped, but it took Molly several minutes to build up the courage to step out from underneath the bench. She felt embarrassed, covering her face with her hands. She could feel tears quickly forming in her eyes as she threw herself into Geddings arms.
"What's wrong with me?" She asked, mentally kicking herself for what her rational mind was telling her was an overreaction.
"There's nothing wrong with you…but I think you've got PTSD."
Molly pulled away, wiping the tears from her eyes. "It's nothing like that. I'm just a bit fragged still and the fireworks scared me."
"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Molly, it's actually quite common."
She remained silent, trying to control her rapid breathing and palpitations. Suddenly another firework went off and she fell to the ground, her hands covering her head.
Geddings knelt down once more, doing his best to reassure her. "I promise you, we'll get you away from here, as soon as you're ready, we'll go back to the coffee shop or something."
As she lay there, refusing to move, her phone began to ring, the vibrations forcing it out of her pocket. Geddings lifted it up, and noticed the caller. As soon as he saw the name lighting up the screen, he knew he had to answer it.
"Captain James."
"Who's that?" The voice on the other end asked.
"I'm Sergeant Geddings. I'm with Molly…I think you need to get here as soon as possible."
A/N - PTSD stands for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. A 2014 study found that approximately 7% of British Soldiers suffered from it after returning from Afghanistan.