MONSTER CHAPTER ALERT! This is, thus far, the longest chapter I've written for this story. It comes in at over 10,000 words, and I couldn't find a reasonable place to cut the chapter into two. I don't know whether to be proud, or frightened.
There is something uncannily, implicitly unlucky about writing this story—since beginning it almost three months ago, I've suffered some terrible luck. First there was a tornado and two-day power outage. And then there was a water main break which left us without water for a day and boiling the tap water to disinfect it for another four. Finally, about halfway through writing this chapter, I had two kidney stones, my third bout with them in four years—a process which is the most painful experience ever in the entire universe. Bad luck, I tell you! But I love this story and I am going to finish it. Just don't stand too close, in case I get struck by lightning or something.
Disclaimer: The BBC's Robin Hood and the characters therein are not my property, even though goodness knows I've tried.
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o…o
May, 1943
They were both nervous. They shouldn't have been—they should have been deliriously happy to see their friend again, to see him arrive at the station alive and well after nearly eighteen months away at war. And, truly, Will was happy about it. But the prospect of meeting Allan again and picking up their friendship after so much had undoubtedly changed about his friend, and especially after so much had changed between Djaq and himself, seemed somehow daunting. Before he left, they were just a pair of teenagers in a fledgling romance; now they were lovers. He wasn't exactly sure how his friend would deal with it, given how he'd felt about Djaq in the past and probably still felt for her. He just wasn't sure how he'd react to that.
The station platform was crowded with people waiting for friends and relatives coming home or coming to visit; several people were waiting for friends and relatives who were soldiers returning from the war. It was easy to tell these people, because they all looked simultaneously anxious and relieved and happy. Djaq stood next to him with her hands folded tightly in front of her, shifting from foot to foot and biting her bottom lip. He imagined she worried about the same things he did, that she, too, worried about his possible reaction to their changed relationship.
A baby fussed nearby, followed by a woman's quiet shushing. Alice Little also came to see Allan at the station—the woman still maintained a certain affection for him because he'd lived in their house for such a long time. Now, though, he wouldn't be able to move back in with them. The fussing baby was Alice and John's second child, a little girl called Amelia; she was only ten months old, a chubby little lump of pink skin and brown hair wrapped in a little powder-blue blanket. Will thought she was kind of cute, but completely boring because she was too young to be interesting—she just sat there, drooling and grabbing at anything she liked. He liked children once they were old enough to have a personality and use syllables, but even so he, like Auntie Annie, preferred it when he could give them back to their parents when he got bored. Djaq wasn't even vaguely interested in the infant, but politely smiled and kept her saltier comments to herself—though she did admit that she didn't much like babies, to which Alice widened her eyes but said nothing.
The Little's house was small, and with the addition of the baby girl there just wasn't enough room for them to have Allan back. Poor Alice felt guilty about not being able to take the young man back into their home, even though it wasn't anything that could be helped; she felt she owed something to a brave youth returning from the war, as if she somehow forgot that he lived in her house for nine years before leaving. So for now, Allan would be staying with Will and Djaq, since they had the room. This fact just added to the couple's worry over him.
But, of course, there was nothing either of them could do about it except for wait and see what would happen.
There was a crackling voice announcing over the station loudspeaker about the next train arriving, but it was almost impossible to decipher. Whoever was in charge of making those announcements must have kept doing it with the microphone in his mouth. Seconds later, the low, rumbling chugging of a locomotive grew in the distance.
Will felt his heartbeat speed up again, his pulse pounding hard in his throat as he listened for the train—for Allan—coming closer.
With a loud rumble and in a massive cloud of steam and smoke, the train pulled in and hissed to a slow stop. The arrival was heralded by the shouts of the crowd on the platform, some people coming up close to run alongside the train and leap up to see the people inside; several passengers on board were sticking their heads and arms out of the windows to greet their friends. A few of those people were in uniform, and both of them found themselves looking to see if they could spot their friend. But there were so many people and so much activity that it would probably be easier just to wait until the passengers disembarked.
As soon as the doors were opened, people began pouring out of the train cars. Returning soldiers and navy men and pilots were tearfully reuniting with their family members and friends, being swept up in group hugs that looked like they might suffocate the poor young men in the middle.
It wasn't immediately apparent where Allan was; he couldn't see his face and looking for a uniform was a bit redundant because there were already so many young men—and a few women—in various uniforms.
"I do not see him," Djaq said quietly.
"He's here—there's just a lot of people here, it's hard to spot any single person."
"Should we split up?"
"No, just sit tight. We'll spot him eventually."
"Perhaps we should have told him to wear a silly hat, so we could spot him."
"I could just see Allan in a bright purple fedora with an orange plume."
She giggled, but her hands were still knotted tightly in front of her; she was still nervous, as was he.
They waited patiently for the crowd to thin before splitting up to look for him. He headed down to one end of the platform, and Djaq to the other. Will thought he probably had a better vantage point, being quite a bit taller.
People passed him by or pushed him out of the way on their way to meet friends and family; visitors from out of town looked annoyed that there were joyful reunions taking place and blocking their way. He walked back and forth a few times for several minutes, taking care to look closely at the passengers. Still no Allan. Now he was beginning to get a little worried—had he gotten the day wrong? The platform? Had something happened to Allan on the way, did he miss his train? He began to chew nervously on his fingernails and leaned on a brick pillar, absently watching the passengers as he thought.
It would be awful if poor Allan missed his train—everybody he could have called to inform of his situation was already at the station waiting for him.
He moved up briefly, and caught sight of two figures slowly coming down the foldable metal stairs outside the car. One was a young woman, possibly an employee of the railroad, helping a young man down to the platform as he tried to manoeuvre a wooden cane and a wooden footlocker around himself and the woman. The man was in uniform. Could it be…?
"Allan?" He called quietly, experimentally. The young man perked his head up and looked around to see who'd called his name. Then he turned in his direction, looking at him with those big blue eyes and familiar silly grin, bringing his free hand up to wave at him. He nudged the young woman trying to help him and pointed in his direction, telling her something that he couldn't hear; the left side of his face and neck was dotted with little scars. Will's stomach twisted frightfully, his pulse beat painfully fast in his throat and there was an impossibly loud rush in his ears.
He carefully navigated around the stagnant crowd, making his way over as everything happened in slow motion. He blinked, and the next thing he knew he was standing face-to-face with his friend.
It was… a strange feeling.
His ears felt cloudy, like the sounds around him were muffled, and his vision tunnelled until all he saw was Allan. He found himself inspecting him, looking for any outward signs of damage. The scars on the side of his face and neck were little flecks and scratches, as if he'd been peppered with lots of tiny, sharp projectiles. What had happened? He walked with a pronounced limp, leaning heavily on his cane; as he stood, he kept all of the weight off of his left leg. What had he not told them? He never mentioned being hurt, it never came up in any of his letters, and he knew it couldn't have happened since his last letter since they'd spoken on the telephone—one of those static-y long-distance telephone calls from London—the previous night. He said nothing about being injured.
The distant part of his mind—the part that was oddly detached from the situation—felt somewhat angry with his friend for having hidden this from him. Was he afraid of what they'd think? Ashamed that he'd been hurt?
He couldn't think of anything to say; he just stood there, dumbly staring at him and trying to come up with words, but he felt like he'd forgotten the entire English language within the last thirty seconds. What could he do—what could he say? His stomach boiled over with nerves as his brain frantically tried to re-establish contact with his voice.
He couldn't be sure how to act around him, what to say, what not to say. He—both he and Djaq, really—knew and had been warned that war frequently changed men; that more or less went without saying. The trouble was in knowing how it would have changed him. Would he still have his sense of humour? Would he still be the same person? There was no one set pattern of behaviour for returning soldiers. All of them reacted differently to battle fatigue; some hardly changed at all while others were completely different than when they'd left. Some didn't have battle fatigue at all.
In short, they were warned that the Allan that returned might be drastically different from the one that left them.
"So? You gonna stand there and stare at me, or are you gonna say hello to your old mate?"
His worries evaporated almost immediately; he still sounded like the same old Allan.
They both fell forward into one another in a tangle of arms, chins hooked over shoulders in a tight hug. They clapped one another on the back a few times, but mostly just stayed locked together in an embrace. An enormous feeling of relief washed over him; he nearly felt like crying, but it was all far too intense for that. He felt relieved and happy and nervous and worried, all at the same time—happy that he was back, nervous about how things were going to change now, and worried about what had happened to him. It was all sort of exhausting, actually.
"Just a hug's not gonna do it, I'm afraid, Will," he said softly, almost apologetically.
Before he could ask what he meant by this, he'd given him a kiss on the cheek, unshaved whiskers rasping on his skin; he didn't even occur to Will to be cross with him for doing that in public. He could hardly find it in himself to be cross with him for hiding his injury. He was just happy that his friend was home.
"Welcome home," he said, sniffling into his shoulder.
"Hey, come on—don't do that," he scolded nervously, giving him one last pat before pulling away. "I'm back now. Everything's fine, all right?"
Allan was never terribly good with overt displays of the more serious side of human emotion. Light-heartedness always suited him much better, and he always battled seriousness with silliness; it was just his way.
Still.
"'Fine'?" He repeated with a quirked eyebrow. "Why didn't you tell us, Allan?"
"I've been here for five minutes and already you're finding something to pick at!" He growled with a good-natured grin. "I guess some things never change."
"Allan!"
They both turned towards the source of the voice and saw Djaq weaving through the crowd as she ran for them. Will stepped aside to give her room, and the young woman flung her arms around the blue-eyed man.
"Hello, there, sweetheart," he murmured, calling her the hated nickname with his lips pressed against her hair.
She slapped him gently on the arm. "You are only just home, so I shall forgive that one," she told him. Her eyes glistened as she looked at him, but the tears didn't fall.
"God—the two of you haven't changed at all," he sighed, shaking his head.
They each passed a sideways glance at one another, as if contemplating how much to reveal and when. Now, certainly, was not the time.
"Come here, you two," was the only warning they got before he hooked his arms around them both and hugged them to him tightly. The group embrace on the platform lasted almost longer than the one they'd shared before he left last year. Then it had been fear of the unknown keeping them clutching each other. Now it was that overwhelming relief, so much so that they kept hold of one another to keep from all falling down.
Finally, they slowly let each other go, laughing a little nervously at the curious looks from passer-bys. Now that the initial shock was over, they were all wearing matching smiles. They were all together again. It was an incredible feeling.
They stood for a long time, all of them nearly mesmerized by the current circumstances. None of them could reasonably think of anything to say, and so they said nothing. It was only after a few stern comments and the angry pushing of other travellers at the station that they snapped out of the collective stupor.
"We should probably get out of the flow of traffic," Allan suggested.
"Good idea," Djaq agreed. "Alice is here to see you, as well. She wanted you to meet somebody."
"She's not fixing me up with a girl, is she?" He asked jokingly.
"Just one," Will joked right back. He knew he had a borderline demented smile on his face—probably not unlike Conrad Veidt from that film, The Man Who Laughs—but he couldn't help himself. He was just so overwhelmingly happy to see Allan again. He loaded the footlocker onto a dolly and began to lead him away from the train towards where Alice Little was waiting for them.
"Oh?" Allan asked with raised eyebrows, limping as he walked in between them and leaning heavily on that cane. Will's heart twisted as he looked at that, wanting to ask him about what'd happened but knowing that this was not the time or the place for it; he looked to the side and noticed that Djaq had put a protective hand on Allan's free arm.
With the crowd much thinner than before, it was easy to get back to Mrs Little, who was gently rocking the now-quiet Amelia back and forth in her pram. The older woman's face lit up when she saw them approach. Her smile wavered and she almost started sobbing as she hugged the man she'd taken care of for so many years and watched grow up from a little boy.
Like many things, Will wasn't completely sure where to classify this particular relationship. Alice Little had never been completely a mother figure to Allan, but their relationship was somewhere between boarder-landlady, and mother-son. She was just fond of him, was all, he thought as she released the young man from her grasp and backed an arm's length away from him to get a better look.
She didn't bat an eye at his injury as she gave him a quick inspection; it seemed she was taking it all in stride, just glad that he was back home where he was safe, too glad to give him any grief regarding not telling anybody that something had happened.
"Stand back, there, and let me have a look at you," she ordered in a soft, gentle tone, clucking at him like a mother hen. "Well, you have the obvious injury and a few nicks here and there, but that's only to be expected from somebody returning from a war zone. You look like you haven't shaved in a few days—goodness, Allan, couldn't you have bothered to do that at least before coming back here?" She didn't wait for an answer as she hugged him once again.
"Alice," he replied with a huge smile as he returned the woman's hug. "It's good to see you again. It's good to be back."
He stood patiently and let her fawn quietly over him for a few more minutes. When he got bored, his eyes began to wander until they rested on the pale blue bundle in the pram, and smiled.
"Well, hello, miss," he said quietly, bending forward on his cane to get closer to the infant. She stared back at him with blank blue eyes. "Are you the reason I can't go back with the Littles?"
"Yes—yes, she is," Alice said. "This is Amelia." She picked the baby up out of the pram and held her on her hip. Her tiny hand gripped Allan's thumb when he reached for her; the young man smiled broadly with an absolutely silly look in his eyes.
"I guess this is her way of shaking hands, eh?" He asked. Then he joggled his thumb a bit. "Nice to meet you, Miss Amelia."
The baby giggled.
"Would you like to hold her?"
"You're not afraid I'll drop her?"
The woman briefly looked concerned before she realized that he was joking. He balanced himself on his good leg and held baby Amelia in his arms in her little blue blanket. Her hands grasped at the shiny buttons and badges on his uniform, gurgling and babbling quietly.
It was a little surprising to see him there with the baby, bouncing her on his arm and letting her gum on his fingers and grab at all of the colourful ribbons on his uniform. Allan and babies was a combination that neither Will nor Djaq ever really thought about, and they weren't completely sure what to make of the scene before them. It was sort of sweet, actually, in an entirely unexpected kind of way.
"I never knew you were good with babies," he remarked.
"Huh?" He vaguely looked up from the child. "Oh, I just like 'em when they're little like this. They're cute, they're fun, they don't talk back, and they can't ask for money." He handed the giggling Amelia back to her mother, who was practically beaming. "I mean, if you think about it—the world's all new to them when they're little. It's kinda fun watching 'em explore it."
Will raised his eyebrows. "I've never seen this side of you before."
He shrugged. "Not something we really talk about, is it? It'd be a bit odd if two blokes start talking about babies, wouldn't it?"
"I suppose it would."
"We should probably get a move on," Djaq suggested. "There are a lot of people waiting to see you."
"People—what?" He asked; Will grinned.
"Come on," he said. "We'll show you."
Will wasn't sure if his friend would be able to walk all the way to Much's Place on his bad leg, but he must have had a lot of practice with the cane because he walked—limped—very easily to the restaurant without complaint. Much was nice enough to let them use his restaurant for a "Welcome Home" party, and to feed everybody. He acted like he was reluctant to do this for them, but he knew better—even Much was happy to have Allan back. Robin paid for the drinks and some of the food, but only after winning an extended argument with Djaq over it.
The young man was almost immediately deluged as soon as he walked into the restaurant, bombarded with people hugging him and slapping him on the back and mussing his hair as they welcomed him home. Allan ate up the attention, saying hello to old friends and co-workers, and to Much, who tried to pretend he wasn't nearly as happy as he was that he was back; Marian even gave him a kiss on the cheek when she greeted him, causing his whole face to turn red.
Food was abundant, more than the dozen or so people present could possibly eat—Much's rationale for this was that the poor boy had just spent the last eighteen months eating army food and would probably enjoy having something that didn't come freeze-dried or in a tin. He was making sure that nobody within ten feet failed to have a plate heaping with food.
People all crowded around the guest of honour as he regaled them with stories of the front, of the fighting and the bravery of his fellow soldiers. He was still very much the same person he was when he left, smiling and laughing, telling silly stories and keeping the mood light, rather than delving into the more serious and less appealing things he would most assuredly have seen while he was away. His favourite stories to tell were the ones about the American G.Is, about whom the female partygoers were very curious; he talked of the abundant confusion between the British soldiers and the American ones, when they tried to communicate and discovered that the same words meant completely different things to their allies.
But whenever he was asked about "Jerries" and "Japs", asking for confirmation of a number of rumours and stories about them, he became surprisingly defensive of the very people he had been fighting.
"You shouldn't believe everything you hear about 'em, you know," he said. "It's rude. And anyway, just because a few crazy people are in charge and going to war doesn't mean that everybody from that country is exactly the same as that."
"What makes you say that?" Somebody had asked imprudently; Will didn't see who it was.
Allan just shrugged. "I was in hospital in a neutral country—both sides were there, and they were treated exactly the same. After a while, I stopped keeping track of who came from which army or navy. Being all closed up in a hospital, it's nice to have some company, even if they can't speak your language and you can't speak theirs. Once the uniforms come off, we're the same."
This shocked everybody who heard it, raising eyebrows all over the restaurant. Djaq looked a combination of impressed and pleased when she heard his words.
"I'm kinda shocked," Will told him as he handed him a full glass of cider.
"Why? That I don't automatically hate people I've never met?" He asked sarcastically. It sounded like he'd had to explain this thinking many times before.
"Not that—you're not a hateful person. I'm just… surprised you can find a way to express yourself so well," he teased. "You've never really proven terribly proficient in the English language before."
Allan nodded briefly as he took a long drink, and then realized what his friend had said. He gave him a shove. "Very funny, mate."
"You're right, it is funny."
As if they were both fourteen years old again, he grabbed Will around the neck and held him down under his arm, grinding his knuckles into his scalp; even as he struggled to free himself and quietly yelped in pain, he was laughing. They were still very much the boyhood friends they'd been for most of their lives. Of course, the young cabinetmaker was much taller now than he'd been when he was younger—he was even taller than Allan, and had to lean down fairly low for his head to fit underneath his arm.
Djaq came up beside them, a crooked, loopy smile on her face and a glazed look in her eyes. "Having fun, little boys?" She asked.
"Heaps of fun," Allan answered. "I've been gone so long, you'll have to tell me what silly things my old mate has said that I've missed—you know, so I can smack him for it all."
"That might take a few days," she giggled.
"Stop encouraging him!" Will growled, finally freeing himself.
"What's wrong with that?"
Rubbing his sore head, he looked over at her and noticed that she was holding a half-empty glass of cider in her hands. "Who gave you that?" He asked worriedly.
"Much did—why, is it a problem?"
"Well, I don't know," he replied. "Is that your first?"
She shook her head. "My third."
Allan nearly choked on his own drink. "You've had three of those?"
Nod.
"This will be interesting," he laughed.
Will was more worried than anything else. Djaq hardly ever drank, and cider was one of those incredibly sneaky beverages—the kind that left the drinker completely ignorant as to how much alcohol they were taking in until they were a giggling mess on the floor under the table. He was afraid she might make herself sick, and although she wasn't in any real danger, it still made him worry for her sake. And he certainly didn't envy her the hangover she'd have tomorrow morning.
"Is something wrong?" She asked again. "I feel fine. I've had three and I don not feel a thing!"
"I dunno why that doesn't surprise me," Allan quipped. "You might feel a slight numbness from the neck up, but that's totally normal."
Will narrowed his eyes at him.
"Maybe you should give me the rest of that," he said, reaching out to take the glass from her. She weakly held onto it for a few seconds before relenting and letting him keep it.
"You could always get your own you know," she giggled. Her face was flushed pink and her ears were red from the drink. "And then you don't have to worry about the backwash."
"Oh, god, she's drunk," Allan laughed. "That's terrible."
"Then why are you laughing?" He growled.
"Because it's Djaq! She's… she's the steady and serious one. It's kind of funny to see her—"
"Soused?" He supplied.
"Oh, she's not that drunk."
"I'll just keep an eye on her," he said, the worry still in his voice. "Make sure she doesn't get into any trouble."
"Oh, loosen up, mate. She'll be fine, and nobody'll let anything happen to her. Cheer up—have a few dozen drinks." He clapped him on the back before leaving him in favour of going off to chat with a group of giggling young women.
Will sighed and shook his head, then took a drink from the glass he'd taken from Djaq. Maybe Allan was right—it was a party, after all, and he didn't have to drive home.
It was very easy to lose track of how many drinks he'd had—because of that damn sneaky cider. His legs grew more and more wobbly and most of his body felt warm. He caught sight of himself in the front window, which became more like a mirror in the dark, and saw that his whole face had gone quite red, like a very bad sunburn.
But he didn't particularly care. He felt giddy and a bit merry.
By the time the party broke up and most of the people were gone, it was very late. Robin, who was himself not exactly on solid ground, was calling local taxi companies to take people home so that they weren't driving—or walking—drunk. And some of them were so drunk that they couldn't even walk.
Will, Allan, and Djaq were among those who were being loaded into cars.
Some idiot—probably Much, or maybe one of Allan's friends hoping to get lucky—gave Djaq more to drink, and by the time the three of them were stumbling drunkenly into the cab, she was completely drunk. She was also apparently legless, so much so that she had to be carried between her friends so she didn't fall down. She was an extremely giggly drunk—she was laughing at absolutely everything, including her own clumsiness, tripping on her shoelaces and hitting her head on the top of the cab door.
At least she was better than Allan, who was a very amorous drunk and had to be dragged away from proposing marriage to a group of giggling girls in order to be recruited to help load their friend into the back seat of the car. On their way out, he professed love to a mailbox and the cabbie. During much of the ride home, he almost tearfully declared his undying affection for his friends and how much he'd missed them while he was away.
"I love you two," he sobbed in the back seat during the ride. "You're my friends—my very, very, very—" he had an awful lot of "very"s under his breath, apparently losing track of them, "—best friends. 'N I missed you. Missed you more 'n I thought I'd miss anybody. I love you so much." Then he wiped his nose on his sleeve.
All of which Djaq thought was incredibly funny.
Will, the least inebriated of the three, attributed his friend's openness partially to the man being so drunk, though he didn't doubt the truth in his words. Sometimes he wondered if people were the most open and honest, the truest to themselves, only when they were intoxicated.
Djaq fell asleep between them during the ride home, drooping onto Will's shoulder and mumbling in her sleep. He carried her limp, sleeping body up the garden path and into the house with Allan following close behind, both of them trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake her. Though that probably didn't matter much—he got the impression that he could drop her down the stairs and she wouldn't wake up.
"D'you think you can carry her up there yourself, or d'you want some help?" Allan asked perhaps a little too loudly. He apparently thought he was keeping his voice low.
"Ssh!" He hissed. "And I think I can carry her. Besides, I don't think I could burden you with a sleeping drunk with your limp."
"It's really not so bad, you know," he said. "And anyway, they taught us the proper way to carry an unconscious person during basic."
"All right, then, here—you hold her for a second. I have to find my key." He handed her to Allan, who held his cane under his arm and stood on his good leg while Will dug around in his pockets for the key.
"She doesn't hardly weigh anything," he remarked.
"Not really, no."
"I guess it's just—geez! Aack!"
Will turned around to see Djaq sliding through Allan's arms; he nearly dropped her on the ground.
"Hey, be careful! You could hurt her!"
"I'm sorry—she's just sort of… limp."
"So? I thought you said they taught you how to carry unconscious people!"
He hefted her in his arms and tried to keep a better hold on her, but she practically folded in half and oozed between the gap in his arms. This time he did drop her. She didn't wake up.
"Unconscious," he growled. "Not boneless."
He thrust the key into his hand. "All right, you unlock the door and I'll hold onto her."
Allan opened the door as he lifted the sleeping woman effortlessly and slung her around his shoulders in a fireman's lift. It was like holding a bag of wet cement.
The young soldier flipped the lights on as he entered the house and nearly tripped over his footlocker as he moved out of the hallway, forgetting that John Little had come around and dropped it off at the house, so they wouldn't have to worry about it at the party.
"Oof! Ow, that hurt," he grunted.
"Go sit down," Will commanded. "I'm gonna go bring her upstairs."
"Need any help getting her into her pajamas?" He joked with a laugh.
He shook his head but didn't answer, and instead concentrated on not tripping as he carried Djaq upstairs and walked to their bedroom. She was completely limp in his grip, the colour in her face an intensely rosy red. He laid her gently down into the bed, carefully removing her shoes and pulling her jeans off.
"Nn—not now," she murmured sleepily. "I'm too tired…"
"Shh, you're dreaming. Go back to sleep."
"Mmkay…" she sighed.
He laughed quietly to himself and shifted her so that her head rested on the pillows on her side of the bed. When she reached up and tucked her arms underneath her head, her shirt hiked up her stomach and revealed part of the deep, puckered scar across the right side of her abdomen. A bad appendix scar, she'd told him. He gently ghosted his fingers alone the line, making her twitch and squirm under his hand in her sleep. She was terribly self-conscious of it at first, so much so that she was terrified of undressing if he was in the room. He didn't care about it, though—he thought she was beautiful. She still sometimes worried about that scar, no matter how much he told her he didn't care.
He stroked her forehead, sticky with sweat, and planted a small kiss there. "Good night, habibi," he whispered before leaving her to sleep in peace.
He came downstairs to see Allan flopped on the sofa, with no shoes on and his shirt hanging open. It looked like he'd come slightly back from his haze of alcohol and his face had returned to its normal colour, but his eyes were completely glazed as he sat in the dark room.
"She asleep?" He asked as he entered the room and turned on the light.
"Out cold," he replied as he plopped down next to him.
"Good. She should sleep that off—she'll feel like shit in the morning."
"Most likely. We probably all will."
"Mm-hmm," Allan grunted. "So—you plan on going back upstairs?"
Will shook his head. "I think I'll wait for my head to clear before I try and navigate the stairs again."
"You mind if I just kip here? I'm not so sure about the stairs myself."
"Not if I fall asleep here first."
"So if you whomp out on the sofa, does that mean I get to sleep upstairs with Djaq?" He teased.
Will gave him a shove. "No way."
"What, are you afraid that the dashing Second Lieutenant Allan a-Dale will use his irresistible charms to steal her away from you?"
He snorted in reply. "I think she's too drunk to react to your 'irresistible charms'," he retorted.
"Does that mean you think if she was sober she'd go for me?"
Another shove. "She's got better taste than that."
Pause.
"So… you and Djaq, then."
He knew this conversation was inevitable. "Me and Djaq," he repeated.
"You must be the luckiest man on the face of the planet, you know that?"
"That sentiment's crossed my mind, yes."
"To be honest, I'm not surprised."
"At what, that I believe I was incredibly lucky?"
"Well, that," he said with a nod. "And that she picked you."
"Huh?"
"Let's be honest—she was always sweet on you. Even when she was still a lad, it wasn't half obvious she fancied you—I mean, now that we know and everything and it all makes sense." He shrugged. "And, well… the best man won."
"It wasn't a competition, Allan."
"No. But still, you're much better n'me."
"Better…?" He gave him a questioning look.
"Sure," he said, grunting as he tried to shift his position and flopping down against the back of the sofa. "You're a dear and irritatingly button-cute. You haven't got a dishonest bone in your body. You're the dearest human being alive—I don't think you've got the potential to be anything but good. And I'm, well… not."
"Let's not start that again, all right?" Will sighed. "We're not rivals. And before anything else, we're her friends. It would be a shame if we let this come between all of us."
Instead of answering, Allan groped at his pockets for something before reaching into the breast pocket and pulling out two folded pieces of card, photographs, and handing them over to him.
"What's this?" He asked as he took them.
"Have a look," he said with a nod. "I kept 'em with me the whole time. Whenever I got lonely, I'd look at these—remind me of home."
Now curious, Will unfolded the photos. One was a picture of the three of them together, sitting at a table at Much's Place. There was no date, but Will guessed that it was taken just prior to his departure. They all looked happy, Allan caught in mid-laugh and Djaq flashing a radiant smile across the table at the two of them; none of them were looking at the camera, instead looking as natural as if the scene was occurring right there. The second picture was just of Djaq—he knew right away when and where it was taken. She was in that dress, the one Marian gave her after he told her of his problem of trying to get her to come with him to the Christmas party two years ago. Somebody had clearly taken this photograph while she wasn't paying attention, sitting on a windowsill with her ankles hooked together and looking off into space with a dreamy expression on her face.
"You kept these with you the whole time?" He asked as he handed them back.
"Sure I did. It made you two seem a little less far away." He took the pictures and looked at them a moment, tracing his finger over the picture of just Djaq. "Everybody kept asking me if she was my girl—they all thought she was the cutest thing they'd ever seen. I said she wasn't, that she was just a mate, but that… maybe someday I'd get a second look from someone like her," he sighed as he tucked them back into his pocket.
Will didn't say anything, just waited for him to finish.
"They really don't make 'em any better'n our Djaq."
"I know."
They shared an understanding smile, and then lapsed into a comfortable silence. Both of them were quietly slipping in and out of awareness as they sat together on the sofa.
It was so wonderfully surreal to have Allan back, to have him sitting there in his house, alive and safe after so much uncertainty while he was away. He acted like nothing had changed, like he hadn't been away at all. Probably that was the way he preferred it to be, rather than dwelling on the time lost. That was just the way Allan was—childishness and joviality and humour suited him far better than seriousness. Watching Allan deal with serious negative emotion had once been described as "like watching the Chimp's Tea Party at the London Zoo"—incredibly awkward and a little ridiculous. Only without the possibility of getting hit with a chucked teacup.
But he was here and he was in one piece. Mostly in one piece, Will thought as he caught a glimpse of the cane propped up against the arm of the sofa. It still worried him that his friend hadn't said anything about the injury, and now that the initial relief of seeing him alive and well had worn off, he was beginning to get more than a little cross about it.
He hadn't wanted to cause a scene at the station by immediately jumping on him with the obvious question, but now they were in private—and he was still just a little drunk, and possibly open to answering more questions.
"So… what happened over there?" He asked finally.
"What, you want me to tell all those stories from the party again?" He asked back with a smirk.
He sighed. "No, I meant your leg. How did that…?"
"Oh. That." He shifted in his seat to sit up a little bit. "Land mines."
His eyes nearly popped out of his head. "You stepped on a land mine?" He gasped, hardly believing what he'd just heard.
Allan laughed. "No—no, I didn't step on it!" He assured quickly. "If I'd stepped on one, they would have had to send the bits home in a matchbox."
"Oh." He didn't know whether to be relieved or disgusted. "So then how did you get hurt?"
"Well," he stretched his arms and folded them behind his head. "When it gets cold out, the mines warp a little—you know, the metal contracts. Sometimes it sets off the pressure pads and they go off. It happened one night while I was on guard duty. We were all pretty far away but most of us caught shrapnel in the explosion. I got it in the left side, and a bit went right into my knee." He reached down and gingerly touched the spot. "They sent me to a Swiss hospital so they could fix it—that was at the beginning of March. That's when I got my discharge, when they realized that I was gonna need more fixing up than just a quick stay in hospital. I can't fight with a bad leg, you know."
"You're lucky that was all that happened!"
"I know, I know—I could've lost a leg or worse."
Allan's dismissive attitude about the whole thing would have been aggravating if Will hadn't been so happy that he was home. And still a bit tipsy.
"So why didn't you tell us what'd happened?"
"I guess… I guess I was scared."
"Scared of what?"
He fidgeted and looked worried and uneasy as he looked tried to come up with the right words. He reminded Will, in a way, of Djaq, the way she tried to explain her masquerade as a boy. He, too, was trying to come up with the right words to explain himself now—a much more difficult undertaking for Allan, for certain.
"I guess I was just afraid of being a burden. Knowing I'd come back here crippled, I was afraid you'd…" he sighed and leaned forward, firmly rubbing his head in a nervous manner as he gathered his thoughts. "It's stupid now I thought about it—but I mean, I was sort of scared you guys would think I was, I dunno… weak."
His eyes nearly popped right out of his head. It was one of the only times that he could look back and say, quite honestly, that his mouth had fallen open in shock.
"Why would we think you were weak? Because you were hurt?"
"Yeah—stupid, isn't it?"
"Yes."
He laughed at himself, but it was wet and half-hearted. "'S not like I was injured in combat. It was an accident on a cold night. In a way, it's sorta embarrassing."
Pause.
"But I guess that's just me being vain."
"It is you being vain."
"To be honest, I was a bit worried you might think I was a burden—you know, bum leg and all."
He smacked him across the back of the head. "Idiot! Look, mate," he scolded. "No matter what happens, we'll always love you. So stop worrying. And keeping secrets."
"You really mean that?" He asked suddenly. "That you love me?"
"Of course I do."
Before he realized what was happening, he was wrenched sideways by the arm around his neck, nearly suffocating him, and Allan kissed him on the head.
"I love you, mate. I really do," he snuffled wetly. A combination of drunkenness and sleepiness made him loopy and his speech was slurred. "And good god, I missed you. I don't ever wanna do that again. You guys're my family. I don't ever wanna be that far from you again."
Will pried his arm away and freed himself and hugged him tightly around his shoulders. "I know," he said.
"I'm glad you know. I'm glad you're my friend." He drooped a bit in his friend's grip.
"Maybe it's a good idea if we both went to bed," he suggested.
"Me not with Djaq?" He teased.
Will punched him.
o…o
"Oh, my head…" Djaq whimpered. Her head was pounding and she felt incredibly queasy; her limbs were shaky and she was sweaty and clammy all over. She gingerly sat up in bed, slowly, so as not to make her massive headache worse—though it seemed that any little noise or movement aggravated it. Her hip was inexplicably sore, as if she'd fallen down on it, but she didn't remember falling down. She didn't remember a whole lot of anything, actually…
What had happened last night? She hardly remembered anything past having some drinks at Allan's party. How many drinks? A few—a few dozen? She honestly had no idea. She wasn't even a drinker, and after last night she didn't think she'd ever drink again.
Now she was alone in bed. If Will had slept here last night, he was long gone. Normally, she hated waking up alone, but this morning she was more worried about surviving the day. She groped for the clock on the bedside table—how had she never noticed how loud that ticking was before?—and was astonished to realize that it was after noon. She should have been panicking—after all, she'd overslept and was three hours late for work with no excuse—but it was more than she could manage to care about it.
With a groan, she rolled out of bed. Upon further inspection, she discovered that the sore hip was indeed bruised, all the way around to her behind and adding to the mystery. She was also just in her underwear and vest—probably Will had done that when he brought her to bed; at least she hoped it was Will who brought her to bed—and she bumbled stiffly and clumsily around the room trying to find some clothes. Her legs felt like they were several seconds behind all of the commands her brain was sending; every movement made the pain in her head surge.
She walked very, very carefully down the stairs, trying to keep from jolting herself and causing more pain. Then she made her way into the kitchen, clutching her head in her hands. Allan was sitting at the table with a sandwich and a book. He looked up when she walked in and smiled.
"Morning, sunshine," he said in a singsong voice. "Nice of you to come and rejoin the living."
"Please don't talk so loudly," she whinged. "It feels like my eyes are going to explode."
"Bad hangover, eh?" He asked, getting up. "I'm not surprised, with all you drank last night."
"I cannot even remember how much I drank last night."
"I dunno either, but it was a lot. And Will says you don't drink."
She nodded. "He is right. After this, I think I shall go back to not drinking."
"Good idea. Hangovers are no fun."
"You had one, as well?"
"Yep. I'm doing better now, though. Obviously."
She growled. "Lucky you."
"Sit down," he ordered, though his tone was soft and gentle. "I'll get you some tea."
"Thank you," she whispered. Even the sound of her own voice was painful.
"It's best if you eat something, as well."
"No food, please. I am afraid I might throw it up."
"Plain toast," he said sternly. "I don't wanna see you get sick, my darling."
"No flirting, Allan. I do not feel well enough for that."
"Wow," he remarked, pouring her tea. "You must feel terrible."
She folded her arms in front of her and rested her forehead on the cool table.
"Do you take milk and sugar? Honey?" He asked.
"Cyanide."
He laughed. "We're all out, I'm afraid," he said as he stirred the tea. "I guess this means you'll just have to put up with the milk and honey." He set the cup down gently in front of her.
"Ow," she clutched her head at the sound of the porcelain on wood.
"Once you have some food in your stomach, you can take a few aspirin." He patted her back soothingly.
"Provided I do not throw up."
"You won't get sick."
She grunted softly and drank her tea.
For several moments, she was quiet, hesitating to ask the question; eventually, she decided to just ask it.
"What… exactly happened last night?"
When Allan laughed, she grew irritated and embarrassed at the same time.
"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly. "It's just… it's weird. You're Djaq. You aren't supposed to be the one who gets pissed at parties and can't remember what happened."
She buried her face in her hands in humiliation. "Oh, no. What happened?" She asked in a tiny little voice as her head began to whirl with the possibilities.
"You didn't do anything bad or dangerous!" He said quickly, reaching across the table to pat her free hand reassuringly. "I mean, you didn't… get up on the table and dance or put a lampshade on your head or anything like that."
"Then what happened?" She asked, hoping to find out what had happened to cause a bruise on her backside.
"Nothing," he said again. "Sorry!" He apologized when she grabbed her head, and lowered his voice. "We poured you into a cab and came here. Will put you to bed and that was it. Is something wrong?"
"I have a bruise on my behind—I want answers! Oww," she whimpered at the sound of her own voice reverberating through her head.
"Oh, that." He looked guilty. "I kinda dropped you on the front walk."
"You dropped me?"
"Yeah—sorry about that. You're a bit difficult to carry when you're asleep, being completely limp like that."
It was strangely untroubling to hear him say that. It meant, at least, that she hadn't done something stupid. It meant somebody else had done something stupid. Satisfied with the answer, she turned her attention back to her tea and concentrated on getting over her hangover.
After a second cup of tea, something to eat, some aspirin, and a few minute's nap with her head down on the table, she felt mildly more human again; she had control of her limbs back, her stomach felt better, and though she still had a headache, at least her head stopped pounding at every little noise.
"You look like you feel a lot better," Allan told her as he watched her sit up with a yawn.
She nodded and stretched. "I feel like I could probably do with a longer nap, though. How terrible is that?"
He shrugged. "It's not so bad. I mean, at least you won't be awake for the whole hangover."
"I suppose."
They fell silent at the table. Djaq was trying to do her daily crossword puzzle, only to discover that taxing her brain like this made her head and eyes hurt; Allan was still reading his book, which she was more than a little surprised to notice was Moby Dick.
"How in the world did you decide you were going to read Moby Dick?"She asked him.
He shrugged. "I've already read it before."
Amazed she asked, "When?"
"While I was away. One of the American G.Is had it as a comic book—it wasn't bad, but I figured there had to be more to the story that they were leaving out."
Classic novels as a comic book? She shook her head—Americans were strange.
"What?" He asked, noticing her expression.
"Nothing—I just think it is funny that somebody decided that classic novels would easily translate to comic books. And it is even stranger that you were reading them. I always thought you were the type to be more interested in superheroes, and not a man obsessed with catching a whale."
Allan shrugged. "To be honest, sometimes you get so bored over there that you'll read absolutely anything. It was there, so I read it. I was a bit surprised myself that it was interesting."
"Maybe it was the boredom," she suggested.
"Possibly," he conceded before he went back to his reading.
Silence.
Absently, her gaze fell to his leg, set straight out in front of him and propped up on a footstool. It pained her to see his injury—she hated the thought of her closest friend being injured so far from home.
"What's wrong?" He asked when he noticed her staring. "You wondering what happened?"
"Well… yes, I am. You did not tell us about it beforehand."
He nodded and began to explain—explained how he'd been injured by an accidental trip of a landmine and how he'd been sent to a hospital in a neutral country for surgery, explained his fear and why he was reluctant to tell either of them about the injury before he came home. When he got to the part about being worried what she and Will would think of him when he turned up injured—apparently afraid that they might think him a coward—she reached across the table and swatted him across the cheek with the back of her hand.
"What the hell was that for?" He demanded, looking more startled than angry.
"Because you are being silly," she scolded. "You know us better than that, Allan. Both of us. Did you honestly think that we would love you less just because you were hurt in a war zone, of all places? I think we would have been more shocked and a bit suspicious if you came home without a scratch on you!" She sighed. "I will love you no matter what. Both of us will."
The shocked expression on his face slowly melted into a broad smile, that crooked grin that meant that he was greatly amused by a situation; he held that for only a few seconds before he began to laugh. Just laughed and laughed with his head tossed back and his arms folded across his belly. Apparently something was incredibly funny.
She waited for his laughter to subside before she asked the obvious question.
"What was that all about?"
He wiped his streaming eyes and sniffled. "Will said almost exactly the same thing. The two of you," he said, shaking his head. "It's like you work on the same frequency."
Djaq frowned; she wasn't exactly sure if this was a compliment or an observation.
"I meant it as sort of a compliment," he told her, as if he'd read her mind. "I mean—you two are really very similar."
She grinned. "I suppose we are."
Another pause.
"Please tell me you are not worried about your leg. It does not bother either of us, you know, and you can stay with us as long as you like."
"Nah," he said with a grin. "It's just a leg. And besides, it's not like I'm totally fucking useless just because I've got a bit of a limp."
Had it been anybody else, she might have been surprised at this decidedly flippant attitude about a leg. But considering that it was Allan, it didn't faze her at all.
"Just be careful, mind," she warned with a playful smile.
"This one still works, you know. I mean—I'll need another surgery and a bit of therapy, but it's not like it's gone or anything. It's still there."
"Of course," she sighed.
"Besides—I've got another one," he announced with a jaunty grin.
She couldn't help it—she laughed. How like Allan to say something like this. The joke in itself wasn't even all that funny, and her laughter was mostly out of relief. Relief that he was still the same person that he was before he joined the army—that neither the military nor being in a war zone had sapped away his sense of humour.
Very little about Allan had changed, for which she was extremely grateful. The one thing that scared her more than the thought of him being killed was the thought of him changing into a completely different person after witnessing the horrors of war. She'd heard stories of men who came back from the war, suffering from intense battle fatigue, and were so changed that they cut family members and old friends out of their lives forever. If he'd died in combat, he would have been out of his misery; but if he had gone through some terrible personality change… he would have been lost.
The thought of him being still around but just a shadow of his former self had haunted her right up until… now. The reassurance that he was still the same person was an enormous relief.
"Glad I can still make you laugh," he said with that grin still on his face.
"I am, as well. To be honest, I would worry if you did not make jokes."
"Is that all I am to you, my love? I'm just good for a few giggles, eh?" He teased.
"Well, you do have a pretty face, as well," she offered.
"So I'm a pretty jester—nice to know I mean so much to you."
A loud, barking laugh escaped her as she tried to muffle the sound with a hand over her mouth.
"I s'pose I shouldn't expect more than that. I mean, me'n Will are practically your harem."
She dissolved into a fit of giggles—oh, how she'd missed this.
"See? All you do is laugh at me," he said sadly, crossing his arms and sticking his bottom lip out in a mock-pout that looked so ridiculous on him that it just made her laugh more.
"Goodness, I've missed you," she breathed as she caught her breath again.
"Not half as much as I missed you, I don't think."
There was nothing she could say to this; he was probably right. So instead she nodded slowly.
Another silence grew between them. Djaq leaned back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling and feeling the remaining pain in her head slowly subside into a dull, steady throb. Breakfast was starting to feel like a lump in her stomach, and once again she made an internal promise never to drink again.
"So… where is Will?" She finally asked.
"He had a last-minute call. Something about some floors—he said he'd be back at about one."
"Oh." She frowned. "I am surprised he could manage it," she remarked.
"Well, he didn't have as much as we did. His drink total was still in the single digits."
"Please stop reminding me."
"Sorry."
"Talking of work—I ought to phone and apologize for missing today."
"Huh?"
"I was supposed to work today. But I've obviously overslept, and I am really in no shape to be going in and trying to do sums today."
"What, you didn't think I was worth taking time off of work for?" He teased.
"It is nearly impossible to get time off where I'm working now," she retorted. Slowly, all of her joints creaking in protest, she stood and reached for the telephone.
"Um, Djaq?"
"What?"
"Will already did that for you," he said. "He called in and told them you were sick and wouldn't be coming in."
"Oh." She leaned back in her chair and smiled. "That was… nice of him."
"Yeah—I think the best way to describe it is 'sweet'. That's just the way he is." He looked at her across the table. "But then, you know that already."
"I do, yes," she said, though she offered no further words. She knew how Allan had once felt about her, but wasn't sure whether or not he still had those feelings—and now somehow didn't seem the right time to ask. She had no interest in leaving Will in favour of Allan. Never mind the obvious rift and eventual falling-out that something like that would cause in their friendship—Djaq was pathetically besotted with her green-eyed carpenter. The idea of being with somebody else was unthinkable; she simply couldn't fathom it.
When she was completely honest with herself, she admitted privately that there was a point in time, years ago, when she fancied them both, and could imagine loving either of them, but for entirely different reasons. She loved Will for being a little shy and observant and for being sweetly and quietly attentive without smothering her—and Allan for being boyish and fun and for making her laugh and being almost devilishly handsome. In the long run, though, it was Will she loved; even had she gone with Allan, she knew she would more likely than not have grown bored with him very quickly, because he was simply too much a little boy.
That was a long time ago, though. Now all that remained of her private girlish crush on her friend was the acknowledgement that he was wickedly, roguishly attractive and had a smile that could melt hearts.
"To be honest," he began, as if he was about to say something important. Then he stopped and sat staring at his hands for a long moment.
"Yes?" She prodded gently.
He seemed to bring himself out of his dazed state and smile genially at her. "You already know—it's not a secret that I fancy you."
"I know," she said with a nod. "You told me. Is something…?"
"I told you that it wasn't anything, but… I dunno anymore. I suppose I'm jealous of him."
"Jealous?"
"Sure," he said with a shrug. "He's got you."
"He has not got me," she told him sternly. She hated that expression—it made her feel like a car, or something that required ownership papers. "It is not property changing hands. He loves me, I love him—that is all. I also love you."
"Djaq…" he took a deep breath. "Look, I know you love Will and there's nothing I can say or do that would make you want to leave him for me—and I wouldn't do that even if I could, 'cos it just wouldn't be fair to any of us. But that doesn't stop me from being jealous. I'm not half crazy for you. I don't wanna think about fucking up what we've got because I'm pathetic and lovesick—but it still doesn't stop me from wishing."
She felt her lower lip quiver, feeling both amazed and mildly guilty. Amazed that he was telling her all of this now, and that she had never realized before just how deep his affection for her went; guilty because she simply couldn't love him the way he wished that she would. It was no fault of her own, and she knew this, but it didn't make it any easier to know that her friend was saddened by something about herself, and that there was nothing she could do for him about it.
"Allan, I am sorry," she whispered, not even entirely sure what she was apologizing for. "I… I wish I could—"
"Don't apologize," he said. His expression was still serious and his eyes were almost painfully sad. This had to be some sort of record for him, the longest he'd ever gone maintaining a serious emotional state. "It isn't your fault, is it? Not mine, either. It just happened."
"That is certainly true."
"I just—I don't know, I suppose I love you." He paused and sat up a bit straighter, making a face as if he'd just tasted something foul. He seemed to be rethinking his words. "No, wait… I don't know if 'love' is the right word. Maybe. Possibly…" he scratched his head. "It might be an overstatement to say I love you, but an understatement to say I'm just inordinately fond of you. I guess it doesn't have a word."
Whether he realized it or not, the more he talked the more he made Djaq realize that anything between Allan and herself would never have worked out well. He was indecisive, childish, and squeamish when it came to dealing with powerful emotion. She saw that, she recognized that—and he didn't.
Still, with him sitting there at the other side of the table looking at her like an injured puppy—it tugged her heartstrings, for certain. She couldn't help it; she felt badly for him.
Steeling herself, she stood and stepped over to him, standing before him with her hands on his drooping shoulders. She gently nudged him under his chin, coaxing him to look up at her; when he did, she leaned down and kissed him. It was just a small kiss, soft and brief, but his wide-eyed shock and beet red face made it look as if she had just sucked the tongue out of his mouth.
"What the hell was that for?" He rasped once he worked out how to use his voice again.
She shrugged and smiled. "Because."
He shook his head as his lips parted in a huge grin, and then he began laughing.
"Good lord, we really are your harem!" He managed to gasp around his own laughter. "You just use us as you see fit, don't you?"
"Perhaps," she replied, but she was fairly sure that he didn't hear her.
She waited for him to exhaust himself for laughing, glad to see him back to his usual smiling self again, but the laughing was contagious and she found herself laughing right along with him. The mood was light and wonderful, not at all like the intense sincerity of just seconds earlier—and she wouldn't have had it any other way.
They each sat in their seats as the laughter died away, wiping their streaming eyes on their shirt sleeves and breaking into occasional brief giggling fits every few minutes until, finally, they were quiet.
"Why were we laughing?" She gasped. "It was hardly comedy gold."
"Sure it was—you just don't know the finer points of humour."
"I imagine not. My pretty jester knows far more about it than I do," she teased.
"I have to pull double duty now, don't I?"
"Pardon?"
"I've got to be your good-looking jester and your concubine. When am I supposed to sleep?"
She snorted and covered her nose and mouth in embarrassment.
There was a pause as he thought about something. Just when she was about to ask him what, he asked her, "Do we have to stop this now?"
"Stop what?"
"You know…" he sighed. "The flirting? What with you being practically married and everything, I wouldn't want our darling William to think something that's not true."
"It's not needful," she said. "He does not think anything of it."
"Really? A good-looking guy like me is flirting with his woman, and he doesn't worry that I might steal you away from him?"
"I think he imagines that I have better taste than that."
He feigned a hurt look. "Oh," he sighed sulkily.
"Looks like you are still stuck being my concubine."
It was his turn to snort now. "God, I've missed you," he said. "And you really don't think it'll matter if we keep this up?"
"Of course not—he knows both of us far better than that. And anyway—if we were to stop flirting, we might as well stop talking. We do not know any other way to talk to each other."
o…o
0…0…0…0…0
("Habibi" means "my love" in Arabic.)
For the Americans in the audience: legal drinking age in the UK is eighteen. None of the characters are breaking any laws by getting shit-faced before the age of 21. (By now, Allan and Will are both 20, and Djaq is eighteen.) English cider is about 8 alcohol, and is indeed very sneaky. Really. Don't ask how I know this, just accept that I do.
Since this story is getting close to the milestone 100 reviews, I feel like having a bit of fun and doing the fanfiction equivalent of a free giveaway. Whoever leaves the 100th review wins a request one-shot. Be sure to leave your email address (if you review anonymously—remember, only I can see your email!) or turn your PM function on (if you're logged in) so I can notify the winner!