I'm doing something a bit new with this chapter—it actually (gasp!) picks up right where the previous chapter left off. You get two chapters this weekend because this one and the previous one go together—I'd tried to write them as one chapter instead of two, but wordiness got in the way and I had to go with my original plan and write two. This one is a bit late because I was running through doing last-minute edits. You'd be amazed how many typos I missed the first time around…
Disclaimer: The BBC's Robin Hood is not my property. This upsets me.
0…0…0…0…0
o…o
May, 1941
After the Nottingham Blitz
"Will, get up! All of you! Come on! Wake up, wake up, wake up!"
All three of them were shaken awake in turn, one after the other, until they all sat up. None of them remembered right away where they were.
"Whaaat?" Will groaned. "C'mon, Dad, I just want ten more minutes."
Then he remembered—he wasn't at home. He was in Robin's cellar, on two adjoined mattresses, asleep with his friends. He felt groggy and stiff.
"Will, this is important!" It was Robin, looking drawn and tired and not terribly reassuring.
"What's wrong?" He croaked.
"It's your father. The University—it was hit during the raid. Marian phoned and—just get up."
His brain kicked into high gear and whirled with possibilities. He kicked the blanket off and pulled his shoes on.
"What about—?"
"I'll send them along—just get up. I'll drive you."
No more encouragement was needed. Something was horribly, horribly wrong. He knew it.
He ran two at a time up the cellar stairs that led into the house itself, Robin following close behind him. The speeding ride to the hospital, being led through the building by a nurse he didn't know—it all passed in a blur. The place was packed with the victims of this most recent attack, some of them only slightly hurt, and others being rushed into surgery. The next thing he became acutely aware of was his father, still and bloodied on the crisp white sheets of the hospital bed. Bloody bandages were wrapped about his head, and over one eye; an enormous, blood-soaked pad was wrapped around the stump where his left hand had been.
The young man stood next to the bed, his eyes wide and terrified. Every muscle in his body trembled in rage and fear. His heart thudded loudly in his ears. It just didn't seem real—seeing his father, the strongest man he knew, so badly injured and so frail, so close to death.
It was surreal. Alien. He felt like something completely impossible had just happened—and in truth it had. He'd never dreamed, not in a million years, that something like this could happen to his father.
He couldn't stand to look at him anymore, and stepped out of the room to sit on one of the benches in the hallway. He put his head between his knees and tried to keep himself calm. The sound of female voices from around the corner caught his attention.
"I'll take him, Emily."
"But they left him with me."
"It's all right—they know me. And he needs to see."
"It might be too much."
"It's all right. Here, come with me."
"If you're sure…"
The footsteps rounded the corner; Marian appeared, dressed for work and leading Luke by the hand. Will nearly fell on his little brother, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tightly in his shaking arms.
"Will, what's going on?" The boy pleaded. "They won't tell me anything. They just said something happened to Dad, and…"
His heart pounded and he looked pleadingly at Marian. He didn't know what to do, or how to tell him what'd happened. She nodded and put her arm around the younger boy's shoulder.
"Luke, your father… is hurt. The doctors are taking him into surgery in a few minutes."
"What happened to him?"
"He was making his delivery when the air raid started. He… he was in the part of the campus that was destroyed."
"Where is my Dad?" He begged, his voice cracking.
"This way," she said softly, opening the door to the room.
"Dad!" Luke sobbed, breaking away from Will and standing next to the bed where his father lay, motionless, covered in those awful bloody bandages. "Dad, please get up! Dad!"
"Lukey…" Will came to stand behind him, his hands on his shoulders.
"Don't," Marian whispered. "Just let him."
He nodded.
"Dad, come on! You'll be all right! You… you survived the Great War! And the depression! You can't let a bunch of flying sissies get you! Dad! Please…" He clutched his father's shirt in his hand and just collapsed, sobbing uncontrollably.
Marian tugged on Will's sleeve, taking him over to the far side of the room where her words would not be overheard by the young boy.
"I'm going to be honest with you, Will," she said in hushed tones. "The damage is extensive. Even if he survives the surgery—he won't be the same. He's lost an eye, and a hand. And the brain damage could be worse than you could possibly cope with."
"What're his chances?"
"Do you want me to be your friend, or your nurse?"
"Do your job."
She took a deep breath. "Not good. The doctors say less than fifty percent."
The bottom of his stomach dropped out completely and an enormous knot formed in his throat. He looked over to where Luke was still sitting by the bed, sobbing into their father's chest.
"And even if he does survive… you may need to hospitalize him."
"For how long?"
She shook her head, and the realization fell upon him. This was a no-win situation, no matter how he looked at it. His father was either going to die, or be in hospital care for the rest of his life—or be unable to work, with only one hand and one eye.
"I can't tell Luke."
"You have to let him know. You can't just pretend that everything's going to be all right, when you know what the outcome is going to be."
He nodded slowly.
"The doctors will be coming soon. If there's anything you want to say, I can mind Luke for you for a few minutes."
"Thanks."
"Luke," she said, putting out her hand. "Oh, you poor thing. Come here, let's find you some tissues…"
She led the crying boy away, leaving Will alone in the room with his father.
He didn't move, just stayed by the window where Marian broke the news to him. He took one tentative step forward, then another.
"Dad?" He whispered, as if he could hear the words. "It's me. Will. I know… I know you can't hear me, but…" He reached down and took his hand, breathing shakily. He could feel the pulse in his wrist, the last sign that the man still lived. "I'm sorry, for everything I ever did. I know I wasn't always the best I could've been. And I know we didn't always see eye-to-eye on everything. Sometimes we didn't see eye-to-eye on anything."
He took a deep, shaking breath, the knot in his throat growing.
"I love you, Dad. And… if you die…"
Tears spilled down his face and he sniffled, pulling the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his eyes.
"Tell Mum hello for me."
"Will?"
He turned to see that Marian had the door open just enough to poke her head in.
"The doctors are here. It's time."
He took a deep breath and steeled himself. "Will they let Luke say goodbye?" He asked.
"Of course they will."
Hours passed; he sat in silence with Luke outside of the little room, playing cards with the pack he'd taken from Robin's bomb shelter. He sorely wished he'd had a pack of cigarettes as well, even though he didn't even smoke. He was just desperate for something to calm his nerves.
Lukey's reaction to the news was much different than he'd expected. Perhaps he'd expended all of his tears crying over the initial shock. Maybe he'd actually expected that their father would die and hearing it as a fact wasn't as terrible. Or maybe he was in so much shock that he couldn't process the situation. Whatever the reason, his little brother only nodded dumbly when Will told him that there was a good chance that their father wouldn't survive. They'd cried together for a little while before they decided that shedding tears would do nothing but depress themselves, and they began playing a card game instead.
But all he really wanted to do right now was fall on the floor and scream, cry, throw fits—the world wasn't fucking fair. His best friend was going to enlist in the army, possibly to be killed hundreds of miles from home; the girl of his dreams was about to pick up and leave Nottingham, too proud to take a place to stay for nothing; the world around him was completely fallen apart; and, on top of all of this, he was about to lose his father. The only thing he could possibly do that made any sense at all was sob.
But he didn't. He kept his emotions in check, and refused to break down. He had to keep a brave front for Luke.
He heard the two sets of footsteps in the silent hallway before he saw the two figures round the corner and come running over.
"Will!"
Allan and Djaq.
"You all right, mate? Marian told us you were here and—"
Djaq gave him a firm elbow in the ribs to shut him up.
"I'm well enough, I guess," he said, moving over so his friends could sit down. He would have to wait until Luke was elsewhere—maybe the loo or something—before he could tell them the truth. "How's everything else? Robin's place?"
"A mess," she admitted. "There is a crater in the middle of the paddock the size of a swimming pool, the stables are half collapsed, and the fence is blown away—but the house is fine and none of the animals died."
"We just spent the last three hours cleaning the place up," Allan added. "Word 'round town is, the Germans don't have good aim 'cos they missed most everything."
"Thank goodness," he sighed, despite himself.
"Will," Luke tugged his sleeve. "Will, I'm a bit peckish. Can we get something to eat here?"
"Huh? Yeah, all right," he said, feeling every joint in his body creak as he stood up. "C'mon."
"Want me to take him?" Allan offered. "You look like you need a rest."
"No, it's all right…"
"Allan! Djaq!" Marian came running around the hall corner and saw them there. "You can't come in here without signing in! The head nurse will have fits if she finds out I let you get past me!" She handed them two tags marked "VISITOR" in big red letters. "You shouldn't even be in here, Djaq. You're not eighteen."
"Just lie for me, all right?"
"Where are you going, Will?" She asked, turning her attention back to the young cabinetmaker.
"Luke's hungry."
"Well, here—I'm on my lunch break, so I'll see if I can get him a bite to eat in the nurse's canteen. I'll have someone bring you some sandwiches."
"Thank you, Marian," he breathed.
His friends sat on either side of him, a hand each on his shoulders. They watched as Marian took Luke away, and waited a few moments longer before either of them said anything.
"So, how is your father?" Djaq asked in hushed tones.
"Is he gonna be all right?"
Will put his elbows on his knees and folded his hands in front of him, tapping his lips gently with his fingertips. "He's… Marian told me that…"
It all burbled up to the surface, all at once. He heaved a breath and suddenly he was crying, his hands raking angrily through his hair.
"He's going to die!" He sobbed into the nearest shoulder. It was Allan's. "Marian told me that he was probably going to die. He lost his left hand and an eye—and—and—oh, God…"
He just collapsed against Allan, sobbing uncontrollably now. He was shocked at first, then slowly looped his arms around his old friend and hugged him tightly. Djaq kept one hand on his shoulder and the other clutching his arm, warm and steady and comforting. They sat there, quiet, not saying a word and letting him cry until he ran out of tears.
"You realize… you realize if he dies, Luke and I'll be orphans?" A bitter, angry laugh escaped him. "God… an orphan. At my age, I'm worried about being an orphan."
"It does not matter how old you are," Djaq said firmly. "If somebody you love dies, you might as well be a child."
"What'll… what'll happen to Luke, if he…" but here Allan trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence himself.
"Well… I'm eighteen, aren't I? I'm his guardian, now," he was talking as if it'd already happened. "I've got to take care of him."
He wiped his eyes on his shirt again. His throat and chest tingled from crying so hard, and his whole body shook. Were it not for them, he had no idea what he would do.
"Excuse me?"
They all looked up to see a man in doctor's scrubs and a mask hanging around his neck standing before them, a clipboard in one hand. The white scrubs were stained all up the front with blood.
"Is one of you William Scarlett?" He asked, looking at the paper on his clipboard.
"I'm Will Scarlett," he said, standing up. His friends stood close to him on either side. "Is it my father?"
"Would you care to come with me, young man?" He asked, eyeing Allan and Djaq suspiciously. "I don't think this is the sort of thing to reveal in mixed company."
"They're my friends, sir. I would… I'd like to have them with me."
"Very well then." He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, son. Your father… didn't make it. He died fifteen minutes ago."
The world came crashing down.
"I'm so, so sorry…"
o…o
The next few weeks passed by in a blur. The funeral was the day after Dan Scarlett died—Will could hardly remember any of it, except that he hadn't even cried when they put his father in a box in the muddy ground. People were sending the boys flowers and bringing meals over for them, offering their sympathies and helping around the house—often without being asked. Luke walked about in a daze, going through the motions of life without apparently being aware of any of it. They'd both been out of school since it happened, their schoolmates bringing work home for them to do so that they wouldn't fall too far behind.
He'd decided more or less immediately that he had to make as clean a break as possible, and began cleaning out his father's room just days after the funeral. He packed suits and clothes in decent shape into boxes, picking out items here and there that he could get a use out of himself. The rest would go into storage for a while, until he could work out what he wanted to do with them. He moved most of the things out of his father's old room, but he couldn't stand the idea of sleeping in there himself. Instead, he cleaned out the drafting office and moved everything into the shop next door, like he'd planned on doing for years, in preparation for making it into a room. But he couldn't bear to move into it, not while his little brother was still so frightened.
Secretly, he'd been in contact with his mother's sister, Anne Hamilton—Auntie Annie—and talked to her about taking Luke for a few months while he sorted himself out. He felt so unstable, so shaky—he didn't think he'd be able to take care of himself all alone, let alone his baby brother. He hadn't told Luke yet. He wasn't sure how he was going to break it to him. But he knew it was best for him, for now. He'd be safer in Scarborough, as well—nobody would drop a bomb on the sleepy little holiday town.
He hauled the last of the boxes containing the last of his father's things into the attic and closed the hatch, feeling oddly relieved that the task was done at last.
The house felt strange and empty, lifeless.
Something was missing.
He sat heavily on the stairs, his head in his hands. He'd given Luke some money so that he could go to the cinema, just to get the boy out of the house. He'd told him to see something funny, and stay as long as he liked.
There was a gentle knock at the door; he looked up in time to see it open, and a small dark head poke through.
"Hi," Djaq said shyly. "You said I did not have to wait for you to answer the door anymore…"
"That's fine. Come in."
She walked the rest of the way in and closed the door. She had a basket covered with a towel on her hip.
"They are, um…" she lifted the corner of the towel, and an orange bill poked out. "Ducks. Robin thought you might need the eggs."
He smiled weakly. "Thanks. You can leave 'em in the old rabbit hutch outside until I can build a place to keep them." He stood up to show her into the back garden, where she carefully placed the birds into the hutch with a dish of water and some bread.
"So—how are you doing?" She asked cautiously.
"As well as can be expected, I suppose."
"Allan and I—we are always about, if you ever need anything."
His heart sank at the statement which was supposed to reassure him.
"Not for much longer, though," he growled bitterly, surprising even himself with his harsh tone. He should have been grateful for her company—and he was—but somehow he felt prepared to loose venom on her.
It seemed like she knew what he meant by this. "Will…"
"Why're you still so dead-set on leaving?" He demanded. He didn't give her time to answer. "Why can't you stay?"
"I already told you," she said gently. "I can no longer stay with Robin, and I cannot afford another place to stay. It will be cheaper for me to live elsewhere, instead of in Nottingham."
"No, it won't. You're just stubborn," he hissed. "You won't take help from anybody. You're too proud and too stubborn and you… you don't believe that people can just do things because they like you. It always has to be some ulterior motive with you, doesn't it?"
He didn't know why he was yelling at her. He wasn't really angry with her—or, not nearly as angry as he was letting on. But all of the anger and frustration and sadness, all matter of unpleasant emotion that had built up over the last few weeks were boiling over and gnashing at his stomach, unleashing on the nearest target: Djaq.
She stiffened against his onslaught, but kept herself in check. "You cannot pretend you know why I do things. I do not like charity because it makes me feel useless. I would rather be my own man."
"You plan on going back to that again? Wrapping yourself up, pretending you're your brother?" He stood right in front of her, staring her down; she crossed her arms and stood her ground. "It's not gonna work. It didn't trick me completely, and it didn't trick Allan, and it won't trick anybody else."
"I have no choice—"
"Everything's a choice!"
"Not for me! Being a boy is a shield, and without a family my options are limited. Did you ever stop, think of what might have happened to me if I had not been a boy when I was? Do you realize what I would be forced to do?"
"You always think that, but you don't know that for sure!"
"It certainly is true," she hissed. "It is not worth it to me to take that chance."
"You act like you're being kicked out—you have more options than you realize! Why are you being so stupid about all of this?"
Before he realized what'd happened, stars exploded behind his eyes and he stumbled backwards, covering his right eye with one hand and trying to catch himself on the furniture with the other. He opened his other eye just in time to see the young woman storming out of the room, and he heard the front door slam hard after her.
He stood, stunned, for a long time, trying to figure out what had just occurred. He and Djaq fought; he hadn't meant to be so harsh with her, but he just couldn't stop talking once the words started. He obviously hurt her feelings.
And then she hit him.
Gingerly, he touched around his eye, yelping at the pain. He ran into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. A big, reddish bruise was already starting to form there. He splashed water on his face, then stood staring at himself. He hardly even recognized the man that looked back at him. What was wrong with him?
He used a bread knife to chop a small corner from the block of ice beneath the icebox, then wrapped it in a towel and settled down on the sofa with the chunk of ice on his eye, hoping he could keep the swelling down. Djaq threw a mean punch.
After a few minutes, he drifted off to sleep.
The rude awakening came in the form of a rough jolt, being picked up by his shirt and pulled into a sitting position.
"Rise'n shine, sleepyhead!" Allan declared, letting him go.
"Whuh?"
"Whoa—geez, she wasn't kidding."
"Huh?" He was still trying to wake himself up.
"Djaq said she hit you. She really wasn't kidding. Good lord."
"That all you came here for?"
"No, actually, I came here to yell at you, but I'm kinda thinking the better of it now. I don't think you need any more beatings."
Will grunted quietly. "She told you, then?"
"Of course she did. Tell me, Will, where d'you get off yelling at that poor girl like that?"
"Come off it, Allan."
"No, I don't think I will. You're not the only guy what cares about her, you know—if you even care about her at all."
"You know I do."
"Oh? You've got a funny way of showing it. I'd never've done that to her!"
All he did in reply was snort.
"Whatever happened to you, eh? It's like you're a whole 'nother person. We were mates, we were gonna go off and enlist together—"
"I am not enlisting," he growled, voicing the opinion he'd been holding silently for years. "Not with you, not with anybody. I don't wanna do it."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes, really—and don't give me that goddamned look. I never wanted to join the army. You just always assumed that I would, without ever really asking me. I don't even know why you're doing it—no, wait. Yes I do."
"Oh really?" His friend's tone practically dared him to continue.
"Yeah, really," he snapped back. "It's all a part of this… this childish need you have to be the centre of attention. You just want the glory."
"Is that what you think this is about?"
"It isn't?" He asked flippantly, in a tone of voice he knew would drive Allan up the walls.
"You think fighting for my country is 'childish'? You think you're so much better than me?"
"Let's just say I outgrew it, all right? My priorities are different. I've got plenty of things that I'm needed for right here. I need to be the grownup now."
"You outgrew it?" He asked. "What else you think you've outgrown in three weeks, eh? School, friends, ambition—what about Djaq, eh? You outgrow her, as well?"
"You leave her out of this!" He went right up to him, face-to-face, taking on a fighting stance.
"Too late for that, isn't it? You already brought her into this when you let yourself get all fucking stupid about everything. You think you need to change? You think you're so different? Well let me tell you something, William Scarlett—you're not the first kid in the world to have lost his parents and you're sure as fuck not gonna be the last!"
He leaped at him with a savage roar, taking his shirt in his hands and shaking him violently. His friend grabbed at him, started tossing him back and forth. They struggled, rolling around on the floor and throwing one another around the room, each of them trying to work out their frustrations on the other. Allan started trying to get away, to hold him back, but Will kept coming after him in a blind fury. Eventually, he had no choice but to pick him up by the shirt collar and back him into a wall. He slammed Will's head back against it—once, twice, three times.
"Stop it! Just stop this, all right?" He yelled, staring into his face and keeping him pinned in place. "You do whatever the hell you want to do! But don't sit there and pretend you know exactly what my thinking is. D'you know why I wanna go fight? Do you?" He rattled him again. "I'm doing it because I feel like this is my only chance to do something for others. My whole life, it's always been about me. I've gotta do this. I've gotta grow up. It's not about being childish, it's about growing the fuck up!"
He dropped him and backed away, panting heavily and running both of his hands through his hair. He seemed much calmer now, his face no longer red, but Will wasn't about to let his guard down.
"For once in my life, I feel like this'll be the right thing to do."
"Allan…"
"It's growing up. That's why I'm enlisting. That's why… that's why I got out of the way of you and Djaq. It's no big secret I like her as well as you do—but she doesn't feel that way about me. She wants you, and I know it. So I stepped aside, and sat about for two years watching you do absolutely nothing about it. I coulda gone in at any time and tried to sweep her off her feet, but that wouldn't've been right. That's growing up, as well."
Will stared at him with wide eyes, breathing slowly and shakily to try and calm himself down. Of course he knew Allan had a thing for Djaq, but he didn't really realize how deep that infatuation went. Had it really been that difficult for him, to watch them together? To see his hopeless sighing and simply maintain a respectable distance?
He never realized…
"And another thing—that girl's crazy about you. She's not even angry at you for yelling at her—she's angry at herself for hurting you. You've got no control over what she does. And if she does leave… d'you really want her last memory of you to be that she punched you and ran out of your house?"
He left a few second's pause for him to think.
"I'm sorry about this. I didn't mean to come here and throw you about. I just wanted to come over and talk some sense into you," he said as he turned to leave. He looked back over his shoulder. "Oh—and I signed up. Passed my physical and everything. There's no going back for me, now."
He sat dumbly as he heard Allan leave. His heart was pounding and his head was spinning. He felt exhausted, the adrenaline draining from him after his second fight of the day. He fell back down on the sofa, intent on gathering his thoughts and planning what to do next, but before he knew it he'd fallen asleep again.
It was hours later when he woke up, this time. Luke still wasn't back yet, and he imagined he'd stayed for another film. He didn't particularly care. At least one of them will have had a decent day.
His head throbbed, from the now splendidly colourful black eye from Djaq and the thrashing against the wall that he'd gotten from Allan. As much as he hated to admit it, his friend was right. He had to go talk to Djaq, even if all she was going to do was blacken his other eye. He stumbled dizzily to his feet and wandered over to the front door, slipping his shoes on and stumbling out the front door.
The first place he looked for her was Much's restaurant, but he told him, after marvelling at his black eye, that she'd already gone home. He didn't much feel like walking all that way this evening—it was going to get dark soon and he still felt like he'd been backed over by a bus—and started to trudge back home. He bumped into somebody along the way.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention—"
"You look terrible," the female voice said.
He looked up lazily. "Djaq?"
"Oh, dear… that really looks awful," she gasped, reaching out one hand tentatively to touch his face. He caught her hand and batted it away. "I am… I'm sorry. I lost my temper, and I should not have—"
"No, you were entitled," he interrupted. "I was a prat. I said plenty of things I shouldn't've."
"But they were true," she admitted quietly, tucking her hands into her pockets. "Most of it was true."
"Well, I wasn't… I'm sorry, as well. I'm just so… angry, I suppose. At everything. And you just happened to be closest and got the full brunt of it."
"I assumed it was something like that," she said.
"Look, I—I know you don't like this, but…" he took a deep breath. "I mean, if you're so desperate to get out of Robin's place, but you haven't got anywhere else yet, you could… you could stay with me. I find myself with an extra bedroom these days. It doesn't have to be permanent! Just until you can find whatever it is you're looking for."
"What do I do in return?"
He almost wanted to yell again, but he took a deep breath and controlled himself. "Well, I'm going to be doing all of my Dad's old projects, now, and being in school isn't going to leave me a lot of time for other things. You could tend the garden for me, raise the ducks. They're used to you, aren't they?"
The silence between them was deafening. She stood away from him, too far for him to reach out and touch her, with her hands behind her back. Dark eyes stared right through him in that peculiar way she had, assessing the situation. He wouldn't be surprised in the least if she refused, and told him that she never wanted to see him again—he deserved it, after all…
He had to think of something to say…
A little tiny smile crossed her features, but her bottom lip quivered ever so slightly. "I can manage that," she whispered.
o…o
0…0…0…0…0
Oh god, I almost cried writing that first half! I thought it was really awful that I was sad over the death of a fictional character, until I remembered that that means I'm doing my job right. I'm not sure how I feel about the second half, though. It just seems a bit… schizophrenic. I might change some of it, but then again, I might not. It's a seriously emotional time for Will—his father's dead and he's facing the very real possibility that his two closest friends might be leaving soon. That can't make anybody feel good.
As for why Djaq is so averse to taking charity—any kind of charity—it's because I get the impression that she's very proud. In the series, she always works for her keep; she always does her part. The only reason she joined the outlaws to begin with was because they a) didn't hate her, and b) she believed in their cause and thought she had skills that could help them. If she hadn't, she wouldn't have asked to stay and wouldn't have stayed even if they offered. At least, that's my impression…
Anyway, enough of my babbling. Sometimes I think I have to explain my thinking on certain things.
