Sorry that this has taken me so long, thank you for your patience! I have just had a lot on my plate recently and I hope this chapter is worth the wait x

Tunnel vision had forced Molly to run into a burning building in the attempt of rescuing a helpless child without any second thought. Nevertheless, that same vision was growing increasingly blurry. Her eyes glazed over as heat penetrated everywhere. Smoke loitered the air wherever she turned, and the loud roar of flames prevented her from hearing any cries of the child she was in pursuit of saving.

It was then that her mind began floating off on a tangent. She wasn't sure if it were the smoke's fault or her mind's inability to steer away from the image of domesticity but, Molly could see a child – a figment of her imagination. Once again, she found herself thinking of children, her own children. The child in front of her had to be hers. The only thing that confirmed that, was the fact that the girl looked exactly like her and Charles. Amidst the fire, the toddler, no more than six years old, stood before Molly with a small smile on her face. It was a ghost of a smile, haunting, and Molly attempted one in return. The girl's hair was in a tuft of curls upon her head and her arm was extended, reaching out to Molly. It was almost as if she was trying to show her something, take her somewhere.

"Please." Molly rasped as the smoke engulfed her lungs. She wasn't sure if she was pleading for herself, the child her mind was conjuring up or the real child she was meant to be saving. She also wasn't sure what she was pleading for: safety, the figment's existence … death. Molly's mind was chaos, exactly like her life in the real world. "Come on, come on, come on." The more Molly nattered to herself, the harder it grew for her to move about. It was the smoke that was the devil in this situation. It held her hostage, pushing down on her chest as she attempted anything. The slightest of movements made her dizzy – weak - and the heat seemed to kiss every inch of her exposed flesh. Using basic training as her only guide, Molly used her feet and hands as a guidance system. She tried to reach for the girl in front of her but every time she extended a limb, she felt her uniform singe and burn, the burns hitting her skin in an ache that was growing numbingly painful. "Please!"

And as Molly begged and pleaded inside the burning building, her estranged husband did the exact same whilst outside.

"Please God, please," Charles cursed under his breathe, his mind praying to a deity that he had never believed in. An image of Molly's smooth skin tarnished with ash and flames made his blood run cold. A lone tear slipped from his eye as he dragged his fingers through his dishevelled curls. He felt unbelievably hopeless like he had been with Smurf, his brother and Elvis. It was a feeling he despised. "Fuck, come on, Mols."

As he sobbed without a care on the sandy ground, all Charles could think of was Molly and the once picturesque life that they had shared together.

He thought of the moments in life which could only be described as perfect, the moments that one wishes were frozen in time forever. They were the type of moments that sat on mantle pieces in antique frames. Charles' most prized moments were the ones that weren't tainted by the cruelty or the sadness of the world that he had become so familiar with, they were moments of profound innocence. They were moments shared with Sam, his son; Sam's first steps, his first words, his first laugh, smile. But Charlie always believed such a sense of wholesomeness rightfully only came with children. He never imagined that an adult could possess such playfulness or naivety, at least not one who had experienced the harsh realities of war. But that was all before he had set his eyes on Molly Dawes.

He'd thought of her as a breath of fresh air. She'd been everything he'd been looking for, without even knowing it. She knew when to call him out on his bullshit and when to set him straight. She knew how to make him laugh and smile, get his body all riled up. She was perfect without fitting a mould that society deemed fit. She was unique in her own Dawsey type of way and every moment spent with her was a moment that Charlie wanted to encapsulate.

It was like the time that Charles had realised he had wanted to propose to Molly. It hadn't been a day of much significance, at least not to her. The two had decided to spend the day shopping after Molly had taken up a more permanent residence in Charles' home in Bath. Charles had figured that the house needed a more feminine touch after his parents had decided to uproot and travel the world with their hefty retirement savings. He had littered the place with his laddish trimmings, a football magazine here, his gardening gloves there. And so, he had taken Molly to their local IKEA, knowing well that she'd rummage through the never-ending shelves like a kid in a candy store. It was that bright and infectious smile of hers that had catalysed Charles' desire to settle down again. He had known from early on that Molly was someone he couldn't live without but that smile on her face – the one that reached her eyes – was what consolidated something that Charles had always known deep down. Molly deserved more. Just because he hadn't gotten his happy ending the first time around, it didn't mean Molly didn't deserve her chance at it. The fairy tale wedding, the white picket fence; Charles wanted her to have everything she hadn't grown up seeing. He wanted to complete her, make her as happy as she was picking furniture every day.

But, in the reality of their current situation, Charles felt lost, the memories of that beautiful smile a distant memory. All of it was slipping away, fast. Because here he was, staring at hues of orange and red fire, knowing that Molly was in the middle. As the flames raged and the screams grew more dominant around him, Charles felt more helpless than he had ever been before. It was like his perfect moments were slipping threw his fingers and there was nothing scarier. It was a god forsaken feeling, one that he hadn't even felt after Elvis' death. He was losing a whole other part of himself – her - and there was nothing he could do about it.

This wasn't like losing her after that night with Georgie. It was worse, heartbreakingly worse. It was a completely different spectrum if Charles was being honest. After their separation, there was always a part of him that knew she was alive and prospering. He knew she was still a part of the force and accepting an abundance of jobs. His conscious was aware of the fact that she was still up and kicking and that his betrayal hadn't ruined her. It had been a weird sense of comfort knowing that Molly had continued to do the thing she loved in order to find a sense of direction.

However, this feeling wasn't like that. That image of a brave and fighting Molly was fading fast, like a poor effect in a budget movie. Whilst people bustled around him, assisting with medical care and running from the growing flames, Charlie found himself rooted in his spot. His eyes were fixated on the entrance that Molly had gone running off through, every fibre in his body screaming for her to make her heroic exit. In fact, he couldn't give a shit about her heroic exit, he just needed her out. The less prominent and more practical (and rational) part of him couldn't help but wonder - wonder if she was still up and fighting through that burning building, wondered if she'd passed out from the smoke inhalation, wondered if she'd make it out alive …

He couldn't lose her … not again.

"She's gonna be alright, Sir." Fingers slapped a hand to Charles' back, snapping him out of his reverie. "She 'as to be." And despite the confidence in his tone, not even Fingers believed his words. Because he'd never believed in luck or fate, he believed in practicality and facts and the fact of the matter was that they were all truly and utterly screwed. Even though everyone seemed to be helping and the platoons were on their a-game, a fire like the one before them was no joke. It was hot and blazing and Fingers knew that Molly had been god-damned stupid for running in there with no back up. She had no protective gear, no shield, no water-hose and that wasn't a good sign.

"What am I going to do, Fingers?" As Captain James spoke, the vulnerability he had been trying to suppress before his inferior slipped. He had spent so long hiding from Fingers and that façade was slowly fading. His voice was barely a whisper among the surrounding screaming and the silent tears slowly began to stream down his face. For once, he was no longer Fingers' Captain, he was a friend in clear distress. "I can't-"

"You can't lose her?" Fingers gave Charles a sympathetic smile as he completed his weighted sentence. "Nor can we, Boss. Molly's a shinin' light and we're gonna do what we can to get her out, alright?"

The two men, unintentionally, thought back to their first mission alongside Molly. Smurf had been well … Smurf … and had moved too quickly and had nearly gotten himself killed. They had all doubted Molly when she'd joined the team and they'd all unrightfully presumed Smurf was as good as dead with a medic like Molly because Molly had had to crawl through a minefield to get to him. But she'd done it. Without second guessing herself, Molly had been brave. Charles remembered calling her stupid and reckless and Fingers remembered calling her a hero. That day in Afghan, Molly had proven her worth, proven she was as capable as any other man on their team. She'd saved a member of their family and that's exactly what Charles wanted to do now – needed to. In his perverse mind, he felt like he needed to prove himself, as a soldier, a captain and as a husband.

"We have to go in there-"

"No!" Fingers, once again, restrained Charles from stampeding into a burning building like his reckless wife. He knew getting Molly out was a priority but sending Charles in was like sending him to his death. His pursuit of being a hero was going to end fruitless. "Emergency services are on their way. We gotta let them do their job."

"And I have to do mine. I have to save her." Charles knew he was a shitty husband. He had been reminded of his incapability to be good to Molly over and over again. However, regardless of his past, his feelings for Molly were still there. Deep down, they always had been. His post traumatic stress disorder had jumbled up his thoughts back when he was with Georgie but rest assured, he was as confident as ever about his feelings for Molly. In fact, his feelings were stronger now. And, despite what Molly felt towards him, as her husband, Charles was determined to help her live.

"Look, I know you're sorry and all but killing yourself ain't gonna help no one-"

"She's my wife, Fingers. I have to do something."

With theatrical timing, the distant blaring of a fire truck grew louder and louder as Charles' worry grew more prominent.

"They'll get her out." Fingers kept his hand firmly pressed against Charles' back as an attempt to comfort him. "She'll be alright."

The locals yelled at firemen as they offloaded, instructing them on Molly and a child's presence within the building. Within seconds, people were racing in with an abundance of equipment; water hoses at the ready.

In order to keep himself sane, Charles repeated Fingers' words in his head. But as he did, his surroundings seemed to blur together – a Jackson Pollock in the real world. It was like a scene from a film; nothing made sense without Molly. It was knocking the air out of him, forcing him to kneel on the ground with Fingers by his side.

He didn't know how long he was sat like that, his knees drawn to his chest and his eyes trying to focus on something tangible. He decided the ground was a good place to look. He couldn't see the fire, couldn't see the people injured or the people running. The ground was safe a method for Charles to cope with the fact that everything had hit the ceiling.

"Sir, Captain, Sir!" The voices around him were a mess too, all indistinguishable. It was like the good old days when Charles used to hit the clubs, he felt drunk and unable to identify his surroundings. All he could hear was a distant ringing, it was faint but somehow loud and extremely audible at the same time. "Charles … you gotta get up – come on-"

Before Charles could even understand what was going on, he felt Fingers heave his body upwards. He tripped over his feet a little until clarity started to emerge.

"Fingers-" Charles questioned his fellow soldier, almost to clarify that what he was seeing was real.

"Molly, Captain James, Molly!" Charles shook his head, his hand thumping his temple as his vision cleared leisurely and his senses returned. He wasn't sure if he was still drunk – metaphorically, of course – or not.

"Fingers, is that-"

"Molly!" Fingers yelled, reassuring Captain James that he was indeed seeing his wife, or what looked like his wife. Because there she was. Molly Dawes was almost unrecognisable, covered, head to toe, in ash as she stumbled out the building. There were burns littered across her body and Charles felt his heart sink at the sight of them, of her. However, she was still Molly. There was that same brunette hair, that same petite figure. That was Molly, his Molly. A fireman was assisting her as she walked, another accompanying them with a wailing baby.

She had done it, yet again. Molly had come out victorious. She had saved an innocent child's life whilst risking her own.

"Molls-" Charlie practically sobbed her name out, his throat raspy and his voice foreign. He threw Fingers' hold off him and ran to her, his arms outstretched in a gesture that anybody would expect in a situation like their current.

She was there, she was alive, she was awake.

It was a miracle and Charles let out a sigh of relief as the weight lifted off his chest.

"Daughter." Molly chocked as firemen edged her closer towards Charles. Her eyes were a mess, practically rolling into the back of her head, and Charles had done enough medical training to know what that meant. She was going to faint. "Daughter." And just as the word slipped out of her mouth, Charles was there to catch her as Molly's body went limp.

She was passed out in his arms and Charles' Captain hat was back on. His first point of call was to check her breathing. He placed two fingers to her pulse point and tried to identify a heartbeat … there was barely one.

"Help! Somebody help. Please! Somebody help us!" Molly's breathes were slow, dangerously so and Charles' sudden reassurance of her safety plummeted back down towards uncertain again.