A/N-My bestie has helped me so much lately, and I'm dedicating this story to you Jordan. This was inspired loosely on the season finale of 4B.

The elegant black coach rattled through the moonless night, casting an eerie glow through the thick fog blanketing the countryside. Inside, Robin Locksley, the Marquis of Sherwood head lolled against the rich velvet squabs, his legs sprawled in exhausted abandon. Pleasantly tired, Robin closed his heavy eyelids.

Two horsemen waited along the deserted dark road, shrouded by damp mist that rose up from the ground in thick, suffocating tendrils. Covered from neck to heels in long cloaks, caps pulled low over their foreheads, they were barely discernable in the darkness.

"Tis late, Reggie. Time to go home. No one seems to be abroad tonight."

Reggia sighed regretfully. "So it seems, Dan. We'll try another-"

Dan cut his partner off in mid-sentence. "Hark, Reggie, perhaps luck is with us after all. I hear a coach coming this way. Remember now, caution is the word. There'll be hell to pay if I let anything happen to you. You're to ride away at the first sign of trouble."

"What can go wrong? We've done this before and probably will again."

"No doubt you're right, but I don't have to like it," Dan grumbled lightly.

"You're far too protective," Reggie complained. "Don't worry, nothing is going to happen."

Reggie peered into the darkness, waiting for the coach to round the curve, every nerve ending tingling. When the vehicle finally came into view, Reggie hissed, "From the looks of the coach, the pickings will be good tonight."

"Remember what I said, Reggie," Dan warned as he reined his horse into the center of the road and withdrew his pistol. Reggie followed, taking a stance beside Dan, a pistol clutched in fingers gone numb with tension.

Robin was dreaming when his coach jolted to an abrupt stop, hurling him to the floor. He shook his head to clear it of the last remnants of sleep, returned to the seat and pulled up the shade. Seeing nothing beyond the glare of the coach lights, he reached for the door handle.

"Stand and deliver!"

Robin's hand froze. Highwaymen! Wide awake and alert now, he scrambled for his pistol.

"I wouldn't if I were you," the highwayman ordered in a low growl.

The pistol aimed at him through the window was long, large and lethal.

"Toss you weapon out the window."

Cursing beneath his breath, Robin removed the small pistol from his pocket and thew it out the window.

"Now get out. Don't try anything, there are two of us, and my partner had your coachman covered."

Robin descended cautiously from the coach. He wanted to do nothing to endanger the life of his coachman. His relief was palpable when he saw John standing beside the horses, alive but closely guarded by the second highwayman.

His attention snapped back to the highwayman waving a pistol in front of his face. Though the situation wasn't humorous, he wanted to laugh. He could discern nothing threatening about the bandit.

"Empty your pockets," the highwayman ordered in a gruff voice that sounded forced.

"You'll get no more than a few pounds," Robin drawled as he pulled several banknotes from his jacket and offered them to the highwayman. "You've held up the wrong coach this time. No jewels, no cash box, nothing but a man on his way home from an assignation."

Robin's blue eyes narrowed as he peered through the darkness at the highwayman's face. The bandits had picked their night well, he thought. Obscured by clouds and mist, the moonless skies provided scant light, and the highwayman's faces were all but hidden by their cloaks, and caps, making identification impossible. But the impression of a slim build and youth was strong. And one, when the highwayman lifted his face, Robin saw a flash of dark eyes, and a hint of black beneath the brim of his cap. A dark-eyed, dark haired bandit; the clues were mounting.

For the space of a heartbeat their gazes met and held, and some indefinable emotion passed between them. Robin barely had time to think about what it meant when the highwayman said, "Is that a ring on your finger?"

Robin's fingers curled spontaneously into his palm. The ring belonged to his dead father.

"Give it over," the highwayman hissed.

"You can't have it."

The pistol lowered perilously close to his privates. "Give it over, I say. Which would you rather part with, your ring or your...family jewels? Make no mistake, I will stop at nothing to get what I want."

Robin hesitated but a moment before working the ring off his finger and placing it in the highwayman's outstretched palm. The man sounded more desperate than dangerous. His voice had risen several octaves and he appeared nervous. He also spoke rather well for an ordinary highwayman. Robin stored all this within the chambers of his memory. He wouldn't rest until he saw the highwaymen swinging from the gallows on Tower Hill. No one robbed the Marquis of Sherwood and got away with it!

"Are those diamond studs in your shirt?"

"Will you leave me with nothing?" Robin drawled in a deceptively calm voice.

"If you are rich enough to wear diamonds for buttons, the loss will cause you scant grief. Hurry."

"What's the problem, Reggie? Is he giving you trouble?"

"Everything's fine, Dan. I'm just waiting for his shirt studs."

"Shall I bind the coachman and help you?"

"I can manage," Reggie called back.

"Robin removed the studs and placed them in the highwayman's eager hand with a contemptuous flourish, wishing he had thought to strap on his sword tonight.

"Anything else?" Reggie asked.

"That's it," Robin replied. He shot the highwayman a curious glance. "Your voice is changing, Reggie. Aren't you a bit young for this kind of work? And your speech; tis rather refined for a highwayman."

"Get back in the coach," Reggie ordered.

Robin wanted to protest but thought better of it. His wasn't the only life in danger. Though he sensed no danger from the lad, his partner was another matter. He watched through narrowed lids as Reggie backed away. A moment later the highwayman mounted their horses and quickly disappeared into the swirling fog.

"Are you all right, John?" Robin called as he leaped from the coach and searched the ground for his pistol.

"That I am, my lord. And tis sorry I am for allowing this to happen. Bloody highwayman. They came out of nowhere. I had a devil of a time getting the horses under control."

"It's not your fault, John. Help me find my pistol. It's too late to stop the bandits, but I'd hate to lost the piece. It belonged to my father." And so did the ring, Robin thought with a surge of anger.

The pistol was found in short order, and Robin returned to the coach. John picked up the reins and the coach rattled off the road. Drumming his fingers on the seat, Robin sat back and reviewed the clues the bandits had let slip, few though they were. Their names were Dan and Reggie, Reggie was young, possibly with black eyes and black hair. Robin hadn't seen the other one close enough to note any identifying aspects of his appearance.

Robin closed his eyes and tried to picture the younger highwayman again. Something uncomfortable stirred in him when he recalled Reggie's dark eyes, the feeling that Reggie was something other than what he pretended clawed at him.