A/N: It's still Tuesday in Norway, so this might be on the EARLY side - with one whole day or well a couple of hours. SHOCKING. I know. Anyway, I'd like to thank you everyone who reviewed and gave kudos and what-not. You're all brilliant.

I'd also like to give a huge thanks to daisherz365 for being beta, and handling my long-winded rants. Bless her.


2 Corinthians 12:9-10

For when I am weak, then I am strong.


The window was ajar, the sound of the rest of the village awakening in the distance – birds, voices, children. Her eyes were closed, but she could hear it all. One hand resting underneath her warm cheek, the other clutching the quilt up to her chin. She hadn't been asleep for a while, but she hadn't wanted to be the first out of bed either. He was shifting besides her, one arm lazily draped across her midriff slowly slipping away. The bed squeaking as she heard him sit upright on the bed, the spring exhaling when he finally got onto his feet.

The door to the bedroom opening gradually, carefully even, before it was promptly banged shut with a loud thud. Her eyes sprang open at that, making a face where she lay, seeing the light that slowly crept into the room, peeking through the drapes.

She didn't budge, hoping that he would still believe her to be asleep, as she didn't want to continue his line of questioning from last night.

Richard had apologized when she'd gotten home drenched. He'd rushed out of the house barefoot wearing a messily buttoned-up shirt, his feet sliding onto the mud, as he hugged her tightly to his chest. His dark eyes had been wide and soft, as if he'd doubted she'd returned. "God forgive me," he'd whispered again and again against her skin, her body aching in response to his touch.

He'd been so gentle when she'd gotten back, almost making her want to instantly forgive him, except, it felt like any of the other times. The peace before the storm constantly brewing within him, as if he was fighting against the dark. And all of that want of forgiveness dissipated the moment he'd asked her where she'd been, instead of questioning why she'd left, like she always wondered why she returned (though there was more than one reason, looming in the inner recesses of her mind).

Like clockwork she'd answer his question, always, but she felt herself fighting against answering so obediently for once. She'd been afraid he'd find out that she was in the church, alone, with a man – even if that man were a vicar, a man of God. Molly knew she couldn't fight – not properly, not like the way she wanted, the power within her limbs frail compared to what they'd once been.

"I just needed to get away-," she'd finally managed to say, heading into the house, hoping his voice would not carry, though she knew it would.

It always did.

"From me?" he'd bit out, jaw clenched as he strode after her, dogging her each step.

She'd just stood there then, her clothes still soaked, holding onto her arms almost defensively, his eyes trailing alongside her every movement.

"I'm going to bed… at least you'll know where to find me," he said.

It wasn't what she meant to say, though maybe it was. She didn't know anymore, she didn't want to know anymore. It had taken her ages until she dared go into the bedroom, and only when she could hear his soft snoring, but even when she'd laid down, he'd still held her tightly.

His words never truly matching what he said.

Molly let out a sigh, rising up in the bed. Her body throbbing in response, as she got onto her feet, padding over to the small cabinet in the corner, fetching clothes out. It felt natural to slip into something with long sleeves, not that she didn't do that usually, but yesterday, she hadn't…

Perhaps that was her mistake.

Perhaps if she'd worn something with long sleeves the day would have fared differently.

Richard called out her name, and she roughly pulled on the rest of her clothing, taking care to button up the blouse she chose, not leaving any skin visible. "… It's not so bad," she told herself in a low voice, admittedly, it ached more than it was visible.

He called out again, and she quickly got out of the small bedroom. Walking through the hall, passing their small sitting room and entering the kitchen, which was thankfully large enough to house a table, and a couple of chairs.

"Morning," he said brightly. "You slept in."

"Barely," she said with a slight smile.

He was standing by the stove, hair still unkempt and frying up breakfast by the look of it.

She sat down by the kitchen table, hands tucked onto her lap, as she waited for whatever he was going to say – "About last night – where didyou wind up going? You didn't say."

He wasn't looking at her, his eyes on the skillet.

"Just outside of village."

"… Outside of the village? What does that mean?" he said, turning away from the food frying in the pan. He was taking his time, picking up a packet of smokes from his trouser pocket, and lighting a cigarette up with the burner on the stove.

"Richard," she began, with a little laugh.

He raised a brow, "Why can't you say where you went?"

Her laugh got caught in her throat, "Does it matter?"

Richard exhaled sharply, smoke clouding his face, and she could feel her eyes sting.

"Did you meet someone?"

"No, of course not-," she said, all too quickly.

He moved away from the stove, eyes on her, the pan unattended.

"Then - - why can't you tell me where you were?" he bit out.

She could smell the food burning behind him.

"I went to the church."

His brows furrowed together, an unreadable expression on his face, as her hands were balled into fists underneath the table. She should have just told him, she didn't understand why she couldn't just have told him – it didn't mean anything. Or did it?

"What were you doing there for?"

"I - - I like the church," she said trying to laugh again, trying to keep an easy smile on her face.

He chuckled, turning to face the stove, beginning to stir the food around. "But you don't even believe in God. You're the closest thing to a heathen in this village."

She drew for breath, her chest heaving, it hurt more than it should.

He frowned, "Look at what you made me do," he said drawing back from the skillet. "It's all burned - - frankly, I've lost my appetite already."

"- - I still go to church every Sunday."

"To hear that bloody piano," he said fidgeting with his cigarette, turning his head abruptly, "- - Did you play again last night?"

She stared up at him, face set, "What if I did?"

He just smiled, "Breaking into the church, then. I half-expect you to burn up at re-entry."

"I didn't break-," he slammed the skillet onto the kitchen table, causing her to flinch, but his expression was mild. " – in," she finished lamely.

He sighed, snubbing out his cigarette by the sink. "I am sorry for behaving beastly last night… That's not the sort of man I want to be, but it would help if you not run away every time we have a row."

He touched the back of her head, bending down to give her a quick peck on the lips, while she sat, hands still in her lap.

The doorbell rang, and he pulled back.

Molly got to her feet, "I should get that."

"I'll get it," he said, putting on the dark blue coat with its gold buttons that was slung over the other chair. "Do I look representable?"

She smiled, "Of course."

"I'll get the door," he said giving her another kiss, this time on the cheek.

He walked off still buttoning his coat, putting on the uniform she'd always trusted growing up, but she grew to learn that policemen took care of their own.


The eggs in the skillet had blackened crusts when she threw the contents into the bin. Spoiled food , she thought, frowning to herself, as she heard a familiar voice when Richard finally got to the door exchanging the usual pleasantries.

Molly smiled to herself as she filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove. Richard bid his farewell not long after, and she heard a pair of heels clicking against the hardwood floors. She was greeted to the sight of Mrs Hudson, her neighbour for the last five years, and one of the few friends she did have.

It was admittedly an odd relationship with the woman being her senior, though they were both viewed as peculiar in comparison to the rest of the village, though Mrs Hudson's tale sounded like any other story after the war. Her husband and son both lost, and though Molly had her husband – she was still childless. Thankfully, Mrs Hudson never pitied her unlike the rest.

The woman gave her a quick peck on the cheek on entering the kitchen, quickly removing her coat, before she said, "Sit down."

Mrs Hudson always had the funny ability of making her feel like she was a guest in her own household. She sat down as told, almost laughing as she saw Mrs Hudson make her way through the cupboards, readying cups and saucers, settling them with a flourish onto the table.

"How are you?" she said while putting some china in front of her.

"I'm fine," she said with a small smile. "You?"

"Always," said Mrs Hudson, but Molly could see the look in her eye. It was a familiar stare, a knowing one. "I couldn't help but overhear last night – were you and Richard having a spat?"

Molly knew that Mrs Hudson knew they were, but she was, as always, being delicate.

"It was just a small spat," she said suddenly tinkering with the cup on the saucer, turning it around so it was properly placed.

"It didn't sound small."

She got to her feet at that, busying herself to find the tin where they had some tea cakes left. "Richard gets riled up easily – it didn't mean anything."

"I suppose that's what war does to men."

Molly settled down the tin on the table, harder than she intended, before she put several of the cakes onto plates.

"We all have our scars," she said sitting down again, adjusting her skirt.

"Perhaps, Alexander would have been different if he'd ever returned."

Molly doubted it, "What brings you here? – Except to drink tea, of course. I do enjoy the company."

Mrs Hudson who'd just bitten into a teacake, covered her mouth, and spoke amidst swallowing, "The new vicar-,"

"What about him?" she said blinking furiously.

Mrs Hudson thankfully wasn't paying any mind, "He arrived last night, apparently. He wasn't set to arrive before another week or so."

"Oh?" she said trying not sound too interested.

"Yes, and he's making his rounds, already with the other neighbours, but he wanted to speak specifically to you-,"

She blanched.

The kettle went off, steam rising into a high pitch.

Mrs Hudson got to her feet with unknown agility, handling the kettle with care, "Yes, apparently he needs a new organist, or the better term for it - pianist. And he'd caught word that you were rather good."

Molly knew that this had much to do with Mrs Hudson, or so she hoped.

"I thought Mrs Bailey was the one who attended to the piano-," she said, while Mrs Hudson poured hot water into her cup.

"Yes, but her arthritis has caught the better of her. We'd do her disservice to even ask her to do so."

"I understand that, but I don't know if I-,"

"And I understand if you'd rather not."

Mrs Hudson settled down across her, her expression open, and not one of any scheming.

She was one of the few people who Molly felt didn't plot against her, but rather for her.

"I've never really performed in front of anyone," she lied, hoping that would suffice. Everyone knew her to be quiet of nature, they wouldn't find it too strange if she didn't go along with it.

"I won't force you, but he'll be visiting you with the request, I suspect. It's a bit trickier to say no to a man of the cloth than your old meddlesome neighbour…"

Molly couldn't help but laugh at that, and the woman in front of her smiled in return.

"I'd consider it, if I were you."

"I will, but I've already got a lot to busy myself with."

She couldn't consider it, she knew that. She also knew, that, if she were lucky the Vicar had yet to realize she'd been in the church last night. Then again, it might not even have been him, but someone else entirely.

She could live in the hope.

Mrs Hudson's eyes gleamed, "I remember when you first came here, and the only thing you did was play."

"Yes, but… I hardly play these days," she said, which was another lie; all of them stacking themselves neatly on top of each other. She had become so used to lying, to not tell how she felt, or how she saw the future ahead of her.

Mrs Hudson didn't push, only quietly setting her cup back onto the table, "It's a shame you had to give the piano away, oh , but I should go, I've got a roast in the oven-," she said pulling on her coat, picking off lint on the shoulders, before she began to walk out. Molly got up on her feet, about to follow her.

"Oh," Mrs Hudson exclaimed, abruptly stopping, as she fetched something from her coat pocket, putting it on the table. "The Vicar gave me these, I suppose in hopes that I'd convince you – if you don't want them – you can always give them back."

It was the keys to the church, she couldn't help but recognize them.

Her poorly disguised surprise was something she saw Mrs Hudson understand, though the older woman didn't say anything. She only left her to her own devices, and Molly let the keys stay on top of the kitchen table. She didn't know what else to do with them, as there was no point in hiding them away this time.

She hadn't stolen them last time.

They'd just wound up in her possession, and she hadn't found the right time to return them either, or so, she told herself when she'd gotten hold of them. After all, the new Vicar hadn't returned at that time, the church was practically empty, so there was no reason to give them back until they were needed.

But here they were again , on her table, in her home. He'd offered them to her – even offering employment. Molly wanted to pretend she didn't know how Richard would react, but she remembered how he'd been after the war ended, when she'd wanted to pursue nursing.

It was something she had never thought would happen, as the world had felt open to them both, until he closed every door she even thought of reaching for. He'd been different before the war, or so, she liked to believe, as if that look in his eye was something she hadn't felt already there long before their marriage.

Yet, it had felt like a different man had come home.

Or maybe, he'd come home to someone else.


The back door creaked soundly when she went into the garden, she could smell the flora springing to life all around her.

There were still water droplets hopelessly clinging to the leaves and petals from the night before, as she settled down the basket onto the still-damp grass. She began to hang up the assorted bedclothes, hoping with her brown eyes turning upwards, that the sky would keep its promise, however fleeting that might be.

It was while she bent down for another sheet that she thought she saw something on the other side of the sheet obstructing her view. Drawing it aside she saw a tall man all dressed in black, except for the white collar at his neck heading towards her.

She immediately let the sheet fall before her face, hoping he would not take notice of her, but she could hear the wooden gate into the garden squeak open.

"Mrs Brook," his deep voice said.

"Yes," she said, almost breathless, feigning to herself, and to him that her attempt to catch her breath had all to do with the task before her. "You must be the new vicar."

Molly almost thought that he would talk through the sundries, her eyes on the washing, until he walked into her line of sight.

"Yes."

Blue eyes meet brown.

He blinked at her, almost faltering in his step. She could see the recognition in his eyes, her cheeks almost warming, eyes almost hovering elsewhere, but she met his gaze head-on, not wanting to show any weakness in front of him. The vicar looked different than expected, his dark garments tailored to fit snuggly, and his face strange, but handsome. He had wild dark curls that were not hid away by either hat nor any grease.

His blue eyes went briefly towards the house, as if measuring it, before they returned to her face. "Mrs Hudson – must have told you I was coming."

"She did," she said hanging up a sheet in front of him, removing him from her sight yet again.

"Are you interested in the position?" he pushed aside the offending sheet, and she almost bit her lip at the expression of fleeting annoyance on his face, which he tried to disguise.

"I don't know if I can-," she said, taking a sudden step back, as he stepped into her view again, past the hanging sheets.

There was something different about him.

He didn't seem to mind how close he was standing in front of her, but he seemed to take note of her discomfort – furrowing his brows before he took a slight step backward.

"I asked if you were interested, Mrs Brook…" he said in a soft voice. "Not if you couldn't."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

He looked thoughtful, "Well, we might find out the particular reasons as to why you find it difficult and perhaps, even a solution which would make it possible."

She found herself almost laughing, "Are you always this obstinate?"

"Yes," he said, unblinking.

Molly was put out by how earnest he was being, she could see it clearly on his face. Somehow, he was easy to figure out, which felt odd to her. He seemed familiar to her, in the way Mrs Hudson did - like someone who didn't quite fit wherever they were placed.

"That's not why you were sent here away from society I hope?"

" – You're not answering my question."

"You already know my answer."

"Is that why you played in the dead of night when no one could hear you?" he said, and then she understood he truly knew it was her.

She plucked up her now empty wicker basket, holding it against her stomach, letting out a breath, as she said, "It used to be mine… It was a gift from my father, and now, it's not mine anymore, but I can live with that... I have lived with that, for a long time now, because we couldn't afford to keep it. Not really... And it felt nice to give it away, for the good of everyone else, as it was selfish of me to keep it. Well, that's what Richard said-,"

"Did you believe him?"

"You're a man of God – what do you believe? Would you rather, the church had no piano?"

"…No," he said, and she wasn't so certain what he was answering. "I'm sorry to have bothered you, Mrs Brook," he said, and he withdrew, but he stood by the gate, holding it open. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."


Molly walked into the house carrying the now-empty basket, almost throwing it aside on the floor, but still she put it away gently. The whole house was tidied up, there was barely much to tidy. Dinner was even ready, and she wondered, if Richard might be persuaded.

This wasn't a job .

It was charitable thing to do, a godly thing do, and even though she might be a heathen to some, she was a believer in some things, in doing what was right, and it felt right to play, the entire idea seemed right .

But she didn't know how he'd react to her doing so.

He'd felt it was more important she was home, but they didn't have children unlike everyone else. She could always feel the look of pity in everyone's eyes when she walked into the centre of the village to the grocers. They believed she was barren, that she would never encounter the joy of motherhood, but she knew differently…


"The superintendent kept me longer than necessary today," said Richard who'd finished his meal, cigarette already in hand.

She'd paid half-attention to what he said mostly throughout dinner, her mind going to the church instead, the thought of playing colouring everything else in her mind.

She couldn't help it.

She wanted to play, and she'd be damned if she'd let Richard stop her. He might not, she thought, he might let me play . It would be every Sunday, which wasn't much, not at all. He'd always know where she was, and he would be able to see her if he wanted to - - "Molly."

She looked up from her still full-plate, her fork skewering a potato that had been hovering by her mouth for an age, already cold. "As I was saying, the superintendent kept me-," he said, eyes dark, almost glistening. "There's a position available, higher-up, if I want it - in London-,"

"London?" she said, brown eyes wide.

"We'd get out of this damn sewer, but they want me to go down there for a while, it'll just be a little while of course, maybe a month of two, until I've figured out my bearings-,"

"You should go!" she found herself exclaiming, too loudly, too enthusiastically.

He looked at her at that, taking a long drag of his cigarette. " – Do you want me to leave?"

"Of course not – but – it's an opportunity – and you could find us a new place to live, a better place than this –" she said, the words rushing out of her in one breath. Somehow, she almost believed what she said, as if changing scenery, to the busy city would distract Richard enough, distract him enough to –

He smiled, and her shoulders slumped down.

"You'd be taken care of as well, it's all paid for, no expense – not much of a career option available here anyway. At least that's what he said."

"You really should go. London's so very busy, and I know you get bored so easily-,"

Richard grinned, "There's hardly ever going to be a ghastly murder here."

She blinked all of a sudden at those words, dropping her fork, and he looked at her carefully, "I hope I didn't remind you of-," he murmured.

"No, no, it's alright – I better clean up."

He didn't mention that she hadn't finished her plate, only sitting wordlessly smoking, while she threw the rest of her dinner in the garbage. "Will you be alright if I went away?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't want you to run away again," he said, and she could hear in the tone of his voice that he wasn't speaking of last night.

She rested her hands on the edge of the sink.

"I would never do that again," she said, her eyes stinging.

"No, of course not - you're my dearest Molly," he said pulling her into his lap, cradling her close to him, and she could feel his breath against the side of her cheek. "My Molly - mine ."

He made her turn her face around and kissed her gently on the lips.

When he withdrew he said, "Don't think me a brute for leaving tomorrow, love."

"Tomorrow?" she said, almost balking, her entire body stiffening in his arms. "Already?"

"They want me there as soon as possible – tomorrow seemed appropriate, I hope you don't mind - - performing your wifely duties tonight-," he said with a wet kiss on her neck.


He was all soft in the morning, coaxing her gently awake, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, though her mind was elsewhere.

Everywhere but there, in their marital bed.

She'd given into him the night before, knowing it would be easier, knowing it would convince him that she would not leave the village, but she didn't have the money to do so anyway.

Molly did not see where she could go, where she could be, what she could do, because, he would find her.

He had always found her, and he would make her seem nonsensical, silly, acting in hysterics if she ever were to leave him again.

It was easier to stay, to bear it.

She did love Richard, or she made herself think she did, for her own sake. It was easier pretending that she still found every part of him handsome - from his dark hair, to his dark eyes, but every part of him, reminded her of how much he hurt her, as well.

She wanted the sweet, but she got the sorrow.

When she'd asked for help, one night, long ago when it all began, they'd told her to bear it, because that was her wifely duty. He was a man - he could be rough - he would be, but she had married him.

It was her duty to please him, to subdue that beastly nature that he was given to him by God.

He was the believer , not her.

Molly believed God had abandoned her long ago.

It was when Richard had kissed her goodbye, fiercely gripping her toward him – his grin large as he walked toward the train – that she knew he'd be the death of her.

But she would live, she would – for now.

She ran when she couldn't see the train anymore in the distance, almost looking upon the village differently – the sky clear, the flowers in bloom – it all seemed different.

Molly was rather breathless when she finally got to Mrs Hudson's door, her gloved hand furiously knocking, and it was at this very moment that her neighbour chose to be particularly slow.

She almost burst through the door, but the door thankfully sprang open.

"Molly!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed in surprise.

Perhaps, it was the colour in her cheeks, or the brightness of her eyes that caught her off guard.

"I'll play," she said trying to catch her breath, yet laughing.