This began as a short n' sweet little one-shot that put down roots in my computer and grew into something far bigger. Robin's attitude toward Much was getting on my nerves, because he simply assumes that Much will always be there, will always come back, won't ever really break down under the pressure. And that attitude is never really challenged, because Much loves Robin to pieces, and the one time the screenwriters wrote about Much being captured and in danger... he ended up lord of Bonchurch. Which was kind of brilliant, but didn't give Robin the wake-up call he needs, nor did it give the gang a chance to see what Much is really made of.

Set a few months after Djaq joins the gang, so no spoilers to speak of. Rated for whumped outlaws and related angst.

"I just want to say that if this turns out awfully, nobody had better come crying to me about it!"

Allan rolled his eyes at Much's back, earning a quiet snort from Will. The long-suffering manservant continued to march along, slapping at low-hanging branches, oblivious to their amusement. He had taken the lead along with Robin, apparently deciding that if he were stuck on this "ridiculous, clearly suicidal" mission, he might as well be able to see danger when it approached. Djaq had scouted on ahead of them all, and John strode silently at the rear.

Robin flung a grin across at Much.

"Would you stop worrying?" He hefted the bundle of assorted cast-off clothing, the disguises that would get them into Nottingham today. "Nothing's going to go wrong. Come on – if you were guarding the gate, would you think to stop a handful of beggars entering Nottingham on market day?"

"If they were us, yes," Much quipped tersely. "I mean, it's not as if we're complete strangers to them, really. We've knocked so many of them on the head, it's a wonder we're not being invited to christenings and all that."

"Oh, give it a rest, would ya?" Allan groaned, slinging his own bundle over his shoulder. "We've heard nothin' but your naggin' the whole way here!" The group came to a stop beside Djaq a few yards from the tree line, where they could see farmers and families trailing through the gates of Nottingham. From the sharp glare Much fixed him with, practically a sulk, Allan knew he'd irritated the man, but it was only fair – after all, they'd had to listen to his fretting the entire morning and the walk here. Yeah, the plan was risky, but this was the best chance they'd have of getting to the taxes before they were sent off. Vasey was practically paranoid due to the continued successes of their raids, and had reportedly taken to storing this season's taxes in his own private quarters, safely under his own eye and that of his personal guards. The source of this information – Robin's "little bird", Allan would bet in gold – had assured them that the money would stay put during the Sheriff's trip to London this week. Sure, Gisborne would probably be expecting them to try something, but he couldn't know exactly when and how, and Robin simply couldn't pass this opportunity up.

As they all shrugged into the tattered clothing, Much stuffed his arm through the sleeve of a moth-eaten green jacket and pronounced, "Fine, I'll shut up. But just you wait and see – something will go wrong. It'll turn out to be a trap, or the Sheriff won't actually be gone at all, or-"

"Much, enough."

Much tightened his lips, but stayed blessedly silent. Robin gave him another stern look, to make sure his order would stick this time, then turned to face the rest of the gang, everyone swathed in frayed cloaks and hunched against the slight chill. "All right, stay sharp. Take it slowly, and keep the next one up in sight. We all meet behind the inn." He pulled his grey hood low against the drizzle and led the way out of the trees to join the long line of wagons and people on foot.

Joining the crowd, settling into an identical determined plod was easy as breathing for Allan. He saw Robin slide behind a cart full of produce up ahead, and glanced casually around to see Will and Djaq several yards back… walking together. Idiots. Robin had just told them all to split up, first off, and sticking close to Djaq, while not a bad thing in itself, made you twice as noticeable. If anyone was going to be picked out of the crowd, it'd be her. Too late now, though later he'd personally cuff Will around the ears for not using his head. Allan ground his teeth and looked to the gates instead.

As they had expected, the guards were more interested in checking the carts and wagons than in interrogating a single grimy peasant entering on foot. Allan received no more than a passing glance, and he easily wound his way through the throng to the alley beside the Trip to Jerusalem Inn, where Robin was shaking rain from his hair and cloak. Within a few minutes, the entire gang was safely gathered together, Little John striding up last. His shoulders carved a broader-than-usual path through the crowd due to the load of staves and timber he carried, and Allan ducked sharply to keep from being whacked in the head as the big man turned to face Robin.

The Rochedale outlaw had to give their leader credit for boldness: tucked carefully amongst the cloth-wrapped lengths of wood was each member's blade and scabbard. It had been Will's idea to wrap the swords and carry them in with selected lengths of wood, all muffled with cloth, supposedly to avoid damage. He'd spent all day yesterday working with his knife and hatchet as if he were actually going to sell his handiwork, just in case John was stopped. John handed Allan his sword and delved back into the bundle to retrieve Robin's curved Saracen blade. Bows and quivers had been left at the camp, the former too long and the latter too thick to fit alongside the wood.

Despite the grey weather, the marketplace was shoulder-to-shoulder and clamored with shopkeepers desperate to sell their wares. The gang slipped easily into the throng and meandered toward the castle. Will got them through the locked side door without incident and soon they were all swapping grins and tossing back their hoods inside the castle itself.

The air was subdued within the thick walls, the inclement weather lulling servants and nobles alike into a drowse. Allan and the others jogged cautiously behind Robin through corridor after corridor, barely seeing or hearing anyone, apart from a serving girl or a yawning guard who never knew they were there.

"Where is everybody?" Will murmured as they paused to listen at a turning, his serious gaze sweeping the area. Giving the carpenter a light tap on the head from behind, Allan replied, "Sheriff's gone, mate, remember? Everyone's prob'ly still in bed. Wouldn't you be?" He dodged a half-hearted swat from Will and they continued warily up the stairs, only a floor away from the Sheriff's rooms now. The kid was right, though: it was uncomfortably quiet, the soles of their boots scuffing loudly against the stone despite their best efforts. Allan almost flinched when Much spoke up again, voice vibrating with anxiety as he edged closer to Robin.

"Master, please – this doesn't feel right." The perplexed scowl Robin threw over his shoulder at Much was gentler than the one Allan wore. Even Djaq, slinking quietly behind the rest of the gang, released a sigh at his words. It was one thing to go on about the dangers of a mission beforehand, but once you were on the bloody thing, actually doing it…. Besides, Allan could almost feel the sleek shapes of the silver on his fingertips, and he wasn't going to let a coward's worrying stop him now.

"If you'd just listen-" Much and the gang drew up short as Robin turned abruptly, halting them all in the shelter of the stairwell. Judging by the manservant's suddenly deflated posture, Much had also caught the dangerous glitter in his leader's eyes.

"Would you shut up, Much?" Robin snapped under his breath, "We're nearly there!" He turned again to check the hall, and John rumbled, "Talk like that brings ill luck." Were the situation any less perilous, Allan might have laughed at how quickly the blood rushed to redden Much's face; instead he just settled for quipping, "Yeah – I know you like the real tough ones, but let's not get over-eager, shall we?"

Robin shushed them all with a hiss and a scowl. The next few minutes were a tentative dance from one alcove to another, finally ending with them facing Vasey's own door. Will slipped to the front, the others keeping a lookout while he inspected the lock. He gave a bemused huff and straightened only a second later, answering Robin's querying look with, "It's not locked." Heads turned, disbelieving glances exchanged, and Will gave the panel a light shove as proof. It swung inward with hardly a sound – obviously the Sheriff didn't appreciate being woken by screeching hinges, which was all the better for them.

"Why are there no guards?"whispered Much, this time earning a "Shh!" from Djaq as she followed the others into the room. Per their usual system, that left Much behind as lookout, and he sputtered for a moment before darting inside too, leaving the door cracked just enough to peek into the hallway.

The room was almost pitch-dark. A peculiar smell made Allan hesitate; it was thin, almost animal, but nothing strong or musky. John's startled oath and a sudden frenzy of caged wings solved that mystery a moment later. So the Sheriff kept birds, tiny ones, by the sound of it… Allan chose not to dwell on the incongruity of such a heartless man keeping such fragile pets, instead questing across the room, feeling his way to the shutters.

"Yeah, there we are." Watery sunlight dribbled into the room, bright enough after skulking through the dark corridors. He turned to see Robin spinning slowly on his heel, narrowed eyes scanning all the possible nooks and crannies of the room.

"Wardrobe?" Will offered. "Could be a false bottom." John scrutinized the wicker birdcages and their ceiling fastenings, but shook his head a moment later. Allan was fingering a tapestry beside the silk-covered bed, idly wondering if there was a secret shelf behind it, when Robin dropped out of his peripheral vision. From boot-level, a delighted, "Ha!" drew everyone's attention, and Robin reappeared, dragging a chest from beneath the bed. Will looked a little disappointed, and traded surprised looks with Allan before closing the wardrobe and crouching beside Robin to deal with the lock. Djaq appeared with the bags, and after a few long seconds, Will had the coffer open.

An almost tangible thrum of energy went through the room at the sight of the mounded silver pieces. The chest was nearly full to bursting, and the three of them set to work straightaway, the two men shoveling handfuls into the bag Djaq held open. Left idle for the moment, Allan joined Much by the doors while Little John sidled up to the open window to peer out.

The blue eyes flicked only once to Allan's face before Much resumed his lookout. Obviously, what little sense of humor the man possessed would not be making an appearance today. Lovely. That'd make for a cheery walk back if he didn't pull out of this sulk soon.

"All clear?" Allan asked, idly hoping a little conversation would help. Worth a shot, at least.

"Yes." Much's tone was grim, which made no sense at all, unless he was actually hoping he'd be proved right about the impending disaster. The man never could resist an invitation to talk, though, and he continued in a rush, "Look, I know I'm… It's just- Something just doesn't feel right about this one." Djaq murmured something across the room, and Robin's answering chuckle caught Much's attention, like most things Robin did, and Allan waited with growing irritation for the man to turn back around, check the corridor again, and continue, "I don't know why. But the sooner we're out of here, the happier I'll be."

Allan scoffed quietly, drawing the man's frowning gaze again.

"I'm not bein' funny, but haven't you ever heard about not lookin' a gift horse in the mouth?" He received his answer from the wary curiosity that spread across Much's face like butter on bread, and sighed. "It's like… You get somethin' good, you don't go lookin' for somethin' wrong with it. This, right here, this is good." He nodded over Much's shoulder at the rest of the gang tying off the bags of money.

"All right – excellent work, lads!" Robin crowed, tossing a heavy sack to John. The archer handed one each to Much and Allan as Will replaced the chest and crossed to close the shutters, sealing out the daylight. The weight of the silver was a beautiful thing in Allan's palm. He was gratified to see that their leader had taken his suggestion this time around; it only made sense that they split up the money, just in case one or more of them were caught. This way, at least some of the money stayed out of Vasey's greedy hands, and ended up in their own stores, where it belonged.

"So, same way out?" Allan asked, securing the money at his belt and loosening his sword in its scabbard, just in case. The gang clustered together in the darkness, and Allan caught the mischievous twinkle in Robin's eyes as he leaned past Much to scan the corridor.

"Wouldn't it be a shame to take this and leave the Sheriff with all that money in the strong room…?" Much visibly swelled at his words, a whole new level of anxiety widening his eyes. Luckily, the rest of the gang showed a similar lack of enthusiasm, John going so far as to chide, "Robin…" The outlaw leader had the good grace to look sheepish, at least, and sighed reluctantly.

The corridors remained still and silent, and even Allan had to admit – only to himself– that this mission was turning out too neatly. Perhaps driven by the same sense of unease, Robin led them at a determined pace through the halls, heading for their planned exit by the kitchens. They had barely cleared the stairs to the lower level, however, when echoes of running feet made Robin motion hastily to take cover. Before they had each taken more than a step to scatter, the unmistakable bark of Gisborne's voice filled the stairwell.

"Stop them! Don't let-"

Then Robin was snapping, "Run!" and they all took to their heels, sprinting down the corridor ahead like the devil was a pace behind, and that wasn't far from the truth. Boots clattered on the stairs they had just vacated, and Allan heard the chink of metal on metal behind them.

"There!"

Allan risked a glance over his shoulder and saw Gisborne's wolf-lean figure leading the guards in pursuit. His boots slipped on the smooth stone and it was only Will's quick arm that kept him up and moving. Blast it. How on earth had Gisborne even known they were here? A second set of guards rounded the corner ahead of them and Robin snarled, ducking into a side hall and drawing his gang with him.

"He's… He's blocking us in…." Djaq panted, calling ahead to their leader. She was abruptly proven right as they all staggered to a full stop, their vision blocked by stone walls and a single locked door at the end of the corridor. Forming up with their backs to the door, swords at the ready, Allan and Much took the foremost positions, Robin and Djaq a step behind them. Will worked frantically at the lock or hinges or something behind them, John standing ready to lend his strength the instant Will gave the signal.

"It's different – the lock's all wrong!" the young carpenter exclaimed, dropping dread into the pit of Allan's stomach. This was a trap, had to be. Much was going to preen himself for weeks over this…. But the man beside him didn't say a word, just threw an impatient stare over his shoulder at Will's words.

Robin simply barked, "Get it open, Will! Do it!" Much shifted his stance and drew a deep breath as the first soldiers rounded the corner, Gisborne darting in their midst like a hound on a scent. The first guards hesitated, probably knowing the outlaws had the advantage here, being far more used to fighting in restricted space. Gisborne shouldered his way to the front, sneering triumphantly at the cornered men.

"Checkmate, Hood!" His cold eyes flickered over their meager ranks, the entirety of Robin Hood's band trapped like vermin. To Allan's discomfort, his gaze lingered on the bags of silver at their belts, and Allan abandoned his half-formed idea of begging for mercy if the worst happened. There'd be no mercy from this one, not a whit. Leather creaked gently as Gisborne called over the gang's heads to Robin, "I'm a generous man. Give yourselves up now, and you'll spend a few days in the dungeons – alive – until the Sheriff returns. Give you time to repent of your sins… if the Lord will take you."

"Why, how sweet of you, Gisborne!" came the reply, delivered in mocking tones over Allan's head. A trickle of disappointment, fear, something, found its way into Allan's chest as he realized they were about to fight their way out again. Robin wasn't even going to consider Guy's offer, which left them imprisoned, but alive. "But I'm afraid we'll have to decline your gracious invitation..." A solid thunk of metal into wood announced Will's hatchet biting into the oak around the hinges, and Gisborne's jaw tightened convulsively before he bellowed, "Kill them!"

A wave of black-and-yellow cloth and armor surged forward, and Allan had no more time to think. His height and dexterity kept the first man at bay until Allan's sword-hilt bashed his head into the wall, and he met the next with a shivering clang of steel on steel. Beside him, Much fought with determination that spoke of years fighting the Saracens. Still, there were half a dozen guards pressing in against them, and it took all Allan's skill to hold his ground.

"You want to hurry it up a bit?" he called roughly over his shoulder, parrying a killing stroke to his neck. He could practically feel Robin fuming behind him, desperate to leap into the fray and defend his men, but there was no chance for Allan to give up his place. The Sheriff's lieutenant stood with the waiting men, impatience drawing his features into a wolf-like snarl.

"You're incompetent, all of you!" The lieutenant drew his own sword and began to shoulder past his men again, prompting Much to call, "Master?", and Robin to shout, "Will, now!" Wood splintered suddenly, as if in obedience to Robin's command, and Allan allowed himself a smirk as Little John's roar echoed in the air. Daylight poured in behind him as the door toppled from its hinges, and Gisborne's face contorted with fury. He shoved his own man aside and lunged at the two outlaws, slamming Allan's sword aside and sending him reeling with a boot to his midriff. Allan nearly crushed Djaq against the wall, and before he could catch his breath to defend himself, Allan felt the world lurch as Will's iron grip dragged him through the doorway, where John was already standing in the castle courtyard, staff ready to forge a path to safety.

Djaq darted past, leaving Robin and Much holding Gisborne off. They had worked their way backward to the door, and were only a few paces away from the damp, open air. Much kicked a guard backward into Gisborne's path, and waved Robin out behind him.

"Robin, go!" Robin ducked and slipped to safety, but before they had taken more than a step toward town, waiting to hear Much catch up, a jangle of steel against stone drew their eyes back to the remaining member of the gang, crushed against the doorframe by Gisborne's arm, his sword out of reach on the ground. Much's eyes were fixed on the lieutenant's face mere inches from his, and he strained for air past the leather-clad arm against his throat. A few stray raindrops pattered onto the sleek length of Gisborne's blade, the tip digging into the manservant's chest.

"Hood!"

The few yards between the gang and Gisborne might as well have been miles, but Robin tensed as if he were about to fly across them anyway.

"Got you now…" Gisborne purred, shaking the hair from his eyes with a triumphant grin. "Not going run off and leave your friend here, are you?" A jerk of his head summoned the remaining guards, who began to pick their way over their companions' unconscious forms toward the door. None of the gang moved, despite the voice in Allan's head screaming for him to run, to get out while he had the chance. Still pinned, Much managed to turn his head enough to catch Robin's eye; his choked voice held a question.

"Master…?"

Robin's jaw was tight, eyes dark and smoldering. When Much's voice reached them, however, Allan saw Robin start to shake his head, a warning light coming into his glare. There was a pause, a suspended moment's confusion: Robin refusing to rescue anyone was unheard of, but especially his own servant? Maybe the hardened crusader in Robin was stronger than the friend…. With these odds, Allan could hardly blame him.

"Much, don't-"

With speed Allan had seldom seen in the man, Much struck Gisborne's blade aside and brought his knee up savagely between the man's legs. The lieutenant doubled over, his grip loosening enough for Much to scrabble up his own sword and parry the first guard's blade as the men swarmed to defend their fallen leader.

"Go! Run!" Much's shout whipped them all into movement. Will blurred past Allan and caught Robin across the chest as he tried to reach Much, and Allan captured the archer's other arm, propelling him between them toward town. A pained cry made Allan look back as they ran, and he saw Much stagger a step or two before Gisborne, somehow upright again, slammed a gloved fist into Much's head and he crumpled to the ground.

Djaq slipped into position behind them and John led the way, plowing into the crowd without pause. After the first few moments of struggling against them, Robin fell into a sprint along with them, not replying when Will panted, "He's doin' it for us… Knows we'll come back later…." As they raced past the flummoxed gate-guards, Allan couldn't help but wonder if the kid's optimism had gotten the better of him. He hadn't seen the hatred on Gisborne's face as Much fell. Much might not make it so far as the dungeons.

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~ Si