Well, this is another Robin Hood fanfiction... obviously. This was written after series 1, episode 12/13- so there are spoilers for that!

At this point I think this is going to be a short fic- 3/4 chapters maybe. But, I might just fade it into a oneshot or it might end up at 10 chapters... it's kinda up in the air.

For those of you who may be wondering, I DO plan on completing Line of Trust- I just got caught up writing something else and then this one flew into my head after seeing the finale...

Pairings: will/djaq (kinda... err you'll see); will/allan friendship (but I do ship them- so if you care to read into it, feel free- because that's probably how I meant it. But if that doesn't float your boat, then it's ignorable)

Anyway, thank you for reading and remember- review make me happy:)

Disclaimer: Don't own anything... if i did things would be MUCH different... grumbles

Rain

Of all the things he thought he'd miss, English weather wasn't one of them. The constant wet, dreary, dark sky and the never-ending harsh droplets of water, pelting the ground and molding it into muddy slop- he didn't think he would miss that. He didn't think he would miss the constant sound of water on leaves, on wood, on ground, on everything. He wouldn't miss the cold that bit into your skin, wouldn't miss shivering through another English winter in a small camp, wouldn't miss just being cold, wet and miserable. He couldn't miss that.

But he did. As he stared out of a room that still, after all this time, didn't feel like his, as he looked out upon a treeless, grassless desert, as he felt the rays of a sun that just wouldn't quit, he realized he missed it. He missed the scent of the trees, the sound of the rain, the feel of a cool, crisp morning. He couldn't breath here- the air was too dry, too sandy, too plain. He ran his hands over the walls of the room he lived it- wanting to feel the uneven planks of wood, the nails that held the building together, the patterns and lines of the veins of a tree. But he didn't feel that. He just felt rough, flat, lifeless mud.

Panic rose in his throat and he pushed off the wall roughly, turning away from the view outside. Frantically, he turned; looking for wood- there had to be some, somewhere. He had to make something. His hands twitched in a way he couldn't control, aching for his axe, for his tools. He reached for his small axe that he always carried. Except he didn't always carry it. He hadn't carried it in 2 months- they didn't wear belts here, there was no where to keep it. He didn't have his axe, he didn't have his tools, he didn't have wood.

A hopeless laugh rose in his chest. He was a carpenter. He was a carpenter and there was no wood. God, what was he doing here? The laugh came out as a kind of wry sob- but he wasn't crying. He couldn't- there wasn't enough moisture in the air to allow for tears. What was he doing here? He didn't belong here- this wasn't his home.

"Will?" a voice called softly from the entrance. He sucked in a breath, pulling the emotions inward, getting himself under control. He was okay. He was okay- he was doing this for her. He loved her.

"Hey," he said softly, turning to look at the woman he would have given his life for. Maybe he did give his life for her.

"Are you okay?" she asked, brown eyes big and concerned.

"'Course I am," he replied, pulling his mouth into a smile he couldn't feel. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He cringed inwardly at how sarcastic that sounded, but he forced his smile to widen and saw her accept his words, accept the lie.

"Oh, okay," she replied and didn't ask anything more on the subject. She was already off on another topic- talking about the birds, her patients, her uncle. She talked about everything, he listened to nothing.

Sighing in defeat, he pulled himself up from his lying position to lean against the headboard of the bed. He wouldn't sleep. He knew that hours ago when Djaq had fallen asleep- it had just taken him this long to sit up and admit it.

He took the opportunity to look over and stare at the woman in bed with him. She looked different somehow. Different from how she had looked in England. Mildly, he wondered if he looked different. Aside from the new clothes he wore, he didn't think he did. He didn't feel different- that probably why he still felt alien here.

He reached out a hand and ran it through her hair. She had grown it out, now that she didn't have to pretend she was a boy. She had tanned under the hot sun, she wore makeup, she talked more- it seemed with each passing day she become less and less like the Djaq he knew and more and more like some girl named Saffia. He shouldn't mind it. He shook his head- he didn't mind it. It was just… different. And there was no way to tell her because she didn't see the change in herself.

Besides, it was a good change. She was happier. She talked more, she smiled more, she laughed more. She ran into old friends and invited them over. She had thrown him a birthday party with a house full of people- "friends" she called them. And they were friends. Her friends. He couldn't help but notice that none of the people he truly cared about- Allan, Robin, Much, John, Luke- none of them were there. None of them could be there. Because he was here and they were in England.

He loved her. He did. That's what he told himself firmly as he stared at her body sprawled across their huge bed. He loved it- it was just… it just seemed as if she had a spot waiting for her here and she molded back into it perfectly. And he was just someone she had brought home, a little reminder of England, a conversation starter. He hated thinking it- but he didn't fit in here. And no matter how many people Djaq introduced him to- he was still English. He had to drink water constantly, he was always been burned by the sun, he knew he looked silly in the clothes she bought for him. And it was always hot, terribly, horribly, burning hot.

But he loved her. She had moved to England, she must've felt out of place as well. She must've felt homesick when Much cooked food she couldn't eat or having to put on English clothes everyday. She had done it for them, he could do it for her. This bought of homesickness would pass. It had to.

Nodding to himself, he made a move to lie back down under the warm blankets required for a night in the desert. But as he lifted them in order to get under them, he felt it. A wave of freezing cold air, the slightest breeze coming through the window. He was out of bed before he thought about it, feet heading for the window without instruction from his brain. He leaned out, breathing the freezing cold air, feeling for the first time in a long time that his lungs weren't on fire.

It wasn't enough. He needed more. Not bothering to put on a shirt he swept towards the door, moved down the steps silently and was outside before he even fully registered what he was doing. He walked to the side of the house and breathed, his lips twitching into a smile as it happened.

He shivered. Just a quick shake and then his body was still. But he waited and before long the freezing temperature reached his chest. He closed his eyes and sunk to the ground, shivering hard now. His muscles began to contract, his limps began to feel uncomfortable and the wonderful, piercing cold wormed its way into his chest, causing his heart to thump painfully against his ribs. All his nerves stood up against each small breeze, and he sighed in relief. God, it was good to be cold.

He tried to stop the shivers, just because that's what you did when you were shivering not because he wanted them to stop. He kept his eyes closed, trying to ignore the soft shifting of the sand below him, trying to pretend he was home. He could almost imagine that the sound of sand was really leaves blowing in the wind, could almost smell the sweet scent of tree in rain, could almost see the man sitting next to him, wet and miserable. He gave a small start as he fully realized the scene his brain was trying to recreate. He wanted to be in the rain with his friend, with Allan- just like they were on that day, shivering and freezing, completely different people but happy in each other's company.

He thought of Allan and suddenly the moment was gone and he was alone in a foreign land, trembling from cold. He took a breath of icy air and realized Allan was still his best friend. He hadn't really spoken to Allan when the man came back, too concerned with his newfound love, a part of him still too angry with what the man had done. Allan had been unusually silent on the boat ride to Acre and Will couldn't think of an excuse to break that silence. It hadn't seemed to matter that the two talk. Eventually they would.

But then they were almost executed and Marian had died and suddenly Djaq was asking him to stay. And because it had seemed to make sense at the time, he had agreed. And Allan seemed to have avoided him, but Will didn't really notice and then just as suddenly, Allan had left. Robin had left. The gang had left. Looking back, he couldn't remember what he had been thinking, it had all happened too fast. Robin was in such a rush to get back and Djaq had wanted to stay so badly he didn't think about it. He didn't think about talking to Allan about what had happened, didn't think of hearing what the man had to say, didn't think about telling Allan he forgave the poacher. Didn't think about saying sorry. It hadn't seemed important.

It was now. He had never gotten to tell Allan all the things he wanted to, never gotten to talk about anything. Allan had left and Will had stayed and… was it normal to miss a friend this much? A friend who betrayed you and fought with your enemy and even before that, laughed at you and grinned at you and still made you laugh for the first time in years? He bit his lips, suddenly worried about his friend. Robin had let him stay right? And Robin had got over Marian right?

These bigger worries soon led into small ones and before he knew it he was worrying about whether or not the gang remembered all the traps he had set up throughout the forest. None of them were lethal, as per Robin's instructions, but what if they were running from Guy or the Sheriff and got caught in one of them? And what were they doing when they needed something made? Or a door opened? What if the camp was compromised and they needed a new one? Were they all outside for the winter?

He took a deep breath and when that did nothing to halt the sudden anger at himself, smashed his fist into the ground, which of course, because it was stupid sand, gave away under the force instead of allowing him to feel the stinging pain he wanted to feel. He growled a curse and forced himself to look over the past two months. What had he done that was useful? The answer was nothing. There was no wood for him to carve, no work for him to do, no problem for him to solve. Apparently Djaq came from a well-off family, so work wasn't required. He just seemed to waste each day doing nothing other than mindless, useless things. He wasn't needed here.

He missed it. Sand must've gotten in his eyes because suddenly they were stinging, a pricking heat rising from somewhere in his skull. His hand reached up to catch the tag he still wore, the only wood that seemed to be left in this horrible desert. Running his thumb over the familiar patterns of wood, he had another thought- who would make the tags? What if someone's got broken- or what… he forced himself to think it- what about their replacements? Because the gang couldn't have only four people, it had been rough with only five people when Allan was… away. He shouldn't feel so horrible that he had probably been replaced, it was his choice to stay. But what if they hadn't found one? Years of starvation and disease under the sheriff had taken its toll on all the villages- Will couldn't say that there was another carpenter young and willing to join up with Robin Hood's gang.

It hit him in the stomach- what he had done in choosing this life of relaxing nothingness. He was shaking from something more than just cold now as the bitter taste of truth came rising to his mouth.

"Raise your hand if you betrayed the gang," he whispered, echoing Much's hollow joke from what seemed like years ago. Trembling, he pulled his arm away from where it had been trying to stay warm on his chest and shoved it into the sky. He held it there for a moment, testifying to the truth in the frigid night. Nothing changed, nothing moved- he didn't magically feel better just because he admitted it. He bashed his hand against the wall he leaned on, felt the dust fall into his hair because that's what mud did when you hit it- it turned to dust. Or sand. Same thing.

As he dropped his arm down so his head threaded in his hair, he knew that no one saw it. Not Djaq, not Robin, not Allan, not any of them. What good was raising your hand in the middle of the night in an empty street? And it wasn't like he could go back. Djaq was happy here. He loved her. He had to learn to be happy here, he had to.

He would. He forced himself to stand. He hadn't betrayed the gang- and… and if he had, they had understood. They had let him stay and Djaq had wanted to stay. He loved her. He loved her more than the gang, more than Allan, more than England or rain or trees or cold. He loved Djaq. He would be happy here. He loved Djaq.

He walked slowly back to the door, lingering in the cold even though he told himself not to. Swinging around, he took a final glance at the outside street before turning and re-entering the blistering heat of a house made with no wood.

End Chapter 1.

Thank you! and Please let me know what you think!!