Sheppard of Sherwood

by Kodiak Bear Country

Title says it all, oneshot, complete

Sheppard of Sherwood

By M.N. Talbert

I haven't had the flu since I was twenty-three, and it's funny how much we forget about being sick. And I'm not talking sick like 'I've got a cough and a sore throat sick', I'm talking 'fever so high you think your brain is really boiling', and sick as in 'end it now, even if it means I'm dead' sick.

It'd started easy enough. I woke up sore, muscles protesting, and joints feeling like an eighty-year-old arthritic patient. I'd shuffled tiredly into the mess hall, and got my standard breakfast. It was only after I sat down to eat, sliding in next to McKay and Beckett, that I realized I wasn't actually hungry.

"You going to eat that, or continue to build volcanoes?" McKay finally snapped, when I'd rearranged my mountain of scrambled eggs for the fifth time.

McKay had a food thing. Eat it, don't mess with it. Different items shouldn't touch each other on the plate, and mixing vegetables with mashed potatoes was the worst faux pas one could commit at the table.

I stared at my creation, and it did kind of resemble Mount Vesuvius. "I need Tabasco if it's going to be a volcano," I said flatly. Normally, tormenting McKay would've been a great way to start the day, but this morning my heart wasn't in it – I think I'd left half my body back in bed, and my brain just wasn't awake enough to realize it.

Beckett was staring at me, and I quickly pretended to take a bite. McKay was my downfall - isn't he always? He uncapped a bottle, and handed it over. I'll never know if he knew I was sick, and was intentionally trying to pull one on me, or if he was just being sarcastic, and thought it'd be hilarious watching me make scrambled egg volcanoes. My vote is he had a niggling suspicion about the sick thing. Either way, as soon as the smell hit me, I did my best impersonation of Kermit the Frog.

"Are you okay, Colonel?" Beckett asked sharply, now overtly checking me over.

The green faded to pasty white, as the nausea overwhelmed me, and I dashed for a trashcan. I heaved once, twice, and three times the charm before last nights dinner came spewing forth. Disgusting. Vomiting is one of the vilest aspects of being sick. Chunky chicken is just as chunky coming back up when it's been sitting in your stomach like a lead lining. I didn't even know my digestive system had shut down last night, and put an 'out of service' sign up. Shouldn't the body give some warning before doing this shit?

"Of course he's not okay," snapped McKay. "Where did you get your degree, anyway? The University for Stating the Obvious?"

"Bloody hell," swore Carson. "If you hadn't shoved the bottle of Tabasco under his nose -"

I pushed away from the can, and took a napkin that an innocent bystander handed me, wiping my face gratefully. I noticed a particularly guilty flush on McKay's face, as he said, "How was I supposed to know he has the constitution of a kid on a carnival ride that's taken a few too many turns?"

Beckett shot a cross look at him, before getting up and coming my way. "Infirmary, Colonel," he said firmly.

"I'm fine," I protested. Biggest fucking lie of the day, but the day was still young, so I still had time to beat it.

"Aye, and that's why the mess hall is going to have to be fumigated," he remarked dryly. "Can you make it, or will you be needing a baggie for the trip?"

I was about to say I could make it, when I realized that was essentially giving in to his demand for the infirmary. I frowned, and started to reiterate how fine I was, when another strong wave of queasiness rolled through my oceanic uncooperative gut, and I made another fast turn back to the trashcan.

"That'll be a yes for the baggie then," he said wryly. "Rodney, get one out of the other can."

This was humiliating. It's bad enough being sick, and even worse when you're subjected to being cared for like a kid by friends, but to puke your guts up in front of half the members of the expedition, while they're trying to eat breakfast no less, is reminiscent of being a kid in school and throwing up in the classroom. It'll take months to live this down.

McKay stretched out a wary hand towards Beckett, who was now supporting me, while I hung over the side of my rubber version of the porcelain god, praying this latest bout was over. The bag was still out of reach, and Beckett was getting pissed, glaring at McKay's outstretched arm that was falling short by about two feet. "Rodney, for pity's sake, bring me the bloody bag!"

"Forget it," McKay argued. "I am not catching whatever that is. I've got to maintain at least a ten-foot radius away from germs. Do you know what will happen if I catch that?"

I think Beckett was going to make a smart-ass comment on how Rodney would wind up in a neighboring bed, but his mind followed along that train of thought to the fact that McKay would wind up as his patient, sick, in the infirmary, and I could see the gears click in Carson's mind. "Good point," he finally said. "Toss it here." A puking McKay was almost scarier than Beckett's worst nightmares.

We had to stop twice on the way to the infirmary, and by the time we got there, my stomach was threatening to fold inside out and come up next. It felt about as good as it sounded.

"Why you didna' just admit to being sick -" remonstrated Beckett, as he waved a nurse over, and eased me on to a bed.

"I didn't know," I protested weakly. "At least not until McKay shoved that Tabasco at me." I knew I'd never look at the spicy sauce the same again.

"I'm fine," Carson mimicked. "You'd just destroyed the appetites of an entire room, and you said 'I'm fine'!"

Yeah, well –

"I never get sick," I said lamely. "I thought maybe it was just a passing thing."

"Passing thing, alright," swore Beckett. "I have a hunch it's going to pass from you to everyone else."

He fussed me into scrubs, and under blankets, giving the nurse some instructions for an IV with a drug to ease my nausea. I hoped it worked. You'd thought I was out on the sea during a storm, the way it was lurching about inside there.

He gave a final critical look at me. "I've got to tell Elizabeth that your off duty for the time being, Colonel. Stay in bed," he warned.

Oh, I'm pretty sure I could do that. My days of wandering innocently out the front door were not an issue right now. In fact, it was all I could do to keep from begging the nurse to hurry up with that IV.

Lucky for me, she was pretty quick. Once she'd finished poking me, and got the drip running smooth, she injected something in the line. She adjusted my pillow, and smoothed the blanket around me better. "This will probably make you sleepy," she warned.

Thank God, was all I could think. I didn't want to be awake. My stomach hurt, and all I wanted to do was go to bed, and wake up when this was all over.

True to her word, I started feeling heavy, and drowsy. My eyes closed, and I was floating away –

OoO

"Robin! Are you alive?" a voice worried above me.

Huh? Robin? I cracked my eyes, and stared into McKay's face. "Woah!"

"Thank God, I thought you'd died."

"What happened?" I asked, confused. "And who's Robin?"

I sat up, and rubbed a sore spot on the back of my head. When I did, my hand encountered leaves in my hair – what the hell? I began to realize I was sitting on the ground, in the middle of a forest, and McKay – "What are you wearing, McKay?"

He stared at me, his mouth twisting into a puzzled frown. "Who's McKay?" He looked down at his clothes, and back at me, "What's wrong with what I'm wearing? Marian washed it last week." He shook his head slightly. "I think that hit to your head has addled your brain, Robin."

"Will you stop calling me that!" I snapped. What kind of warped practical joke was this? McKay was wearing something straight out of a medieval fairy tale, a green tunic that dropped to thigh length, belted at his waist. The pants were some kind of tights, and the ridiculous hat – "My name is John Sheppard, and yours is Rodney McKay."

McKay chortled, "Oh ho, good one! My name is John Little, or as you call me, Little John – and you, my dear friend, are Robin Hood, the Robin of Loxley, who robs from -"

"Robs from the rich, and gives to the poor," I interrupted, finishing the familiar tale. "How did you get Beckett to agree to this? What was in that IV -" I strode around in a widening circle, searching for the doc. He had to be hiding somewhere –

McKay sobered. "Maybe that knock to the head you took from the Sheriff did more damage than I thought," he said. "Marian is at our camp, she can take a look at you."

"Maid Marian?" I said. "Oh this is cute, and who's that – did you get Teyla to play along?"

McKay eyed me with a mixture of irritability and worry, "Teyla? I don't know of anyone by that name, and neither do you, now come along. We don't have time for theatrics." He took a few steps away adding, "What kind of name is Teyla, anyway?"

I debated on refusing, but decided what the heck, I could play along with the best of 'em. "So, where's my bow and arrow?" I asked.

"You left it at camp," he replied, striding ahead. Good thing because I didn't know where we were going.

"Let me guess, this is Sherwood Forest?"

I heard muttered grumbling from him. " – addled your brain."

"I'm not addled," I defended. "And I'm so not buying this."

He didn't say anything. I settled in behind him, and stayed quiet, letting him think whatever. I had to hand it to them, whoever had dreamed up this practical joke was at least pulling something original. Not the same old tried and true switcheroos with toothpaste and shaving cream, or plastic wrap over the commode, and the doors in Atlantis made the Vaseline on the knob trick impossible. Damn those Ancients.

We didn't walk far before we entered a clearing, and cloth tents were pitched about, with several cook fires smoking cheerily in the gloomy woods. It smelt strongly of woodsmoke, and roasted meat.

"Marian, get Friar Tuck and come here, Robin's been hurt!" shouted McKay when we arrived.

I let myself be pushed to a log, and sat. This was going to be good. Curious, I looked around, waiting to see who would be what. A woman dressed in an elaborate gown walked over, complete with a pointed hat, and a tail of sheer material cascading from the tip of it. Brown curly hair, and my jaw fell open. "Elizabeth?" God, she looked – wow. That dress really fit.

She wrinkled her brow at the name, and looked at McKay.

Rodney waved his hand, and said, "The blow to his head has him addled. He called himself John, and me Rodney. What kind of name is Rodney?" he said brusquely.

"I think you were rather fond of it," I said stubbornly. "And I'm not addled."

"See," said McKay. "Where's Tuck? He knows about these kind of things."

Just then, a man in a sackcloth outfit emerged from a tent, looking about till he saw us. He quickly hurried over. Now this was funny. I looked at Carson, and guessed, "Friar Tuck?"

"In the flesh," beamed Beckett. "And what be your trouble, lad?" He looked to McKay, "What mischief have you and Robin been about?"

"We didn't do anything," defended McKay. "That damn Sheriff," he colored at the disapproving look from Elizabeth, "Excuse my language, Marian" he murmured then continued, "Someone must've tipped him off that we were visiting the Widow LeeMan. We were ambushed."

I had a sudden thought. I'd met Maid Marian, Little John and Friar Tuck – where was Will Scarlet? "Where's Will?" I asked.

McKay rolled his eyes. "See, addled." He pointed Tuck my way disgustedly. "Fix him, Friar. We can't lead the raid on the castle tonight if he can't even remember sending our people under cover to sabotage the gates!"

"What raid?" I wasn't going to lead anything on a castle. I could only take a joke so long, matter of fact, enough was enough. "McKay, you've had your fun, now where are we?"

Marian leaned towards me, and stared into my eyes, before lifting higher, and searching the back of my head. A sharp pain under her probing fingers, and she waved to Beckett. "Here it is, and I can see why he's confused."

She waited till Beckett started poking and prodding at my head, before lifting my chin slightly with her warm hand. "Ssshhh, Robin, it'll be okay, Prince John is arriving tonight to collect the taxes that nasty Sheriff has wrung out of the people of Nottingham. Remember, it was your idea to snatch the loot out from under them both. Embarrassing Prince John is almost worth more than the gold."

The hand on my face was having a lulling effect. "Prince John?" I murmured lazily.

"I can't believe this!" exploded McKay.

"Hush, Little John," scolded Beckett. He stepped to the front, and shoving Marian gently to the side, started looking at my eyes.

A sudden wave of curiosity overwhelmed me, and I yanked on his head, pulling it down so I could see the back. I wondered if he still had hair, or if it was shaved to match the character.

"What the bloody -" He swore abruptly, and pulled his head away from me.

I shrugged, "Just checking."

Now he was also looking at me like McKay. "I fear you're right, Little John. Addled, he is."

"I'm not addled!" This was getting old fast, despite the eye candy of Weir in that dress. I stood up. "Enough, I'm done playing along. You've had your fun, McKay. Now where's the Jumper?"

I looked around, and didn't see any signs of a gate, or my Jumper. Frowning, I turned back in time to see Tuck, er- Beckett, whispering with McKay. Before I had time to worry, they shouted "Now!" and leapt at me, wrestling me to the ground.

"Now, steady lad, this won't hurt a bit, and when it's finished, you'll be back to rights."

They had my wrists and feet tied up in less time it took for me to worry just what 'finished' referred to.

I was glaring daggers at Little John. The good Friar had rushed off to get something, and for a joke, this was getting a little too real for my comfort.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I was -" the word choked on my lips, "-addled." Was that their point? Humiliation? This was paybacks for the cheese (1) joke, I knew it. "If you let me go, I'll remember everything," I vowed.

McKay wasn't buying it. "Describe Prince John?"

Oh, crap. "Uh, big crown for an equally big head? Big robe?" That was lame. Not only was I drawing a blank on what he looked like in real life, it'd be a wild fucking guess as to whom his Atlantis counter-part might be.

"Right," said McKay. "Friar, hurry!" he shouted.

"So not buying it, huh?"

He shook his head, "No."

Just then Tuck emerged back from wherever he'd gone, and he was carrying a jar with murky water slushing to and fro as he hurried over to us. "Roll his sleeves, and tights," ordered Beckett aka the good Friar, as he was kneeling by my side, and uncorking the bottle.

I was kind of curious, at first, but that curiosity swiftly turned to horrified. Leeches.

Groaning, I tried to pull away. "I swear to God, McKay, when I get out of this you are going to be confined to the brig for a month," I threatened, angry and desperate at the same time.

Marian fussed with her hands. "Is this really necessary, John?"

I jumped on her bandwagon. "No, no it's not, I promise. I'm not addled, really."

The first leech was clammy, and cold, but other than that I didn't really feel anything. I stopped struggling, and started looking. Nervous, I counted up to six on my legs. "How many you going to stick on there?"

"Only enough to cure your brain sickness," assured Carson cheerily. "Robin, lad, you'll be back to normal in no time!" he promised, recorking the jar after the last leech fastened on my bicep.

Oh god, this was creeping me out. I had barely managed to calm the pounding of my heart, when a flask was thrust against my lips. "Drink," ordered McKay.

I reflexively sipped, but the burning liquid made me gasp, and choke. "What the hell is that?" I snarled.

"Just something to help you rest," soothed Beckett-Tuck.

He was already warping and going in and out of focus. With a sinking feeling, I realized this wasn't a practical joke, and then the lights went out entirely –

OoO

I woke up later, still bound, and with a monstrous headache, but the leeches were gone. I pushed, and rolled, and struggled till I was sitting up. Relieved, I tried to get a good look around. I'd been moved into a tent, and judging from how dim it was, night must be falling.

The flap pulled away, and Marian, no, Elizabeth, entered. "Are you feeling better?"

I wasn't stupid. I agreed so fast, I think my head would've shaken off if it wasn't part of my body. "Much," I said firmly. "Uh, Marian, where's Little John?" Where's the psychopathic ex-friend McKay, and his leech bearing Friar friend, that's what I wanted to say.

"Gathering weapons," she said. She moved close, and as she leaned in to untie my bonds, I got a cleavage shot that made me wish for the first time that this was real, because after all – wasn't Maid Marian Robin's girl?

I rubbed my wrists, trying to get the circulation moving again. "Weapons?"

She stopped working at the knot on my ankles, and looked at me worriedly. "The castle, remember Robin?"

Oh, right. Prince John, and his evil partner, the Sheriff.

She finished with my feet, and helped ease my tights down my calves, and her warm inadvertent caresses caused my breathing to increase. I grabbed her hands in mine, and pulled them away. "Thanks," I murmured. Heat built between us, and she didn't pull her hands from mine. I leaned closer, and felt flushed. I saw her eyes flutter shut, and her chin tilt towards me, and I responded, leaning in gently –

"Robin!" McKay shouted, thrusting the flap back, and poking his head in, "-oh, woah, sorry." He quickly pulled his head back out, and called, "We're ready when you are."

The spell was broken, and a suddenly nervous Marian-Elizabeth retreated, pulling her hands away. I dropped mine, and sighed. "Coming," I called dejectedly.

I stood up, swaying for a moment, after-effects of the so-called treatment. I had to hunch not to have my head stick out the top of the material, and Elizabeth pulled my face to hers, and planted a rapid-fire kiss on my lips and whispered, "For good luck," and was gone before I had time to register the act, fleeing from the tent.

Bemused, I ducked through the flap to the outside, and had to step back, because I'd practically plowed into McKay. "Could you hover any closer?" I grouched.

"What's my name?"

"Mc-lit-John," I stumbled. "John Little," and keep those fucking leeches away from me.

He huffed and I had a moment of worry that I'd stumbled too much with my answer, but a smug grin replaced the wariness. "See, brain sickness is gone," he said, thumping my head with a knuckle. "Guess the good Friar knows what he's talking about it."

"I guess so," I grudgingly agreed.

I didn't know what was going on. Practical joke had been discarded about the time they'd tied my ass down, and stuck leeches all over my body, before drugging me. Hallucination? Was this some kind of dream? Or virtual reality? We'd been there before, tricked – or maybe this was a result of stumbling across some kind of Ancients device in Atlantis?

Whatever it was, I'd learned my lesson. I'd keep it low, go along, and pretend everything was hunky dory, and brandish my bow and arrow. I just hoped I didn't have to hit anything, because archery wasn't a skill you learn in flight school.

"Where's Beck- Tuck?" Shit.

He pretended not to hear it. "In position," he handed me a fine crafted bow, and a quiver of arrows. "Will's given the signal. The feast is well in progress."

So we were going to be party crashers, huh? "Uh, why don't you lead the way," I offered solicitously. I still had no clue where we were, and it wouldn't go over well if I walked us in circles.

A kid that looked suspiciously like Jinto brought horses over. Okay, I could do this. I'd been on a horse before. Uncertainly, I draped my bow across the horn, and pushed my foot in a stirrup, hopping up, and bringing my right side over. I settled, and adjusted the reins. There, that wasn't so bad – I looked up to see McKay staring at me. "What?" I growled. I'd gotten up all right.

"You mount from the right side," he said.

Ooops. "Uh, lingering brain sickness," I explained casually.

He was eyeing me distrustfully, but nudged his horse into a trot out of camp. I squeezed my knees, and clucked, and thank god the beast listened, and followed. I could stay on a horse, but if it hadn't done what I wanted, I'd still be back in camp. Come to think of it –

It wasn't a long ride, about an hour, but when we arrived to a hidden cove outside of the castle, I thought my thighs might be permanently bowed. I shook my legs, trying to get feeling back.

McKay had stopped whispering to a girl that had met us next to the stone wall, and was staring at me again.

"Would you stop doing that!" I hissed.

He didn't comment, but smacked our horses on the rump, sending them cantering back into the forest the way we'd came. "This way," the girl said, and I got a good look at her.

"Teyla!" I exclaimed.

She darted a puzzled look at McKay. Little John grabbed my arm, and whispered angrily, "That's the Widow LeeMan, and would you quit doing that."

"Sorry," I whispered back just as angrily. It wasn't my fault. If anything, it was theirs, since I was the only one who didn't seem to know just what the hell was going on.

"Shut up," he snapped.

"You started it!"

Teyla rounded on both of us, eyes sparking. "If you do not cease this talking we will be caught, and hanged at sunrise!"

Hanged? You know, I was pretty sure this was make-believe, though I wasn't sure what kind, but hanged? I didn't think even the virtual reality of that experience would be a good thing.

The passage led us into the castle kitchens, where a few maids and chefs waved at us to come in. McKay entered after Teyla, and did a double check, before waving me out as well. I sniffed appreciatively, something smelled good. Guess being a king had its privileges, even if he was a fake king, having snatched control when Richard was off on the Crusades. That I did remember from my history classes.

"Everyone is in place," whispered Teyla. "The dastardly Sheriff has collected all the gold, and is going to present it after they eat."

"Dastardly?" I repeated, grinning.

That earned me another round of odd stares. Oh, get over it already. Geez. I'm in some mock Medieval play, I had to get some leniency here. Whoever had scripted this one was no Shakespeare.

"Get over here," snarled McKay. He was creeping out through the archway, and I reluctantly followed, holding my bow tight.

We arrived on a balcony that overlooked the banquet hall. We could see a celebratory crowd eating and talking, while the guests of honor sat at a long wooden table at the head of the room, right underneath where we were standing.

McKay was looking into the crowd, and I followed his gaze, and found Tuck-Beckett meeting our gaze, and nodding slightly. "That's the signal, go!" McKay shouted at me.

"Go?" I shouted back. "Go where?"

But he was already thrusting a rope in my hand, and shoving me off the balcony. "Shhiitt!" I screamed the whole way down, holding on for dear life, as I dropped to the floor below. I bounced, and rolled, quickly coming back up and standing.

There were shouts, and people scrambling everywhere, and I realized I had my back to the long table, and quickly turned, pulling an arrow and trying to get it set in the bow. Maybe I could just bluff that I was going to shoot –

But as I turned, I noticed the Sheriff, and holy shit, it was Steve the Wraith, wearing a big doublet and badge, and he was reaching for a knife, about to skewer me. I let loose the arrow not even sure if I'd strung the damn thing up right. It went singing through the air, and pierced Steve in the shoulder, driving him back into a wooden beam behind him. Now there was a piece of luck.

It was the hand he'd pulled the knife with, and he dropped it with a squeal of pain. I saw movement next to me, and it was McKay, brandishing a wicked sword at the gentry seated, most still stunned by the turn of events. "No one moves, and you will live to see the sun rise another day," he threatened menacingly.

I believed him. I nodded at the row of faces. "What he said."

It was quiet, and finally McKay nudged me, "Tell 'em," he hissed.

"Tell 'em what?" I grunted back, trying to act like everything was just fine.

McKay gritted through his teeth, "The gold, Robin. The damn gold – tell Prince John we want the gold."

One problem, I thought, scanning the row of faces. Which one was Prince John, and then my gaze fell on him, and I knew. Kavanagh! The weasel had to be Prince John!

I stormed the distance, and pulled another arrow, stringing it in one fluid motion – not bad, eh? I pushed the pointed tip under his jaw, and lifted that weak chin. I'll admit, I was enjoying this part. "Where's the gold, Prince," I drawled.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he spat.

Oh, but he did, and I'd seen his eyes drift to a table in the corner, covered in a linen cloth. I jerked my head towards it, and McKay jogged over, ripping the cloth off, and throwing the wooden top to the side. There was a massive bucket full of gold coins.

"Lie to me again," I warned. "And my finger just might slip." I idly wondered if maybe there'd be some voodoo connection, and the real Kavanagh would feel the sharp sting of a piercing arrow? Mean, I know, but there you have it. The man was a snake.

A young man came running in the room, and my heart leapt into my throat. Ford. Now that hurt. His young face was split into a grin, and I felt the memories of the Lieutenant wash over me. He looked exactly the same, before he'd been altered by his run-in with the Wraith Kull warrior. God damn it. "Will," I said flatly.

His step and smile faltered. "The wagons are ready," he said, searching for a reason for my emotionless response.

I forced away the memory of the time he'd bounded after me, wanting to check out the mainland when Radek and McKay had discovered the hangar bay doors out of Atlantis. So fucking eager, and now we were hunting him like one of the wraith.

"Good," I said, forcing a pained grin. "You did good, kid." For the first time since I'd woken up in Sheppard's Sherwood Fantasy, I had no problem distinguishing that this wasn't Ford. It'd never be Ford again.

McKay tugged on my tunic, "Robin, reinforcements are coming, we've got to go."

I swallowed, and pulled back the arrow from Prince John's neck. He relaxed, and was therefore totally unprepared when I cocked my fist back, and slugged him in the nose. Oh yeah, it was broken.

"Let's beat feet," I said.

The two stared, puzzled. "Just go," I said tautly.

I got another scowl from McKay, but they started running for the door. While we'd been talking, some of my Merry Men had loaded the gold. I shot a threatening glare at Steve, "Don't follow us."

The reinforcements ran into us at the castle gate, and the fighting was thick and heavy. I pulled arrows, strung 'em up, and let them fly, praying I was either hitting the enemy, or nothing at all.

I saw McKay fencing in the rear of the wagon, and it was pretty impressive. When I woke up from whatever this was, I'd have to tell him 'way to go, big guy'. He'd taken down at least five men.

Will was flicking the reins on the horses' backs, and I fought to stay balanced enough to shoot. The gate was grinding closed, and I shot a panicked look at McKay. "Mc-Li- fuck, John!" I hollered. We weren't going to make it. We were going to be crushed between the massive wooden doors.

I looked desperately for the person operating the chain. In movies there was always some one rolling up the chain that moved the gears, and making it shut. I thought I had him in my sights, but we hit a hole, and I was thrown to the bottom of the wagon.

I jumped up, and tried again, but there were too many people running around and fighting. Just as I thought that we were doomed, wood scraped on wood, and we were through. I was turning to tell Will that was some hot damn driving, when I was thrown forward by something.

I reached a hand to the back of my shoulder, and felt the shaft of an arrow. I turned, and looked to see where it came from, and there on the rampart of the castle gate was Steve, staring at me with cold eyes, and holding a bow by his side.

"Son of a -" I swore, and collapsed, out like a light before I hit the bottom of the wagon.

OoO

"Robin," whispered a soft voice.

I felt a wet rag on my forehead, and blinked tiredly. Who was Robin? My eyes struggled to focus on the figure hovering over me. "Elizabeth?"

"I knew it!" swore another voice from somewhere to my side. "It addled him again."

The woman pulled back, and stared angrily over me, "Little John, go get Friar Tuck," she ordered firmly. "Tell him Robin has awoken."

"No!" I said, grabbing her back down. "I'm fine. I'm not addled, I swear." Just no more leeches. I felt like I'd been drained of enough blood as it was. Between that earlier run-in, and now the arrow – "I was hit," I said, remembering.

She pulled the cloth off, and dipped it in a bowl that was sitting next to the pallet I was laying on. She wrung it out, and replaced it with care. "I know," she said quietly.

"I thought I'd have woken up by now?" I wondered aloud.

"You have," she said, narrowing her eyes in concern.

"What?" Oh, right. Stupid. "No, not that, I mean I'm awake, but -" I fumbled. "Forget it."

She brushed my hair away from the cloth, and as she leaned towards me I smelled roses, and soft skin. I swallowed. "You smell good."

Her mouth twitched in a smile. "Why, thank you, Robin of Loxley."

But I wasn't Robin, and she wasn't Marian, and I wanted her. I lifted my head up slightly, seeking her lips. When they touched, my world exploded with heat. I groaned, and kissed deeper, feeling a hot sweat break out all over my body –

"I think his fever is spiking, get Beckett."

"Not Beckett, Friar Tuck," I mumbled against Elizabeth's, no, Marian's lips.

An amused voice. "Friar Tuck? Rodney, do I look like Friar Tuck?"

I peered out through slitted eyes. Beckett and McKay were watching me. I opened my eyes further. "Little John?" I asked, confused.

"Little John?" He turned to Beckett. "Honestly, am I wearing tights, or feathered caps, or anything remotely silly like that?"

I wasn't so ready to give up on my hallucination. "You stuck leeches on me," I accused, staring at Beckett, before shifting to McKay, "and you drugged me."

McKay snorted. "Leeches, well, he's got you pegged, hasn't he, Carson."

I let my eyes drift shut, and continued to mumble, "And Steve was the Sheriff of Nottingham – he shot me with an arrow you know, Kavanagh was Prince John," and here my voice got a little dreamy and I knew I was smiling, "Elizabeth was Maid Marian."

Beckett chuckled, but leaned closer, because I was falling again, back asleep – "You were hallucinating, Son. Fevers of 105 can do that. You're over the worst of it now, get some rest, and -"

"We'll make sure that dastardly Sheriff doesn't touch you," interrupted McKay.

At the dastardly reference, my eyes popped open. It couldn't be?

THE END

1 a reference to the ending of Trojan Horse.