NOTTINGHAM TOWN HALL, LADIES TOILETS

"Hush little baby, don't say a word…" The young woman's eerie voice hummed over the throb of his temple whilst a cool moisture was pressed gently to the wound. "Mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird…"

The only thought that managed to dull the painful sting of the bruise forming across his brow bone was the small glimmer of hope that Will's split lip would continue to bleed for ever touching Marian's lips. Robin smirked to himself, then winced from the sting that cut sharply through his smug thoughts. A small price to pay.

Much was breathing heavily, his previous words lingering in the bathroom like a panicked echo. His chest rose and fell, doubling the frustration with every breath. There was nothing else to say. This wasn't the first time he had ended up like this; arms folded, sitting at a warning distance from his injured friend. It wasn't the first time, and he feared it wouldn't be the last.

The tuneful whispering continued over each pat to the wound, the violet hue blemishing Robin's skin, "And if that mocking bird won't sing, Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring…"

"Penelope!" Robin burst out, angrily tearing the damp napkin off his forehead and pointing a stern finger at the dazed girl, "I forbid you to sing," he demanded. He retreated, cradling his wound with one hand.

Much shook his head and muttered calmly, "You're never going to apologize, until it's too late."

"Will you stop talking?" Robin barked, wincing at the volume of his own echo. He swallowed, staring hopelessly into his hands for a second, allowing his two friends to lull him into peace by their disapproving silence. His peripheral vision caught Penelope wipe the bloody residue from her pale hands and rest them in her lap as if she was deaf to his words. Much's eyes, as they were in the last ten minutes, continued to bore holes in side of his head.

"So, I should apologize," Robin mumbled reluctantly under his breath.

Much, exchanging a disappointed glance with Penelope, sighed, "We sort of organized this whole thing so that you'd learn something."

Organized this whole thing? What else did his stupid sidekick arrange? "Learn what, exactly?" Robin glared.

"How to appreciate the girl," Penelope's voice whispered. Not dreamy or clouded, but piercingly sharp – the venom behind her words caused Robin to flinch in effect. Approaching Much to lay a hand on his shoulder, she tacked on - "Yes, Marie told me."

"Why d'you keep calling her Marie?" Robin diverted the conversation, frowning at the ghost-like young woman by Much's side, "Is that some sort of dodgy French nickname you made up?"

"Darling, why did you call her a slut?"

"After seeing her get off little Willy, I don't know how you'd disagree." Robin smirked bitterly, touching the raw flesh above his eye, "But I guess those pills are takin' their toll with your brain, Penelope."

"You never learn," The third student whispered, shrugging off Penelope's hand. "You always do this – always driving the people you love away. That's how it ended like this."

Robin laughed, crossing his arms to buff his fraying authority, "I swear, you sound more gay by the day."

"You're always stuck in your own mess, Robin," Much ignored the feeble remark and whipped off his glasses, his heart pounding with his suppressed anxiety. "You just throw it all away, Robin. I've watched you all my life, you know. I've dug you out every time."

"Throw it away?" The leader smirked coldy, tracing circles around his wound. "I wish I could chuck you away, but you never leave me alone, Much."

Penelope hummed soothingly under her breath, lacing her slim fingers over Much's elbow, insistently. His skin was hot beneath her fingertips – the muscles clenching with every word exchanged.

"No," Much shrugged, half attempting to truly weaken her hold, half wanting to dislodge her grasp to allow him to wipe the tears beckoning in his eyes. "I would just leave you, but no. I can't – As much as I hate you, I can't."

"God," Robin felt the chill consume his heart, numbing him from within - that part of his soul where Much's undying support resided – was slowly hardening with an unforgiving ice. He glanced away, finding an emotionless smile capture his lips. "Much, I find it quite sickening to watch a grown man cry."

"Do you what I think is sick?" Much spat, hoping to disguise the tremble that had passed through his lips. "The way a grown man hurts every person he passes and doesn't even know it."

Penelope's faraway humming slipped over the tension, unable to thaw the atmosphere between the two friends. Instead, it lingered like a war cry in Robin's ears.

"When your dad left," Much continued, "Carol wasn't wasn't to blame. But you left her crying in the middle of the kitchen floor. I remember when you left her - your mum – to find yourself in Iran."

Robin lowered his gaze, slowly cracking his knuckle in his right fist. A small trace of Will's blood remained smeared across his hand; the brown stain painfully familiar.

"We were waiting for days, all of us," Much persisted, his voice rising, "And she was broken."

Robin's eyes remained descended, his former burst of bitterness curling at the edges and forming a tight curl of regret. There was so just so many mistakes, being made again and again.

"And even after I convinced you come back to England and join the uni –"

"I'm fighting for this university," Robin's voice broke with such despair that it shocked him. He detected the thick tone in his throat and returned to investigating his knuckles, lowering his voice. The overwhelming regret in chest was less of a pang – more of sticky, consuming hunger to correct his flaws. "I'm making things right, Much. Aren't I?"

"No. Look at Marian, look at your family," Much swallowed. "You're always fighting away the people who love you. But – I'll never leave, as much I bloody try."

The last words spoken were heavy with surrender and Much buckled at the strength of his own sound. He glanced at his small audience and scrambled through his pocket to retrieve his glasses, slipping them on his nose as a familiar barricade of bashful reserve. He exhaled the pain in his lungs and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, before Penelope took any considerable notice.

For the first time in his life, his palm traced with dark red, Robin looked up at his friend with true gratitude in his eyes. "Sorry, mate."

Perhaps, he thought to himself as Much fidgeted nervously with his spectacles, this was the first step to appreciation.

--

DERELICT BASEMENT

Only the shattered paintings of last night's neon-tinted drama were soaring painfully through the exhausted lecturer's mind. She had managed to burrow herself, after God knows what she could remember, in a mass of foreign grey. Some sort woolen blanket, in fact. Wendy held a piece of the material to her nose, squinting through the tunnel of soft fibres, and inhaled the scent of boastful peppermint and stale beer…The extravagance that reeked…

"Allan A'Dale!" Wendy scrambled out of the knotted fabric, her head emerging far enough for her to gasp his name. "Where the Hell am I?"

Meeting her very scarcely-clothed body with a sudden rush of chilling air, she shuffled back down into the warm nest of fleece as the young man approached her with a tray of stolen canteen food, a pathetic grin on his face.

"Morning, sweetheart," Allan cooed, shaking off his hood and placing the buttered toast on her lap. His kilt was still swaying, tauntingly, beneath his sweater. "How you feelin'?"

Wendy's eyes almost ogled out of her sockets as she held a limp piece of breakfast in her fingers, trying to absorb her surroundings and Allan's words…Sweetheart? What happened to 'Miss Evans'?

Feebly fingering the warm bread, she frowned, "So this is your hideout, I suppose?" she tucked a piece of matted auburn hair behind one ear and inspected the looming walls with distaste. "It's…homey."

"Yeah," Allan leaned across the grey blankets with a sickly smile. He rested his cheek on one hand and prized a red curl from behind Wendy's ear with his other, tenderly twisting it around his finger.

Astonished by his forwardness, Wendy shuffled out of the younger man's reach and hugged her knees protectively, feeling awkwardly like a child. There was a certain glassiness to the student's eyes that sent a lurch of worry through Wendy's system. Surely, nothing could have taken place last night that she wasn't at least remotely aware of… "Allan?"

"Hmm?"

"God - This looks awful, but, what exactly," Wendy cleared her throat, failing to redeem her authority – impossible to do when wrapped in your student's blanket. "What exactly – did – what happened, last night?" she breathed anxiously.

"Oh, you know."

"No," Wendy crossed her arms sternly, "No, I don't."

Allan raked a hand through his blonde curls, now crouched on top of the blankets. To Wendy's horror, he grabbed the hem of his sweater with both hands and ripped off the garment in a large swing, exposing his bare torso.

"What on earth?" Wendy gasped, pressing her blanket to her mouth in shock.

Scurried red lip-marks tinted the skin over the student's chest, apparently rushed kisses trailing from his shoulders to his stomach and further…? Wendy shook her head in terror, recognizing the red stains. She removed the blanket from her mouth, touching the pink remainder of lipstick on her face.

"Yeah," Allan's eyes were glazed with sickly emotion, "You and me, my love."

Wendy clutched the blanket, slowly rocking backwards and forwards for comfort. "Oh God, I can't have," she whispered, "A student. Oh my God. Why did I – Oh God…"

Allan dropped his eyes in shame.

"I'm going to be fired," she swallowed, then shook herself, "Oh, Allan. This is it. I'm sorry," she stared at the student, suddenly frozen, "I shouldn't have done anything so disgusting," she spat, repulsed by her behavior. "I can't believe I would sink so low…"

"'Ere," Allan chuckled nervously, shaking off his hyponised stance, "Nothin' actually happened."

"I think I'll find the principal," Wendy plotted under her breath, "I'll have to resign..."

Allan frowned, holding up a palm to pause the older woman's babbling, "Listen! – I was just playin' with you -"

"Stop it, Allan," Wendy clenched her fists, "It was a whole lot of mindless playing that got us here in the first place..."

"Miss Evans," Allan laughed at her words, "Look at me, alright?" he made a vague gesture towards the red scuffs around his bare chest, "This is just your lipstick, yeah."

"I know, I know. I was so vile…"

"I just wanted to have a little fun -"

"Allan!" Wendy cried, shaking with rage, "I'm your lecturer. I can't even fathom how terrible having a 'little fun' is."

"I just nicked some lipstick out of you purse," Allan pronounced slowly, his eyes wide with sincerity as he embarrassedly pulled on his T-shirt to hide the exposed skin. "I would never do somethin' like that," he stated with earnest, "I was just wanted to have a laugh, just to see your reaction if it looked like -"

A hard, slap punctuated Allan's speech.

The ringing smack from the strike of skin mingled with a sound of Wendy's heavy breathing and the hammering of her heart. "Don't you ever try your childish games out on me," she warned, her body flooded by a mix of relief and fury. "Ever."

"I'm sorry," Allan whispered. He touched the source of the echo on his cheek, staring incredulously at the older woman.

"This never happened," she stated calmly, eyeing Allan up and down. With a sudden change in attitude, she leapt out of the grey blankets and wrapped her arms around his shocked form in a grateful hug. "But thanks," she chuckled guiltily into his shoulder, "For scraping me off the floor, last night. I was a mess."

Allan smiled weakly. Risking a second slap, he remarked into the embrace, "I swear, Miss Evans, your mood goes up and down like a bloody yo-yo."

-- --

LOCKSLEY VILLAGE

"I'm so glad to see you again, my boy," Dan Scarlet strained his neck to turn back and gaze, fondly, at the conviction in his son's green verdant eyes. Even as the young man pushed his father along the darkening pavement, the father couldn't help but smile over the shuddering potholes on his journey.

Wills hands tightened on the handles of the wheelchair.

"Son?"

The student paused before entering the crossroads. "Dad," he whispered thickly, "I have no idea where she could be."

"How about ringing her phone?" Dan suggested mildly, remaining unaware of the intensity behind his son's romantic situation. He simply pictured Saffiyah as a pretty, foreign student who had obviously fallen for Will's artistic charms. He was always a skilled one.

"Nothing," Will tightened his jaw, blinking rapidly into the clouds. He couldn't cry, not here or now. He couldn't allow his father to see him like this – unable to cope with the pressures of life.

"You'll find her," Dan closed his eyes, placing his hands neatly on his lap as he savored the force of his son's arms as he passed over the pavement. His body rattled freely along with the conversation, gliding over his son's thoughts and pains. "You were always a clever boy."

The photographer bowed his head, steadily pushing his father's body as platinum images flashed through his wistful mind. All of the still images, capturing those basement-ridden days, with no words – just the arch of her dark eyebrows as she laughed and smiled, her waist wrapped tightly by his arms…He could smell the worn cotton of her tattered jeans, and the enticingly tingling lemon of her shampoo. It's strange, you can't usually smell photographs. The second image was of Saffiyah's hands gripping onto the hard cover of her contemporary Koran as she prayed for forgiveness for their first sin – something she had lost sleep over, since their first night. More memories passed, still resilient and shining in all their glory – honored by the presence of…Saffiyah. Her eyes, the jumble of latin phrases spilling from her lips as she recited the ridiculous number of names for the organs in the human body…The chipped china in her hand, steaming with tea…The small smile on her face as he lay his head on her lap, succumbed to sleep from the warmth of her body…

Will bit his lip, hard. The flesh was still throbbing and swollen from Robin's blow. "Maybe I loved her too much."

Dan chuckled uncomfortably at the depth of the younger man's words. "You've always been a bit protective of the others," he scratched his neck, "Look at Lukey – he can barely cope without you."

Will shook his head knowingly. It always came down to this. "Dad, I can't come home."

"Son, uni's not an option for you, anymore," His father persuaded with a grave voice, "We need you to help – I need 'elp," he surrendered.

"You wouldn't understand, Dad," Will sighed, "I'm fighting for the student body, I'm – I'm -" he stared guiltily at his father's balding crown. "I'm sorry I can't be there for you."

The soft words never reached the former craftsman's ears as a jovial pram carted past the father and son, a toddler wriggling gleefully in its comforting quilts and the mother wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. Dan stared down at his legs – those unyielding, limp ornaments of his past -and felt shame engulf his body. "You can stop, now," his voice thudded like a heavy rock over the distant burbling of the baby.

"What?" Will frowned.

"You're right," Dan receded, pushing his roughened palms against his rubber replacements. He took the rotating wheels of in both hands and swiftly rattled away. "You can't always be here for me. I'm alright by me-self."

Confusion flooded Will's body, his mouth opened slightly in pre-querie. He felt his hands release the handles of the wheelchair as it chugged away from him.

"Go find 'er, son."

-- --

APARTMENT OUTSIDE NOTTINGHAM CAMPUS

"Biscuit?"

"No thank you."

The amber light flooded like a wash of remembrance through the window as Saffiyah clutched her heavy book to her chest. She relished the vision of true light, finding it a pleasant change from the broken bulb hanging from a basement ceiling. That was no way to study.

"I'm going to have to revise some Arabic," she sighed, peering solemnly at the possession pressed to her front. "But I'm having a little trouble with focusing." Her caramel eyes searched for Mr. Little, who returned to her side with two steaming mugs.

The middle-aged man shifted his chair forward, fondly watching the girl sip her tea. It was difficult to predict how long he would keep her under his wing, but the former dorm-advisor felt a lull to protect the student – an emotion he was certain he had noticed in certain photographer.

"It'll be hard, lass," John's gravelly voice mumbled from under his thick beard, "But, in time, you'll manage."

Tears were held like hostages, hanging onto the cliffs on her eyelashes, daring to give in to gravity and release a sob of unrelenting emotion. She blinked them away, quietly dipping a finger into the hot liquid in her cup. "He used to make mine too sweet."

Carefully spooning more sugar into the student's tea, Mr Little's eyes crinkled with a knowing smile. "He did."

--

PHEW.

To those of you lovely reviews who are sick of the angst – I promise you there will be more fluff than just erratic Wendy.

This was very rushed with emotion and….blergh. I hope you understand the basics:

Saffiyah, after witnessing a kiss between Will and Marian, has done a runner.

And Robin is beginning to understand his own selfishness.

A penny for your thoughts? x