Sorry about the mini-delay. I got held over at the doctor's office!
You know, in the time it took me to write this chapter, we had a tornado and some really horrific thunderstorms. (Don't panic. Nobody was hurt.) The power was out for two days—I wrote most of the chapter out on paper while we were waiting for the electricity to come back on. That's either dedication, or desperation. I'm still not sure which it is.
Disclaimer: While I'd've liked having Robin, Will Scarlett, and Allan a-Dale in the basement with me to keep my mind off of the tornado… I don't own them. The BBC does. I wonder if they have a loan policy…
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o…o
July, 1942
Her dream faded slowly, replaced by the familiar sight of the bedroom around her, the sounds of morning drifting in through the open window, and the gentle snoring below her. She smiled lazily and threaded her fingers through Will's dark hair, revelling in the marvellous feeling of skin on bare skin. His head rested on her stomach, hot breath on her skin; his arms were wrapped firmly about her waist and the rest of his warm weight kept her comfortably pressed into the mattress. She couldn't have gotten up if she wanted to.
Good thing she didn't want to get out of bed, then.
She stretched as much as she could, extending her arms as far as she could reach, arching her back, and shifting her legs a tiny bit. She folded one arm behind her head and used the other hand to stroke his face and his hair—still slightly damp with sweat and Djaq. She could smell herself on him. It was strangely wonderful.
It hadn't taken long after their declaration of love to one another for their fledgling love to become something significantly more physical. She started out just sometimes sneaking into his bed at night—feeling oddly unwilling to sleep alone and glad for such close, if not entirely aware, company. At first he'd been shocked, and then amused; after it became pretty well a nightly occurrence, he'd suggested that she just move into his room with him and cut down on the night-time travel.
And that was that. They hadn't slept apart since. Things went very quickly from there—at first shy and awkward, then became intense and heavy and wonderful. They grew used to one another's bodies, exploring and testing each other until exhaustion overtook them for the night.
She felt him stir, shifting on top of her; she flexed her fingers against his scalp and he whimpered softly in response. His eyes fluttered open, squinting in the bright morning light as his sight adjusted to it.
"Nnph," he groaned low in his throat, sending reverberations through her belly. He twisted, lifting his head slightly; his cheek was red on the side that had contact with her skin all night. "Morning."
"Not for too much longer."
"Mm…"
"Oh!" She yelped and squirmed beneath him as he lipped her warm skin and trailed little ticklish kisses up her stomach. "Will!"
He laughed softly against her and planted one last kiss between her breasts before climbing up to lean over her. "Yes?" He asked as innocently as he could manage.
She giggled helplessly.
"We cannot stay in bed all day," she forced herself to say. As much as she wanted to stay, they would eventually have to get up.
His lips were on her neck now. "Why not?"
"In case you had forgotten—" here she gasped as he gently bit her collarbone. She gave him a shove. "You are going to visit your brother. You have a train to catch this afternoon."
The look on his face indicated to her that he'd completely forgotten about this; he drooped his head and sighed.
"Can't we—"
"We are not waiting to the last minute," she said quickly, before he even asked the question. "Come on—off. You need to finish packing your things and we both need a wash."
With a defeated sigh and one last kiss, he pushed himself up off of her and stumbled sluggishly out of bed. "I know, I know. I'm up," he grumbled as he groped around on the floor for some clothes.
"Go have a shower," she ordered, nudging him with her foot.
"You could join me," he offered.
"No. If I come with you, one thing will just lead to another and the next thing you know we will be twenty minutes late to the station and looking suspiciously debauched."
He laughed. "Message received."
He left the room with an armful of clean clothes, leaving her by herself. Briefly, she wondered if she might get away with going back to sleep for a few minutes, but decided against it. They had to get a move on.
She could hear the water running in the bathroom as she crawled out from under the sheets and padded around the bedroom floor in the cool morning air, picking up clothes as she went. She pulled on underwear and then a pair of trousers that she had to disentangle from the top of a bookcase. The next thing on was a vest—one of Will's and too big on her.
Downstairs, she absently pulled her shoes onto her bare feet and walked into the back garden, stepping out amongst the ducks and the vegetable garden. She fed her birds and collected eggs automatically, well used to doing these tasks every morning. The garden wouldn't need watering—judging by the gray clouds overhead, it would rain sometime today. Though in Djaq's experience, the best way to make it rain was to water the garden. She brought the morning's eggs and a few tomatoes plucked from the vine back into the kitchen, carried in the extra fabric of her shirt.
Once inside, she put her haul away where it all belonged and put some water on for tea. Over her breakfast of toast with honey and the Telegraph crossword puzzle, she began to think on how strange it would feel to be in this house by herself. It would only be for a few days, granted, but it would still feel odd. She still felt just the littlest bit like a guest in the house, even though she'd lived here for more than a year.
In truth, she'd feel a little strange not having either of her closest friends about. She was still getting used to Allan being away—he wrote them, of course, when he could, but being in a war zone obviously made it hard to do. An incredible feeling of loneliness overtook her just then, and she grunted and mentally shook herself. It was only a few days, she reminded herself, and she'd have work to keep her busy until he got back. Maybe she'd call on Marian—she hadn't talked with her in a while.
And anyway, it would be selfish of her to ask him to stay just because she'd feel a bit out of sorts.
Will was going to Scarborough for a few days to see his aunt and Luke—they hadn't seen one another since Luke came for Christmas, and then it had hardly been a joyous occasion. It was more like a funeral than two brothers seeing each other for a holiday after six months apart. Will had offered her the chance to come along with him, to see Luke and meet Auntie Annie, but she'd politely declined. She wasn't sure how she would be received in Scarborough; she knew she was lucky enough to have been accepted so well in Nottingham, after the outright discrimination she'd experienced in London before she came here, but that other places might not be so welcoming.
No, she felt much more comfortable staying here.
The teakettle whistled loudly, startling her.
She made two cups of tea—one for herself and one for Will—and settled back down with her newspaper just as he came into the kitchen.
"I'm clean now," he said as he took a seat. "Do I pass inspection?"
"Hmm," she wrinkled her face, as if in deep thought, leaning back in her seat to get a good look at him. He was dressed in a plain white shirt and a pair of khaki-coloured trousers; his shirt was partially untucked, a habit of his that she found rather endearing. "Did you shave?"
"Yes."
"You might take a step closer to the razor next time."
He half-scowled and half-smiled, but didn't respond to this. Instead, he took a piece of toast from the plate in the middle of the table.
"You know," he said around a mouthful of toast. "It's not too late. You could still come with me."
She sighed. "I don't think so. I would not want to impose."
"Djaq."
"Old habits—sorry."
"Auntie Annie wouldn't mind at all—she'll put anybody up. And she'd love to meet you."
"Why? What have you been telling her about me?"
"It's mostly Luke, actually. He thinks you're the most fantastic person in the world."
"That opinion runs in the family, doesn't it?" She asked with a cheeky grin.
"Clearly."
"I still cannot come."
"Why on earth not?"
"Even supposing I did not feel badly turning up uninvited at your aunt's house—who would we get to water the garden and mind the ducks at the last minute? I have not said anything to Much about missing work, either. And we have not cancelled the milk. We would come back to find bottles on the doorstep, filled with what could be either old milk or fresh yogurt."
He snorted in his tea. "You're right," he sighed as he mopped up the spill. "Like always. Why're you always so practical?"
"Because you are not, and one of us has to be or else nothing will ever get done," she said matter-of-factly. His soft sigh told her that he was resigned, knowing perfectly well that she was right. She folded up her paper and started cleaning up the breakfast dishes.
He followed suit, bringing cups and dishes and spoons to the sink. They took up their positions as they always did: Djaq washed, he dried.
"Lukey'll be disappointed. He misses you."
"I know. Give him a kiss from me, and tell him I miss him, as well."
"It won't mean the same thing, coming from me."
"It will have to do." She pulled him down with a hand around his neck, and kissed the top of his head. Then she left him in favour of the shower upstairs.
She stood in the stream of warm water for a long time, letting it run down her hair and face and back, dried sweat and saliva from the previous night rinsing off her skin. There was a reddish-purple love bite on her hip, and she silently scolded him for it—but at the very least, it was where nobody was going to see it. She knew he'd learned his lesson that time he left one on her neck, and she became very cross with him because of it—and she wore a plaster over it for three days, telling people she had a bad mosquito bite. On the other hand, she thought, poking the mark experimentally, this one would be a private little reminder of him while he was gone.
She washed the soap out of her hair and hopped out of the bathtub, wrapping herself up in a towel. Her clean clothes were folded in a neat little pile on the floor and she hopped around the bathroom, pulling on her jeans and turning them up at the bottom like she always had to—curse her short legs. She tucked the front of her t-shirt in before trotting back downstairs.
Will was already at the bottom of the stairs in the front hall with his suitcase. He sat on the bottom step, lacing up his own trainers as she stepped over him to get hers from the back door.
"D'you remember what time the train leaves?" He called.
"It leaves at one, but we should be there a bit earlier," she replied as she walked back, one shoe untied and the other in her hand. "We should leave soon to catch the bus."
He nodded, pulling his trousers back down his startlingly pale legs to cover his shoes.
"You could read by your legs, Will," she teased.
"Oh, stop that. It's hardly my fault is it? It comes with being English," he retorted, pushing all of her hair forward the way he always did when he wanted to irritate her. She returned the favour, then she pushed him backwards until he sat hard on the stairs; he grabbed her arm as he fell, bringing her down with him.
They both knew they were acting like children, but decided that they didn't care as they sat laughing at their own little immature game. Both of them had always been somewhat on serious side and rather grown-up, even when they were young; logic suggested that they would only become moreso as they got older, when their circumstances changed and when they lived together. As it turned out, the opposite had happened—they grew quite silly and childish, taking pleasure in play-fights and antagonizing one another in good fun. It was a refreshing change, actually. With so little to be able to laugh about sometimes, they often found they had to dredge humour out of everyday situations.
Djaq knelt on the stairs, one knee on either side of his hips and one hand on either side of his head; he still held onto her arm with one hand and his head was back against the step behind him. They were still laughing at themselves.
"Are we ridiculous?" Will asked.
"Definitely. Like two little children in the bodies of adults." She kissed him on the cheek before she pulled herself up off of him and off of the stairs.
He, too, stood up and then took his suitcase. "Ready?"
With her nod, they left the house for the bus.
The station was crowded with people making their summer trips, many of them headed to little holiday towns, such as Scarborough. People ran from one end of the station to the other, luggage and squabbling children and railroad timetables in tow, arguing with porters and station staff.
It was crazy.
It hadn't even been this mad the day they came to see Allan off, with soldiers and their families and friends crowding the station.
A little five-year old boy charged in between them, squealing at an inordinately high octave; immediately after him was, they assumed, his father, calling out the name "Timothy" and excusing himself as he weaved around and in between people to catch up with the boy.
Will went over to the ticket counter and tried to purchase his ticket from the ancient woman at the till. Djaq stood with her back against a brick pillar, arms crossed over her chest, quietly observing the chaos around them. There was somebody making an announcement over the loudspeakers, but she couldn't decipher any of it.
"Mummy, I don't want to go see Gram!" A young girl whimpered, tugging helplessly on her mother's hand as the woman dragged the child towards the platform.
"Come on, Gracie, stop struggling! Why don't you want to go see your grandmother? She looks forward to this every year!"
"She scares me!"
"How does she scare you? She's just a harmless little old lady."
"Gram smells funny, and she pinches my cheeks and hugs me too tightly. And she takes her teeth out and cleans them with her knife! And she never remembers my name—she always calls me Julia. Who's Julia, Mummy?"
Djaq snickered as the girl's mother winced. "Let's go!" The woman said, giving her daughter another rough tug by the hand.
Poor girl.
A group of boys passed by next—old enough to go away by themselves for a few days, but too young to have joined the army. They were pushing one another, insulting each other, and making eyes at every girl they saw. But they didn't see her; their eyes passed right over the small, boyish girl with the short hair. Except for one of them, a boy with flaming red hair and brown eyes and more freckles than skin. He stopped in his tracks and grinned stupidly at her, waving awkwardly—he couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old. She decided to humour him and smiled at him, then watched his whole face turn the same colour as his hair.
"Flirting with the boys, are we?" Will asked, his breath hot in her ear.
"Of course not," she answered, turning to face him, looking into his green eyes. "Did you get your ticket?"
He nodded. "Finally. That woman must've been two hundred years old and hadn't the faintest idea how to operate the till." He looked about for the station clock. "How much time do we have?"
"About five minutes," she answered. "You had better run. I will see you when you get back." She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek.
"Wait," he murmured.
Before she could ask what for, he'd dropped his suitcase and clasped her firmly by the waist, leaning her backwards. He kissed her fiercely, like a dramatically romantic scene in a film, and in full view of the entire station. Several people around them applauded. A few whistled. She was simultaneously speechless and fighting laughter as he righted her again.
"That'll last until I get back," he said confidently. Then he took his suitcase again and made off.
Around her, there were still people whispering and giving her all manner of funny or scolding looks. Her ginger admirer stood rooted to his spot with his mouth hanging open until his friends dragged him away with shouts of, "She's got a boyfriend, mate!"
So much for shy Will Scarlett, she thought, shaking her head.
She took the bus back to town, but instead of disembarking at her usual stop to go home, she instead took the route to Marian's house on the other side of town. She didn't feel much like going back right now. Marian would be good for talk.
The sky rumbled softly, the sound rolling through the gray clouds and into the distance; the wind started to blow, as well, bringing with it the soggy-sweet smell of rain.
She knocked on Marian's door, even as she thought that she didn't even know if her friend was at home or if she was going to be interrupting something. Certainly she didn't want to be rude…
"Hello, Djaq," came the familiar voice. Marian was about. "What brings you around?"
"Oh, I… I just left Will at the station. He's going the Scarborough for a few days. May I come in?"
The older woman stepped aside, silently beckoning her into the house. Djaq toed her shoes off in the hall and followed her into the sitting room.
"Feeling a bit lonely already?" She teased.
"Maybe."
She sighed wistfully. "Ah, young love—when a few days apart feels like years."
"Actually, I just do not feel quite right going back to his house by myself. It feels strange."
"Why? You live there now."
"It still feels strange."
"You are singularly unfathomable, Djaq Bseiso."
She raised her eyebrows, but didn't ask what she meant by this. Something told her she might not quite like the answer.
"So how goes it between you two?"
"Prying, are we?"
"You're my unofficial little sister. It's my job to pry. And anyway, you wanted to chat or else you'd not have come to see me."
With a sigh, she answered, "We are the same, really. The only thing that has changed is that we live in the same house." She was lying through her teeth, but she wasn't sure she should be spilling details of her love life. Some things should be kept private.
"And sleep in the same bed," Marian added cheekily, grinning to herself when the young woman's eyes went wide. "It's neither new nor shocking, Djaq."
"I suppose not. I'm still not sure how you found out."
Her friend had guessed several months ago that something beyond "innocent young love" was happening between herself and Will, and she hadn't let up teasing her about it since. She had absolutely no idea how she'd guessed.
"I was young once, too, you know. Except I never had the luxury of living under the same roof as my sweetheart, and having a house all to ourselves. We always had to sneak in and out of each other's houses when the adults weren't looking."
Despite the fact that she'd known Robin and Marian now for years, their relationship remained largely a mystery to Djaq; she couldn't understand what, exactly, was going on between them. Sometimes they were regular sweethearts, joined at the hip and making eyes at each other across rooms. Other times, they fought bitterly over things that only ever mattered to them. Marian often yelled at him, insulted him, and called him a glory hound; she called him a little boy, and often expressed frustration over the fact that he was so headstrong and seemed to believe that he, and only he, could save the whole world. And then, other times she talked about him softly, in the tender words of a lover, like she admired him for what he did despite the fact that she was always admonishing him about it.
They thrived on arguments, it seemed. Arguing must have been their foreplay. Even when they weren't actively fighting, and even when they were busy acting like teenagers in love, they kept up a sort of affectionate animosity. They teased and poked and prodded and antagonized one another like an old married couple. They loved nothing more, apparently, than irritating each other.
And yet, despite all of this, she had rarely heard Robin speak anything but affection and admiration for "his Marian". He always called her that when he was talking to somebody else about her, and she wasn't about to come and hit him for it. Even when they were fighting—and they were almost always fighting—he was tender and sweet and teasing with her. A few times he'd expressed frustration about something or other to do with her, but it never lasted; before long, he'd be back to grinning and winking at her and calling her "my love".
It really was a wonder they weren't married yet. Theirs truly was a strange relationship. Djaq didn't understand it at all.
She picked her words carefully before asking nervously, "What is it, exactly, between you and Robin? You are both so profoundly odd."
Marian raised her eyebrows at the question, then threw her head back and laughed. Just laughed and laughed. "Oh, goodness," she sighed, wiping one teary eye on the back of her hand. "I think I'll go and make some tea."
"Tea? Why? Is it required for an answer? Isn't it too hot for you to drink tea?"
"It's never too hot for tea," she replied, making her way to the kitchen. "And besides, if we're going to talk of me and Robin, we shall need the fuel."
She followed Marian into the kitchen to help, and was immediately told to sit down.
"I hope you don't mind toast with honey and jam," she offered apologetically. "I had to use my spare points this month on eggs, so I haven't got any chocolate biscuits."
"I thought Robin gave you eggs."
She shrugged, rooting around in her cupboards for the tea. "He used to, but what with all of those people coming into and out of his house…"
"Oh, I see…"
So, Robin was still doing… whatever it was he'd been doing. Since leaving his service, she hadn't seen or heard those strangers moving in and out of Robin's house—but she didn't expect that they'd all just suddenly left. She still had no idea what they were there for.
"Will and I—we keep ducks," she said. "They lay more eggs than we eat, and we sell what we don't use. If you would like, you can have some."
"How much?"
"A penny an egg, but we get first pick."
Marian smiled. "Thank you, Djaq. That's very kind of you."
"It is the least I can do."
Her friend stood at the sink, staring out the window as she absently filled the teakettle with water. She had a sort of half-dreamy look on her face.
"You know… I've known that silly boy since we were children," she sighed. "He was always there, even before I really knew him."
Djaq didn't say anything—she couldn't think of any words, so she just sat and listened.
"Eventually we got to know one another—as friends, you know? We went out with other people and we never really considered each other. And then when he was in upper sixth, and I was in year ten… I don't know, it just sort of happened. He was always there, but it never really occurred to either of us until then."
She sighed and placed the full kettle on the stove, then came to sit opposite the younger girl at the kitchen table.
"And then what?" She prodded gently. "It did not turn into a faerie-tale romance, did it?"
Marian sighed and shook her head. "No—no, it didn't."
There was a long pause.
"Well?" Djaq asked.
"Well, we dated on and off for years, didn't we? He went off to university and I finished up with school, and we'd fall out of touch during the school year while he was away. And then he'd come back for the summer and we'd pick up again, and it would all be perfect and lovely for a few months. And then school would start again and we'd fall back out of touch. It went on like that for two years."
"So… you would be with him for summer, but then you would not hear from him for the rest of the year?"
"He'd come back during the winter holidays, obviously," she said. "But other than that, we didn't have much contact."
"And then?"
"We went our separate ways. He's always been a bit on the childish side. I loved it when we were younger. I thought it was… endearing. But I grew up, and he didn't. I suppose I expected him to outgrow it. I was all of nineteen, I thought I knew everything. Just when he was about to finish up at university, I went to nursing school. We'd both always wanted to do things for other people—wanted to help people. Robin was always more militant about it, charging ahead like he was the whole damned cavalry. He never thought about anything he did. He just… did it."
Another pause. Marian was off in daydream land, and Djaq was silent.
"I wanted to do things, as well. I've always wanted to help people—but maybe it was Robin who brought it out in me. But I thought it would be better to do things that could help people more forthrightly. As a nurse, I could do things and be useful and be helpful. I don't think he really ever understood that. He always thought he could go about things like he'd always done. He does his bumbling best, but he doesn't always think things through. He thinks he can save the world—I think he thinks he's Robin Hood."
"It sounds to me like you are still waiting for him to grow up."
"I spent a lot of time waiting for him to grow up. I thought maybe he'd grow out of it but… that's just who he is. I can't change it, and to be honest I don't think I want to."
"Does he know this?"
"I don't know. I admire what he does, that he has the courage to do things for no other reason than because he wants to help people. Other people take payments, or demand favours. Not him."
"You ought to tell him that, not me," she said softly. "He thinks the world of you—to know that you love him as he is and do not wish to change him would probably make him the happiest man alive."
Her smile was sweet.
"Do you know who all of those people are? The ones he brings in and out of his house all the time?"
Djaq shook her head.
"At first I thought he might have someone on the side. Another girl. Another man. I didn't know. So I looked into it. It took me a long time—lots of listening at keyholes. But I worked it out," she laughed half-heartedly. "Robin has contacts all over the continent. Friends, his father's old business partners, associates—that sort of thing."
"Is he letting them all stay with him?"
She shook her head. "No. They're… the people were all Jews. My Robin is smuggling Jews out of Europe."
Dark eyes opened wide. Every time she thought she had Robin Locksley figured out, she found something else that just utterly shocked her. He was risking great danger in what he was doing, in illegally bringing Jews into the country. Not only was it expensive, it was dangerous.
"Where does he send them? They do not stay," Djaq asked.
"He's got other contacts, as well, not just on the continent. He's been arranging to send them overseas, to Canada and the United States. As far from this war as possible—no threat of invasion there."
They looked across the table at each other, clearly each thinking the same terrible thoughts: those who sheltered and aided and harboured Jews from occupied countries were held on the same level of contempt by the Nazis as were the Jews themselves. If England were ever to become occupied… Robin could face charges of war crimes.
"I'm a fool," Marian sighed sadly. "I tell him he's just a silly little boy, that he's always being idiotic the way he tries to do everything. But Robin is… he's a hero, isn't he? He has the courage to do something dangerous for the benefit of others, at a risk to his own safety. To do something that few people have the courage to do. That… that I don't have the courage to do."
"Marian?" She'd never heard her friend sound like this before. Even when she was saying something nice about Robin, she always managed to do it while simultaneously insulting him. But now she was being completely, openly, honestly, and unapologetically admiring of him. She'd always known that Marian loved him, but this was the first time she'd seen her so forthright about it.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "You came around because you wanted some company, not to see me go all silly."
"It is all right," Djaq assured. "I do not mind it—I do not often see you talk this way about him. It's… different."
She smiled weakly. "I know. I don't say it nearly as often as I should. I don't… I don't even think he knows that I feel this way."
"No," she interjected sternly. "No, he knows. You do not give him nearly enough credit. Robin is an astute man, and he knows you. I think he already knows how you feel—he does not have to be told."
Marian patted her hand. "I'm sure you're right, Djaq. Now, let me get the toast."
Despite the woman's protests that she just sit and wait, Djaq made the tea and set the tea set up on the table, and then took her place back at the kitchen table. When Marian finished making the toast, she came back to the table carrying it on a plate along with the honey and the jam jar.
They sat at the table sipping tea and chatting. As much as she greatly disliked associating with most girls and women, Djaq was very fond of Marian. She was too old to be bothered with squealing and gossip, and offered good advice and good conversation. Will was good for it, as well, but in a different way. And as much as she liked roughhousing with her lads, sometimes it was nice to just talk.
Even though she always said it in jest, it really did feel like Marian was the big sister she'd never had. She never really had any female friends—nor did she ever feel that something was missing from her life by this.
But then again, her friend wasn't anything like those irritating teenaged girls. She wasn't anything like other women. Maybe that's why they got along so well together.
During a lull in the conversation, the younger woman stared into her tea, thinking. Something had been on her mind for a while—she knew that if anybody could answer her query, it would be Marian—though she wasn't sure if now was the time or place to bring it up.
"Is something wrong?" She finally asked, tilting her head down to try and get a look at Djaq's face from across the table.
"You have dealt with men coming back from the service, haven't you?" She asked softly.
"Some, yes," she answered after a pause. "Why?"
"What… happens to them? Their injuries—how bad are they?"
"What's wrong, Djaq?"
"Could you answer my question, please?"
"Well…" she tapped her fingers on the sides of her teacup, making gentle tink-tink-tink sounds. "I've seen a lot of the more seriously hurt ones—the ones who have to be sent elsewhere to have their injuries dealt with, so my experiences aren't really characteristic of what happens over there. They have field hospitals, you know, where they can treat most of the more superficial battle wounds."
"What makes a wound superficial?" She asked, horrified. How could anybody think of the invasion of a body by ammunition as superficial?
"Little flesh wounds. Things like bullet wounds, graze wounds, fractures, broken bones, transport accidents—injuries that can be treated quickly with little recovery time, and the soldiers sent back to their regiments. I don't see those."
"Then what do you see?"
"Why are you asking me these questions?"
Djaq stared back into her tea, suddenly fascinated by the film forming on the surface of the liquid. "I have heard that many soldiers lose arms and legs. Some lose an eye. Others lose hands and fingers, or are hurt so badly that they cannot walk or use their hands again."
"Yes, I know. I've… I've seen those," Marian conceded. She watched the girl closely, her gray-blue eyes studying her where she sat. "This is about Allan, isn't it?" She said finally.
She nodded. "I worry."
"I know you do—but you have to understand," she took her hand. "The cases that I see in my volunteer work and at the hospital are the worst-case scenarios. For every man I see who has been mutilated by weapons, there are ten more who have few or no wounds at all."
"I know you are right, but… I still worry that he might be a one, and not a ten. I worry, and I am frightened."
Thunder rolled outside, low and quiet and carrying on and on into the distance until it faded.
"Allan's a strong young man, Djaq," Marian told her sternly. "I know him nearly as well as you do. He's strong and he's spirited—even if he is hurt, I can't see him defeated by that."
"It still does not stop me from worrying."
"I don't think anything will. That's what's so wonderful about you—you truly care about and love your friends."
Friends…
That word was the same one she used to describe her relationship with Allan and Luke, and Robin and Marian. For the longest time that was what she called Will, as well, and even now she still told people they were friends as well as lovers. But hearing Marian speak it now made the word sound so alien, so strange. As if it didn't fit. She repeated the word in her head, imagined her friend's faces, and it felt wrong.
She tried it again, tried thinking of them as mates. That odd shoe-on-the-wrong-foot feeling persisted.
Just calling them "friends", or any permutation thereof, didn't work anymore. Friends were people to whom a person was close, for certain. Sometimes they were even called "as close as family". A person knew and cared for these friends, maybe even loved them, but at the end of the day they were just that: friends. It seemed like such an astounding understatement now.
Maybe that was it. She worried for Allan not because he was just her mate. None of them were.
"I do not think they're my friends," she said finally.
"What?"
"You and Robin, and my lads—I do not think that I can only call you my friends. I cannot even say that you are like my family. You are my family. You are all I have in the world. That is why I fear so much for Allan. For all of you. If I were to lose any of you…"
She felt the warm weight of an arm around her shoulders, and looked up to see Marian's smiling face. She squeezed her gently in a little hug.
"I'm glad," was all she said, smiling.
Marian kicked Djaq out before she could insist on staying to help clean up, and she walked home half thinking of what they'd talked about, and half staring at the sky waiting for the rain to come. She knew that everything Marian had said was right, that Allan was strong and that he would more likely than not come home safely. She also knew that she was worrying a great deal too much over things over which she had no control. All she could do was hope and pray and trust that everything was going to turn out all right.
Her newfound belief that her friends weren't simply her friends anymore filled her with a warm and soft feeling. She could never hope for a better group of people—her family. She was closer to them than she'd ever been to any other people in her entire life, not even her real family growing up. There was always a kind of respectful fear that she felt for her father and her uncle, simply for being her elders and for being men, and she wasn't sure if she would ever have outgrown that or if she'd have kept it her entire life; her brother was her brother, and sometimes they got on well and other times they didn't. The people in her life now, though, she chose because she liked them. A chosen family of sorts.
She decided she liked the idea of a family she chose for herself. It meant that she could love them because of who they were, and not for the sole reason of sharing family ties.
The thunder rumbling in the sky became louder and closer, the clouds growing into a solid dark gray mass overhead. Trees leaned to the side in the wind, dropping leaves and twigs on the ground. The rain came next, making little dark dots on the pavement and the roads.
When the storm picked up, she jogged the rest of the way home, arriving at the front door more than a little damp.
The post had come while she was out, and she picked up the little pile and leafed through it. The last letter on the bottom of the stack sent a wave of pure joy all the way through her body as she noted the return address, scrawled on the envelope in a familiar blocky hand.
Second Lieutenant A. a-Dale, Brussels, Belgium.
o…o
0…0…0…0…0
I felt it was time for more Marian and Djaq interaction, and for us to get a peek into her and Robin's relationship circa World War II. While this story was still in the early blueprint stage, I'd decided that Robin was going to be smuggling Jews out of Europe. I think it fits so well with the Hood character, in that he's doing something illegal and extremely dangerous for the benefit of others.
It felt really strange writing Djaq as someone who doesn't know everything about medicine, as well—it somehow feels like I'm committing a crime in throwing canon away so willy-nilly like that…
Oh, and sorry about the jab at Will's pale legs. I just couldn't resist. Every English person I've ever met has had white-white legs that practically glow in the dark. Even when they don't live in England. It's like it's a part of the DNA or something!