A Fitful Night

Hi guys!

Thanks so much for having a read.

I love BBC Robin Hood and I can't find nearly enough hurt comfort fic so I thought I'd have a go at writing some!

This one shot takes place immediately after S1. Ep8. Tattoo? What Tattoo? So spoilers if you haven't watched it yet.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the BBC Robin Hood characters, I just obsess over them.

Evening had come at last. With Robin's help, the gang had finally rescued Djaq, they'd escaped the Sheriff's trap unscathed and were safe back at camp. No one felt the need to say anything about blame or guilt. Wordless looks from his friends communicated forgiveness they couldn't phrase for all that had passed that day; for all he had done and said.

He should feel relief.

Robin had followed the others towards the old mine at the last minute. He didn't know if it was Marian's and Much's words that had changed his mind, or the dogged, hurt looks of Will, Allen, and John. But something had altered and allowed him to see past the rage. They were right. He had always urged them to fight for each other. Leaving Djaq in the Sheriff's hands was a betrayal like that of Gisborne's against the king. Robin had seized his bow and ran after the outlaws. He arrived just in time, anticipated the sheriff's double cross and planned the escape route through the mine shaft. As he walked through the dark to stand by John's shoulder and saw Djaq, a rope cruelly tied around her neck like a dog, he knew he had made the right choice. He had. So why didn't he feel peace?

He watched the others settle in around the forest hearth and retreated to a corner of the camp. They sat in the warm light of flames; Robin sat in the shadow of their makeshift shelter. The separation felt appropriate. Despite his choice, the anaesthetic rush of an alleviated mind wouldn't come and instead he could feel his thoughts darkening. Robin collapsed onto his bedroll.

He'd let Gisborne go. Vaisey had burned away the tattoo, the single piece of evidence, from Gisborne's skin. But not from Robin's mind, where that black mark was also branded. He shook his head roughly, as if he could dislodge the images. Was it the lost justice that was eating at him? The knowledge that he had failed king Richard? No! Robin curled his fist against the hard ground. He'd served the crown with honour, thwarted an assassination, saved a life.

Gentle laughter drew his gaze back to the campfire. Allen was telling a story, Much was preparing food, the others relaxing and listening. Why did he feel so distant from his friends? Their comfort and tranquillity seemed to embody the peace he could not find. The peace he'd been searching for a long time. But the images wouldn't shift. It was as if he'd been pushing against it since his return to England. A tidal wave that began in Acre and had been getting bigger ever since, barely kept at bay.

Robin sighed and gradually allowed himself to feel each of his aches. His body felt bruised and tired from the vicious and lengthy exchange of blows between him and Gisborne. His mind was tired too. Some part of him had been tired since Acre, never shaking off the deep-routed weariness. He yearned for rest so sorely. Robin tumbled back onto his blankets and let the orange-tinged scene flicker out, succumbing to exhaustion and sleep.

Much could tell from one look that Robin wouldn't be able to stay awake for dinner. He noticed as his master secluded himself in the sleeping corner of the camp, away from the rest of them. Much knew Robin so closely; he had long ago learned to recognise the signs of weariness on his master's face and body. He looked a wreck. Dark circles shadowed Robin's eyes, crusted blood coated a split lip from Gisborne's punches and a deep bruise had appeared along his jaw where little John's fist had connected and knocked him out. Twice. He wanted to tend to each of his injuries, put him to bed, but Much also knew when to leave Robin to himself.

He went about preparing the meal, a thick soup of root vegetables. He would keep some aside and later try coaxing Robin into eating. The bowls were passed around gratefully. He could tell the outlaws were all tired but relief to have Djaq back was making them feel light and relaxed. Allen started up a story about one of his misadventures with his brother. Will was gently rubbing a salve onto Djaq's scorched wrist. The skin where the sheriff had tipped some of her acid mixture was red, blistered and raw and he applied the soothing salve as lightly as possible as Djaq tried to hold back a wince. As everyone ate, Much kept Robin's now sleeping form in the corner of his eye. Conversation petered out as the gang finished the meal and enjoyed the comforting feel of full stomachs.

In the relaxed quiet, Allen noticed Much subtly watching their leader sleep.

"Hey, I'm not being funny, but what's up with Robin? Honestly, he really lost it today." Allen said.

Much answered shortly, uncomfortable to be discussing his master. "It was the shock about Gisborne. It just threw him off. Made him angry."

"I've never seen him like that before." Will mused. "Not just angry, but like he wasn't in control, like he wasn't fully... there." Will had always looked up to Robin, but today he had felt betrayed and confused.

"Agreed. He was mad." John said, "I stand by punching him."

They weren't accusing, Much knew everyone had forgiven Robin and it was out of concern that they spoke now. But still. Defensive anger sparked in his eyes.

"Hasn't he redeemed himself already? He helped save Djaq, didn't he?"

"Look, we're not having a go Much, we're just worried. I didn't think I'd joined up to follow a madman. What's going on with him?" Allen asked.

"Today just dredged up some bad memories, okay."

"We've all had bad stuff happen to us, Much." Little John said.

"Yeah I almost got hung that one time!" Allen added.

"There's bad things and then there's war." Much sighed deeply. "You don't understand. Acre was beyond any horror you can imagine. We walked around knee-deep in death, corpses blocked the rivers, most of the time there were no tactics, just slaughter or be slaughtered. You'd try to sleep at night and all you could hear in the darkness was the distant screams of more killing. There was no justice. No honour." Much looked back to Robin. The man was stirring, twitching in his sleep with tense, jolting movements, his face screwed into a frown. Much recognised the symptoms of the nightmare.

"It sounds horrific." Will said quietly.

"War ripped the land apart." Djaq recalled the devastation in her country. "It ripped people apart too." The wind in the forest canopy seemed amplified in the quiet. It felt chilling.

Much continued, "We left the Holy Land. But the Holy land didn't leave us. Particularly for Robin. We both get nightmares but his are especially violent and in most of them he's back at Acre."

"Where Gisborne tried to kill the King…" said Allan.

Much nodded, "It haunts him. I think he feels guilty."

Soon after, they began to drift away from the fire, settling down into the rhythms of night, getting ready to sleep. Much sat on his bedroll, watching Robin shifting and murmuring. Djaq offered to take the first night watch.

"I am still too on edge to sleep." she said, when Will protested that she should rest. She selected a rock to perch on and the others lay down for the night, the firelight reduced to the glow of embers. The forest seemed to breathe out.

It was then that Robin began to scream. His cries wrenched everyone else upright, looking around dazedly for the danger. But Much was already by Robin's side. The dreaming man struggled violently as Much desperately tried to catch his wrists, pelted by the terrified screams.

"Master, Master wake up. You're safe! We're in England, in Sherwood." Robin still hadn't escaped the nightmare. He writhed in Much's grip as he tried to pull him out of the dream. Much couldn't quite keep the distress out of his voice. "Robin, it's okay! I'm here. I'm here. Wake up." Finally, Robin lurched awake, drenched in sweat and panting. He flinched at the figure looming above him. Then recognised Much. The dream was still fading behind his eyes, Much could tell and continued his stream of soothing words. "Master you're safe. Safe. The fighting's over. I'm with you."

The terror slowly faded from Robin's face and was replaced by a wave of tears. He curled up in a ball as sobs shook his body, hands bunched over his face.

The other outlaws tried to look away, to give him some privacy. But shock and pity had them staring silently from their corners at their leader's helpless cries. This man, who they saw as daring, honourable, tough - the hope of every peasant in Nottingham - was sobbing in the darkness.

Much knelt next to him. This was the worst he'd had it in months. In the immediate aftermath of the attempted regicide, whilst Robin had been healing from his wounds, he had been wracked by nightmares like this. But they'd long since subdued to the frequent dreams that he easily cast off upon waking. As Robin shuddered and cried, Much stroked his hair and rubbed circles against his back. He wanted to hold him. But the eyes of the gang were still peering through the dark, and Robin was still curled on the floor.

"It's okay, Master. You're okay."

A small, cracked voice sounded from between the man's bunched up hands. "So many dead. The king… de...dead too."

"That's far away now. We're safe." Much tried to calm him but Robin shook harder, trembling like a child.

"The war. it was. it had come to England. Much. They were all dead. All of them. Allen, John, Will, Djaq, Marion. You. Locksley village turned into the fields at Acre, the mud beneath my feet red. And… there wasn't any way… I… hadn't… I couldn't stop it."

It was all Much could do not to cry himself. For Robin, for what they'd seen, for the horrific future that haunted him. Much gripped Robin's arm firmly, tried to say confidently, reassuringly, "The war isn't here. It can't touch us."

Robin's breathing began to calm down, his sobs and shakes subsided. With Much's help he sat up and drank from his water-skin. His eyes stared glazed ahead as the visions still flitted through his mind.

"The war has touched England, in the villainy of men like Vaisey, in the suffering of the peasants. It may not be here now, Much. But it could come here one day. And… I." His shoulders were hunched, head bowed as he pulled handfuls of hair into his fists. A look of deep pain covered his face.

"You... You think it's your fault." Much was horrified. "Master, you can't blame yourself for the whole of the Holy War! All you did was serve your King, follow him into battle."

"But I didn't stop Gisborne, the Sheriff's men. The fighting would have ceased. If not for that attack on the king, the peace talks would have gone forward. I didn't stop them, Much. The war started all over again." Robin stared hard into Much's eyes, half daring, half wishing he would contradict him. He needed his friend to affirm or deny the black, consuming guilt that screamed inside his head and in his dreams; it's my fault, I've doomed all of England. After a moment, he tipped his head back into his hands, trying hard to quell the tears that began to spill from his eyes again.

Much moved to sit in front of his master. How to make him see? See everything he had done, all the good and justice he had brought. See how everyone else saw him. He took his face in his hands, made him hold his gaze.

"Robin. Look at me." He raised his eyes at the use of his first name, so rare from Much. So full of love. "You are Robin of Locksley, Robin Hood. You are the most courageous, honourable person I have ever known. That carnage under the guise of justice, it is not your doing. If every man at King Richard's side had your heart, the war would have ended long ago."

Ribbons of tears still tracked down Robin's cheeks, but he did not feel them. Reason that he'd been unable to reach was offered in Much's words. Much, his best friend, the man who had been at his side since childhood, who had followed him across seas and across the continent, followed through hostile deserts and the devastation of war, followed him into the forest and outlawry and now, as he fell apart again, he was still by his side. Robin hugged Much and felt his body encircled in his returned embrace.

"I'm sorry, Much. I never should have dragged you with me to the Holy Lands. But I am so glad you are here now."

"I'm not going anywhere."

A calmness settled over Robin Hood's heart. The first signs of that fragile thing called peace, finally and slowly returning.