Your reviews have been so encouraging, thank you! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint x
When Molly tried to sleep that night, she wasn't sure what plagued her the most; the thought of seeing Charles again or the thought of never seeing Chana again. The constant battle between the two meant that her head was all over the shop and once again, being in the confined space of her platoon quarters felt oppressive. The humidity of June in Israel was beginning to take its toll and Molly got out of bed earlier than she had expected. She tip-toed around her team before settling on a stool outside. Some of the Israeli guards on the night shift looked at her funny, their eyes questioning whether she needed anything, but she gave them a dismissive wave of her hand.
She was okay, at least in the general sense.
As she sat out there, wallowing in her thoughts, she noticed how there was just something else about admiring the grounds when everyone else was asleep. This had been home to Molly for so many months now and it was virtually indistinguishable without the frenzy of soldiers about. The sky was identifiably in its earliest shades of blue and there was the distant chatter of birds. It was ironically peaceful for an army base and for the first time that night, Molly found herself in a state of contentment.
Captivated by the new perspective of the everyday surroundings she seemed to look over, Molly didn't hear the sound of crumpling nylon as somebody else followed her out of her section's quarters. In fact, she was more than surprised when Clark, the newest recruit to the section, perched himself down beside her. She slapped a hand to her aggressively beating chest before using the other to smack Clark's arm both firmly yet playfully.
"You nearly gave us a Julius Seizure."
Clark simply laughed at Molly's attempt at a facial cocktail of humour and sternness. It was strange, over the past few months, Molly and Clark had formed an unlikely of friendships, despite her being a few years his senior. Molly didn't know why in particular, but Clark seemed to remind her of an odd crossover between her and Smurf. Without even intending to, the younger recruit always managed to get himself into some form of trouble or another. Whether he was mouthing off to the Americans – Smurf – or finding himself cornered by the locals – Molly – Clark had already experienced his hefty slice of trouble pie. And it seemed trouble followed trouble because, here the two were.
"What ya doing outta bed, Mol? You okay?" Clark was the newbie to the group and clearly wasn't okay with just a nod in Molly's direction too see if she was okay, at least not after something as big as Chana's death. He had seen their connection strengthen as the weeks went on and he couldn't comprehend what Molly must have been feeling. But it seemed like the rest of the section were used to this, the ability to turn their emotions on and off like the switch of a button. Maybe it was because Clark hadn't had somebody close to him die but, he wasn't happy rolling over when Molly's usual quirky self didn't seem wholly intact.
"I just … I needed some air."
"That the truth?" That was another thing that Molly had noticed about Clark, he was just as pushy as Smurf had been. He could tell that Molly was bullshitting him from the offset and he wasn't going to let that pass easily.
"I can't stop thinking bout' her." After a pregnant pause, Molly spoke again. The image of the adolescent was imprinted into the forefront of her brain. She could see her long black hair fanned out across a pillow; her fingers in her hand, the tears in her eyes. Molly had been helpless as doctors had announced that Chana's chances of survival were slim and in some twisted way, Molly felt guilty, guilty that she couldn't save her like she hadn't been able to save Smurf or her relationship. "My lil' sister is bout' her age an' she's always down at the park instead of at school. That's what Chana should be doin', she should be at school with the rest of the bleeders, not-" As the sentiment hit her, Molly's voice trailed off into the muggy air.
This had always been her biggest weakness – her ability to get too emotionally attached when she was deployed. Her emotional attachment to Bashira had ultimately saved her life but that mission had led to other losses, Charles' close encounter to death and the untimely demise of Smurf. And just like back then, Molly couldn't help but blame herself for Chana's death and the slow degradation of her marriage. The what ifs were swarming her head at this ungodly hour more than ever: what if she'd gotten to Chana sooner, what if she'd requested for a c-section, what if she asked Charles not to leave for tour, what if she hadn't recommended Georgie as two sections new medic. The questions were never ending, and her inner turmoil was surprisingly detected by Clark even before Molly had exited their sleeping quarters.
"It isn't your fault-" Again, Clark seemed to read Molly's mind.
"Course it is." Molly shook her head, her brunette hair falling across her face as she tried to disguise the anguish painted across her features. "I coulda tried harder, fought harder-"
"We still talking about Chana?" The weight of Clark's question made Molly's body slump with the tiredness that she knew would take its toll on her body during the day. He was right, of course. Her words had applied to both Chana's short-lived life and her equally as short-lived marriage to Charles.
"How the fuck do you do that?" Molly sighed in clear annoyance. "Is like you can see in my brain."
Like the rest of the platoon, Clark was well aware of Molly's split from her husband. It was the Voldemort equivalent in section six, something that nobody dared even joke about. But today, had been different, the boys had all been discussing the comeback of two section over dinner, all of them bubbling with an uncertain excitement that Clark couldn't relate to. Soldiers liked to gossip as much as anyone and it hadn't taken long for Clark to catch onto the fact that the new coming section was headed by Molly's cheating ex-husband.
"You're not a hard person to read." Clark nudged Molly's side with a light smile. "Besides, you're only human … running into your ex is a bit shite, whether youse are in East London or in bloody Atlantis."
"Is that in Asia? I was always a bit crap at geography." Clark thought Molly was joking for a second before he noticed the seriousness on her face. Within seconds, the laughter was rolling out of his mouth wholeheartedly and Molly was still as confused as ever, her big doe eyes widening in question. "What ya laughing at, dickhead?"
"You really are something, Molly Dawes."
After that, the pair sat in silence for a good while, just relishing in their surroundings. Their little exchange of banter had helped calm Molly down a lot more than she had anticipated and her eyes began to grow heavy with the sleep that she had been deprived of all night. However, as her eyes began to flutter shut, she felt the toxic images of Charlie and Chana cloud her vision once again.
"I'm scared, Clark." Molly's voice had been barely a whisper as she spoke but in the silence of the early hours of the morning, Clark had heard her crisp and clear. It was the first time she'd admitted it out loud, both to herself and somebody else. Even whilst at therapy, Molly had never confessed something about her marriage that made her feel so vulnerable and she didn't know why but with Clark she was comfortable. In the brief period of time that they had been friends, he had managed to understand her in a way that nobody ever had.
"Scared of what? Of him?"
"I'm scared of me-self, around him." The truth was, Molly hadn't set eyes on Charles since she'd learnt about him and Georgie and she wasn't sure what to expect. She wasn't sure what he was going to be like or how she was going to respond. Everything was up in the air and that feeling was suffocating.
"He didn't … hurt you, did he?" Clark didn't know much about the backstory of Molly's marriage, but a sudden thought drifted into his head; an image he didn't like. As sexist as it was, the misogyny against women in the army was evident and Clark didn't even consider the effects of such behaviour transcending into a marriage between people like Private Molly Dawes and Captain James.
"Not physically, no." Molly clarified almost instantly, the thought of linking Charlie to domestic violence felt wrong, disrespectful. Because besides the infidelity that was supposedly instigated by his mental health, Charlie had been a good husband and that's what made hating him worse. It was incredibly difficult to hate someone when there was so much good alongside the bad. "Sometimes I wish he had."
"Molly!" Clark was practically outraged by her admittance, his hands reaching over to seize her shoulders. He shook her a few times, as if trying to remind her of her worth, before she finally tried to form a coherent explanation for her controversy.
"It'd be easier to flip 'im the bird and tell 'im to do one if he'd hit me."
"Do you still love him?"
"I …" That was a question Molly had never considered and she paused in deep thought. Her feelings had changed noticeably since she'd found out Charles had cheated but deep down, she couldn't muster the courage to say she hated him either. She had seen how valuable life was having lived in places ridden with war and she couldn't bear to hold a significant grudge weighted by the word hate, more so for her own well-being than Charlie's. "I don't actually know and that scares me. I should hate the tosser, shouldn't I? He slept with me mate."
"That's only something you can decide, Mol. You can't always help how you feel."
"Since when were you such a wise ass about love, huh?"
"I loved someone once." There was just something about that moment where Clark and Molly felt at ease; their deepest, most reserved thoughts finally surfacing. There were no interruptions from the rest of their platoon or sudden duty calls. Since what felt like forever, there was quiet, and calmness and it was easy for the two to get lost in it.
"What happened?"
"Life happened." Clark shrugged elusively, his words holding a finality that Molly knew all too well. She didn't question him further either. He had shared what he had been comfortable with and that was fine with her. His statement had been enough, incredibly sacred, and they both lulled into a silence that was like homely hug to them both.
They sat like that for hours, neither of them uttering a word. They watched in astonishment as the sun crept into the sky, warm yellow hues melting into the folds of the night's dark blue. In their world, everything was always go go go and for once, it was nice to appreciate something as mundane as the beginning of a new day.
"That's baffling." Molly was the first to break their silence, her eyes adjusting to the brightness of the early morning sunrise. "That that happens every morn when we're slagging off in bed."
"I've never been awake this early to see it like that. Makes us feel so small, don't it?"
And it did, make Molly feel small. Her worries about seeing Charlie again seemed so trivial in comparison to the magnitude of something as significant as the sun and unlike what she'd felt when she'd walked outside earlier, a sudden drive kicked into Molly's system. It was the same drive that had pushed her to succeed at Keough, the same gut instinct to do something good in the world. It was the feeling she'd been harbouring the past year: the gut-wrenching desire to do well at her job.
With a sudden kick of determination up her backside, Molly set her eyes on a goal that she'd lost sight of momentarily – taking down the sick men who were hurting the likes of girls like Chana for their own political gain.
"Wanna go for a run or summin? Before the rest of the lot wake up?" Molly bounced on the balls of her feet as she envisioned sucker punching Chana's rapist in the gut over and over. She knew her need for revenge would get her nowhere, kind of like it had with Smurf and the Taliban, but Molly was hoping her violent desire could be channelled into the pursuit of stopping terrorising men within the region.
"Sure, haven't stretched these bad boys in a while." Clark groaned as he got up off the tiny plastic stool, his long limbs cracking as he did. His blonde curls sat atop his head messily and he combed his fingers through his hair whilst Molly adjusted her bedtime tank and gym shorts.
"Race ya to the mess hall, loser!" Before Clark could even figure out what was occurring, Molly's hair was up in a high ponytail and she was sprinting off into the dusty foreground.
"Why you little cockney shit." Molly was a good few metres in front of him and Clark huffed impatiently as he chased her around the empty base.
However, the base wasn't empty for long. As the tails on wristwatches ticked closer and closer to five, the silent camp was disrupted by the audible arrival of a new platoon. Two section arrived at their new army base in Israel with a resonating groan. They had been eager to leave the Cyprus heat only to be introduced to a climate that was three times hotter than the one they had been complaining about. As soon as they stepped off their helicopter, there was unanimous uproar as they were told they needed to put down their gear and be in the ops room within twenty minutes.
"Is like a sauna ou' here." Fingers wiped his sweaty palm against his fellow soldiers' uniform.
"Make sure you stay hydrated, boys!" Captain Charles James instructed his section as he himself rubbed the sweat from his now permanently frowning brow. Ever since learning of their group mission with section six, Charles had been a bundle of tight muscles and butterflies. Despite having separated from Molly, he had always kept an ear out for her in the grape vine. Even though he'd been the screw up in their relationship, and he probably had no right to, Charles found the weight on his chest lessen when he heard that Molly was doing well. But hearing about her and seeing her were two completely different things.
In all honesty, he had been, seeing her, that is, every time he closed his eyes. The image of her after their official breakup was the thing that haunted him the most. All memories of her infectious smile had evaporated and all he seemed to remember was the gentle drop of her mouth and the stream of tears as she stood before him wordlessly. She hadn't screamed or sobbed loudly, the house had been eerily quiet, her usual chattery gob was no longer wagging and that had petrified Charles.
He had broken her.
And now, after all these months, he wasn't sure what to anticipate from the enigma that had become Molly Dawes. He wasn't sure if she'd cry again. He couldn't handle it if she did. Every fibre in his being had reached out to comfort her that dreaded day when things had ended, and she'd flinched at his touch as if he'd burnt her. But then again, he didn't know if she would be angry, because truthfully, she'd never really been outwardly angry. He had been prepared for a slap, maybe a punch or two to his shiner but – nothing. The feisty Molly Dawes that he loved – that he still loved – had done the unexpected and said nothing. But somehow, her silence had been more painful than any hit could have been. The disappointment and betrayal was clear on her face and it had killed Charles knowing he'd been the one to put it there. It killed him even more to think of her living life and succeeding without him being by her side.
"You alright, boss?" As the rest of the boys followed directions from the resident Captain Adams, Fingers lingered behind to get his words in with James. Having been under Charles' command for years now, Fingers had become more than just another one of the lads … he was a friend. And regardless of everything scandalous that had unfolded between Molly and his Captain, Fingers had remained a friend to them both. He hadn't agreed with Charles' actions and he never sugar coated what he did when they discussed it but from the look of despair on Charlie's face, Fingers knew he just needed to be a friend right now, his moral compass pushed aside.
"Go settle with your platoon, soldier." With his metaphorical Captain hat on, Charles ordered Fingers dismissively, his order ignoring the question of concern.
"Come on, boss. You don't look okay-"
"Fingers!" Captain James felt the prominent frown on his forehead grow bigger. He had never been one to discuss his feelings and he surely wasn't ready to compromise any of his section by reeling in his relationship insecurities. Apart from the treacherous day with Badrai and the days following Elvis' death, Charles had never presented himself as weak in front of his platoon and he didn't plan on it now. Showing emotion was a sign of weakness and he couldn't do that, not when he had a platoon to run. They were on duty and he was going to stay as professional as possible, regardless of his thoughts about Molly.
"Fine, don't tell me." Fingers frowned heavily and turned around without looking in the direction he was going. His first few steps had been abrupt and at a quick pace, so much so that his body forcefully collided with something he hadn't been expecting … or someone. They had been coming at him at a frenzied speed and Fingers moaned as an elbow hit him square in the chest. The whole ordeal occurred within the matter of seconds with no chance of it being stopped. It was a big collision of bodies and sandy dust.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph." As soon as the words were said out loud, an aura of awkwardness filled the open space.
"Molly." The person Fingers had bumped into - it was Molly, and Charles had been the first to notice; he would have recognised that Cockney accent anywhere.
As her name slipped his lips, Molly's head snapped upwards. She'd practically given her self-whip-lash, she had moved that quickly. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Molly gazed into the deep brown eyes of the man she had once loved more than life itself.