Disclaimer: I don't own any of the BBC Robin Hood characters.

Rating: K+

Summary: "I don't know what I would have done if you had died. I cannot imagine life without you, Will Scarlett." Djaq tends to Will's injuries. Post season 2 ep 9. Will/Djaq. One shot.

Author's Note: I have a sickness. My doctor has diagnosed it as fluffitis. It is brought on by witnessing cute Will/Djaq moments. Symptoms include squee-ing, wanting to squish Will Scarlett, and an irrepressible desire to write a fluffy one shot including mild-to-heavy Will-perving.

I've got it bad, people, and I don't think there's a cure.

Bruises

Djaq sat quietly in a corner of the camp, her favourite place to sit when she wanted to think and not become involved in the usual mindless chatter that accompanied evening in the outlaw's camp. All the talk that day of pigeons, and the Sultan, and Bassam, had made her think longingly of home.

Acre. Where the air was hot and the clothes cool, where things were stylish and pretty and clean. Where both men and women alike took pride in their appearance, and did not run around in a forest wielding battered swords and accumulating dirt. As much as she loved the gang and her role in Nottingham, she sometimes longed to be able to sit beside a man without her nose wrinkling at the smell of unwashed skin and clothes.

However, even as she thought lovingly of the sun and the sand, she knew that her memories were just that – memories. Things could never go back to how they had been; too much had happened. Too much blood had been shed; her young eyes had witnessed too many horrors to ever go back.

And she knew that if she ever left, she would miss England and its miserable rainy weather. She would miss the gratitude upon the faces of the poor people she helped when they could not help themselves. She would miss the band of stinking men to whom she had bound her allegiance and her future. But she would especially miss of one those men, the tall and handsome carpenter who had first discovered her secret and spent every day at her side ever since. He was always there; quiet, gentle and unobtrusive, yet always prepared to help her and protect her in any way he could.

Djaq was startled as the object of her attentions moved, rising from his seat by the fire and turning to his bunk. She watched him, her eyes unwavering, as she had done so many nights; and perhaps it was lucky that she had done, as she picked up on a tiny difference in the way he held himself.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she took in the slight stoop in his posture, the hand that normally swung at his side resting protectively upon his stomach, and the barely-noticeable wince upon his face. He was still wearing the guard's uniform that he had returned from the castle wearing, and as he turned his back to her he pulled the heavy mail jerkin up over his head. There was a thin black shirt beneath the mail which was yanked upwards too, revealing his slender torso and the toned muscles of his back.

Suddenly aware that she was gaping, Djaq snapped her mouth shut and blinked furiously. Once she had successfully forced away the faint stirrings of lust that had infiltrated her veins she realised that his muscles were taut and strained, as if it was taking him a great deal of effort to do something as simple as change his shirt.

Will tugged the shirt back down, hiding his body from view. Reaching underneath his bunk he pulled out a shirt of his own, muttered something about washing, and left the camp.

Djaq slipped out after him and followed him silently to the stream. She stood in the shadow of a tree, watching as he allowed an expression of pain to claim his features, believing there was no-one there to witness it.

As Will pulled the black shirt up and over his head Djaq couldn't help but let out an audible gasp of shock. She clapped her hand over her mouth but it was too late; the damage was already done.

Will's head snapped up and horror washed over his face as he realised that she had seen his stomach. He lifted the shirt that was crumpled in his hands and held it front of him, but it was too late – the image of the mottled purple boot-shaped bruise imprinted on his skin was imprinted, too, on her memory.

"Was it Gisborne?" Djaq asked quietly, forcing her dry mouth to form words.

Will shook his head. "No."

Djaq's eyes widened. "Allan didn't – "

"What? No! Of course not." Will pulled his clean shirt over his head and dragged it down to cover his stomach, as if he had had enough of his bare skin being scrutinised.

"Then who…"

"It was the Sheriff," Will muttered with a shrug, as if acting like it was nothing would make Djaq believe it too.

Djaq stared at him, her shocked eyes softening into sympathy. She stepped forwards and carefully lifted the hem of his shirt with gentle fingers, running the fingertips of her free hand over the bruise as lightly as she could. Will gave a faint gasp and Djaq jerked her hand away, not realising that he had gasped in pleasure rather than pain.

Her eyes hardened in anger as she inspected the marked skin. "I hate the Sheriff," she declared vehemently.

Despite the agony Will's face broke into a silly smile as he heard his own passionate rhetoric echoed in Djaq's lilting accent. "Really?" he teased gently and she laughed despite her anger.

"Almost as much as you," she teased back. Will chuckled and then gave a sharp gasp, which was undeniably an expression of his pain. His shoulders hunched over as he winced and the humour disappeared from Djaq's face as she reached out for him, hands hovering uncertainly over his chest until she settled for grasping his arms in support. "We need to get back to camp."

Will did not argue and turned to stride off, only to falter as another stab of pain assaulted his gut. Djaq appeared at his elbow and guided his arm around her shoulders, so he could use her as a makeshift walking stick until they reached the camp.

"Lie down," she instructed as soon as she had helped him up the slope into the camp.

"Don't fuss, I'm fine," Will replied defiantly. He stepped backwards, out of her reach, as if to prove his point, only to yelp in pain once more and clasp at his stomach.

"Yes, I can see that," Djaq replied sarcastically. "Now lie down."

The fight ebbed out of him as he expelled another rush of air in a painful exhalation and he lowered himself tentatively to his bunk, giving an obvious sigh of relief as he reclined backwards and no longer had to strain his stomach muscles to stand.

"Everything alright, Will?" Robin asked his loyal companion, looking up from the arrow on which he was adjusting the fletching.

"Yes," Will replied shortly, determined not to reveal to the others the trauma he had gone through that day. He hadn't mentioned the heavy kick to his stomach, or Allan's apparent lenience, and especially not the fact that he had come close to never returning to the gang again. He hadn't wanted them to worry, and especially hadn't wanted to ruin the jubilant mood that had come from the sending of the pigeon.

"Is he okay?" Much asked, hovering near Djaq's elbow.

She looked down at Will and saw the discomfort in his eyes as he silently pleaded with her to keep quiet about the horrific bruising. She frowned slightly at him, not wanting to lie, but not able to resist the look on his face.

"He is fine," she replied brusquely, her heart singing at the expression of gratitude that came to Will's eyes. "Just a small bruise from earlier."

Much nodded, believing her instantly, and wandered off again. As the other outlaws lost interest Djaq moved so her body shielded Will from view and carefully lifted up his shirt again, biting her lip to stifle another murmur of outrage. She needed to poke and prod at his torso to determine whether any further damage had been done, but knew that this would elicit cries of pain and alert the others to his situation.

As she pondered the best way to get rid of Robin, Much and John without drawing suspicion, Robin gave her devious side a reprieve.

"John, Much, let's go and wash. We need it after today."

"Speak for yourself!" Much looked affronted. "What about Will and Djaq?"

"Will has already been to the stream today," Robin replied. "And Djaq needs to tend to his bruise."

Djaq cocked an eyebrow at him, her suspicion of his motives rising as she noted the twinkle in his eye. As a grumbling John and Much followed Robin from the camp she heard Much say something about a euphemism, but discounted it with a shake of her head as one of Much's random thoughts.

As soon as they left an awkward silence fell over the camp. It unsettled Djaq – she was used to either comfortable silence or easy chatter with Will – and so she switched immediately into her efficient physician persona, kneeling on the ground and examining his bruise. It extended below the waistband of his trousers and she swallowed hard as she realised that she would have to push them further down in order to assess the full extent of his injury.

"Can I – " She stopped talking, appalled that her voice, normally so calm and assured, had come out as a strangled squeak.

Will nodded awkwardly and turned his head away from her slightly. Taking a deep breath, Djaq untied the laces at the top of his trousers and pushed them down a little way over his hips. The bruise was large and vibrant, a rich purple tinged with yellow, containing the definite pattern of the sole of a boot.

"This will hurt," Djaq warned, and Will nodded again as he closed his eyes in anticipation of the pain.

Loathe to hurt him further, but knowing that she had to, Djaq closed her own eyes and placed two fingers upon the right hand side of his ribcage, pressing down firmly. Will's hips bucked off the mattress as he let out a sharp cry, before he managed to control his emotions and restrict his voice to a low groan.

Moving as quickly and gently as she could, Djaq moved tentative fingers over his stomach, testing the ribs to ensure there were no breakages. There seemed to be no damage deeper than the surface, and she expelled a sigh of relief without even realising it had passed her lips.

"Everything seems intact," she told him, rocking back on her heels. "I have a salve that may help the bruising." She stood up and fumbled in her box of medicines, all too aware of Will's eyes burning into her back, finally withdrawing a small pot filled with oozing green goo.

Returning to Will's side she scooped a dollop of the ointment onto his stomach, smiling slightly as he shivered at the cold contact. He propped himself up onto his elbows and watched intently as she soothed the salve into the sore skin, her fingertips dancing lightly over the bruise.

Once all of the remedy had soaked into the skin, Djaq pulled a few lengths of cloth from her medical store and propped Will up in order to wrap them around his midriff to provide some support.

She completed the task slowly, unwilling to lose the contact between her fingers and his warm skin. She tied the laces on his trousers before reluctantly tugging his shirt down until the injury was completely concealed.

Intending to stand, Djaq was confused by the unwillingness of her muscles to move. She froze where she crouched, hands resting at the hem of Will's shirt, staring down at her immobile fingers. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Will frowned at her. "Sorry for what?"

"For leaving you." She stood up abruptly, wiping her hands upon her clothes to get rid of the last traces of ointment. "I left you, in Locksley."

Will laughed, before realising that she was serious. "Djaq, I'm not angry," he told her. "We were both running away; it wasn't your fault that I could not untie my horse!"

"But I didn't look back! I could have helped, I could have stopped the Sheriff doing that to you."

"Djaq, if you had turned back you would have been caught as well, and made things ten times worse."

"Why?" she snapped, affronted. "Because I am a woman?"

Will sighed at the familiar question that sprang from her lips every time she was offered food first, or a spare blanket. "No. Because it is better for one to be caught than two!"

"But then it would have been twice at bad, not ten times worse."

Will's brow furrowed slightly as he contemplated the maths, the frown lines deepening as he wondered what to say to Djaq. He could not admit that the thought of her being captured made his skin turn cold, his fists clench, and his heart beat in fear. "Yes, but we would not have been able to exchange your clothes for those of a guard," he replied at last, hoping to offset his slip of the tongue with a joke.

"Oh, I noticed that," she replied. "Why did you change your clothes? You normally wear the guard's uniform over your own clothes."

Will tensed, cursing himself for dropping himself in it again. He could not tell Djaq that he had had to put his own clothes on the guard dangling from the gallows! "I don't know," he mumbled, with a vague shrug.

Djaq, however, had had a lot of practice at reading the nuances of Will's expressions and tones of voice. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Will," she said warningly. "Tell me the truth."

He sighed. "I was going to hang," he said at last, avoiding Djaq's eyes but hearing her sharp intake of breath. "The Fool had the key to our shackles, so we unlocked them and killed the guards. We dressed them in our clothes and hung them from the gallows, so no-one would suspect a trick."

"You were going to hang," Djaq whispered, deaf to anything but that simple, horrifying fact. "You almost died."

"Near death experiences are becoming more and more common around here," Will replied with a shrug.

"It is not a joke, Will!" She turned to him, eyes flashing. "This is not a game, and one day your luck is going to run out."

"I know. But it wasn't today."

She let out a low growl of frustration. "You don't understand! It could have been today. I could have lost you today, I can't…" She turned away, rubbing at her forehead.

"You can't what?" Will asked quietly.

Djaq stared at him for a long moment. "I don't know what I would have done if you had died. I cannot imagine life without you, Will Scarlett."

After a pause that felt like a lifetime, Will found his voice. "I cannot imagine life without you, either, and I don't want to. It – "

At that moment, the door to the camp swung open and a grumbling Much staggered in shivering, sitting himself down as close to the fire as he could get without touching the flames.

"I fell in the stream," he told them before they could ask what was wrong. "Go on, laugh."

"I can't," Will replied, though his eyes were still on Djaq. "It hurts too much."

With those words he settled himself back down on his bunk, turning his head away. Djaq stared at his still body for a long moment, pondering his words. The sensible physician within her rationalised that he meant his injured stomach would hurt if he laughed.

But the more passionate part of her, the part of her that she usually labeled as Saffiyah, believed that his words had been the completion of his interrupted sentence. And the happy smile on her face had nothing to do with the sight of Much angrily wringing out his socks.

A/N: Erm, yeah. Not a big fan of the ending - I know what I was trying to say, and hopefully it makes sense!!