"And I find it kinda funny, I find kinda sad.
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I ever had."
Before the sun had hardly risen, Jim was awake and dressing himself. With little morning light coming from the window, his face was cast in sinister, grey shadows. He gave Molly a seductive wink, and was gone. She watched him saunter from the house through the window. He paused and spoke to Sebastian and a cluster of his men for a moment before sliding into his black Mercedes and pulling away.
Molly and Poppy were confined to the living room. Molly curled up on the sofa, and Poppy sat on the floor, silently thumbing through Queens of England & Scotland. Her eyes wandered away from the pages and out the window.
"Can I go outside?" She inched towards Molly and leaned on her legs.
"Not today, Poppy." Molly smiled half-heartedly. "You can play inside today."
"Why?" Her face fell.
"Because your dad and Sebastian won't let us outside," Molly said quietly.
"Can you ask them, please?" Her voice was quiet and pleading. Poppy could handle her father's bravado, but Sebastian terrified her. Molly thought for a moment. Finally, she pinched Poppy's nose, told her to stay put, and abandoned the safety of the living room.
Sebastian was in the kitchen, a cigarette between his lips, gun and mobile on the table, and his face set in a bored scowl. His displeasure deepened when Molly approached him.
"No," he said, blowing out a stream of smoke.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were going to, and the answer is no." Ashes fell onto the table and he brushed them to the floor.
"Poppy wants to go outside."
"That's nice." He closed his eyes and took a long drag on his cigarette. Molly's hands balled into fists.
"She needs to go outside, she's a child." Her pent up anger began to cloud her judgment. Sebastian sighed and flicked the cigarette to the floor, putting it out with his boot.
"If you keep this up, I'll break your nose again." He spread his arms and sneered. "You're under my jurisdiction today."
Both of their eyes flicked to the mobile phone at the table. Sebastian moved fast, but Molly moved faster. She swiped the phone to life and dialed the first contact on the list, praying that this move was worth the risk. Sebastian shouted angrily and lunged for her. She spun away from him, sidestepping until the table was between them.
"I'll put it on speaker for you," she huffed. Sebastian fumed, his chest heaving with fury. Then the call connected.
"What?" Jim's voice was low and stern.
"Jim, Poppy wants to go outside." There was a minute of silence. Molly pictured his expression change from vague irritation to blind fury.
"What exactly do you think you're doing?" He annunciated each syllable carefully, his rage dripping from his words.
"Your daughter has been kept inside all day. She's just a child," Molly chose her words with care. "Please, Jim."
Silence.
"No. Here is what's going to happen; I'm going to pretend you didn't just do this and-"
"Please."
Molly froze. It was Poppy. She stood in the doorway, her face set with determination, her book clutched to her chest. "Please," she said again, ignoring Molly's horrified expression. "I promise I'll be good."
The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife.
"Alright," Jim finally said. Molly released her breath. "Fine. Don't mess this up Molly." She nodded, though she knew he couldn't see her. It didn't matter. He made a noncommittal, angry noise, then the line went dead.
Sebastian looked like he wanted to throttle her. One victory at a time, she thought.
Poppy danced in the grass several yards away, bathed in afternoon sunlight, cries of delight escaping her. Molly watched from nearer the house. Watching her daughter in such innocent happiness left a dull ache in Molly's chest. Nothing was certain now. Molly didn't believe Jim would hurt Poppy, but there was worse he could do. Not all wounds leave a mark.
Gravel crunched and a car door slammed behind her. She closed her eyes and counted each footstep.
5…6…7…8…9…10…
Poppy started humming to herself.
His arm wrapped around her waist. Her muscles tensed. The loose flaps of his coat flapped over her shoulders, letting his body heat drift onto her cold skin.
"She's smart," he said.
"I know." She opened her eyes.
"Like you," he said quietly. Molly said nothing, but felt keenly aware of his proximity to her. He leaned in closer. His lips almost touched her neck…
"Stop," Molly cried, pulling away. Poppy looked up and froze at the sight of her father. Molly lowered her voice. "What are you doing?"
"Whatever I want," he stated matter-of-factly. Their eyes locked, each one daring the other to back down. Molly blinked and looked away. Her face burned with shame. Don't be stupid. Jim took her arm and pulled her towards the glowing windows of the house, his lips parted in a satisfied smile. "Let's have a proper chat."
"I think you understand what will happen to you if you do anything foolish," Jim said. He pulled a white t-shirt over his head and seated himself on the bed next to Molly.
"Yes," she answered quietly.
"Good." He rubbed his mouth with his hand and laughed, looking at Molly with blunt curiosity. "So. How badly did you want to kill me? Or were you to drunk to remember."
"I don't…" She clenched her fists. Images of hot blood and the glint of a knife flashed behind her eyes. "I had no choice."
"Really?" He was angry now. His voice trembled slightly and his jaw muscles hardened. "You had no choice but to stick a kitchen knife in me. What did I do?"
"I…" Molly couldn't finish. The words caught in her throat. After years of trying to convince herself that she had done the right thing, her resolve waivered. "You would have killed me." She cringed at her own cowardice.
"Quit using that excuse, it's pathetic."
"Don't pretend that you didn't plan on it," Molly spat back.
"I was trying to protect you." His voice rose.
"From who?" She shouted, glaring at him fiercely. "You were the only one trying to hurt me!"
"From yourself! And everyone who tried to get to me by hurting you!"
Molly stared at him, stunned. Brief images of King's Cross station burned behind her eyes. She rose from the bed and rubbed her face. Jim stood, watching her, his lip curled.
"And what about him?" Jim's voice dripped with hatred. "Sherlock."
"I don't love him, if that's what you mean," she said. "I only meant…. It wasn't real."
"It was pretty convincing," he fumed. His eyes burned with anger and hurt.
"Jealous?" Molly goaded. Jim scoffed.
"Not in the least." He shook his head, suddenly growing serious. "When did you know you were pregnant?"
For a moment, Molly couldn't answer. She remembered the panic and shame, Sherlock's face turning to stone, months of torture that followed. How many times did I change my mind before it was too late? I didn't have to keep her.
"Later," she said finally. "You were gone by then." He nodded, biting his lip.
"If I'd have known-" He took a step away from her. "I could have…"
"Well, its too late now, Jim."
She knocked softly on the door, smiling with eager anticipation. After a moment, the door opened. She took a step forward into the unlit room, picturing herself in his arms again. She opened her mouth to speak, and felt a searing pain in her abdomen. She dropped to the floor, clutching the knife with her hands, hot blood seeping into her clothes. The light flicked on and she looked up into the handsome face.
"Please, where's Jim?" She pleaded.
Hugo said nothing. His face contorted in a pained smile. Molly pulled the knife from her flesh and watched the blood flow freely.
"Coward," he spat. He took the bloody knife from her. Molly let herself fall to the floor, staring into Hugo's colorless face.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"I know." He gripped the knife tightly and plunged it towards her heart.
Molly awoke to her own screaming. She thrashed in the blankets, damp with her sweat. My blood, her mind insisted, my blood is everywhere. Her chest heaved with labored breath.
"Molly, stop! Calm down!" Jim touched her shoulder lightly, and Molly jerked away, nearly falling off the bed. "It's just me," he urged. She stared at him, her mind racing too fast to register his face. Who? "Molly," he said again, cupping her face in his hands. "Look at me."
"I'm sorry," she breathed. Her fingers brushed against his hand. "I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing," he said. "Are you alright?"
She shook her head. Then his arms were around her. He let her head fall onto his shoulder, his hand buried in her hair. Her arms encircled his waist instinctively. Her armor cracked. Tears fell down her face, thick and heavy. For the first time in five years, Molly let the tears fall unashamedly.