A/N:This is something I wrote a while ago but have been afraid to post because it's so angsty. But I love the relationship between Allan/Will/Djaq and I wanted to explore the way it ended. Warning: If you are looking for some happy closure, this fic will probably not provide it. I hope that my intentions come through. It is really difficult to do their relationship justice. Review if you like.

They eyed one another awkwardly, almost guiltily, for a moment before shifting their gazes elsewhere. Each one wanting to speak but having no clue which topics would be safe and which were off-limits for them now. Gone was the ease with with the three of them had always interacted.

The group within the group. A family within a family. They had made life bearable for each other when the weight of it all had threatened to crush them. They were one another's support system and escape from the harsh realities. Through homesickness, death of a loved one, capture, and boredom, they leaned on each other and lifted each other's spirits.

A life in the forest, spent hiding from soldiers and dodging death at every turn, had not been what any of them had envisioned for their lives. But, somehow, the three of them could not imagine any life but this one. Even the bonds of birth and blood did not seem able to rival the ties they had formed with each other through circumstance and choice.

They had no idea how it had happened or when it had started. They did not even know or care what it was. All they knew was that it was. It made sense that placing your life in another person's hands was bound to draw you together, but that was true for every member of the gang. The same with living in such close proximity. They all shared a closeness. All six of them. But there was something special that had developed between the three youngest members of the gang. Everyone saw it and no one completely understood it. But soon it had become as accepted as English rain.

Allan, Will, and Djaq were inseparable. They could make each other laugh with just a wink or the raising of an eyebrow. They shared inside jokes that infuriated Much, who hated being left out of anything and, more often than not assumed the jokes were about him. They laughed so hard at times that John would have to shout at them to be quiet, which would only result in fits of stifled laughter. One of them rarely had to voice an entire thought before one or both of the other two would understand and nod or add something. Their give and take was almost effortless. They just clicked. That was all there was to it.

It made absolutely no sense to anyone, including the three of them. But they really didn't care. They appeared, on the surface, to be the most unlikely of allies. They were as different from one another as any three people could be. Their backgrounds, beliefs, and characters bore no resemblances. Perhaps that was why they got on so well. They complimented each other perfectly. Each seemed to supply something that the others needed to fill in the gaps that nature had left to each of them. They built up one another's strengths and canceled out the weaknesses. Their seemed to be complete balance between the three. Like they were three parts of a whole. Which, in turn, made up one half of the gang. So the closer they became, the smoother things went for everyone. They all had their roles and everyone knew his or her part.

It had been something truly magical. Until it had all come crashing down around them. Then it became something tragic. It was over and they were all left exposed, sore, and angry. And now as they stood silently facing each other, on the deck of a ship, for the first time since being reunited in Nettlestone, the three friends wondered if their wounds were the sort that could be healed. Or if, as they all secretly feared, the spell had been broken and there could be no going back.