Just a little something that explores what Will and Allan were thinking about when they left Sherwood at the end of S1 (before they decided to return again).

I never really liked this idea that they would just up and leave without saying goodbye to anyone; it always felt to me like it was just a way of ratching up the tension so that they could have a big "welcome back" charge halfway through the big fight.

And after their big like/love declaration, it didn't make a lot of sense neither one of them would mention or think about leaving Djaq (the boys I know would have gone back and invited her along with them). So here's my attempt to make sense of it.

Also, I challenged myself to write this story without using any names: I couldn't quite make it with the boys, but "Djaq" is completely absent from the text.

The Road to Scarborough

Two men were walking down the tree-shrouded road to Scarborough, the sun light and leaves creating dappled patterns on their heads and the back of the heavily-burdened horse. Their minds were as full as the packs slung across the horse's back, and although these thoughts of theirs were fixed upon the same thing, the attitudes surrounding it could not be more different. As one had said to the other not too long ago, they did not think the same.

It had been the look on her face. After she'd mentioned bats, made some strange comment about how they made noises no one else could hear, he couldn't help but scoff. He still couldn't see the point of it: what use were noises that no one could hear?

But then, there must have been a point. Otherwise she wouldn't have said it. And after his little outburst, the look had settled on her face again, that half-indulgent, half-superior look that told him she couldn't really be bothered explaining it to peasants. He'd seen it before – every time he'd kissed his tag to ward away evil, every time he'd thrown a pinch of salt over his shoulder, every time he told the story about his cousin who'd seen a man get turned into a toad. That look.

It bothered him…and it bothered him that he found it so bothering. When a man started memorising the nuances of expressions on a woman's face, it was well past time to hightail it out of there. And this one wasn't just a woman, she was an entire world, one of books and learning and languages. He'd never had a chance.

Still, he'd miss that look he'd so often glimpse out of the corner of his eye…that little smirk she would made after he'd made a particularly clever jab…he shook his head. Better this way. Scarborough…and a promising opportunity called Annie Scarlett was waiting.

And he was taking Will with him. So much the better. He was fond of the lad, and they'd make good travelling companions. And taking him along meant that she could remain as he wanted to picture her: independent, unattached. Someone he could come back to if the need ever arose…yes, that was a nice way to remember her…

Beside him, his travelling companion cleared his throat hesitantly.

"What about…?"

He shook his head in reply.

"A woman like that? Guys like us? It doesn't work that way…"

This wasn't his idea. That was important, because it meant that he wasn't giving up on her. He wasn't leaving forever. Not like his friend was.

And he couldn't imagine her leaving for the Holy Land – there was nothing for her there, she'd insinuated that often enough. That meant that her future was in England.

His shyness always stopped him from attempting anything serious, but he was confident. More confident than his quiet nature revealed. He'd go to his father first, ask permission, and set up a carpentry business with the loot that was currently jangling on the back of the pack-horse. He'd no longer be an outlaw; he'd have money to provide for her. Then he'd come back, tell her about his new business in Scarborough, tell her how well he was doing, ask her if she'd like to see it…

It was easier to dream of a future with her when she wasn't around to disconcert him with her wit, or her laughter, or those eyes…

But Allan was coming with him – and that was advantageous to his hopes. Truthfully, he felt uneasy at the way his friend could ruffle her hair, or get her attention by running a hand down her arm. All as though touching her wasn't a big deal, when it took all of his courage just to sit next to her. Equally troubling was the way she let him do such things.

So it was good that he had this particular companion on the road. It was one less thing he'd have to worry about.

When his friend passed him the water flask he took a swig and then tipped it in her direction. He'd come back, he knew it as sure as he knew his own name. Then he turned, and hurried after his companion and the horse, already several steps ahead of him on the road toward Scarborough.

The End