Time Waits For No One
If anyone walking along the rain washed cobbles of Bath Crescent at such a late hour happened to look up at the large bay window, they'd find a weary figure sat to attention in the window seat, a hallow of light framing their silhouette from a nearby lamp, whilst one tanned, aged hand pressed longingly against the cold glass as you would imagine one of Austen's lovelorn heroines might do as they waited for their dashing suitor to return. Look closer however, and you might be surprised to see their face not shinning with radiance and joy as you would expect, but twisted in anguish and shadowed by worry and grief.
Margaret James sighed tiredly as she readjusted the afghan throw around her shoulders, her eyes focusing on nothing as her mind continued to whirl with questions she couldn't seem to find the answers to. She'd been awoken suddenly some time before, by a cold feeling of dread that she was unable to explain. Yet every nerve ending in her body was screaming at her, whilst the hairs on her arms stood up on end. Something was wrong. She could feel it. She just didn't know what it was. She knew it wasn't Molly. She'd check in on her a while ago to find her dead to the world with Sam tucked up beside her, his small hand pressed protectively over her burgeoning baby bump; ever the responsible big brother even in his sleep.
Margaret left the room as quietly as she entered it, knowing all too well how precious moments of rest were to Molly these days. Nearing her seventh month of pregnancy, Molly was finding it increasingly difficult to find a comfortable position at night. That coupled with her anxiety about her up and coming presentation, not to mention, the fact that she had had next to no contact from Charles in several weeks, meant that Molly was a mess of hormones and worry. One minute she'd be content and relaxed, the next, Molly would be calling Charles every name under the sun for abandoning her whilst pregnant to serve his country only to dissolve into tears of guilt for thinking ill of him whilst away keeping humanity safe from harm.
When Charles had sat his family down and told them that he was returning to active service several months after he and Molly had married, Margaret found the news not entirely unexpected. One of the qualities Margaret had come to admire and love about Charles was his commitment. When he set his mind on something Charles committed himself one hundred percent; leaving no room for doubt. It was one of the reasons why Charles was able to progress so well through the army ranks. A life of discipline and regimentation suited Charles well. Within that strict environment, it was simply a choice of either yes or no; either right or you're wrong. Charles was used to seeing a situation in black and white, never questioning the hows or whys that swam in the murky shades of grey found in between. That was until one fateful tour of Afghan managed to spin Charles' moral compass completely off its axis, leaving him questioning and doubting everything he once knew to be gospel.
Maybe that was why, to Margaret at least, he never seemed fully at ease with his decision to leave the army behind. Charles hid his doubts well, but Margaret knew her son better than he knew himself and could see the lingering regret in his eyes whenever he stood on that tarmac at Brize to see Molly off. Charles finally got a taste of what it had been like for them, Sam and even Rebecca every time they had to wave goodbye. Charles was finally able to see what it was like being on the other side of the sliding door. It's hard enough being left behind. It's even harder to be the one who stays.
A shuffling from behind her pulled Margaret from her reverie. "Margaret, what is it?" Richard groaned as he shuffled into a sitting position whilst turning on the lamp. "Why aren't you asleep?"
"I don't know," Margaret whispered honestly as she settled herself against his broad chest, letting herself be reassured by his steady heartbeat under her ear. "I have a bad feeling." Margaret looked up to see Richard staring down at her in concern, a frown on his face. "Charles?" The word seemed to echo in the air around them, as if the world might crack and shatter little brittle glass now that one of them had dared give voice to their fears. Unable to find the words to comfort the other, they lay there in silence, listening to the creaks and groans of the old house as it came alive around them. For Margaret and Richard knew, perhaps all too well, how the fragile dance of war went by now. After all, all the world's a stage, and the scene of war has been set, like pieces on the chess board, they are poised, ready to do their part. Each of them had a part to play and could only wait with baited breath until it was their time for their entrance and exit.
Hearing movement on the stairs, Margaret moved to get out of bed, resigning herself to the fact that she wasn't going to sleep any more that night. "I expect that's Molly. I'm going to go make a cup of tea and check she's alright, I worry about her on those stairs by herself." Chuckling, Richard too got to his feet. "Come on then, I doubt I'll be able to sleep now either, might as well keep my two favourite ladies company." Richard paused and gazed at Margaret with a measured look. "I'm sure he's fine you know. Besides Elvis is with him. What trouble can they get in to on an humanitarian mission?"
Margaret's only response was to stop dead on the staircase and level Richard with such an arch look he was sure could sour lemons. "It's Elvis dear, that boy lives for trouble. He wouldn't be in the SF otherwise, besides you know what the lads said, they're convinced there's more going on. Why else would the SF get called out?" Richard grinned. Although she didn't sound it, Margaret had grown fond of Elvis over the years, much as she had the rest of Two Section, and enjoyed his visits. Even if he did insist on breaking in through the window instead of using the front door like any normal person would.
"Well let's leave Charles in Elvis' more that capable hands whilst we concentrate on looking after his favourite girl until he gets back humm?"
"Or two favourite girls." Margaret echoed, a satisfied smile on her face as she kept walking. "You know if the baby does turn out to be a girl, Marge and Dave owe you 50 quid." Margaret chuckled as Richard's face shone with glee. He was determined to finally get one up on Nan, even if he did have to use his impending grandchild to do it.
As they both entered the living room, all hints of amusement were quickly replaced by alarm when they found Molly pacing the room like an agitated tiger whilst rubbing her lower back.
"Molly, what is it love? Are you having Braxton Hicks again? Do we need to get you to the hospital?" Richard placed a gentle hand on Margaret's arm to try and quell the growing panic she had unwillingly let bleed into her voice. Surely the baby can't be coming now? It's too soon. Molly shook her head and moved her hands in a calming gesture. "NO, it's alright! Sorry, me backs been doing me nut in and I had a bad dream so I thought I'd come down 'ere. It's nothing to worry about, honest." Margaret's eyes scanned over Molly as if assessing for any injuries.
"You're sure it's not the baby?" Molly bit her lip whilst shrugging her shoulders uncomfortably.
"Positive. It's something else I can't put my finger on what. Call it mother's intuition or whatever but something is wrong. I know it." Margaret and Richard shared what Charles called a 'couples look.'
"What did you dream about Molly?" Richard asked softly.
"Charles was on a mission. There was explosives on top of a building and I was down below watching him. They went off an Charles went flying. I tried to get to him but I was too late. It felt so real you know? I could hear me screaming and feel the heat from the flames. That was when I woke up." Molly passed a weary hand across her face as Margaret pulled her tight into a hug.
"You know it's probably the hormones making the worry worse don't you? After the last time you're bound to be on edge. I'm sure Charles and the lads are fine. If anything I expect they're on their way home. Nothing is going to happen this time." Molly still looked uncertain.
"But what if something does? The last time I spoke to Charles I got the impression that things weren't right. Like something was bothering him. You know what he's like trying to not make me worry but I could hear it in his voice. He weren't right. What if something did go wrong? What if he was trying to tell me soothing and I didn't listen? I don't think I can do this on my own if I lost him. I'm not strong enough." Margaret felt, more than saw, Richard sit on Molly's other side and wrap them both in a bear hug that made Margaret relax a fraction. She'd always felt safe and protected in his arms.
"Now, now," Richard spoke smoothly yet firmly to Molly. "Let's not think the worst. You won't have to do this without Charles because he is FINE. Besides, you ought to know by now that Margaret and I will be here for you, no matter what. You are not alone. Do you hear me?" Molly hiccupped and gave a small nod. Just as she was about to speak, she was cut off by the shrill ringing of her mobile phone.
Everyone collectively stiffened and Margaret had a sudden feeling of being trapped in a vacuum. All the air seemed to be sucked from the room as the phone continued to ring. Molly looked at her for reassurance and Margaret could do nothing but nod, whist preying silently to every God or Goddess she knew that Charles was ok.
Molly's face remained blank as she stuttered her way through the call. He voice, shaking ever so slightly with emotion, gave nothing away leaving Margaret with nothing to do but sit and wait, her only anchor being Richard's vicelike grip on her shoulder, keeping her steady. It was a positon Margaret wasn't used to. The not knowing. As Charles' mother and next of kin after his divorce, Margaret was all too familiar with the endless cycle of tours and jumping every time the phone rang or the doorbell went unexpectedly. But if Margret knew how to do anything it was to adapt and cope. She'd been the glue holding Richard and Charles together for years and now she had to be string and be there to put Molly back together again should she need to.
After what felt like an eternity, Molly hung up. Without saying a word the phone slipped from her lifeless hand and hit the carpet with a dull thud. Margaret could only watch in mounting horror as Molly's body caved in on itself and her face dropped into her hands and he body shook with sobs. "Molly?...Molly please!" Margaret couldn't move. She didn't know what to do. What to think. How to feel. The entire world had narrowed down to the distraught girl on the sofa in front of her.
"They're bringing him home," Molly's voice was so small that neither Richard nor Margaret could heat her.
"What do you mean bringing him home? Is he alright? What happened?" Margaret felt the room around her spin and her knees begin to buckle. She barely noticed when Molly reached out and gripped her elbows, lowering her to the floor. "He..." Molly paused and swallowed before speaking again, her grip crushing on Margaret's delicate hands. "Charles is fine. He's on his way home. He's a bit battered and bruised but he is fine. Physically." Margaret couldn't help the sob from escaping as she lent her head on Molly's knee in pure relief. But then it clicked. Something wasn't right.
"What do you mean he is fine? You said he was fine physically. That implies that something has happened. Molly…. who didn't make it?" Just as the silence was beginning to feel oppressive, almost claustrophobic, Molly spoke again.
Margaret watched as Molly let out a long shaky breath as the tears continued to flow down her cheeks. "It's Elvis…. He's been killed. Charles is bringing him home."
People say that time heals old wounds. There are those of us, having experienced first-hand what a cruel mistress time can really be, who would argue that, no matter how long you give it, the wound never truly heals. The wound remains. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens but it is never gone nor is it forgotten.
Margaret stands with Molly watching the plane taxi along the wet tarmac as it comes in to land, the heavy grey clouds looming overhead seem to add the dark, sombre mood on what should be a joyful occasion. As they wait to see that first flash of camouflage, Margaret can't help but notice how preoccupied Molly seems. It is as if she has reverted back to the confused, vulnerable, lost girl Molly had been after she had lost Smurf. Elvis' death had reopened old wounds for Charles, Molly and the lads, forcing them to ask unanswerable questions whilst they navigate the cruel and unforgiving waters of grief and deal with the loss of another comrade. Fiancé. Brother. Best friend.
In the days since the phone call, Margaret had watched helplessly as Molly struggled to come to terms with the news about Elvis. She knows all too well the pain of losing a best friend, the feeling of horror and helplessness at being unable to stop it. Margaret knew that Charles hadn't handled the news well. From the snatches of conversation she managed to get from him on the phone, Margaret got the sense that Charles had flipped into survival mode. He'd completely shut down and let the ruthless solider take over. Refusing to even begin to process what had happened until he had fulfilled his duty and got everyone home safe. Elvis included. Only then will he allow himself to finally think and feel.
As the double doors whoosh open and a sea of Combat glad bodies rush forward, Margaret feels Molly give her hand a reassuring squeeze. Whether it was for her sake or Margaret's she isn't sure, but it is a welcome comfort all the same. Two Section come through the hall last, followed by a girl I don't recognise. New medic possibly? Exhausted and sombre, the lads hang back when they finally recognise us both waiting and can't help but comment on how much Molly has changed since they'd been away.
"Cor look at you Molls! Are you sure they're only one in there? You're bloody…." Molly raises an eyebrow in warning at Finger's near blunder but he seems to recognise the warning signs on his own and tries to cover it with a cough. "Blooming. Molls. What I meant to say is you're blooming." Molly gave a laugh as she punches him in the shoulder before turning her attention to the girl smirking beside him. "I see you're still as charming as ever Fingers. I hope your sorted him out Richards is it? He needs bringing down a peg or too every now and again else he won't fit in his helmet." The girl laughed along with everyone else at Fingers' dejected expression. "I'll bear that in mind," Richards laughed.
Margaret smiles at their comradery, marvelling at their ability to find new ways to take the piss out of each other after so many years of friendship. Her smile, drops when her eyes catch sight of the doors opening again to finally reveal her weary son, his face clouded with pain and fatigue. Charles looks like Sisyphus being forced to push a boulder up a hill yet no longer able to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders. Margaret feels Molly come to rest beside her and they both watch in silence as Charles half supports, half carries Georgie through the doors until she is delivered safely into the arms of her relieved parents. Georgie's eyes stare vacantly ahead, arms staying stiff by her sides as she is tackled by her family, each one expressing excited platitudes at her arrival that seem to fall on deaf ears. Georgie's expression doesn't waver, lost in her own tide of shock and grief.
It is only when Charles catches sight of Margaret and Molly waiting for him that he finally lets his composure crumble with the exhaustion of having to hold it together in front of everyone else. Somehow, Margaret reaches him first, her hands coming to cradle his face in both of hers as his arms loop around her waist. "Oh my boy. I'm so sorry. I'm so glad you're home safe." Charles gives a jerky nod as his grip on her tightens, as if he cannot trust himself to speak.
"I am so bloody glad to see you mum, you have no idea." Margaret manages to laugh through her tears as she stands there breathing him in. He smells of sweat, desert and English rain. "I'm sure there's someone else here who has a fair idea," Margaret smiles gently at him as she nods her head in Molly's direction. "Hey you!" Molly flashes him a cheeky grin as he stares at her in amazement.
Charles takes two jerky steps forward before he finds himself with an armful of Molly. They both stand holding each other; oblivious to nobody else but each other. Molly's head tucked under his chin, her fingers cupping his wrist, needing the extra reassurance that Charles was safe and alive in her arms once more. "I've missed you," Charles muttered as he finally pulls back to study Molly properly.
"Ditto," Molly grinned as she took his hand in hers and placing it on her stomach, laughing at Charles' look of amazement at feeling a series of strong kicks under his hands. "Someone's jealous they didn't get a proper hello. I think she's gotten bored of listening to me and Sam blabber on and on. With any luck she'll find your voice soothing and finally give me a bit of peace so I can get some sleep. It's not easy growing a tiny mini human you know. Sam's convinced I'm growing a ninja!"
"Wait she?" Charles looked between Margaret and Molly in dismay, an unanswered question burning in his eyes.
"Don't worry, Molly didn't find out. It's just a feeling Marge has is all," Margaret replied soothingly. "That and a 50 quid bet with your dad!" She added with a laugh as Charles shook his head. Leaning down until his lips were right up against Molly's belly. "Don't worry baby, I can't wait to meet you either way." Trailing his eyes to the rain clouds outside, his smile turned wistful as they started to walk towards the car. Although it was faint, Margaret could have sworn she heard Charles mutter under his breath, "I hope you are a girl just like your uncle Elvis predicted. I know no matter what, he'll still be looking out for you, just like he promised."
AN: Hello, anybody still reading this. Real life has been a bit mad recently, which means FF has taken a bit of a back seat. I stumbled across an OG vid that inspired me to write this after re-reading through my fics. I've tried to make it as plausible as possible to make it fit in with the rest of the fic so hopefully it works.