A/N: Lovely way to fall asleep but they still have some things to sort out between them. Something I always wondered how they would manage to deal with, so there will be another dive into the past. Will they be able to handle this and live happily ever after?

Thank you for your kind reviews which for this story really are blowing me away – blushing.

x

Chapter 5: Rooting for you

I know it's hard

Only you and I

Is it all for me?

Because I know it's all for you

And I guess, I guess

It is hell and you are the only thing I've ever truly known

So, I hesitate, if I can act the same for you

And my darlin', I'll be rooting for you

London grammar – Rooting for you

I'm slowly waking up to sunny morning light, in his arms still and I feel like I'm home. We lie as close as we did when we fell asleep and it still feels right. I enjoy it for another moment, then feel an urge to get up. Create some distance to make sure I'm not just pulled into something too quickly and despite what Charles said I do not want Sam to wake up and find us like this. I'm definitely not ready for that. I know it would raise expectations I'm not certain I can live up to and I do not want to be trapped. I know I'm moving with glacial speed, but when you have more than three years' worth of hurt to overcome, that is still pretty fast.

I sit up and he stirs next to me, opens his eyes and when it all comes back to him he looks very happy.

"Good morning."

He takes my hand and I let him hold it long enough not to alarm him, before I retract it.

"Time to get up."

I just say, but softly and smile. Despite that I can see that he does not agree, we get up and continue as if nothing extraordinary has happened. Have scrambled eggs, bacon and toast for breakfast, pack our beach bags and put on sun lotion even if all three already have a nice bronzed colour by now. We stay on the beach for a couple of hours, then after lunch head to the nearby village for ice cream and to stock up on groceries. The one thing indicating a change is when we enter the ice cream bar and he puts his hand at the small of my back as if to gently guide me through the door. I do not think he even was conscious of the move, but I jump a little at the touch, still not expecting that.

In the evening, Charles is cooking for us again and I sit watching him, listening to music, sipping a glass of wine and thinking. Over-thinking perhaps.

I'm thinking about that as usual he is the one cooking for us despite that I'm actually a decent cook these days, because he taught me the basics and then I've practised living on my own. Yet another thing I'm capable of doing without him even if it is nicer to do it with him. He does not know that though and we have just fallen into old patterns.

I'm thinking that he taught me to cook, swim, drive, dress for the right occasion, which fork to use in a fancy restaurant, think before I talk. Much like in that old movie we once saw at his parents' place because his mum loves it. My fair lady. It was not a favourite of mine, I thought that Higgins-guy was pretty superficial who only fell in love with a girl once she dressed better and talked posh and I was grateful Charles liked me like I was - in combats, no makeup and with Cockney accent intact. Later, looking back at our relationship from a distance, I still thought it was a bit like with Eliza in that movie. Like I had not been a fully grown woman ready to be his wife and life partner when we met. He had to groom me into it. It did not disturb me much when he did it, but I have thought much about it afterwards. How he always took the lead and I followed. Even when we loved each other, the relationship was not very equal, and I often felt inadequate even if he never wanted to make me feel that way.

My thoughts return to the cooking and I remember one time in the very beginning so clearly. As usual he prepared the meal and I helped make the salad, but that time he asked me if I could just fry some chicken filets whilst he did the sauce. I did not tell him I never had fried chicken before, but it sort of became obvious when I burnt it completely. He sighed and jokingly said;

"Molly Dawes, have you really never been cooking at all? Even the most talentless cooks can fry chicken."

It was really stupid, but I felt my eyes fill up with tears and turned away.

"Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He did not believe me and came over, turned me around, looked at my face and then pulled me into his chest. We stood silent for a while, his arms around me, his lips to my hair.

"Will you explain how I hurt you? I thought you were tougher than this."

He had to wait a minute for my response, but I decided to be honest.

"I have been cooking, sort of. I made most of the meals to my brothers and sisters when we grew up... It's just that most of the time the only ingredients available were Tesco toast, Marmite and canned beans. You don't really become a gourmet chef with that. I know it's stupid but when I burnt that chicken, which you think is something everyone eats all the time and is a piece of cake to fry, it just makes me realise how different we are."

He kept holding me, maybe even tighter now.

"It just means we come from different backgrounds, and that only has to do with fluke. It doesn't mean that we are that different as persons. And even if it did, I love you for who you are. To me you are amazing."

I was unable to say anything because I still had a lump in my throat, but I felt so much better.

My gaze dropped to the frying pan with the poor black chicken pieces. It was lucky it was already dead because otherwise I would certainly have killed it.

"It won't be much of a dinner" I smiled apologetically.

"Fuck the chicken, we can call for pizza."

I adored him then.

I adore him now too, but I'm also seeing all those things in a different light. If PTSD and Georgie had not come between us, how would we have dealt with the balance between us when I grew into a mature woman who did not need his guidance in the same way. Would it have been for better or for worse if it, one day had not been natural for me that he somehow stayed my boss? It would have disturbed our balance, but would we have found it again? And would we ever truly overcome our different backgrounds? Can we now?

He hums while he is cooking, still happy and relaxed after last night as far as I can tell, and I know these thoughts just come to me because I'm afraid. Afraid that all these things, the past and the present, will make it go down the drain again. Afraid that he will not understand that not only he is different, but I am too. While he was gone I have changed.

While he stirs the frying pan and have a taste, I stay lost in my sombre thoughts drinking my wine.

I think that Charles did not really understand poverty until he met me. Naturally, he had seen poverty and misery on tour and fought to help those poor people, but that was all at a safe distance from his own doorstep, unrelated to his life. He had never fully understood or reflected over how little some people have here at home, in the backyard of his own country. Obviously, many of the privates who served under him came from far less privileged conditions than him, but he only ever met them at work, all dressed in the same uniform, never visited them in their homes, so even if he knew them or what he perceived to be important about them, there were also many things he was blissfully unaware of.

On our first proper date, he was already so certain we belonged together. When I protested that he could not be when he only knew the me on tour, he said half-joking that even if one only has seen the tip of an iceberg, one still knows it is an iceberg. Right then, I found it cute that he thought that he knew enough of me to feel confident he loved me. Later on, I sometimes thought that it had been ignorant not to understand there was so much more of me to know.

Even if he was far more urbane than me, there were parts of the world, of society, I knew painfully better than him. How it is to have nearly nothing, not even proper clothes, enough food or sober parents. How it is to have no one around you who have any ambitions or hopes for their own lives, let alone yours and will feel threatened if you try to move out of their comfort zone and hold you back.

He, who always felt he had a natural given place in any room he entered, would never fully understand how I could doubt that anyone would welcome me, that I would be wanted or accepted because of how I was dressed, talked and conducted myself. Sometimes I felt there were so many invisible codes he adhered to without needing to think of them, but which I did not even know existed and I was always a bit afraid that I would embarrass him. Not be good enough, if not in his eyes then in others.

Despite that he never judged me, or anyone based on background, I could see that he was shocked the first time I reluctantly brought him home to my parents when I felt I no longer could avoid it. He was good at not showing it, but I was better at reading him and I could see he was shaken behind his unmoved facade. Shaken over the lack of everything: space, cleanliness, manners, education. Nothing was in abundance except kids and empty cans of lager. He was politeness and kindness all through the visit, did his best to melt in and say nothing that would make anyone feel embarrassed or inadequate. I could even see he had bothered to dress down, wearing a t-shirt instead of his usual tailor-made shirts but even the quality of that t-shirt was something different to dad's faded one.

Even if my family thought he was a bit on the posh side they all loved him by the time we left, but I had a knot in my stomach. A knot of angst that he finally had grasped who I was for real, that I was not the brave soldier he had seen on tour, but a nobody from nowhere. A worthless girl from a shabby home. We did not say much during the drive to the hotel where he had booked us a room for the night as I had thought it might be pushing things to stay the night with my family. He checked us in and we silently went up the elevator. The whole time I was thinking that once we got inside that room the fairy tale would be over and he would break up with me. Instead, when he softly had closed the door, he turned to me with an expression which was hard to interpret and came over and held me tight to him without saying anything. He did not kiss me, but kept me to him until I started crying, crying over the miserable life that had been mine and which I today had been afraid would take him away from me. Now he showed me it would not, he only wished life had been easier on me.

"You're brilliant Molly, never forget that."

"I'm nothing", I whispered.

"But you are! You're everything. Unlike me you started from nothing and that makes what you have become so much more admirable."

I think that night I for the first time dared to believe that we could be something more than just an overdue tour-romance. That he liked more than the me on tour and in a way, it marked the true start of us to me. He had proven himself as the unprejudiced man he had claimed to be, and I gave myself to him unconditionally that night.

Yet, my lack of self-confidence lingered through our relationship. He had been the one to confirm my self-worth and when he started shutting me out in his grief after Elvis and due to the PTSD, my fragile confidence wavered. I started doubting if I ever had been good enough for him and wondered if he was beginning to realise that now, and it was the reason he did not want to confide in me. The reason why he turned away from me instead of relying on me. His inability to confirm me when he was weak, made me doubt myself and need reassurance which he was not able to give, making me doubt myself even more. And so, we continued to spiral downwards until the day we split up.

I did not figure all this out on my own, my psychiatrist has been instrumental in this. Margaret also has made me realise that over the years after him, my worth has been confirmed over and over again by others than him. My fellow squaddies who always appreciate my company and trust me with their lives; my superiors who have kept encouraging me to the same extent after I returned to being private Dawes as when I was Molly James, recommended me for promotion and lamented my choice to leave; my family, admitting that in spite of their initial reluctance, they are now proud of me being a serving soldier; the new friends I have made in my own capacity without him by my side; finally confirming myself when I had the guts to apply to university to train to be a nurse and was accepted.

Once I needed him to confirm me. I do not need that anymore. That may be a good thing because now we are more equal. If I do not always need to lean on him, maybe he can allow himself to lean on me without everything being tipped over and out of balance. However, I'm also afraid it may be a wedge between us if he is expecting it to go back to the way it was. Maybe, my newfound strength and confidence will scare him if he becomes aware of them. Maybe he needs to be the leader in a relationship, maybe he needs to be worshipped and adored – but by now I know he is flawed and I'm not worthless.

He looks up at me and is startled by the worries I cannot keep from showing on my face.

"What's the matter?"

"I was just thinking."

"Sound dangerous."

It is. I hesitate if I really ought to bring this up but realise I must, to be able move on.

"I need you to know that I'm different. I'm not the same girl you left."

"I understand that."

I think he thinks he does, but I'm not so sure.

"But do you really? And can you handle it?"

He looks a bit shocked over my sudden outburst and I cannot blame him as he has not heard my internal conversation and was maybe in the romantic cocoon from last night.

"How do you mean?"

"I can't go back to how we were even before things started go wrong."

He looks hurt and taken aback.

"You didn't like how things were between us, not even in the beginning?"

I loved it. How can I explain without making a mess of everything?

"I did then, but I don't think I could have it the same way now. We were not very equal, were we?"

"I never thought of it like that."

"You probably didn't. I didn't then. It was so natural for you to take the lead and me to follow, we didn't even think of it, but when you wouldn't lead anymore, and I wouldn't follow we were knocked out of balance and never found common ground."

He looks confused.

"For long, I thought you were so bloody perfect and I was ready to mould my life to fit yours."

"I was never perfect", he says defensively.

"I know that, now. You're just as human as I am – but can you live with a version of me who don't follow your lead? I don't know if you can."

I can feel him measuring his words before he let them come out, maybe realising this is a conversation where everything is balancing on the razors edge.

"I'd like to think that I can. I've always known you're strong and capable of much more than you thought of yourself."

My words harsh, questioning, almost unkind, driven by fear. His words kind, encouraging, driven by love and belief in us. It is like I'm trying to push him into admitting we are unlikely to make it if we try again, but he will not let himself be pushed in that direction. He stands firm, resolute in that he wants me back.

"If you didn't like the balance between us I'm sorry and I think it can be different. I want it to be too. I want us to lean on each other."

I hate that I'm hurting him. Now he is saying the exactly right words, but I'm still terrified.

"I'm just scared", I say weakly, unable to offer an apology for very real fears.

His eyes flash and for the first time there is a streak of anger in his voice when he answers, or maybe it is desperation.

"Don't you think I'm scared? I'm scared shitless! That you'll reject me, that you'll have me and then leave me. But I'm more scared not to try and lose you."

He turns his back to me to continue chopping vegetables, angry precise cuts, a sharp sound every time the knife hits the cutting board. As I'm an expert at reading his back I can see that he really is a little bit sad. The shoulders slouching slightly, looking down at the veggies with his neck bent. The soft curls there, maybe in need of a haircut but I love them as they are. He looks so vulnerable. I feel I cannot bear leaving him feeling sad like that. I move soundlessly to stand by his side and touch his arm softly. He turns to me, surprised because he did not notice me move. Without saying anything I curl my hand around his neck, let my fingers touch the locks I just admired, pull him down to me and place my lips softly to his.

Oh, this. I have not felt it for so long.

There is only the delay in response that comes from the element of surprise, then he drops the knife he held on the cutting board and put his hands around my waist. Large, warm, safe hands, moving me closer to him. His lips firmly attached to mine, not for a second hesitating how to answer me. I can drown in him now.

"Has any seen my charger?" Sam brawls from his room and soon after appears in the door.

The warning he gave us was just enough for us to fly apart and he finds us leaning against the two opposite worktops.

"Noop, haven't seen it." I blurt out.

"Me neither."

Charles chest is heaving like he just has exercised. He looks giddy, caught in the act and terribly happy when he holds my gaze, the sadness gone. I have not seen his eyes glitter like that since before Elvis died. Me, I feel giddy, caught in the act, happy and apprehensive. Maybe I was a bit previous there. No matter how lovely it was I'm not sure if I was ready for it, but for a moment I did not think, just let my instincts guide me. I cannot deny that it was lovely.

"What are you doing?"

"Just cooking."

"Just cooking."

"Yeah, right."

During the rest of the evening, we are not as relaxed as we have been the past days. Sam seems oblivious to it, but we both feel a certain kind of tension after the kiss. I feel I want it again, need it again, but it frightens me because if we kiss another time a line is crossed, there is no way back.

When Sam finally is snuggled up in his room, we have cleaned away the last of the dishes in charged silence and it is time to go to bed, Charles eyes asks me if I want to fall asleep beside him tonight again, but I feel I must take a step back after the kiss.

"It's probably better if I sleep alone tonight", I say and see how he struggles to hide his disappointment, not to put any pressure on me. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't have kissed you before because I don't know…"

"It's okay", he says in a casual way I know does not reflect his feelings. He looks and sounds a bit like he did that time when he heard I had been with Smurf to Newport and got it all wrong, and he questioned why I told him nothing had happened between us. Underneath the cool surface there is longing and insecurity which I want to relieve him off, but I do not know how when I'm not sure what the right direction is. I wish I knew and I hope I'm finding out. When I go to bed alone I feel like crying. It has been a wonderful day, but I destroyed it with my doubts, the things I said and kissing him when I should not have. It takes long before I fall asleep and the bed seems mockingly empty without him, but finally I do. A restless sleep filled with dreams I do not remember in the morning, but I know they were not the fluffy kind.

Charles has gone for jog along the beach. I think maybe he needed to be alone after yesterday and I could do with the space too, even if I long to be close to him. Sam and I are walking along the waterline, skimming stones and looking for seashells.

"Are you coming back to us, Molly?"

I am here now, but I know what he means. The concern makes his face look like a fragile child's again, the loved one I left behind. With Sam I have to be totally honest.

"I don't know Sam."

"Don't you love us?"

"I do, I love both of you but it's not that easy."

"Why isn't it? Does it have to be so hard?"

Fair question.

"Because we love you", he continues eagerly. "I love you and I dad loves you. I know he does. He'll never be the same without you."

I love to hear that they love me, that he loves me, but I try to explain what I have a hard time figuring out myself.

"We will never be the same even if we would be together. So much has changed, we're both different so it would be different."

"But maybe it would be something good?"

Maybe it would. I put my arm around his shoulders which still have not broadened into a grown man's.

"Do you know that you're the wisest kid I've ever known? Maybe it can be good. We just have to find out. And I'll never leave you again no matter what, your dad and I have agreed on that."

Then both simultaneously spot the perfect stone for skimming and giggling throw ourselves to get to it first. Sam beats me, but we remain lying in the sand, just roll over and stare up into the blue sky. There is only one lonely cloud.

"I bet that one will position itself above me for the rest of the day."

I feel like I deserve it.

"It's a cumulus", he says. "It means the good weather will continue, so you don't have to worry."

"Oh, I worry! I worry you will be an insufferable know-it-all like your dad."

I attack him and tickle him until he laughingly begs for mercy. I may be smaller than him by now, but I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. When Charles returns a few minutes later he finds us still laughing, panting and sandy. I look up on him where he stands, sweaty after the run and with his hands on his hips. He tries to put on his Captain Stern-face look, letting us know we're childish or even mad, but I can see that the sight really makes him as happy as I feel right now.

I walk around with a hard knot in my gut. I want to reach out to him, tell him I was out of line yesterday, make everything good again. I want to make him smile and laugh, I want to hug him, cuddle up next to him, but even after the moment on the beach this morning I'm not sure how to break the dead-lock. It feels like time is running out. In a few days we are leaving the cottage. If we have not moved past this then, I do not know how or when we ever will.

Of course, Sam decides this is an evening when he does not want to keep to himself, so we do not have the possibility to talk about serious stuff even if I could make myself do it. Sam suggests that we play some board games and then watch a movie together. We do and both Charles and I plaster on smiling faces, but I feel like we are circling around each other. Both want and not want to bring up the perilous topic of us. Every single moment during the evening, I'm aware of where he is. Too close to me, or too far away from me. His eyes burning on me telling me it is time that I make up my mind, his touch making my heart skip a beat when our hands touch accidentally playing Ludo, my breath hitching when he sits down next to me for the movie, and the plot is completely lost on me. I'm going mad, I do not know how to handle this anymore. He is trying to keep his emotions in check, but I can see from the tick in his jaw, the darkness in his eyes that he feels like me. This is too much to take anymore.

It is a temporary relief when we say good night and go to our separate rooms, after he has shot me a glance which I'm unable to meet, but then I'm of course completely restless, cannot find a calmness in my night. The hurt in his eyes, his longing gaze follows me even in the darkness. I do not want to get hurt, but neither do I want to hurt him. I'm afraid to be with him, but I do not want to let him go. I want to stay away from him, protect myself, but I also want to kiss him so desperately. I want him. I want all of him. I want him to be mine and I want to be his. Again, not the same as before but a different version of us. It always felt like he was on his way somewhere and I followed best I could. Now he is here, he only wants to be here and is waiting for me to move so we can move together, forward - if I want to.

I did not use to believe in myself when he was not there to tell me I was good enough, was never enough just on my own. Now I'm confident in my own capacity, but I need him for other reasons.

He betrayed me, but I failed him too. He has done everything to show me I can trust him again and I feel in my gut that I do.

We had wonderful memories which we destroyed, but now we are capable of creating new ones and maybe restore some of those we dismantled too.

Should I go, or should I stay?

I think of Sam's words - why does it have to be so hard? And of Charles' words – he is terrified too but willing to risk all because the alternative of not trying is far worse. Can I do the same for him? Take that leap of faith?

There is no choice really. I have to be with him. I just have to.

With sudden urgency, I rid myself of the blanket and tiptoe to his room. I carefully open the door and silently shut it closed after me. I make a sound as I bump into the bed and he immediately sits up, unsurprisingly he is awake to. The moon lights up the room dimly and I can see questions and hope in his face when he watches me without saying anything as I approach the bed.

I know that this is right. It is what I want with my entire being.

I sit down on the bedside next to him. He still stays silent, as if he does not want to say anything that might make me change my mind about being here. I know that nothing can change my mind about being here now. I'm past that. I meet his eyes and place my palm flat on his bare chest, so it covers the two rings resting there. The metal slightly warm from his body heat, like the rings were alive.

"I'm going to need this back." I whisper because it feels like talking loudly would break the spell.

"You mean…?"

"I'm going to need you to put it on my finger again", I say without hesitation.

A sound that reminds of a sob comes from him as I put my arms around his neck and find his mouth. His warm, soft lips and I cannot help but kissing him hard, possessively. He is mine. He really, really is mine and will never be anyone else's. And I'm his, I have always been. If he is initially surprised, it does not take him long to catch up and respond and he kisses me back with the longing that three years apart has built up in us. Holds me so tight as if even an inch of empty space between us is too much to bear. Only pauses to ask;

"Are you sure? You're coming back to me?"

"I am. I love you, I want you, I can't bear the thought to live without you again now that you're here. I'm choosing you"

"You're all I want, nothing else. I understand it will be different but it's everything I want", he whispers before we stay silent, swiftly removing the layers of clothes that separates us. Nothing should be between us as our bodies reacquaint themselves. I need his skin on mine. As soon as the clothes are gone, we slow down because now we have all the time in the world and we want to linger in every little move, touch, every kiss trailing over skin and brushing over the other one's lips.

We move as one, hands clasped, not for one second shutting our eyelids because both of us want to see the one person we are with through it all. No pretending, no shutting out needed because we are right where we want to be. His eyes soft, black velvet like they used to be when he wanted me, and he wants me now for sure. This is not how I remembered it. I never thought it possible, but this is better, maybe because we both fully appreciate what we have here and now.

There is only the sound of the waves rolling against the shore and the occasional soft moan we cannot help letting out even if we try to stay quiet not to wake Sam. It is difficult to stay silent though, so very difficult. When we reach the pinnacle together, I'm close to crying and I can see he is too. He is totally present and focused on me, his expression a combination of love, need and almost pained bliss. There is this moment which feels like the intensively orange sun rising over the horizon is inside me, even if it is in the middle of the night. That is when I have to mute my mouth by pressing my lips to his collarbone and he cannot help a groan escaping him.

Coming down slowly, he whispers;

"I hope to God Sam didn't hear that", and we both giggle. A second kind of release after all the tension of this day and intensity of making love.

Afterwards we lay silent in each other's arms, listening to the waves and it is like they are washing away the past. Not into total oblivion because we want to remember not to make the same mistakes, but pain and distrust are washed away and replaced with love and trust and a different version of us is starting anew.

You are the only one. You always were.