Chapter Twelve – Downtime & Do-overs


Our castle would crumble before us but that doesn't mean it can't be rebuilt, rebuilt for real, this time without the errors and a little more caution. ― Chirag Tulsiani


Sweet Jesus, I'm getting too old for this shit. Is the first thought than runs through my pounding head as I lift my lead filled eyelids. The daylight coming in through the open curtains is assaulting my eyes and I slam them shut again with a self-pitying groan. Self-pitying because the state I'm in is very, very self-inflicted.

I bravely open one lid again to identify that yes, I am in bed in the rental flat in last night's clothes. A memory from last night comes back clear enough. Me taking my vodka sozzled self off to bed, sitting on the side of the bed to take off my boots then deciding to have a lie down until the room stopped spinning, then not much else. Which would explain why I am currently tangled up in the duvet still wearing those boots.

I woman up and force myself to get half vertical – a feat in itself– and by which, I mean sitting upright with my arm over my eyes against the light. Huffing like an Olympic weight lifter straining for their gold medal lift, I force myself out of bed and take myself and the regimental brass band clanking around in my head off for a shower.

One shower later, and after glugging straight from the cold tap and my hand, because I'm classy like that, I'm two paracetamols into my morning and at least able to walk and with both eyes open without wincing. I'm calling that a win as I get dressed and then brace myself for the state the flat is going to be in after last night's SF sponsored activities.

The hall is quiet as I walk out of the bedroom door, but judging by the snoring coming from the spare room, at least one somebody stayed after. Looking around the open door, I see spanner is crashed out on the bed. The snoring is coming from the floor where Peanut is stretch out on the rug, wrapped in the duvet from the bed and out like a light.

Heading passed the door of the living, I identify Jackson's feet hanging off the end of one sofas. The other sofa is empty, but judging by the placement of the cushions, somebody crashed out on there last night.

There's only one more person and one more place he could be, so I follow my nose and the smell of coffee into the kitchen. Bones is leaning on the counter by the sink drinking out of mug and looking as fresh as a daisy but for his rumpled looking hair and stubble. In a chest clinging grey Henley and dark jeans he looks too bright eyes and bushy tailed for someone who matched me vodka for vodka last night.

"Morning, Dawesey." His eyes look me up and down. "You seem a bit–"

"Rough?" I reply helpfully.

"I was going to say effected but rough works."

"No one but myself to blame. I was as up for it as the rest of you last night."

"You were indeed a woman on mission." Bones laughs.

"I think it was the darts with shots that about finished me off."

Spanner's idea of a dare. A shot for each bullseye missed. I was always a bit shit at darts. Hilarious at the time, but I'm paying for it now.

"I'm getting to bleedin' old for mixing my drinks."

"I'm disappointed. The Dawesey I met in Kabul had no problem with holding her own with a bunch of SF Gods. You drank me under the table without breaking a sweat."

I grin. "That's because for everyone two you were drinking, the pot plant behind me got one when you weren't looking."

"You sneaky little, madam, I might have known."

"I can't share all my secrets all at once." Reminding of the pounding behind my eyeballs, I rub my forehead. "I need to feed this beast before it gets out of control. You up for a bacon butty and a chat? I did have something serious to talk to you about when I called yesterday."

"Lead on, Dawesey, we can bring back supplies, then I'll get those lazy tossers up and out of your house."

ooOOoo

A coffee shop off the High Street was Bones' choice. I fed my hangover induced carbohydrate requirements with a breakfast roll and mug off tea while laying out my concerns about Georgie.

"Are you saying I need to remove her from active duty?"

"I'm saying you need to keep an eye on her. She's been through too much and I think cracks are starting to show."

He considers what I'm saying for a moment. "I've seen her in the field. I'd agreed she seems to be a bit reactive under pressure. Stepping up to trouble instead of away."

"It's more than that. Georgie's always had balls, but this is different. She and Elvis had a complicated history but they mattered a lot to each other. I couldn't see what she's seen and be okay if it had been Charles."

"They never should have been on a mission together. You know that, right."

Of course I know that, and I want to say he's stating the bleedin' obvious but that's being a bit childish, so I keep quiet.

"One of the many things that's been going to hell in a hand basket with that platoon."

I know he's taking a pop at Charles, but I'm not gonna rise, because we're getting off topic and I need this dealt with so I can put it behind me–and well, us.

"She's jumpy, guarded. Something's not right, but she's like Charles, best when she busy and working. I'm just asking you to be aware and step in for her own good if it comes to it."

He looks doubtful

"She's a top-notch Medic, Bones. Give her a chance."

"The Army is full of Medics. I could take you."

"Aside from the injured husband and that I'm about to transfer to QARANC via BSU, I'm most definitely not on offer."

"Going up in the world, Dawesey. Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"What's brought this on? Life with the Rupert going too slow for you? Needing a change?"

"Don't change the subject. I'm worried about this. I need you to take it seriously."

"I would be doing myself a favour by leaving her behind when we go to Bangladesh by the sound of things." he says, regarding me over the rim of his second cup of black coffee.

"Sounds to me like you're after taking the easy route, aint you?" I reply with a sigh. "I thought better of you."

"I've been put on nanny duty with this platoon as a punishment. My intention is to shape them up, then get back to SF as quickly as fucking possible. Taking a lame-duck Medic with me does not fit into that plan." he says calmly.

"I hear the words, but I'm not believing them. You're a nob, but you're also a bloody good CO. You won't leave her behind for that. Not without trying to get her back into shape first. You wouldn't walk away from one of your men like that."

"I might make you right there. I always enjoyed a challenge."

I cross my arms across my chest and sit back rolling my eyes. "That wasn't what I meant when I said keep an eye on her, and you know it."

"Kill-joy." he says with a wide grin.

The waitress comes over with a cupboard box filled with carryout coffee and enough breakfast rolls to feed a platoon. Bones hands her his bank card with a flash of teeth and lazy charm that's all him, and she walks off giggling like a teenager even though she must be sixty if she's a day.

"Fine. She's going and I'll keep an eye out. Can't hurt anything. I have a new minted Medic joining us once we get to Bangladesh anyway. All part of the improvement plans."

"Just what do you have planned for my boys, Bones?"

"You heard of the school of short, sharp shocks? Let's just say that's where they're heading starting this week on the assault course at Pirbright."

"Jesus. I feel sorry for them already."

He laughs. "I might ruffle some feathers but not much else. Don't you have enough on your hands at the moment, without worrying about some squaddies?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't make me worry any less at them being left to your less than tender mercies."

"I won't leave permanent marks. Promise. You ready?"

"Yes, thanks."

"You look better."

"I suffer from what my Nan likes to call bounce back hangovers. I'll be right as Larry for now, and get whammed again this afternoon. Carbs and fluids are the way to go."

"Let's head then and wake up the tossers then. Once they're fed, we'll get out of your hair so you can get back to babying your Rupert."

Walking back, I'm considering what I'm going to say to Charles once I get back to the hospital. My diva strop wasn't my finest moment, but the reasons behind it need talking about. It isn't something I can avoid. I've been doing that for far too long as it is. A point that Emily has made to me more than once recently.

"You're a million miles away." Bones says as we turn onto Castle Street.

"Just wool gathering."

His grey-blue eyes appraise me for several seconds and I wonder what he sees.

"I will keep an eye on Lane for you. Though I'm curious why the concern?"

"I'm a Medic, it's my job."

"It's more personal than that, I think."

"She was my mate once."

"Is this to do with your husband?"

"I thought you said he wasn't the type?"

"I could be wrong."

"Captain McClyde wrong? Never."

"Who's changing the subject now?"

I sigh, knowing he's not going to let this go. It's not in his nature. That's why he's good at being an SF knob. Good instincts for bullshit and annoyingly tenacious. Just like Elvis.

"Elvis was his best friend. They both shared his loss."

He stops me with hand on my arm and his tone is gentle, for Bones at least. "Is that all?".

"Yeah…that's all." I say the word 'luckily' silently to myself, but I have the suspicion he can read me just fine without saying the words out loud.

"I just want you to promise me one thing. If it comes to it, I don't want her to know it was me that said anything."

"Why?"

"What she's going through is bad enough. Adding me in the mix will just complicate something that's already gonna be difficult. And I don't want involved."

"I thought you were mates?"

"After she and Elvis split, she cut herself off from people that were connected to him. I could have tried to get back in contact, but I chose Elvis. The connection between Charles and Georgie. It's not a good thing they. Especially not for him with what he's facin'. I can't have him worry about that and all the rest as well."

"Are you saying she's a threat to your marriage?"

"No, it's not that. I can see what you're thinking though. It's not because I'm jealous or thinkin' they're gonna be off shagging."

"You sure?"

"Very. They were as close as brothers. He watched his best friend be blown up and fall five storeys to his death. All in front of Elvis' future wife. He supported her and Elvis' family afterwards. Is there any wonder he suffering because of it? He blames himself and it's eating him up with the guilt and anxiety. She's a reminder of that."

"I liked Elvis. It was a fucking waste the way he went."

As it often does, the memory of his loss stings.

"He went out doing the job that he loved. Not many people get to do that, but you're right it was a fucking waste."

"I'll keep an eye on Lane for you." This time I believe he's serious.

"Thanks, Bones. I appreciate it."

ooOOoo

Bones was good to his word. They were up, fed and helping clear up then out of my hair within an hour. Leaving me to wash the stripped bedding, re-make the beds and air out the place. Once that was all done, I didn't have any more excuses to delay heading to the hospital by ten o'clock.

I'm contemplating a final cup of tea before ringing a taxi because I'm dubious that I'll be quite legal to drive after last night's shits and giggles, when the doorbell rings.

Surrounded by Waitrose bags deposited by a retreating waving and smiling Colonel Beck and standing straight and steady on one crutch is Charles.

"You're here." I say stupidly.

"I wanted to celebrate with my wife." he replies, pulling a bottle of something fizzy from behind his back. "I wanted to celebrate with my wife. I heard she'd been accepted into uni."

His smile is tentative, like he's unsure of his welcome. I don't care because he here, and smiling and all the rest of just doesn't fucking matter. Then I'm in his arms and it's all good.

ooOOoo

We never made it to the bedroom. Laying tangled together on the sofa, we're covered with a throw for warmth as much as modesty. Despite the restrictions of his leg, it was something we'd both been needing. Physical and emotional re-connection.

In the aftermath, I found myself lost in my own head for a while, but it wasn't in a scary sense. Al that we had together is still there and finding that out again is giving me more confidence in us and our ability to get through this together than I had when I stormed out of his hospital room yesterday.

I found a bravery I'd be lacking recently too, and told him as much. Then we just talked and talked. Wrapped up in the comfort of being close, skin to skin, it just came more easily–explaining how I'd been feeling. I'm not sure he's exactly happy that I shared some stuff with Bones about Georgie, but I think he can see it's for the best. He admitted as much which is a step forward.

"I don't want you to managed me, Molly. That what we were doing before. Me by shutting you and out and you by tip-toeing around me."

I make a very unladylike noise. "Yeah, look how well that ended. Runnin' away from each other to opposite ends of the word and boar-traps."

"To be fair I think it was me more than you that did the running."

"Maybe, but I was definitely the one on the run yesterday."

He presses his lips to my forehead, arms tightening across my back.

"Maybe, but you were at the end of your rope, weren't you?"

I nod. "A bit."

"We need to be more honest with each other. If you're tired, upset, angry. Be that. If you have news, tell me. I've got to deal with it. I want us back to as close to normal as we can. We never kept secrets before."

"I was just trying to protect you."

"I know. When the PTSD first took hold, I was trying to protect you, too, but it didn't do anything good, did it?"

"No. I know. I'm still sorry for storming off though."

"Me too, for what it's worth."

He stretches underneath me, putting an arm behind his head and settling himself more comfortably. He looks more relaxed and like him than I've seen him for a long, long time.

"I think we might need to move soon. I get the need for a ground floor flat for my mobility in the short term, but I'm not sure I like it for privacy. Don't want the postie seeing us naked while trying to get his job done."

"I'd be more concerned about your parents. They're due soon."

"Shit, why didn't you say something?" he says horrified, getting ready to move urgently. My giggling gives him a clue that I'm not serious. "Are you taking the piss you little horror?"

"Might be? We need to move anyway. I assume you have food in those Waitrose bags?"

"It is possible that I was planning on cooking you a favour lunch."

"Steak and pepper corn sauce?" He smiles all cheek and devilment.

"Maybe. With some bubbly to go with, and fizzy elderberry juice for me to fake the fizz. I don't think alcohol and my pain killers would go well together."

"I think I might join you with the fizzy juice. I think my liver needs a rest after last night shenanigans."

"Like that was it?"

"Yeah, very much like that."

"That's my girl."

"Not that it isn't amazing to have you home, but how'd that occur?"

"My placement at Headley has been moved up. Three nights residential assessment from Monday, then outplacement on the physical rehab and outpatient on the therapy for PTSD."

"So, you decided against the residential option for therapy the Colonel Beck was suggesting?" I ask carefully, but I can hear the worry creeping into my voice. I was there when this was discussed and I understood it was the preferred option for his triggers and PTSD. "That worries me. I've got to be honest."

He rolls us so were facing each other side by side. "We need to work on us as much as I need to work on me. More time apart isn't what I want."

"Are you sure?"

"I haven't done this on a whim. It was sanctioned by the Army shrink."

I consider this for a moment. Then make peace with it. Honesty has got to include trust, otherwise what's the point?

"Okay."

He quirks an eyebrow at me. "Okay? That's it, you're good with it?"

"What? Did you think we were gonna have a big fight about it or something? If you feel that's what you need, of course I'm okay with it."

"Do you have any idea how much I love you."

"I think earlier on gave me a bit of a clue. You said it often enough, all out breath and urgent like."

"Piss-taker."

"You wouldn't have me any other way."

"True."

"I love you, too, by the way."

"Good to know."

"You know you said about the postman? You're probably right. Since he's due soon and I'm getting' hungry can we make a move to the shower and some clothes?"

"Do I think move to the shower with you is a good idea. Absolutely."

"I didn't necessarily mean together." I say, stretching out to grab the throw off the other sofa, because I know one blanket isn't going to cover both of us successfully and the postman is actually due pretty soon.

"I definitely did."

I wrap it sarong like around me and pass him his crutch. "I'm hungry and I don't want you getting distracted before my celebration lunch."

He sniggers. "I am an officer in Her Majesty Army. Are you suggesting I can't multi-task?"

"Come on you, prannet. Sooner done, the sooner I can admire your prowess in the kitchen, can't I?"

Let's just say it took a while before we got around to lunch…