Hey, this story didn't have much of a response, two reviews…c'mon, it's Christmas, make my Christmas and leave me some reviews!

I'd just like to say a big thanks to Magpie287 and Madam Beret who both left nice reviews, thank you!

Merry Christmas everyone.

Christmas – 1979

Nottingham, England.

Huddled into the warmth of his trench coat, Robin Locksley lifted the flaps of his collar up around his cheeks and adjusted his homburg hat so that it covered his eyes, protecting his face from the harsh cold weather. His hands were stowed deep into the coat pockets in an attempt to keep them warm from the night chill that was trying to attack every part of bare skin that was available.

Strolling down the quiet, snowy street of Knighton late at night, Robin kicked at the empty beer bottle on the edge of the road and continued to walk down the empty slum while whistling the tune to the Last Noel, his beetle boots creating loud clip-clopping noises each time they hit the cold tar pavement.

Robin Locksley didn't own a car, nor did he have the money to afford a cab. Instead, he walked. He walked everywhere. Tonight, however, he had the money, but for once in his life, he decided to save that money, the golden winnings of a poker game, and decided not to hire a cab with his winnings, but to buy himself a large scotch in his local, The New York, where he could guarantee that the music and atmosphere would be good.

Continuing down the street, he noticed that the neon sign to Jack's, the local bookmaker, was flashing and that the betting office was still open for the night. Robin smirked, Jack's little betting office was in between the local Post Office and the Labour Exchange and the local public house, The New York, was only across the road. Old Jack had always been a clever one when it came down to business. He knew that by being next door to a Post Office, old men were more likely to be tempted to call by and try to double, or perhaps even treble, their weekly pension after collecting it from next door. Then there was the Labour Exchange, the ready cash from there would be the dole and young men were very ready to gamble that in the hopes of taking home a far better sum than a measly few pounds. Jack had a good eye for businesses and had the mind, knowledge and skill of a perfect business man.

Stopping outside the betting office, he thought for a moment, he had lost hundreds, maybe even thousands of pounds over the years in Jack's, but tonight he had been lucky once, who was to say that he wouldn't get lucky again?

Tempted by the colourful open sign and the thought of winning double his money, Robin made his way towards the shop, pushing open the heavy door and stepping into the warmth of the bookies.

The room was alive with the sound of bawdy chatter and bad language, men barking with laughter and shouting in frustration at the television screens when their horses didn't come close to winning. The little betting office was packed with people, all men, probably hoping to win a good jackpot in an attempt to make Christmas a better one, and nicotine hung in thick clouds of smoke in the air, circling around the room in a toxic sort of way.

Walking into the betting office, Robin doffed his hat to a couple of men he recognized from around the area and fought his way over to the counter. The place was already full and heaving with men from the age of twenty to eighty. It was the grade three Welsh National horse race and, it seemed, half of the men in Nottingham and all surrounding areas had turned up on this cold December evening just to place a few bets on the National Hunt horses.

Digging his hand deep into the thick pockets of the trench coat, he managed to pull out a large wad of money, the winnings of the poker game. Slapping them down onto the counter, he turned to the odds table and calculated quickly inside his head how much he needed to put on the horse, Peter Scot, to guarantee a good jackpot of money.

"Hey Jack, do you know who Peter Scot's jockey is?" he asked the bookmaker, Jack, who was standing behind the little counter with his arms folded across his chest and concentrating intently on the screen above him, watching the race.

He tore his eyes away from the screen for a split second and looked at Robin, "Aye, Paul Barton,"

"And the trainer?" Robin asked.

"Err, David Gandolfo I think." Was his only reply while he continued to stare at the television screen.

Robin turned back to the odds table and scanned the list of names of the horses that were running in the next race.

The next thing he knew, the room came alive again with the sound of cheering, whooping, laughing and shouts of frustration. The race that old Jack had been watching intently had come to an end and the winners raced to the counter to claim their winnings while the losers hung their heads, clearly disappointed.

Jack shook his head and grumbled irritably under his breath, the bookmaker was obviously not happy that he now had to dig his hand into the till and hand out massive sums of money.

Having handed out the last of the winnings, he turned to Robin and growled, "Are you gonna' put a bet on the damn horse or are you just gonna' ask questions about the freaking thing?"

"Alright, keep your bra on Jack; I just want to know the details." Robin said quietly while handing over the money.

"Thanks God for that. I don't do time wasters, Robin." He told the lad while placing the paper notes into the till.

"Good, 'coz neither do I, Jack."

"So, eighteen to one on Peter Scot?" he let out a bark of laughter, his chest wheezing loudly, "Good luck to you on that one, you haven't got a hope in hell."

"It says here that he's proven himself in many other races…"

"Race starts in five, kid." Was Jack's only reply as he handed Robin the betting slip and pointed to the screen. "Good luck…"

"I shall need it." Robin muttered as he walked over to the other side of the room towards the large screen where a few punters had already gathered around.

Shrugging off his trench coat, Robin threw it over the back of a chair and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. He quickly opened the top buttons, leaving his collar hang open and he loosened his tie. Pulling up a chair, he quickly turned it around and sat on it backwards, his arms draped around the back of the chair. He plucked his hat from his head and searched around inside the base and pulled out a cigarette. Striking a match and lighting the cigarette quickly, he sat there dragging at it while waiting patiently for the race to begin.

The race finally began and Robin stood there in front of the screen grasping his betting slip tightly in his clenched hand while he yelled at Peter Scot to get his arse into gear and finish the distance of three miles, five and a half furlongs and come first place in the race.

Shouting at the screen in frustration as Peter Scot jumped the tenth fence and just managed to stay on his feet, Robin sat down on the chair with his head in his hands. He should have known, the odds of Scot winning were very slim and Jack was right. Damn it he should have listened to Jack! Old Jack had been in the business for years, he knew what he was talking about.

Tearing his eyes away from his hands, he managed to bring himself round to watch the race and was surprised to see that, although many of the horses had fallen at the sixteenth fence, the chestnut gelding that he had put high stakes on was still on his feet and was storming down the course. The stamina of the eight year old thoroughbred was incredible and Robin found that he had hope in this horse once again.

Getting to his feet, he started to cheer the horse on as he cleared the seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth fence and ran on onto the twentieth. The horse was now tied with Narvik and Peaty Sandy, both young geldings, much younger than Scot, but if Barton, the jockey managed to maintain a cool head now and managed to show good horsemanship skills, Scot could win this, Scot was more experienced than those damn two other geldings, Scot would win this if he just managed to clear fence twenty-one (which he did of course) and somehow managed to clear fence twenty-two nicely.

Just as Scot, who was now tied with Narvik, Peaty Sandy having fallen at the last fence, charged down the course with Barton crouched low over his back, Robin closed his eyes in fear that if he watched, Scot would fall at the very last hurdle and leave the victory to be taken by the young gelding Narvik. He hid his eyes behind his hand and, just as Scot neared the last fence, fence number twenty-two, he quickly looked through the crack of his fingers and held his breath as the horse jumped the fence, cleared it and landed safely on his feet. Jumping up onto his feet, Robin shouted at the screen, hoping that somehow the horse and Barton could hear him, and watched with concentrated attention as Scot managed to outrun Narvik and return home in first place.

Robin jumped around the betting office in jubilation while punching the air and whooping loudly in delight. Had he really just won? Had he really got on a lucky one and his horse just came in eighteen to one? He couldn't believe it. Luck had never been on Robin Locksley's side, never. But tonight, tonight was his lucky night and as far as he was concerned, he was the happiest man on the planet right now.

Running to the counter, he slapped down the betting slip and looked up at an irritated looking Jack. "I guess you was wrong eh, Jack? Scot did have a hope in hell didn't he?" there was a cheeky glint in Robin's eyes, the youth of the young man evident in the boyish face. A cheeky, cocky grin played on his face and he let out a crack of delighted laughter upon seeing the annoyance of the bookie.

"Give me that!" Jack growled as he snatched the betting slip out of Robin's hand and dug his hand into the till.

"Say, Jack, looks as if you've had a pretty shit night?" Robin said grinningly to him, the devious smile still playing on his handsome features.

"You're telling me, kid. Christ, I need a scotch." He moaned as he counted the paper notes in his hand before handing them to a grinning Robin. "Now get the hell outta' here before I decide not to give you your damn winnings ya' lucky bugger."

"Thanks, Jack, Merry Christmas!" the youngster said cheerfully as he threw on his thick coat.

"Aye, a Merry Christmas to you too, lad, you have a good one, and go easy on the drink!" Jack said back to the regular punter.

"Will do," Robin said while grasping his homburg by the crown and doffing it to Jack before leaving the warmth of the betting office and stepping out into the chilly evening.

Walking out of the shop with a stride in his step, Robin stopped in his tracks on the pavement and, while taking a long drag from his cigarette which was hanging from his lip, he focused on the front doors of the New York, where people seemed to be filling in. Just as the door swung open, a loud powerful wave of melodic singing reached his ears, it was a female's voice and, intrigued by the powerful song, he threw his cigarette onto the floor and crossed the road, making his way towards the New York.

The atmosphere in the pub was alive with the sound of music and, if he was to be completely honest, much better than what the atmosphere was in Jack's. Striding over towards the bar, Robin doffed his hat to a pretty looking lady and instead of placing his homburg back onto his fair-haired head; he swiped out a paper note and placed it on the bar while saying to the young lady, "What can I get you to drink?"

Batting her eye lashes at him, she smiled seductively and said, "I'll have a glass of wine,"

"Of course," Robin said grinning handing over the money to Bill, "And I'll have a whiskey please, Bill,"

"Coming right up," Bill said while handing Robin the glass of wine.

Robin passed it on to the young lady with a wink and, once she stalked off in the opposite direction, turned his attention to the singer who was on the stage singing.

"Say, Bill, who's that lass up on stage?" Robin asked him while taking a sip from his whiskey glass.

"Tonight's entertainment. Her name is Marian Fitzwalter. Cost me a fortune she did, but she's worth it eh, Rob?" Bill grinned from behind the bar while watching her.

"Aye, she's got a cracking voice…" Robin agreed while greedily drinking in her fair complexion, her silky brunette locks, her large, crystal blue eyes and her curvy figure, "…and an even better figure,"

"Pretty little thing ain't she?"

"Aye…she is. She's mighty fine. Where did you say she was from?"

"I didn't, but she's from 'round here." Bill replied, still focused on the brunette up on his stage.

Robin let out a low wolf whistle, "From around here? I've never seen her around…"

"Hey, you're a musician; don't tell me you've never met her?"

Robin shook his head, "I haven't, I don't even know the name…but that won't be for long," he said with a devilish wink at Bill.

Bill chuckled, "Fancy your chances eh?"

"Naturally," Robin grinned cheekily.

"She's a feisty one mind you…already we've had three punters trying to get a piece of her; she was having none of it. The first left with a black eye, the second complaining that his crotch was hurting and the third, well he walked out with a pint of stout dripping from his head. When we call her "tonight's entertainment" it doesn't mean what half of these dirty minded buggers in here are thinking…oh no, it means "entertainment" and no funny business."

Laughing, Robin downed his drink.

"Still fancy your chances?" Bill asked him, smirking.

"Of course, I like a challenge and this one looks right up my street."

Shaking his head in disapproval, Bill said to him, "You're a fool. Many have tried and failed, what makes you any different?"

His answer was obvious. "I'm a musician, and if I've read this lass right, she's a sucker for music, she loves it. Music is her life, her drug and her religion…the key to seducing her is obvious, Bill, and I'm the only man who can do it."

Bill laughed at him and then said while picking up Robin's empty whiskey glass and refilling it, "Good luck to you, Robin. Good luck to you, my old son."

"Luck has been on my side twice tonight, Bill, but for this, I don't need luck, this is too easy."

"We'll see, Robin," Bill said winking at him, "Here, have this…courage for you. You'll need it; I've heard that she's got a mean punch."

Grinning, Robin threw the contents of the whiskey into the back of his mouth and shook his head. "You've heard the saying, I came, I saw, I conquered right?"

"Right," Bill replied, confused.

"Well, you just think of that once I've left your pub with her on my arm."

"You're a sly old dog, Robin; I'll give it to you."

"Of course I am, Bill, of course I am," and with that, Robin was striding towards the stage where the young lady, Marian, had just finished her song and was preparing for the next one.

Climbing onto the stage, Robin hurried over to her and, while placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, he doffed his homburg with his other and said, "Hey there babe."

She looked at him suspiciously and said, "Hey…err, not being rude, but you really shouldn't be up here on stage. If you want to talk, I finish at ten, we can talk then?"

Robin grinned, she looked far more beautiful up closer and he found that he was almost blushing being in such a close proximity with such a beautiful woman. Making sure that he had found his voice and that he could actually string two words together, he said, "No, no, no, I haven't come to talk, I've err, come to sing with you. Say, you fancy doing a duet?"

Her eyes narrowed and she looked at him in confusion. "A duet?"

He nodded eagerly.

"Err, are you a singer or -…" she was quickly interrupted.

"Aye, I'm a musician…I was thinking maybe we could do a little duet or something, you know?"

She took in the young man's appearance; he was around twenty-five, a good five years older than her. He was very handsome, but in a roguish way. His hair was slightly tousled, a perfected mess she thought, and his eyes twinkled with devilment, they were blue, aquamarine she noted to herself. His features were boyish, innocent yet very cheeky, and he had a three-day old stubble growing, which she found slightly dashing. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to above his elbows and his tie hung loosely around his neck, his black trousers were being held up by braces and his black beetle boots shined with care. Looking him up and down, she noticed that he had a somewhat cocky stance, something which irritated her upon disbelief but at the same time making her stomach flutter. He was, in his own unique way, very sexy.

"A duet...I don't know, what did you have in mind?" she asked him, not sure whether or not that this man was up to the job.

"Look, I'm a musician…I sing here for Bill all the time, I'm a mate of his, come on, lets give these guys a show, what do you say?" he said, flashing her a cheeky smile, which only made her knees tremble and turn to jelly. The one thing that perhaps kept her on her feet and from collapsing into an unladylike mush on the floor at his feet was the cheek of the man. Was he trying to imply that her singing wasn't good enough? That she wasn't entertaining the punters? That she needed a male voice to make her melodic tune sound better? No. She had never needed a man before, in her bed or on the stage and she was sure as hell that she wasn't going to start needing one now.

"I'm sorry, but it wasn't in the job description that I would somehow "need" a male to duet with me."

Robin frowned. "No, no, no…I'm not here to steal your limelight, love; I'm here to offer you a duet. I mean, you have a beautiful voice, I just thought maybe you'd like to duet, I would really like to sing with you," he said, flashing his signature smile once again.

She shook her head, she knew what he was doing, hell he knew what he was doing! A flash of the smile and he'd get his own way, that was his plans, but no, she was not that vulnerable and easy when it came to men, so she stood her ground.

"Listen here, I'm not doing a duet with you so why don't you just get off the stage and leave me get on with what I'm here to do!?"

At this point, the punters had started to get impatient that their singing sensation had come to a standstill and was no longer entertaining them, a few even shouted at Robin to get off the stage.

"C'mon, darling, c'mon, you and me, what do you say? C'mon, Robin Locksley and Marian Fitzwalter, has a certain ring to it doesn't it? C'mon baby, let's give these a night to remember."

She stared at him in disbelief. "You're not Robin Locksley."

He stared back at her and laughed, "Yes I am,"

"You're not,"

"I bloody well am!" he said back.

"Well how come you're not in Texas or Vegas, or even New York at this moment making a name for yourself! The last I heard of you, you was some hotshot around Northern England!"

"That was years ago, I'm not as big as I used to be, and as for going to New York, I chose to stay here, this is New York, baby." He grinned at her.

Looking at him stupid, she said to him, "You're not Robin Locksley, you can't be."

"Why can't I be Robin Locksley?"

"Because you can't be. The Robin Locksley, Robin Locksley who started busking on the streets at the age of fourteen, who was in a band at sixteen, who made it big in the English bars when he was only nineteen?" she said sceptically.

He was starting to get annoyed with the whole "you're not Robin Locksley" thing and he said impatiently, "Look, there is no "the", I'm a has been, but there we go, are you going to sing with me or do I have to grab a microphone and a guitar and force you to sing with me?"

She had found the whole modesty kind of thing cute, but then he went and said that and she instantly took a dislike to him. Although he was a has been, he still thought that he was God's freaking gift and that everybody wanted a piece of the Locksley.

"You're not singing with me, darling, get off the stage."

"Very well," he said walking away from her. "Have it your way" and with that, he snatched the guitar from the guitarist and walked over to the drummer. After a few quick words, he walked over to where the microphone stood and whispered to her, "Right, c'mon, you know this song, it's one of my favourites, Johnny Cash and June Carter, It Ain't Me Babe, and stop looking like that, you look like a slapped arse. C'mon, count me in." he said quickly while getting ready to play the guitar.

Turning to face him, he noticed the fury in her eyes and chuckled, this madam obviously didn't like the idea of being told what to do, especially by a man.

"Chill out, darling, c'mon, you and me are going to have a cracking time," he winked at her.

Just as he was about to turn back to face the audience, he just managed to catch the sight of her right hand flying through the air and, thanking his quick reflexes, immediately he grabbed hold of it, her hand scrabbled at his face and he jerked his head away from her. She had tried to slap him. He heard the audience gasp at the impropriety and he turned to face them, grinning. "No need to panic, its show business," and with that, he turned to Marian and muttered out of the side of his mouth, "Grab the God damn microphone before I shove it where the sun don't shine."

Shocked at his remark, she reluctantly did what she was told. The sooner she got this freaking duet with him over, the sooner he would get out of her hair.

"Right ladies and gentlemen, forgive this intrusion, but Miss Marian Fitzwalter and I, Robin Locksley are going to give you a performance to remember, are we all ready?" he shouted down the microphone while strumming the song on the guitar.

Immediately the crowd of punters began to cheer at the thought of Robin, their favourite musician, singing with this beautiful young woman. The audience along with the reluctant Marian began to clap their hands to the beat while Robin brought his mouth closer to the microphone and sung,

"Go away from my window, leave at your own chosen speed, I'm not the one you want, babe, I'm not the one you need." You can say that again, she thought angrily asshe turned to face him and, extremely annoyed at his cheekiness, she frowned at him for winking at her.

She hated him for this. She had heard a lot about Robin Locksley over the years, her father said that he knew him quite well and that he was from a wealthy, virtuous family. But, if truth be told, her first impressions of him weren't exactly the best. It was time that she joined in with the lyrics, "You say you're lookin' for someone who's never weak but always strong, to protect you and to defend you whether you are right or wrong. Someone to open each and every door. But it ain't me, babe, no, no, no it ain't me, babe. It ain't me you're lookin' for, babe."

As soon as she finished belting out the lyrics, she walked away from him as he showed off on the stage by twirling that sexy arse of his. She had to admit, he was a pretty good musician, he looked as if he enjoyed what he was doing, he held the audience in his palm, they loved him. He sure was hot stuff, but then his cheeky, arrogant grin slid into her mind and all admiration of him quickly vanished. Instead, she walked back up to the microphone, ready to sing the next lot of lines.

"Go lightly from the ledge, babe, go lightly on the ground, I'm not the one you want, babe, I'll only let you down. You say you're lookin' for someone who'll promise never to part, someone to close his eyes to you, someone to close his heart, someone to die for you and more, but it ain't me, babe, no, no, no, it ain't me, babe, it ain't me you're lookin' for, babe. You say you're lookin' for someone to pick you up each time you fall, to gather flowers constantly and to come each time you call and will love you for your life and nothin' more, but it ain't me, babe, no, no, no, it ain't me, babe, it ain't me you're lookin' for, babeeee."

He bowed deeply to the audience who were on their feet cheering, whistling and clapping. Turning to Marian, he grabbed hold of her hand and kissed it. He had to admit, although he could tell that she wasn't the best pleased that he had forced her to sing with him, she had sure as hell enjoyed it coming to the end. Impressed with her talent, Robin smiled at her and said, once the cheering finally died down, "You were amazing, thank you for singing with me,"

Secretly flattered that Locksley had told her this, she pretended to force a smile and said back, "You weren't too bad yourself hotshot."

Turning his head cockily, he grinned and said, "Fancy a drink?"

"Yeah, why not?" she smiled back while following him towards the bar.

Maybe she'd learn to like the cocky musician…she wasn't sure, but what she was sure about, was that she liked his rogue boy looks…

……………………………………………………………..

A/N: They've finally met woop woop!

Anyway, first of all…the betting business, I know that the Welsh National takes place in late December, but not exactly when, I know Peter Scot won in 1979 and I know Narvik and Peaty Sandy won following years, so just for the sake of the story, they were runners up in the race.

Now, the song Robin and Marian sung It Ain't Me Babe was chosen for no reason at all, it's just I love that song sooo I thought it would be nice.

Anyway, the next chapter will be all about them two…then I'm afraid I won't be probably posting until after new year, soo sorry guys! Well sorry to those who actually like the story.

Please read and review, merry Christmas!