War Paint softened with a Brush Stroke

Molly thought there was something oddly therapeutic about sitting outside on the deck in the late evening with a glass of wine as she drew the old, weathered gravestones found in the secluded cemetery opposite her. Her fingers sketched the cracks and shaded the watermarks on the misshaped stones that leant at jaunty angles after battling for decades, sometimes centuries, against the elements. Some stones had eroded so badly over time that the names and dates were no longer visible. They reminded Molly of soldiers as they stood to attention in solemn neat rows; the only reminder left that these people had once walked the earth. For the first time in weeks, Molly felt a calmness and a stillness settle into her nut as her eyes were drawn to the dark churning waters of the Taf estuary that was just visible through the tree line beyond the misty shadows of the cemetery.

With a tired sigh, Molly dropped her pencil and rotated her wrist in an attempt to ease her cramped fingers as she tilted her head back to watch the stars. She hadn't seen this many since Afghan. She loved watching Mother Nature at work as she painted various colours on the black canvas of the night sky; a cocktail of deep velvet indigoes and midnight blues that swirled together like an ink brush in water only for the image be wiped clean ready to be re-painted the next time the sun went down. The only source of light was from a single slither of moonlight peeking out between the trees. The silver orb bathed the water in a pale light dancing off of the water's surface as the waves lapped gently along the shore line. Smurf had been right about one thing, there was something hauntingly beautiful about Laugharne, especially at night. There was a stillness that hung in the air as if time had somehow stood still. The rest of the world ceased to exist outside of the little Laugharne bubble. Molly's only wish was that Smurf was sat enjoying the view with her. But then if he were, then she'd have no reason to be here would she?

Molly presses the heels of her palms against her tired eyes in a bid to stop the barrage of images that began to surface like a tidal wave every time she thought of Smurf. Some wounds of war were still fresh, not yet stitched closed by the healed hands of time. She'd thought everything was fine. That the worst of it was over. Then, just when they thought they were safe, it had all gone to hell in a hand basket. Molly's head was once again filled with the same vivid images that she had spent the last few days desperately trying to transfer onto paper. The drawings and paintings told their own unique story of war. Just when she thought she had come to the end of the story, fate thought it necessary to add one final chapter to their story. It has snuck up on them all and dealt a single devastating plot twist that none of them were expecting.

For Molly, art had become an integral part of the healing process as she tried to deal with everything she'd experienced in Afghan. It enabled her to wash away the Afghan dust from her soul and reveal the scars underneath so they could begin to heal. At first, she had trouble remembering the finer details of what had happened with Smurf at the end, almost as if the events leading up to it had happened to someone else and Molly was watching from afar. During her therapy sessions, Molly had grown increasingly frustrated that she couldn't seem to paint nothing but wide expanses of colour and vague shapes whenever it was brought up. Her work seemed to lack any detail or meaning. She'd lost focus. Molly's therapist had patiently explained that it was because some of the emotions were still to raw, the details to painful for her to remember, so she was blocking it all out until she was ready to deal with it. It wasn't until she and Charles had arrived in Laugharne with the lads to say thier final goodbyes that she was finally able to unlock the last piece of the puzzle; too see the details she had missed clearly for the first time. Since then, she'd painted Smurf's chalky white face as he lay slumped beside the bank after being shot the first time, blood pumping steadily out from under her fist with each beat of his heart. She drew an icy cold hand of fear squeezing her heart in its grasp when she realised that her hand was the only thing stopping him from bleeding out onto the Afghan dust. The helicopter that came to the rescue, Charles' frantic screams scattered into the wind over the roar of the chopper blades. She drew the moment when she found herself caught in the cross fire with not one life-threatening casualty but possibly two as Smurf's dazed eyes met hers as it dawned that he too had been shot.

Molly's fingers now traced over the streaks of red that she had first painted back in the therapist's office. She'd has seen enough red to last her a lifetime thank you very much. It would be a colour forever associated with pain suffering and death. As her eyes turned to her most recent picture, she couldn't help but smile as she hears Smurf's excited voice rise to a roar as he delivers his commentary in her head, his feet a blur of movement as he pushes the football towards his intended destination, his good arm raised wide above his head in celebration when the ball hits its target. He'd looked so happy and care free. Then her eyes are drawn the image she had drawn next to it. She sees him fall to the floor in slow motion. Time stops when it hits her that he is no longer playing the jokester, trying to get the laughs. His vacant eyes stare unseeingly up at the stands as he mumbles incoherently. She barely remembers the ride in the ambulance, but recalls in stark clarity, the look of utter devastation that crosses Candy's face in the hospital corridor when she finally realised that her little boy was gone and her whole world has been blown to smithereens with a single cruel blow. It's a look that will haunt Molly for years to come. Along with Candy's final words of "I gave the army my boys, and they gave me back a flag." As the echo of Candy's voices begins to fade Molly hears another voice, stronger this time urging her to listen as she is pulled from her memories.

"Dawes? Come back to me! Dawes?" Molly blinked until Charles' face swims into sharp focus. It takes her a few seconds to register where she is. Laugharne. Not Newham. Gently she reached a hand to her face and is surprised to feel her fingertips wet with tears. "Where did you go this time my little scribbler?" Charles asked softly as he tucked a throw around her shaking shoulders. Molly's only response was a half-smile before she traced a finger over her sketch, the tears smudging the edges of a gravestone until it bled across the page. "Where do you think?"

"Stupid question? I'm sorry." Molly sighed as she wound her arm around Charles' waist, pulling him closer until he was tucked under the blanket with her. "No I'm the one who's sorry. I don't mean to be such a fuckmuppet it's just….." She trailed off, unable to find the words to express how she felt. She nods down at her page. "I was just sat here minding me own business, drawing the nice scenery when BOOM! these bloody memories surfaced again. Sometimes I wish I could take an eraser to my brain and rub away all the bad shit that keeps going around and around in me nut. I keep seeing Smurf fall over and over. Like one of them little flip book drawing thingies. It flips faster and faster. I know what's gunna happen, how its gunna end just like before but I can't do anything to stop it. I feel like I failed him."

"Hey! You didn't fail anybody. We've been over this. There was nothing you could have done. The bleed was so small. It could have happened anywhere, at any time. At least he made it home Dawes. Nobody blames you. If it was anybody's fault it was mine for not seeing the signs earlier." Molly looked at Charles incredulously. "How do you do that?" At Charles' confused look Molly gestured towards him, a question burning in her green irises. "How is it you always know exactly what to do or say to make me feel better? You're always there when I, or any of the lads need you, willing to shoulder everybody else's burdens as well as your own. You've been my constant, helping me piece myself back together every time I shatter like Humpty bleeding Dumpty. But whose gunna be there to pick you up when you fall? You lost him too, just like the rest of us." Charles smiles sadly as he stares out across the water.

"You." He whispers as he brings his gaze to meet hers. "You were there to pick me up and literally put me back together again after I got shot. I'm alive today because of you. You have helped me deal with Smurf's death by just being here. By talking and drawing. Your art matters Molly. It has helped us all in more ways than you realise. Why do you think the lads were so adamant that you and Dangles set up that art exhibition? Art and photography can go a long way in helping to heal not just you, but others who are struggling to." Charles felt Molly nod against his side softly.

After her first therapy session, her therapist had put her in touch with the Army Arts Society, an organisation who help promote arts and crafts within the British Army. Together with Dangles and other soldiers, they had put together an art and photography exhibition that showcased their work of their experiences of life on the front line. The evening had generated a lot of interest and had been a huge success. "That's why we all came down here this week, to remember the good times we had with Smurf and hope they eventually paint over the bad. It's like I said at the start of the tour. There will be moments you never forget, both good and bad. Lets just make sure we focus on the good ones yeah?" Charles stares thoughtfully down at Molly's drawings. "Sometimes it's ok not to have to be the strong one all the time. You fought so hard to keep it together on tour, stitched us all up and fixed us during the times when we were broken. You've been a rock for Candy since she lost Smurf. You were the only one there. Have you really had a chance to process everything? You don't have to bottle everything up around me. Just like your therapist said, you can let go, it's ok. Just let me in. I quite like playing the knight in shining khaki every now and again. Makes me feel all manly." He joked softly as he pulled Molly closer.

"You do make a very good knight in shining Khaki. You always have. Even without the uniform. From where I'm sitting you ain't got no reason to be complaining about you not being manly. I have come to terms with everything. Honest, or almost anyway. I s'pose it was inevitable that some memories would pop up this weekend, what with us coming down here to scatter his ashes an that. If I'm honest, until a few minutes ago I was actually feeling really calm and relaxed. Me defences are all down. It caught me off guard I guess. It's been a while since I've had any flashbacks that's all."

"I know Dawes. It's natural that today would trigger some bad memories. It has for me to. Of both Smurf and Geraint. All I'm saying is, maybe it's time we think about putting all the bad stuff from Afghan in a little box and shove it under the stairs and start painting some good memories to outweigh the bad. Like the photo of all of you after the Olympics race that Dangles framed for us last week."

"What you mean like painting combat boots marching through rainbows of colour an' shit?" Molly asked dubiously and Charles couldn't help but laugh at her expression. She was adorable when confused. "Well not necessarily. Just maybe not focus on the horrific stuff. How about the lads playing football? Or the Afghan sunsets and star filled skies. The general day to day stuff. Or if you're looking for inspiration, what about the fit blokes that spent their days lounging in paddling pools? All good memories no?" Charles waggled his eyebrows as Molly blushed. "Yes I did indeed see you ogle me Dawesy." Molly couldn't help but laugh.

"Don't know what your talking about mate, I didn't see no fit blokes lounging in any pools. Think you need a check up from the neck up."

"You sure about that Dawes?"

"I am if you think Dangles, Mansfield and that lot look were well fit with their crown jewels hangin' out. Should I be worried?" Charles' mouth dropped as the implications of what he just said dawned on him. Molly couldn't help but dissolve into giggles.

"Very funny Dawes," He grumbled.

"I thought so." At Charles' raised eyebrow Molly smiled sweetly at him as she started rummaging through the loose bits of paper in her sketchpad.

"Alright fair enough. So when you say I should start drawing the good things that happened, do you mean something like this?" Molly asked, triumphantly handing Charles a piece of paper, watching his face light up when he registered what she'd drawn.

"Exactly Dawes. Exactly." Charles smiled softly as he gazed fondly at Molly's sketch on an arm outstretched, a single ray of sunlight bathing the room in a soft glow as it caught the curvy letters of the word Rosabaya written on her forearm, his long fingers enclosed gently around her wrist to keep her in place. Charles reached out to trace a finger over the fabric of her arm where he knew her latest tattoo to be, hidden under all her layers. "See good memories hold a power over us to Dawes. A bit like this place. It's sort of magical in an eerie way. I am glad we decided to stay on for a few extra days though, take a moment to just breathe now that the wild rumpus have left. Still, there is one upside." As Molly raised an eyebrow at his smirk as he nodded in the direction of the cemetery. "Our neighbours are nice and quiet. They wouldn't have been able to complain about all the noise the Cockwombles were making."

"CHARLES!" Molly gasped in shock before choking on a giggle as she took his outstretched hand, allowing him to lead her into the warmth of the indoors and out of the cold. Quite neighbours indeed.

A/N:

Thank you for all the kind comments about this story, I'm blown away! This really only started out as a one shot to explore the different ways solider cope after being involved in traumatic situations. I'd come across an article about how art can be used to help treat PTSD that mentioned the army arts society and found it really interesting. I'm really glad so many of you enjoyed the subject area.

The house that Charles and Molly stay in is based on one that does actually exist in Laugharne. I was there not long ago and Smurf is right, it is a lovely place. There really is a little cemetery next door overlooking the bay to.

Please R&R to let me know what you think.