Chickadee asked me to upload this here, so here we go. :) It is an Allan/Djaq oneshot I wrote as a Christmas present to her and the other A/D fans out there. It ships A/D if you wish to read that into it, but could also be read as simply friendship. It is kind of sweet and fluffy compared to my usual angst.

Set during S2, after Allan has been kicked out of the gang.

Enjoy :)

xxxTrixxx

The Fur Hat

She would never get used to the cold.

The roofs of Nottingham town was clothed in a white quilt that in spite of the glimmering beauty didn't bring any warmth, and in the streets the usual mud was mixed with slippery brown snow. It wasn't late as much as it was winter, and thus it was pitch-black - or rather would have been pitch-black if it wasn't for all this whiteness everywhere. Djaq's shadow sunk in front of her as she closed up to the yellow light o a window, became a little dark pool under her and then started to grow again behind her. Here and there ragged laughers broke the silence and she could smell the heavy scent of English food from the heated homes.

The rest of the outlaws were attending some festivity but Djaq failed to feel a connection to their strange customs, and had escaped the scene for a walk. Sometimes she needed to get away, to find piece of mind in solitude and let her mind wander. They had festivities in her homeland as well, but there was little use in celebrating them alone. And she was alone. No matter how much she tried she would never share their entire world, never reach a complete understanding. From time to time her world view would collide with theirs. The laughers that broke the silence were laughing at jokes she sometimes didn't comprehend. The food that cooked on the stoves and over the hearths had tastes that her tongue still didn't appreciate. It was the little things that made her different. But the little things mattered.

She blew out a puff of smoke into the air and made a little leap to avoid a big heap of dirty snow. The streets of this town were always a little unpleasant but in the winter it was hard to avoid the yellow pools that would make your shoes smell like a privy. Instead everything was mashed up into a cold brown sludge. Her little body trembled in the chilly air and her ears were so cold they hurt.

No, she would never get used to the cold!

"Oi, you get out and stay out! We want none of your kind 'ere!"

Djaq frowned and turned to the commotion on the other side of the street. There was a tavern there, one of many ale houses in a town where ale sometimes seemed like the only solace in a hopeless living. The man who had spoken stood in the door and the red puffy face was filled with rage. He wore a triangular apron that might have been white at one point and it strained over the big belly, two menacing arms striped by dark hairs lay crossed over the chest and his imposing figure blocked the door like a plug. Djaq guessed that it was the tavern owner and turned her attention to the figure who had been the cause and victim of all this fury. A shadow of a man had fallen down into the muddy street and crawled to his feet with considerate effort, his movements unsteady and exaggerated by too much ale. Djaq frowned and stared at the pathetic figure, cast out from the comfort and company of the tavern. He seemed familiar somehow, even with the big fluffy fur hat pushed down tightly over the head, giving him a certain anonymity as well as heat.

"Listen," the man slurred. "Mate listen-- Look-- Listen-- I didn't do nothing, right? Honestly!"

Djaq almost gave out a little yelp of surprise when the familiar voice echoed across the street. Allan!? What on earth had he done now?! She watched him scramble to his feet and take a few steps toward the tavern owner, his arms thrown out in an air of guilty innocence.

"Stay back!" the tavern owner yelled and pulled out a big wooden bat that he swung menacingly in Allan's general direction. Allan took a few unsteady steps backwards, almost falling down into the muddy snow again. "Tavern trickeries?" the infuriated man sneered. "Cheating my guests? You call that nothing?! How are they going to pay for their ale if they haven't got no money left, that is what I'd like to know."

Allan shrugged and seemed to give up, starting to move away mumbling and wobbling from side to side. Djaq walked out of the shadows and stood in his way, saw him flinch and peer at her through the dusky moonlight.

"Wha?" he said. "Djaq? What are you doing 'ere? I'm not-- not being funny-- but," he seemed to loose track of his own thoughts and gestured bitterly towards the tavern. "Did you see that?! Look, it's Christmas and isn't that supposed to mean something? Something?!"

"I wouldn't know," Djaq mumbled and let her eyes study the figure that was Allan-a-Dale. He didn't look well. He had rings under his eyes, what little you could see under that huge fur hat, and there was a certain scruffiness over him that made her guess he might have slept in those clothes for more than one night. He smelled strongly of ale and smoke with an underlying scent of different body odours that made Djaq hesitate before she took a step closer and put an arm around him. His body tensed by the movement.

"We need to get you home Allan," she explained and he leaned on her gratefully.

"Home," he sighed. "What is home though?"

"Don't be silly. Home is where you live." Djaq gave Allan a quizzical look. "Where is that Allan? The castle?"

He seemed to muse over the question for a while, and then did a sort of half hearted shrug. "Trip to Jerusalem Inn I guess," he said.

"You guess?"

"Yeah well I sort of move around--"

"They throw you out a lot?" she frowned. It was impossible not to feel worried about him, in spite of all that he had done. He was still a good man, still her friend. Still someone she cared deeply about.

He seemed to get a bit embarrassed and was silent for a while, tumbling between Djaq and the nearest wall as he wobbled his way down the street.

"Christmas," he finally snorted, changing the subject to wherever his mind had strayed. "It's all a big scam isn't it? Good will and peace to mankind, all that fancy nonsense."

"I do not celebrate Christmas," Djaq smiled. "But it seems nice to me."

"Wha'! You don't celebrate Christmas!?" Allan gave Djaq a sceptical look and slipped in a heap of snow, tumbling ungracefully into the wall with a thud.

"We do not drink either," Djaq said with a cocked eyebrow and reached out an arm to Allan. "We celebrate Ramadan."

Allan seemed to ponder over this for a while before he gave Djaq a cheeky grin.

"Nah I don't know," he smiled. "Sounds fishy to me. Ramadan!? Whatever is that for-- Not that I mind skipping Christmas mind you. The thing is-- The thing is you need stuff to be happy right? Fiends, family, food, a home. Not some tavern that throws you out into the gutter. And the people that 'ave all that, it's alright for them isn't it? Have their little feast. But what about the rest? Look, the way I see it, Christmas is for those who already 'ave all that stuff. Those who got their little lodge and family, they all love it, and those who are lonely or whatever--" Allan gave Djaq a shrug and a crooked smile.

"You get lonelier," Djaq added sadly. "But Allan, you got the money but not the friends to celebrate this English feast. A lot of people don't have the money instead."

Allan snorted, and Djaq tried not to sigh. He was the kind of man who always saw what he didn't have clearer than what was standing in front of him. He failed to value what he had and thus he lost it for something that he thought he wanted. She wanted to grab on to that big fur hat and force him to look at her, screaming that the grass wasn't always greener on the other side. He had all that once! He had friends once! But when she looked at him he seemed so lost and sad that she realised that he already knew all those things. He had been drinking to forget, hoping that life would look brighter through the ale fog, and instead he got kicked out into the cold. She felt a tug in her stomach and tried to place it, wondering if it was regret for what could have been or compassion for what was. Allan's arm lay heavy over her shoulder, and then suddenly she felt the weight shift as he stopped and turned to her. There were a couple of awkward moments when they seemed at loss for words facing each other, and she wondered why he stopped them. Perhaps he wanted to say that he was sorry again, ask her to help him come back, beg for forgiveness and understanding. Then a group of shrill drunken laughers broke into the night and Allan grinned at the woman before him.

"The Inn," he mumbled. "It's right behind the corner. Sounds like my kind of place, right?"

Djaq smiled warmly and then she suddenly felt his hands on her ears, big warm thumbs grazing the red skin, and his eyes seemed to get a bit clouded. She tensed and moved away from his touch, trying to ignore the deep red blush forming on her cheeks.

"Djaq." Allan's voice sounded a bit thick and hoarse, almost pleading in the cold Christmas night. Then he sighed and seemed to reluctantly accept the distance she put up between them. "Look-- Look, thank you. I'll go on my own now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah well, how's it going to look if I come leaning on a gal?" he grinned. "Not being funny but I'm not that drunk." He swaggered for a while, then seemed to remember something and lifted off the big fur hat. His hair was scrubby and dishevelled and the skin looked red and strangely naked without the oversized garment. "Here, take this Djaq," he said with a crooked grin. "You need it more than me anyway. You're shaking like a rodent, mate."

Djaq thought about refusing but the sense of the soft warm fur in her hands was too tempting and she grabbed it gratefully.

"Looks good on you," Allan grinned, a cheeky smile that faded into something more honest and tender. "Merry Christmas, Djaq."

Djaq leaned over, cupped Allan's face and gave him a soft kiss on the cold cheek. "Merry Christmas to you too, Allan-a-Dale," she said, hearing her voice tremble and break slightly. She was a bit shocked by her own actions but it still felt right somehow, his cold skin against her lips, a swift moment of rare tenderness between two people who missed each other.

Snow began to fall in big flakes around Djaq as she walked away from Allan, and she could feel his puzzled eyes following her down the street. There was a smile on her face that wouldn't yield to reason and she tucked in the cold hands in her armpits. The fur seemed to make everything warmer, not only her ears that burned as the blood rushed back into the veins. She cocked her face to the sky and watched the flakes dance and twirl down to her, a million white dots against the dark sky. It struck her that very few Saracens must have seen a sight like this, and under that warm fur hat her body stopped trembling and the beauty of the scenery finally caught up with her.

Maybe she would get used to the cold. Eventually.