Title: The Experiment
Fandom: Robin Hood (2006)
Pairing: Will/Djaq, Allan/Djaq, Robin/Marian
Rating: PG, maybe PG-13 if you're picky (veiled sexual allusions, alcohol is consumed)
Spoilers: General season one, nothing specific beyond Will and Allan looove Djaq.
Summary: May Day brings Djaq some startling revelations about others' feelings – and her own.
Author's Notes: So I had this idea for a May Day fic, but I have never in my life celebrated May Day. I did my research (and was really kind of inspired by the connections between May Day and the Robin Hood legend), but if there are discrepancies, I apologize for them now.
Disclaimer: don't own, am poor, etc.
"Tomorrow is the first of May," Robin of Locksley, Earl of Huntington – more commonly known as Robin Hood – announced over supper on, as might be expected, the thirtieth of April.
"You've learned to keep track of time now, have you?" Marian teased.
Djaq smiled. Since Marian came to live with them in the forest, she never lost an opportunity to put Robin in his place.
Robin purposely ignored her. "I have decided what Locksley Village really needs is a May Day celebration."
"Gisborne doesn't allow them," Will announced, but he said it as though he knew that fact alone would ensure there was, indeed, a celebration tomorrow.
"It's been too long since Gisborne was tied to a tree."
"Robin…"
Even Robin Hood could not ignore the tone of warning in Marian's voice. "All right," he sighed. A mischievous grin crossed his face. "We'll tie him to the Maypole instead."
A hearty round of cheers met this declaration. Even Djaq, who didn't know what a Maypole was, joined in the gang's approval.
"And what of his men? Do you intend to tie them all to the Maypole? Even in Sherwood, I doubt you'll find a tree that large."
"It does bear thinking on." Robin was undisturbed by Marian's practicality. "And thinking is best done a-maying. Which is where we should spend the remains of the day." Without warning, he pulled Marian to her feet and twirled her about.
"You're quite mad," she muttered, but she blushed as she said it, and Djaq could see the smile she struggled to conceal.
"You've driven me into it." He kissed the tip of Marian's nose, then turned to the rest of his men. "Will, spread the word in Locksley. Let every youth and his sweetheart take themselves to the wood tonight, and tomorrow, there will be a Maypole standing in front of Locksley Manor."
Will Scarlett gave a curt nod as reply.
"Little John, if you would take it upon yourself to find said Maypole…and as for the rest – enjoy yourselves. Let's all be back here by daybreak tomorrow to deal with those bothersome guards of whom Marian so kindly reminds us."
Robin didn't wait to see if his orders were followed. He took Marian by the hand and ran out of camp, laughing merrily all the way.
"I do not fully understand," said Djaq, once they were gone. "What is this May Day? Is it a holy day?"
Much snorted. "Unholy day, more like." He was pouting over his meal, put out as always when his master left him behind.
"What does that mean?" Djaq looked around her for someone willing to explain. John was more than usually intent upon his food; he would not look up, and Djaq suspected it was a conscious avoidance. She caught Will's eye, but he turned quite red in the face and looked away. She turned to her last hope. "Allan?"
"Yeah, all right." Resigned, he put down his plate. "May Day's a festival to welcome the summer. Bring in the Maypole and dance around it; fill your house with flowers, that sort of thing."
"That sounds pleasant." A bit frivolous, but Djaq could see how to the overworked, underfed people of Nottinghamshire it could be a welcome lift to the spirits. It didn't explain why none of the men wanted to meet her eye, however.
"It is. People love it." Allan paused, as if debating something within himself, then shrugged and continued. "Thing is, it's also a day for sweethearts, like Robin said. They go a-maying into the woods, the night before or early that morning, to pick flowers and steal a kiss or two."
A disgusted sound left Much's throat. "That's a nice way of putting it." Then he shoved his plate off his lap and stomped off into the woods.
Allan shook his head. "He needs to get himself a girl."
"I had better take the word to Locksley." Will had finished his supper but seemed reluctant to leave. He looked to Allan. "I don't suppose you want to go instead?"
Djaq thought she saw Allan glance at her out of the corner of his eye before he answered, "Not a chance, mate. Besides, Robin told you to go, didn't he?"
Will's eyes landed on her for the briefest of moments before settling back on Allan. "I'll be back soon." There was a subtle warning in his tone.
As he left camp, Will swung his axe angrily through a tree branch.
"What was all that about?" Djaq asked Allan, once Will's footsteps had died away.
Little John almost jumped to his feet. He glanced between Allan and Djaq, shook his head, and muttered, "This, I do NOT like." Then he grabbed Will's extra axe and headed off in his own direction, no doubt to find the Maypole.
Allan chuckled nervously. "We've scared them all off."
Djaq was undeterred. "What was that about – with you and Will?" She knew it was not her imagination. There had been a tension, almost an animosity, between two men who had always been the closest of friends. "Have you had a quarrel?"
"Me and Will? 'Course not. Only—" Once again, Allan wrestled within himself. He pulled his shoulders back and looked her full in the face. His blue eyes were bright and vivid upon her. "I reckon he figured I was going to take you a-maying."
It took a moment for Djaq to process this statement. "A-maying? But you said sweet—Oh." Her plate slipped from her fingers as the world tilted off its axis. "Oh," she said again.
"I don't mean to be funny, but…I like you."
It wasn't funny at all, yet Djaq felt the strange urge to laugh. She held in the giggles, afraid they might come out rather hysterical.
"Listen, we could go a-maying, see if you like it. If you don't, we'll come back here, and it'll be like it never happened."
Her brain whirled with too much new information to process so quickly. On the surface, it was a logical proposal, like an experiment in her father's laboratory. If it worked, you had something wonderful, a new invention, progress for mankind; if it didn't, you went back to the beginning and tried something else.
Or else everything explodes in front of your eyes, a voice whispered in the back of her head.
She pushed it aside.
The truth was the past year of seeing Robin and Marian together, witnessing firsthand this strange English concept of romantic love had made her curious. And Djaq had never learned how to accept unsatisfied curiosity.
Not to mention, Will's disapproval irked her. From Little John, she could almost tolerate it; he had carved himself a niche as father figure to their little group. But from Will? After two years, he still felt he had to protect the silly little girl from herself. The thought brought with it a surge of anger and a decision born partly of rebellion.
"All right."
Allan's jaw dropped; his impossibly blue eyes widened. "You will?"
"On the conditions you stated, yes. If I do not like it, we come straight back here and never mention it again."
As if trying to shake off a blow, Allan jiggled his head vigorously. Then he grinned and grabbed her hand, pulling her away and laughing as freely as Robin had earlier.
Frowning, Djaq stared at the wildflowers before her.
"What's the matter?"
"It seems such a waste. If you pick a flower, it dies. Why am I supposed to pick them?"
Allan had brought her to a small meadow toward the edge of the forest where the trees thinned enough to let the late afternoon sun shine through. Flowers sprinkled the ground in patterns almost as beautiful as the carpets of home.
Djaq sat cross-legged in the grass, staring hard at a particular delicate purple blossom. Such a fragile thing; she could not bring herself to touch it.
Allan reclined beside her. He had removed her thick, practical vest and was tracing soft patterns across her back. Her skin prickled at his touch, and she told herself it was a good thing. The urge to slap him away came only because she wasn't used to this kind of touch, especially from someone who had been a friend for so long.
"Well, most girls weave them through their hair or take them home to use as decorations."
"My hair is not long enough to weave, and I live in the forest."
Allan laughed. "Trust you to have a sensible answer. So don't pick the flowers, just look at them; it's a lovely day."
"All right." She sat very still, savored the feel of the warm sun on her skin. She hated the cold English winter and appreciated the coming of summer more even than the downtrodden peasants could. She had lived most of her life in a land of eternal sunshine.
Allan inched closer to her, one hand sneaking around her waist. Djaq fought her instinctual response to pull away.
Bird song filled the forest with its own kind of music. She listened and tried to pick out the different calls. Little John could tell her every one, as well as the more practical knowledge of which ones made good eating. Djaq wondered if John had found the Maypole yet.
A squirrel's chiding voice joined the chorus, just as Allan pressed a light kiss to her knuckles. She imagined the squirrel reprimanding Allan for his actions and giggled at the mental picture.
Allan raised his head. "What? Do you not like it?"
"I do not know yet. It tickles."
While Allan kissed his way over her palm and wrist and up her arm, Djaq studied the flowers. She wondered if there were any medicinal properties to be found in them, whether it was worthwhile to test them, or whether any of the local midwives – primitive as their care was – had already discovered them.
She looked at Allan, climbing her skin like a pilgrim ascending Jerusalem's Holy Mount. He was worshipping her with his lips, yet she felt detached, distant. A good state of mind for a scientist conducting an experiment, less so for a girl meeting her sweetheart in the woods.
Maybe that was the problem. Maybe there was not enough of a girl left in her to feel things as she should.
He had reached her neck now, and that felt better, she must admit. A slight tingling traveled through her body with every movement of his mouth against her sensitive skin. But it was an awkward kind of pleasure, as though she were feeling it against her own will.
"Djaq," he breathed, her name a reverent whisper on his tongue. But reverence didn't fit right coming from Allan a Dale, and she wanted to tell him to stop it, to be his usual flippant self, only before she could, his mouth had found hers.
It's odd, was all Djaq could think as she felt the pressure of another mouth against her own for the first time. Neither pleasant, nor unpleasant, just…odd.
Her eyes were still open, and the view was bizarre – one eye looking out into the blue sky, the other seeing Allan's face far too close to her own. One arm draped across his shoulder where he had placed it after his journey. Djaq couldn't think what to do with the other, so she left it in her lap.
He pulled away slightly. "You know, this would go a lot better if you kissed back."
"How?" She was open to any suggestions, because, right now, she couldn't fathom how Robin and Marian could enjoy this so much.
Allan looked puzzled at her forthrightness. "Just…wet your lips a little, and don't tense up. You can relax; I'm not going to hurt you."
He wanted her to relax when every nerve in her body screamed fight or flight. But she had been the one to agree; she had to give this a fair try.
Wetting her lips, Djaq tried to copy his motions with her mouth. The kiss was more successful this time, in terms of simple mechanics, but her brain still insisted this was a foolish way to spend time.
Romantic love must be strictly for the English.
When Allan broke the kiss this time, there was marked disappointment in his face, so much so that she longed to make his hurt go away.
"I am sorry," she said with simple sincerity. "Perhaps one more time will…" Her voice trailed off; she didn't see how anything could possibly change.
He winced, but nodded. "Close your eyes this time."
She obeyed unquestioning and soon felt his lips against hers again. It was the same as before; she tried to respond to his kiss, without feeling a thing inside. As though he sensed his last chance slipping away, Allan brought his hands to her face and held it tightly.
Djaq felt the brush of a callus against her cheek and thought unaccountably of Will Scarlett with his work-worn hands. She envisioned his fierce protectiveness and quiet intensity, felt the deep, consuming passion of his kiss and gave herself over to it.
Lips parted on a moan, fingers dug deep into his skull. A secret thrill ran through her belly. Her blood thrummed through her system; her mind spun, senseless at this emotion it could not comprehend.
When the kiss finally ended, Djaq let out a small whimper of disappointment. Her eyes fluttered open, and in a moment, she came back to herself. Her hand slapped across her swollen lips, as her eyes widened in horror.
There was too much comprehension in Allan's face, in his sad blue eyes. "That wasn't for me, was it?"
She could think of nothing to say that wouldn't add to his hurt and heighten her embarrassment. Slowly, she shook her head.
He visibly cringed, and she put out a hand to comfort him, before thinking better of it and drawing away.
"I am sorry." Apologies were inadequate, she knew, but she had to say it. While she had been "experimenting," Allan had put his heart out for her.
But her words seemed to pull him back together. "Sorry for what?" The roguish smile was back. "Nothing ever happened, right?"
Allan wasn't going to let this ruin their friendship; he would keep his promise to her. Djaq smiled, loving him a bit in that moment.
"Right."
Allan filled their walk back to camp with meaningless talk that kept Djaq laughing too hard to feel uncomfortable. It also kept her from thinking – much – about her fantasy kiss of Will Scarlett, which, as far as Djaq was concerned, was a good thing. She wanted to block it from her mind completely.
They were still a ways from camp when the sound of an axe hewing caused Djaq to slow her pace. She wasn't ready to face him yet.
Allan gave her a sideways look, then said with a little too much emphasis, "Little John must have found the Maypole."
He was only half right. John had found the Maypole, but Will was helping him to remove all the branches and bark in preparation for the next day.
Djaq came to an abrupt halt when she saw Will, stopping short enough that Allan bumped into her from behind and let out a quiet, "Oof."
Will looked up, his expression unreadable in the twilight. His eyes traveled from her face down, then to Allan, before he lowered his gaze back to his work. He said not a word, and Djaq could not conceive what he was thinking, let alone why it suddenly mattered to her.
She wanted to know what he saw when he looked at them; since mirrors were not readily available in the forest, she turned to study Allan. Allan's hair was slightly mussed from her hands – and in his arms, he carried her vest.
Knowing it was far too late, Djaq still pulled it out of Allan's grasp and threw it over her shoulders.
Allan just rolled his eyes. "Evening, Will. Evening, John," he said, as calmly as any other night.
Djaq's tongue felt thick and sluggish, and she failed to produce her own greeting.
John grunted, and Will nodded in their direction. Try as she might, Djaq couldn't see how that differed from their usual taciturn reactions. Maybe they didn't. Maybe they were all going to pretend nothing had happened today. The thought was deeply relieving.
She felt uncomfortable, standing there with nothing to do. She grabbed her flask and took several refreshing swallows of water. It helped her find her voice.
"So that's a Maypole?"
"Will be, when we're done," Will answered, after a too-long pause. He didn't look up at her, instead whacking off another branch with one swing.
But he was talking, and he didn't sound angry. Two very good signs, Djaq decided. "So how did the villagers like your news?" She surprised herself with the casualness of her question.
"A bit nervous about repercussions, but they trust Robin. I imagine the forest's already full of couples, having a—" He stopped short, his face red as his name implied.
Djaq felt her own cheeks burn as well and decided against further conversation. She glanced around for something to keep her hands, if not her mind, busy. The water supply was good; weapons were sharpened; even the camp was clean.
Allan seemed to be having the same problem. Finally, he shrugged and headed for the bundle that marked his spot. "If we're to be up before daybreak, might as well get some sleep. Night, lads."
Djaq didn't want Will and John to think she only wanted to be with Allan, but when another ten minutes passed with no brainstorm of an activity and with her wandering eyes having to be repeatedly pulled away from Will, she gave up and headed to bed herself.
She was halfway there when Will's voice calling her name stopped her. Her nerves thrilled to life. She turned, and he approached her, looking discomfited but determined.
"Yes, Will?" His name had never felt so heavy in her mouth.
He stopped quite close to her, bent down, and almost whispered, "Are you…all right?"
She flushed. Had she been so obvious? Will had always been rather intuitive when it came to her, but of all the things she would never want him to know… "Fine," she said quickly.
"You sure?" His gaze was far too piercing.
"Yes. Just tired."
She was too jittery for exhaustion to be a passable excuse, but he didn't press her, merely nodded almost sadly and turned away with a quiet, "Night, Djaq."
She cursed the way her heart raced at the sound.
It didn't mean anything, Djaq told herself for the thousandth time as she stared up at the innumerable stars and waited for sleep that refused to come.
It was a fleeting thought, a momentary fantasy. It didn't mean more than that. It couldn't possibly.
Sneaking off with Allan a Dale, kissing him to see if she liked it, was all well and good. But the idea of kissing Will Scarlett – something some idle part of her brain evidently considered, and an even more unfathomable part of her body responded to – sent her into a panic.
She laid there, pulse pounding, in fear of something she couldn't even name.
Why is it so different? she wondered.
There would be no take-backs with Will, no pretending it never happened.
But it would never happen, so what was the point of thinking about it?
He didn't think about her that way, she was sure. At least Allan had always flirted with her, even though she never assumed it meant anything. But to Will, she was just the little girl he had to protect. True, he looked at her a lot, but Will looked at everyone, studied everything. So many times over the past two years she had wanted to ask him what he saw when he observed people so closely, but she held back, afraid his answers would cut too deep, reveal too much.
He knew her, she realized, as none of the others possibly could. None of them – Allan included – had put so much time into the learning. He knew how she would fight in a battle, and so how to safeguard her during it. He knew what foods she liked and how much of each; she couldn't remember the last time she had fixed herself a plate – he always handed them to her. He could recite back to her every fragment of her past she had related to any of the gang and could probably fill in a lot of the missing pieces as well.
Being seen with that kind of clarity was a double-edged sword. A dizzying sense of worth accompanied by frightening vulnerability.
Djaq knew him, too. In the beginning, his silence had assured she would watch him carefully; an unknown quantity was a risk she couldn't afford. But she kept watching him, long after she assured herself of his goodness and loyalty. He intrigued her; so much of him lay beneath the surface.
She knew he blamed himself for his father's lost hand – it was Will's crime he had paid the penalty for – and for his mother's death – she had starved herself to make sure he could eat – almost as much as he blamed the Sheriff. She knew that every month when he disappeared for a day, he went to visit his brother in hiding. She knew that, during the times they had nothing to do, he whittled wood and made intricately crafted figures, only to toss them away as if they were nothing when they were finished.
But all this, too, meant nothing. When you lived with anyone for years, you found out their secrets.
It wasn't love. It couldn't be.
Robin and Marian returned the next morning before sunrise with a fully-formed plan for bringing May Day to Locksley Village.
The gang carried it off to perfection, first taking out the guards round the perimeter, then invading the barracks while the others still slept. They marched them straight to Locksley Manor still in their nightclothes, while the peasantry turned up to laugh and cheer. Robin, meanwhile, had dealt with Sir Guy personally, and, as promised, he was to be found tied to the Maypole in the village square.
Altogether, Djaq couldn't help feeling it was a good start to the festivities.
The soldiers they deposited in the manor's wine cellar, but only after they had divested it of much of its original contents. They also raided the kitchens, and Robin, never one to shun the spotlight, announced as the food was spread, "Locksley Manor has always given a feast in honor of May. I am sure its present proprietor," he made a mocking bow to the gagged and bound Gisborne, "would not like to be found lacking in the hospitality of its previous inhabitants."
This little speech earned hearty cheers and even a toast in Gisborne's honor. So great had the respect for Robin Hood grown, that when he promised – in Guy's hearing – that any reprisals toward the villagers would be met with greater fury by Robin's men, not a single townsperson shunned the celebration.
They danced gaily around the Maypole – men first, then women, then men and women together. And Robin was the lightest and swiftest and merriest of them all; he led the dancers with a joyous abandon Djaq had often witnessed under the surface, but never in such open display.
Marian presided over it all with a quieter sort of happiness. She was lovely as a queen, robed in white, with hawthorn in her raven hair. Her red cheeks and glowing skin spoke of her deep-rooted contentment. While she and Robin moved often apart, to speak to various friends, they inevitably weaved their way back together for a touch, or a kiss, or a dance.
Djaq watched all this from the edges of the square. Even had she known the steps, dancing was impossible for her, being neither truly male nor wholly female. She was welcomed among the villagers, as a comrade of Robin's, but her dark skin and accented speech marked her Saracen lineage, and many feared to approach her. So she sat on a log which served as a makeshift bench and enjoyed the event as a spectator.
As the day progressed, the sun grew steadily warmer, filling Djaq's limbs with bone-deep warmth. The sky was so radiantly blue she was almost convinced she could reach up and pluck the clouds from it, like patches of wool snagged in a maiden's skirt. Flowers were everywhere – on the houses and the tables and plaited in the hair of every blushing girl; lavender and roses, hawthorn and honeysuckle, all mingled together, scenting the air like the perfume stalls of Palestine.
Allan a Dale seemed to be recovering quite well from any damage she might have inflicted on his heart. He danced almost as many dances as Robin – and each one with a different, pretty girl. Djaq was glad to see it; she hoped it wasn't for her benefit alone, and that whatever he felt for her might be as short-lived as possible.
Will Scarlett was a different matter altogether. Like Robin and Marian, he had many acquaintances in Locksley – not least his own father – and he wandered through the crowd, speaking with nearly everyone there. Djaq didn't want to watch him, but anytime she let her mind go, her eyes were pulled to him like a compass to True North.
He didn't say much himself, she noticed, but he listened, eyes intent on the person talking to him. He was the kind of person one couldn't help but share their troubles with, sure their words met with a brain to understand, a heart to feel, and hands to act.
"So has my boy been behaving himself in that forest?"
Djaq whipped her head around to face Dan Scarlett. He had evidently taken the seat next to her while she was preoccupied staring at his son. A small smile lingered around the corners of his mouth – a hidden enjoyment she had seen often on Will's face.
A few weeks after Djaq came to Sherwood, during an excursion to the village, Will made a point of introducing her to his father. He had taken her by the hand, led her to the grey-haired, sad-eyed man and said, "Dad, this is Djaq. She's one of us now."
The immediate warmth she had felt at being "one of us" was eclipsed by the fact that Will, always so careful with his words, had deliberately referred to her as female. She had thought often about what it meant and concluded that he must trust his father with everything.
Not that she blamed him. Dan Scarlett was a trustworthy kind of person. He had a quiet dignity about him, a soothing steadiness that he had passed on to his son.
"Djaq?"
She snapped out of her haze. "Good day, sir. How fare you?"
Again, that quirk of a smile, almost out of place with those haunted eyes. "Well enough, I thank you."
"And Luke?"
"Still safe, by God's goodness."
"I am glad." She smiled, genuinely relieved, despite never having met the younger Scarlett son. By meaning so much to Will, Luke meant something to her as well.
"And my other son? How is he?"
It was the second time he asked her, as though he expected her to know something specific – more than he would expect even from Robin. Djaq frowned. She gestured across from them to where Will chatted with a couple of men his own age. "As you can see for yourself, he is well."
Dan watched his son for a minute but kept an eye on her as well. "Is he? I find him out of spirits myself. He is not dancing."
Several couples still twirled around the Maypole. It was true, Djaq reflected. Will had not danced at all, and she somehow doubted – given Allan's and Much's strings of partners – that he had lacked for offers.
"Perhaps he does not care for it."
The elder Scarlett laughed. "My boy? When he was just a lad, he danced his mother all around our cottage."
This image of a dancing, laughing Will was so incongruous with the Will Djaq knew as to be irreconcilable. She could only come up with one answer. "Perhaps that is why he doesn't dance now," she said softly.
Pain flashed swiftly across Dan's lined face. "Perhaps you're right." Then the hurt was buried again, and he added, "And what of you? Why don't you dance?"
"As a boy or girl?" She gave him a pointed look.
"Fair enough. So. You cannot dance, my son will not, and instead you both stay far apart and make eyes at each other when you think the other is not looking. A waste of May Day, to my mind."
Djaq tried to process all of Dan's words. Was he saying that Will had feelings for her, too? Though that "too" implied she felt something for him, which she was currently doing her best to deny.
"I don't – we're not – I am not his woman," burst tactlessly from her mouth.
"Ah." The way Dan said it, that one syllable contained several volumes of meaning. "Pity." He stood and left her.
The day would not have been complete without the Sheriff discovering what they had done, and all of them having to run for their lives. The usual protocol for retreat was in place: the group would scatter and move in circuitous trails through the forest to make sure they weren't being followed before heading back to camp. Allan had imbibed too much mead throughout the day, and Djaq and Will had to haul him away between them.
"And then Lijohn – Johnny Lit – he hit 'em with the big stick!" Allan's shoulders shook with his laughter.
Djaq was caught somewhere between a smile and a grimace. On the one hand, Little John's bowling over the Sheriff's guards with the Maypole had been a sight not to be missed. On the other, if they were being pursued, Allan's drunken noise would make it impossible to lose them.
Will was thinking along those same lines. "Quiet, you." His tone was colder than any Djaq had ever heard him use toward Allan.
"Shhh," hushed Allan in return, his eyes darting around the trees without focus.
They managed to walk a few steps without sound – beyond Allan's fumbling steps – when Allan suddenly burst out singing at the top of his lungs. "Summer is coming in, Loud sing cuckoo! Groweth seed and bloweth mead—"
"Shut up!" Will hissed and let go of his friend.
Allan slumped to the forest floor, Djaq unable to sustain his weight alone. She dropped her hold on him as well, so she could more effectively glare at Will. "He's had too much to drink. He can't help it!"
"You defend him?" Will's eyes flashed dangerously, and he held himself far too rigid and still. "After he spent the day carousing with other women, turning himself into this…" He gestured disgustedly at the prone figure between them.
"It was a festival! Just because you never allow yourself to enjoy anything doesn't give you the right to look down on those who do!"
From the ground, Allan began to chuckle. He had turned himself onto his back and stared up at them, mirth written on all his features. "He is looking down on me," he pointed out gleefully.
"You are not helping," Djaq muttered.
But he was, apparently, because Will leaned down to help Allan to his shaky feet, the tense standoff at an end. "Come on. Easy does it."
Allan leaned heavily on Will. "Thank you, my friend. You are my friend, you know, my very best friend." He burst out laughing again. "That's what makes it so damn funny."
Djaq winced. She wasn't so sure he was laughing now; he might be crying. She stepped up and put his other arm over her shoulders. "We must get you to bed, Allan."
"To bed? Nah, had your chance, didn't want to, 'member? Didn't want me, no ways. This un'd have better luck, though, wouldn't 'e?"
There was a strangled sound, and Will stumbled over his own feet. He managed to right himself before bringing all of them to the ground, but he stood there, unmoving, eyes fastened on Djaq as though Allan no longer stood between them.
She felt the heat rise in her skin.
"Djaq? What's he talking about?"
"I – I don't – he—"
"I don't mean to be funny but…I think I'm gonna be sick." Allan pulled himself free of both of them to hobble over to the bushes and vomit.
Will still did not move an inch. His gaze was riveted to her. "Djaq?"
"This is hardly the time and place," she said irritably. No meadow full of flowers at sunset, this; just a thick patch of trees filled with the sound of poor Allan's retching.
He ignored her, taking a step nearer. His intensity was almost frightening. "Djaq, did you not…you didn't – with him – nothing?" The words wouldn't form, but she read his intent, and suddenly everything slipped into place.
The veiled references to May Day made sense now, as did Robin and Marian's long disappearance and Will and John's disapproval. They thought she had given her honor to Allan, a practice that was apparently acceptable – even expected – here on this date.
She felt her face flame and hoped he couldn't see it in the half-light. "No!" sprang to her lips. No, just no.
"No?"
"No."
Slowly, a smile stretched over Will's face, then fell again as Allan's deep snore rattled the wood around them. They both turned to see him passed out not far from his own sick.
"He cares for you," Will said after a moment, and his voice was strained; it cost him something to admit that. "And he is my best friend."
"You would have me be with him for that?"
"No!" His denial was as forceful as hers. "No, I would not have that." He turned back to her, and she saw so clearly what she had denied to herself mere hours before.
A shiver rushed through her; there was no hiding from herself the pleasure the realization brought.
"But neither would I see him hurt."
With those few words, the joy was gone, replaced by an aching chill.
"I don't want to hurt him, either." She had hurt him enough as it was; any thought that he didn't feel it had deserted her with his drunken confessions.
"But you do…you feel…?"
"Do you?"
"I feel – Djaq…" Her name was a groan, a sound of suppressed longing, of deep passion, of long months and years of unrequited love. It was the sound of a man breaking.
But she barely had time to take it in before he had seized her arms and pulled her to him. He bent his tall frame and found her mouth with his own.
This was nothing like with Allan. She wasn't thinking of the sky or the birds or the flowers. She had forgotten such strange things existed. There was only her and Will, fused so tightly she thought they might become one person, one single entity oblivious to all else.
He plundered her mouth, tasted her as though he'd been starved for her all his life. And she responded, no room for thought, in the midst of all this feeling.
Her arms went around him, and she felt him trembling against her. She wanted to soothe him, to satiate him, fill his endless thirst for her. But she didn't know how, when she felt herself the impossibility of having enough of this.
They broke apart slowly, chests heaving. Will's forehead rested against hers, their lips still close enough to breathe the same air. The pounding of her own heart rang inside her ears.
Djaq closed her eyes, catalogued everything about this moment and locked it deep inside her memory. When she opened them again, she was able to pull herself away from him, stand on steady feet, even though her insides quivered. "Will, Allan."
With one word, she reminded him of the vast obstacle between them. He drew a sharp breath, as though in pain, then he nodded and turned to retrieve their friend.
She stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Will, once he is over…this, we can – I want – I would like, if you would…"
Will smiled and stopped her stuttering attempts at speech with a soft kiss on the mouth. Unlike the desperation of his last kiss, this was gentle, almost chaste, and yet her belly fluttered painfully.
There was a promise in that kiss.
"Come on, let's get him home," he said when they parted.
Dazed, Djaq could do nothing but comply. Together, they bore Allan's weight back to camp, where they found the rest of the gang already assembled, in high spirits as they relived the highlights of the day.
"Allan's done himself in, I take it," Robin laughed, as Djaq and Will took their burden to his makeshift bed.
Djaq wasn't sure how she would face the others tonight, or Allan in the morning. She didn't know how she would cope with the days, weeks, months before she could kiss Will Scarlett again.
As they tucked Allan in, Will's hand brushed hers. She looked up and found him smiling reassuringly at her. Slowly, she smiled back.
They would have their time, and when it came, there would be no going back. Watching him as they rejoined the others, Djaq found mysterious comfort in that thought.
fin
The song Allan sings is adapted from an anonymous Middle English lyric, "The Cuckoo Song."
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