As other people have stated, Djaq is having a far more difficult time adjusting (or readjusting) to a life in Acre than Will, who has never been there until he came with her. Will has no connections there, whereas Djaq has all of these people who remember Safiyyah and have a lot of expectations for her. It can't be easy living in the shadow of a past life, can it?
Disclaimer: Djaq, Will, and the rest of the familiar cast that I might mention, are not my property, even though BBC cruelly decided to exclude the two of them from the third series. At least I'm giving them something to do.
0…0…0…0…0
o…o
She rolled over in bed and covered her head with part of the sheet. She'd forgotten how easy it was to lose track of time sleeping during the heat of the day. Nobody did anything in Acre or anywhere else when the sun was at its highest and it was so unbelievably hot outside. So everybody would pack up their things and stop whatever they were doing to eat the midday meal, and after midday prayers they would sleep until it was cool enough to be productive again.
But it was time to be awake and productive again and she didn't want to get out of bed or stand up or move or anything. The bed was nice and comfy and as long as she was sleeping her head was quiet. She just wanted to stay in bed all day. And maybe tomorrow, too. And the next day. If she could have her way, she'd've liked to have stayed in bed until she felt like getting up, which could conceivably be months.
This day had been horrible so far. She woke up alone, and immediately fell out of bed. She had a headache and a stomach ache. She missed breakfast. She was short with her patients, who snapped right back at her. Yesterday, it had rained—instead of cooling things down a little bit, all it did was make the heat wet. She sweated in her sleep.
The servants were either listless or irritable all day from the wet and the hot. She could hardly blame them. Even Khalad was more than averagely cranky today, growling at her when she went into the kitchen for something to eat and waving his spoon over his head like he used to do before he would crack her with it. So she hissed insults at him in every language she knew how and kicked him in the shin like an obstinate little girl. She'd wanted to do that her whole life, and all she needed was to be in a sufficiently bad mood to pull it off.
Khalad was never going to like her or even tolerate her more than he absolutely had to, and she accepted that. They came to something of a quiet understanding not long after her return to Acre: she stayed out of his kitchen when he was there and he didn't crack her with his cooking implements when she was around; and he wasn't overtly mean to her just so long as she didn't play nasty childish pranks on him. Except for today when she just felt like being an outright cow. He did nothing back except for return the swear words, then nurse his bruised leg while she stomped out of the kitchen with her hoard.
So she grunted and growled at the sun coming in through the window—as if this would somehow intimidate it into going away—and tried her best to ignore it.
Will was still asleep, too, but on the opposite side of the bed. The only reason he wasn't in a nasty mood was because the weather left him too sick and tired to do much of anything except for glare in the general direction of anybody who bothered him, which was everybody.
Of course, the heat wasn't the only reason for her own foul temperament; she turned away from him and faced the opposite wall, then sighed hugely.
There had been a tentative peace over Acre for some time, the truce allowing the Crusaders use of the port city just so long as they didn't attack it or hurt anybody, and only so long as the peace talks continued. But in the last month or so it'd wavered. Now it was getting very close to a collapse—the fighting was closer. There were night patrols in the streets again, a city-wide curfew to be observed by everybody. There'd been a time when it looked like the presence of Europeans might be less feared by the locals, but as she'd found out when Will told her that story some time ago, that wasn't the case; people still feared Europeans, associated them with Crusaders, and hid from them.
And as the fighting grew closer, things only got worse. The conflict was never further than the edges of her awareness, but these days it was closer, constantly in the back of her mind. Trade caravans to neighbouring cities would be interrupted or stopped, rather than run the risk of encountering the Crusaders who'd think little of cutting them down. Among the patients she saw, more than the usual amount were European—it used to be rarer, and every so often a new arrival from the docks would be directed to the house of the Lady Physician, because she was one of the few people who would treat Europeans and could talk to them. But now there were more, often injured and in need of care.
People seemed to find more and more reasons to sneer at Will, too—and at her for being married to him. It was somewhere between mild disgust and utter hatred. It made it hard for her to sleep at night.
The war and its proximity to her life hung over her head like a big heavy raincloud.
Lots of things hung over her head like a big heavy raincloud.
Since shortly after she and Will were married, Bassam had begun bringing up the prospect of the two of them setting up house somewhere in the city. Use her dowry money to build a place to live and start a family and set up a permanent life together in Acre. He seemed content at first to let them do it in their own time, but she knew that she would, eventually, have to tell him that it had never been her intention to stay in Acre to begin with.
But how was she supposed to do that? He was so happy that she was here, his old heart glad that Safiyyah was back in his life and his house—so happy that he hadn't even realized that Safiyyah wasn't the one living there. How was she supposed to tell such a dear, sweet old man that she stayed in Acre and continued to live here only because of some self-imposed obligation on her part to pay him back for raising her?
She'd loved him when she was a child, and, she supposed, she still loved him now. But it was a nostalgic, long-gone love—almost like an old childhood crush. There would always be love and affection in her heart for Bassam, and she would always hate herself, the littlest bit, for leaving him the way she did. But it just wasn't the same love as she once felt. She didn't know if she'd ever been able to feel it again.
Djaq was in denial of this for a long time. She only came to realize the reality of it in the last few months when his urging for her and Will to get a house together, for Will to set up a client base for his carpentry, for them to begin their lives together in Acre. It was persistent and he had no idea he was really bothering her with his insistence, but every time he mentioned permanency here for the two of them, it made her seize up and have to fight all of her ingrained flight instincts. It just made her want to turn tail and run—run away, and keep running, just like she did once before.
Because Bassam expected that she would stay here. He expected 'grandchildren' from her for him to spoil. He expected her to leave her life as Djaq-the-woman behind and be content with a life as Safiyyah. He expected so much from her without really even knowing what it was that she wanted. She didn't know that she'd've ever been content with a life here forever, even when she was younger. Sooner or later the itch would have come to her feet and she'd have had the urge to move on.
She had to tell him; this she knew. It was unfair to keep this secret from him. The time had long come for them to go back to England—she denied it until now. But now it was best to tell him. This just wasn't the place for them, either of them.
She just didn't know how to go about doing it.
Other things bothered her, too.
Gabrielle.
She was back from Ramla with her husband—they went back and forth between both cities for his trading—and she came to see her today, just as cheerful and perky as ever. Never mind that Djaq was patently not in the mood to see anybody who wasn't actively bleeding or dying, and even then only under protest; there was something about seeing people in a good mood that made her all the angrier whenever she was cross herself. But she saw her anyway. Her friend had told her that she had some news for her. So she pretended to be happy to see her and took her into the courtyard to talk.
"What is it?" She'd asked. "What's happened?"
Her friend grinned from ear to ear, a smile so wide that Djaq was sure it would break her face right in half. For a few moments she actually thought that something wonderful had happened and she was eager to hear the news.
"Well?" She prodded. "Are you going to tell me?"
"I could make you guess."
She sighed. "Oh, don't do that. It was fun when we were eight, not so much anymore."
Gabrielle waggled her eyebrows.
"All right—so, it is something good."
"Oh, yes. Wonderful."
She couldn't even begin to guess and she didn't fancy trying, so she just decided to ask questions; eventually she'd ask enough that Gabrielle would just tell her what was going on. "Does it involve you being in Ramla at all?"
"I do believe…" she counted something on her fingers. "Yes, it was Ramla. It happened the last time I was there."
Djaq blinked.
"All right. Does it involve you alone or more than just you?"
"Oh, I couldn't have done it alone."
A feeling of dread crept into her stomach.
"Well, it depends on what you believe—there are some people who believe it could be a one-person job under the right circumstances." Then she giggled to herself, highly amused at her own little joke.
Djaq turned it over in her head a few times.
"You are pregnant, aren't you?"
And then Gabrielle had smiled even wider and nodded, her eyes crinkled at the sides with silent glee. She looked so very happy, her face and eyes glowing, her smile enormously wide; she placed her palm flat on her belly and it was then that Djaq detected a very definite swelling underneath her clothes. She knew precious little about pregnancy, except for how it occurred and what it produced and how best to prevent it from happening—but she knew enough to figure out that it would take some months for a swelling that size to appear.
"How long?" She asked.
"Four months. I did not want to tell you until I knew it would keep," she said. "I am pregnant!"
All sorts of thoughts had raced through her mind at that point—too many and too quick for her to catch any of them—and none of them were happiness.
Her friend had changed in their time apart; she had to accept that and she did her best to do so. But so many things about the adult Gabrielle seemed to be so completely at odds with everything she knew about her friend. When they were young, Zahra was just as fiery as she was, rebellious and strong and mischievous. She never, ever would have expected that girl to be happy about being married and starting a family. It just didn't seem… right.
Of course, being married herself was completely at odds with the way she used to be.
She wrestled for several moments with all of those sad-frustrated feelings inside of her before doing what she'd grown accustomed to doing since returning to Acre. She screwed a smile onto her face and pretended to be happy.
"Congratulations," she'd said through ground teeth, hugging Gabrielle as tight as she dared and hoping that she wasn't noticeably shaking. "I am so happy for you."
"Thank you," she murmured back. "I did not know what you would think of this. But I'm glad you are happy."
With her chin hooked over her friend's shoulder, Djaq had clenched her eyes shut and grimaced. She tried to force herself to be happy for her friend—after all, she was genuinely pleased with the idea of being a mother and having a little life completely dependant on her and seemed not to pay any mind to the fact that she was going to be heavily and uncomfortably pregnant during the hottest months of the year.
But she couldn't make herself be anything but frustrated. She felt Acre itself slipping further and further away from her even as she still stayed in the same place. Will noticed this when she came back inside the house for their midday meal, but she didn't tell him. Instead, she snapped at him and told him to leave her be. After that, they finished their meal in silence, and when they went into their bedchamber they slept as far apart as they could with their backs to one another.
It felt weird and disconnected and it made the wordless frustration simmering just under her skin boil and boil and boil.
She clutched the sheets now and refused to roll over to look at him. He was still there—she could feel his weight on the other side of the bed—but she had no idea if he was still asleep or if he'd woken up. When it was hot enough, Will could sleep for worryingly long periods of time and occasionally had to be woken up so he'd eat something before he'd go right back to sleep again.
Inside, she felt this odd mix of angry frustration, and heartbreaking sadness. She was normally so good with words, thinking carefully of the right ones and voicing them in such a way that got her point across without such silly things as crying or other overly-emotional acts that she'd for so often thought were beneath her. But words failed her now. When she tried to come up with the words to describe her feelings in her head, the only thing she heard was a wordless scream, a cry of frustration. Nothing else.
She was going mad here, she decided.
She had to get out. That was all there was to it.
Lonely, sad, angry, torn. Frustrated, so very frustrated. The only time she didn't feel any of those things was when she was with Will. She loved him, and he was her link to the happiest life she'd lived in a long time. A happy life, with outlaws, in a rainy forest in England.
With her eyes clenched shut, she rolled over. When she cracked one eye, she saw Will was still there on his side with his back to her, motionless. Asleep, probably. She inched closer to him, as quietly as possible, and tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder. To her surprise, he reached his hand up and placed it over hers. He held it as he rolled onto his back and looked up at her hovering over him. He looked tired still and his face was pink.
"Was wondering if you'd come over to my side first," he said casually. "I'd've gone over to you in a minute if you hadn't."
He propped himself up on his elbows for a few seconds before he decided that this took more effort than he was willing to expend and collapsed back into the bedding.
"I am sorry," she croaked. A lump formed quite unexpectedly in her throat and it was hard to talk around. "For—everything. I am sorry."
Pause.
"I seem to be saying that a lot lately, don't I?" She asked rhetorically, a bitter forced smile on her face. The smile drooped and she sighed shakily. "But I mean it."
"I know."
"I do not mean to be so horrible."
"I know."
"I don't know why I act like I do."
"Do what I do," he offered. When she looked puzzled, he smiled weakly. "Blame it on the heat."
She laughed just as weakly. "Perhaps that is a part of it."
"What's the other part? Parts?" This time he sat up and stayed up.
"Everything."
"That's broad."
"If I start I will not stop."
"That's fine. We have all day."
She didn't say anything.
"You're upset about her again, aren't you?"
There was nothing in the world she could hide from him, she decided. He saw right through her, through all the walls and defenses she put up, as if he could hear her thoughts.
"She is a stranger. It is not just that she is with child, and I never would have expected that from her—it is everything, all on top of itself. Like a tower. Acre and everything in it—Bassam and Gabrielle, the people, the customs, and even the pigeons do not fit me anymore."
Sick heat rose in her throat and her face. That was the furthest the tears ever came—she would not cry.
"All I am, all the time anymore is angry, angry, angry," she paused to look at Will, and his eyes were a little wide, but he remained silent and let her continue on. "I am angry that I feel that I have to pay back Bassam. I am angry that Gabrielle has changed so much that I hardly recognize her anymore. Angry that I cannot be in Acre anymore. I am even… even with you."
"With me?" Those big green eyes went even bigger and he looked like he was actually afraid. "What for?"
She looked away from him and tried to tug her hand back, but he wouldn't let it go.
"It is stupid," she said. "And baseless."
He squeezed the hand gently.
"I am angry that you let me stay here," she admitted quietly. She felt herself beginning to cry but it came up as a bitter, choking laugh. "I am angry that you just sat there and let me do what I wanted. At the time I thought it was the best thing, but even then you knew it was not right. But you just sat there and looked at me and told me that I should do whatever I wanted. I am cross that you let me make my own decision." She scowled deeply at him. "Damn you! Why didn't you stop me? Why didn't you fight to keep me from staying here?"
He didn't answer.
"I would not have listened anyway, would I?" She answered it herself.
"No. You do what you think is best, whatever you think is best. You have your own sense of what's right and wrong. You are very much your own person. Once you've made up your mind about something you won't listen to anybody, regardless—so what good would fighting do?"
She rubbed her eyes, but they were dry.
"That you do what you think is best no matter what anybody else thinks—that's one of the things that makes me love you so much."
"I am so angry that I stayed. Angry at myself. And that anger just turns right around to other people." She felt her lower lip quiver. "To you. And you do not deserve it."
He reached out to touch her face, and instead of recoiling she leaned into it.
"We neither of us can live here," he told her softly. "We both know that. I don't belong here and I never did, and you can't be two people for the rest of your life. You don't belong here any more than I do—you said it yourself, Safiyyah belongs here, not you. You can't be yourself here. Acre is no place for a woman named Djaq."
She felt her lower lip quiver. He was right and she knew he was right. She'd been thinking the same way for a long time—they couldn't live here, neither of them were fit for this place. They were a pair of very displaced fish out of water here. She was so, so homesick—even worse than when she first left Acre to pursue a life as a battlefield physician. And then, four years later when she and her comrades were captured and taken prisoner, shipped over land and sea like animals, traded from one 'master' to another for more than a year before she ended up in England… then she'd felt more angry than homesick. She was so busy in England as one of Robin's gang that she never had time to miss the world she so rashly and willingly left behind forever.
But now that she had the time to stop and think about things, and she felt that crushing homesickness—a uniquely uncomfortable feeling twisting her guts.
She never felt homesick for Lod, the place she was born and lived with her brother and her father until he died; that place had so few good memories that she felt no attachment to it when she left. Nor had she felt homesick for Acre when she left it—then she'd been so utterly mad with grief and anger at the death of her brother and the loss of her friends. She didn't even feel homesick for the desert when she was taken slave with her comrades and passed back and forth to cruel masters for over a year before being shipped across land and sea all the way to England.
Strange that the only place she'd ever felt homesick for… was England.
She reached up and clutched the hand on her cheek in both of hers. Her own hands quivered. When she blinked, she felt hot tears run down her face; she wiped her cheek with her sleeve.
Will leaned forward, and planted a tiny little kiss on her forehead. When she didn't pull away from him, he returned and kissed her again, his lips lingering against her hair.
"We cannot stay here," she whispered.
"I know," was all he said.
o…o
0…0…0…0…0
The story is getting progressively more sombre. This really is a departure for me because I tend to write more light-hearted and fluffy stories with a few giggles in them. Poor Djaq feels utterly trapped by her self-imposed decision and her own past. Even though I wrote the story, I still find myself feeling sorry for her. You just wanna hug her, don't you? Except you don't because that's Will's job.
I hope you enjoyed the read. Any feedback will be muchly appreciated, but of course it's never, ever demanded. The story will be updated on Tuesday as scheduled.