Hello! This will be a relatively short story, comprised of a number of short chapters. It is written in response to Jayne Leigh's writers challenge, "Molly's sick and Charles looks after her (can be set anytime, anywhere and anyhow!)".

Please remember it is fiction, I have zero medical knowledge and will be applying a huge dose of creative licence here...

Hope you enjoy and please do post a review.

FIVE YEARS

Chapter 1

"Molly? Medic! Medic! She's coming round. Molly, I'm here. Thank god. You've come back to me."

In one swift movement, he's on his feet pushing back the plastic hospital chair which he has been rooted to for the past 72 hours. The longest 72 hours of his life, ever since his beloved wife had been brought in, unconscious, after the jeep she'd been travelling in had crashed and rolled over during a routine training exercise. Amazingly she'd avoided any broken bones, but a CT scan had revealed some swelling of the brain, consistent with a head injury and she'd been kept unconscious ever since as a precaution to allow the swelling to reduce. Earlier the decision had been made to reduce the anaesthetic and allow her to slowly regain consciousness.

She blinks groggily, drifting in and out of what feels like a very deep sleep, trying to make sense of her surroundings. The lights are bright, someone is shining a light into her eyes and she instinctively knows she is in hospital. She can hear voices saying her name, reassuring her, telling her not to try speaking yet. She becomes aware of something in her mouth and realises she's intubated.

Satisfied that she's responsive and stable, one of the medics quickly remove the tube. As her eyes gradually adjust, she's able to properly take in her surroundings. That's when she spots him, stood to the side, with his arms crossed. She recognises him of course, but he looks different. Normally, he's supremely confident, perfectly presented and in uniform. Yet today, he looks nervous, exhausted, has what looks like several days of stubble and most surprisingly, is in casual clothes.

He's talking to a doctor, but she can't hear what is being said. After a couple of minutes the doctor leaves the room and they're alone.

She watches as he walks over to her bedside and is perplexed when he takes her hand in his, gently intertwining their fingers before bringing it to his lips. He bows his head, and takes a deep breath.

"Sir?" She attempts to speak, but her voice is small and raspy. She swallows and tries again, "What happened, Sir?"

He frowns, at first he thought he'd misheard her, but there was no mistaking her referring to him as she once did, five years ago, on that fateful tour of Afghanistan when she crashed into his platoon as a green, last-minute battle replacement medic. During those six months she'd scared him half to death on multiple occasions, challenged his four-tour weary thinking, completely turned his world upside down and ultimately changed and saved his life, in the best possible way, forever. He'd tried to resist; told himself he was too old for her, their backgrounds and ranks too different, that it would never work away from the intensity of tour life. Despite everything, he'd fallen for her kind heart, her bravery, her cockney charm, her beautiful green eyes and her ability to constantly surprise and challenge him. Unbelievably, she'd seen beyond his outrageous prejudices, general grumpiness, petty jealousies, glaringly "economical with the truth" omissions and frankly inexcusable "Rupert" behaviour and accepted him into her life. He'd once told her that she was the last thing he wanted to see. The thought that he could have lost her and would have to live without her by his side was beyond unbearable.

"Sir, what happened? Where am I?"

"Molly, you're in hospital"

"Well apart from hospital, I'm not that stupid. I'm guessing I've given my nut a bit of a crack judging by the shocker of a headache I've got going on.."

"Molly, you were in an accident, do you remember anything about what happened?"

"No sir, well apart from being in bleedin' Afghan, but this doesn't look like Bastion."

"Afghan?"

"Yes, sir, Afghan. I thought I was the one who has had a crack to the head?"

"Molly, we're in the QEH, in Birmingham. Please stop pissing about and calling me sir."

She frowns, confused as to why she's in the UK, why he's holding her hand, why he's suddenly calling her by her first name, rather than the usual "Medic", "Private" or "Dawes" and why he's telling her to stop calling him sir. Whilst it's true that over the last couple of months, after a very rocky start to the tour, she's been gradually gaining the trust and respect of her formidable Captain, but even so he's showing a level of familiarity which she's finding quite difficult to comprehend.

"Oh….. ok…. What should I call you, Sir?… I mean… Bossman?"

"How about Charles?"

She smirks.

"What's so bloody funny?"

She can tell that she's irritating him and attempts to maintain a straight face and hold her tongue, but somehow can't resist teasing her Captain, "Charles?... I knew you'd have a bleedin' Rupert name."

"Molly, I'm going to get the Doctor. I'll be back in a minute."

Even in her befuddled state, she doesn't miss the flicker of concern on his usually impassive face as he releases her hand, quickly turns away and leaves the room. She is left feeling unnerved by their conversation and also bereft of the physical contact which, whilst distinctly odd behaviour from him, at the same time was strangely familiar and comforting.

-OG-