This is a joint venture of Kaana Moonshadow and myself. We had lots of fun writing it and hope you have as much fun reading.

We don't own Bishop, but we sure as hell wish we did.


After a night plagued by dreams in which Riana's eyes continued to pass over him disinterestedly, Bishop woke to a splitting headache. Rain was drumming heavily on the roof of the hut.

He groaned, sitting up, rubbing his eyes blearily. Then he felt his stomach grumble.

Stupid. He had forgotten to eat yesterday, what with chasing the princess through the woods, and confronting her about searching his stuff. And the memories that had brought up...

No wonder his head was aching.

Cursing under his breath, he got up and threw his cape over his shoulders. Then he opened the creaking door to go and get some water. He hurried to crank the bucket up and fill his water skin, but the time spent outside was enough to get his hair dripping wet. Again.

Back inside the hut, he hung his cape on a hook in the wall and put some fresh wood into the fireplace, blowing into the remaining embers to get the fire going again. Soon, the flames started to crackle merrily.

Sighing, he sat back on his bedroll and drank some water. Gods, what he would not have given for some hot coffee right now. He started to rummage in his backpack to get out the rest of his meagre provisions. He simply had not planned on having to stay in the woods for a couple of days. Not much to eat left.

He'd have to go out hunting today. With the rain pouring down. Wonderful. Ah well, he was not made of sugar, was he? He could stand a bit of rain.

He pulled out the by now very stale bread and broke off a piece, taking a bite and chewing hard.

A whimper made him look up. The girl was awake and looking at him with huge eyes. Well, actually, she was staring at the bread with huge eyes.

Oh, right. She had not eaten yesterday as well, and probably was as hungry as him. But she did not dare to say anything.

He grinned, strangely satisfied. She was so afraid of him, the little mouse.

Still, could not let her starve. He broke off half of the remaining bread and threw it into her direction. Quickly, she scuttled over, snatched the bread and began to gorge it down.

Bishop frowned at her. "Stop that!", he said.

She looked up, frozen, and stared at him.

He sighed, got up, taking his own bread and water skin and went over to her. She retreated into her corner, hiding the bread behind her back.

"I'm not going to take it away", he said, slightly irritated, and she relaxed a bit. "But you have to take it slow, else your stomach will hurt like hell later. Take small bites, chew thoroughly. And drink something. Slowly." He handed her the water skin.

She took it with a nervous glance at his face and took some small sips.

He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes against the pounding in his skull. Groaning slightly, he massaged his temples. This was going to be one hell of a day, he could tell that already.

He took another bite out of the bread and opened his eyes again. The little mouse was nibbling on her bread, eyes cast down, chewing diligently. Her silvery blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders, tousled from sleep.

He could not resist to reach out and let one of the silken strands glide through his fingers. She looked up, alarmed.

"That's better.", he said. „Never had to go hungry before, did you, princess? Well, not all of us are that lucky. Remember to take it slow."

With that, he got up, and started donning his leathers. She observed him, her eyes wide and fearful. When he buckled his scimitars and picked up his bow and quiver, she obviously was alarmed enough to speak up.

"Where... where are you going?", she asked, her voice trembling. "You're not leaving me here, are you?"

He shrugged, putting the quiver over his shoulders. "Now, why would I do that, mousie?"

"Well, you… you said you were going to kill me..." Her voice shook as she said that. "You could leave me here to starve…" There was a hint of panic in her words.

He looked at her, taking in the trembling of her lips and how her knuckles turned white, clutching the bread.

"I told you it has to look like an accident. Starving chained to a wall does not fit the bill. So no, I won't do that."

"Why?", she whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek. "Why are you doing it at all?"

"As I said, someone is paying me an indecent sum of gold for it", he said, taking his cloak from the hook. "Got to make a living somehow. Not all of us have rich parents, happy to pay for every whim."

"But... who? Who would pay someone like you to kill me?"

He shrugged, turning to the door. "Don't know. Didn't ask. Not my business, is it? As long as I get paid."

"You really don't care at all, don't you?", she asked, bitterly.

He looked at her over his shoulder, looked her squarely in the eyes. "No, little mouse. I don't. I've killed people for less. A lot of people. Told you I have no heart, so don't act all surprised. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'll see if I can find something for us to eat."

xxx

Some hours later, Bishop returned to the hut, soaking wet, but with a couple of rabbits and even some fresh mint he found. Together with the potatoes in the shed, that should make for some nice stew. It actually had been hard to catch the rabbits – even they seemed to be reluctant to be out and about in this weather.

The day had stayed grey and dull, the rain constantly pouring down. The forest looked gloomy in comparison to the sun drenched trees of yesterday. Which, honestly, was fine by him, fitting his mood. He just could have done without the wetness soaking through his cloak.

He left the rabbits outside the hut and entered, throwing off his cloak before it could drip all over the floor, and started to unbuckle his armour, taking it off with a sigh of relief.

He heard the chain clank from the other side of the room and looked up, to see the girl, her eyes rimmed red, tear stains on her cheeks, clutching her blanket to her chest.

"You're back!", she said.

He just had to grin as he made his way over to her. "Don't say you missed me, little mouse. Who'd have thought you'd ever be glad to see me?"

"I thought you left", she said, voice trembling.

He sighed and knelt down in front of her, catching her chin and forcing her to look up into his face.

"I already told you what I am about to do, mousie", he said. "If I were to leave you here to starve, I'd just tell you so. You think I'd try to spare your feelings? Hardly. What's more, would I have left my backpack behind, if I had not planned on returning?"

She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Sorry", she mumbled. "But something might have happened to you..."

He smiled thinly. "Don't worry, little mouse. I doubt there's anything about in these woods to put me in danger. And that includes your city friends."

She cast down her eyes, but did not reply. He stared at her and again was struck by how much she resembled her. Slowly, he let his thumb graze over her lower lip, watching it glide over the rosy skin. So much like her. And so different at the same time.

She inhaled, and her lips parted slightly, giving him a glimpse of white teeth behind. He ripped his hand away as if he had burned himself and pulled out the key to the chains under his shirt.

"You can make yourself useful for a change", he said gruffly, while he held out his hand, waiting for her to extend her foot to him. "In case you haven't noticed, there's no bunch of servants around to wait on you. So you can do some laundry while I clean out the rabbits, and start earning your food like everyone else."

"Laundry...?", she said, hesitatingly, but obediently held out her leg to him.

"Yes, laundry" he said bitingly, while he opened the lock. "You might have heard of it. My shirts don't clean themselves, you know?"

"But... I've never done that before", she said doubtfully, rubbing her ankle.

"Oh come on", he said, slipping the chain with the amulet and the key around his neck again, putting it back under his shirt. "A little warm water, a little soap, how hard can it be?"

"I... I can try", she said, still uncertain.

"That's the spirit, little mouse", he said. "Go get that fire going again, I'll fetch some water."

She nodded hastily and scurried to the fireplace, putting more wood inside. Bishop got up and followed her, taking the pot he had put to the side. He would have to clean out the fireplace soon. Or tell the princess to do it.

He imagined her covered with soot and snickered. Oh yes, he'd definitely tell her to do it. That would be something to behold.

He went outside, filled the pot with water and returned to the hut to hang it to the chain in the fireplace. She indeed had a merry fire crackling by that time. At least something she was good for.

Then he left again and fetched the tub from the shed, carrying it to the front of the hut through the still pouring rain. By the time he was back at the entrance, he was soaked again.

He entered and put the tub to the floor, looking down at his wet clothes, clingy like hell. He cursed silently and went over to his sleeping place, fetching the dirty shirt he had worn yesterday, throwing it next to the tub.

Then he rummaged through his backpack until he had found the piece of curd soap he carried.

"Here", he said, shaking the drops out of his hair as he walked over to the girl, sitting in front of the fire and watching him, her eyes huge again. He handed her the soap. "When the water is warm, you put it into the tub and soak the shirt. Then you wash it with the soap. And after I'm done with the rabbits, you can wash this one as well."

He indicated at the shirt he wore, clinging to his skin in a more than uncomfortable way. But it would be stupid to change it before he had cleaned those rabbits. He would just get another shirt wet and dirty.

She followed his gesture with her eyes and swallowed.

"Yes", she whispered, averting her eyes, looking to the ground.

"Good", he said, repressing a grin. Gods, she was docile. Fear was a wonderful thing.

He went outside, sitting down on a small, worm eaten bench leaning against the hut and started to work on the rabbits. After some time he heard the sound of wood gliding over wood, the clanging of metal and a yelping sound from inside.

He grinned. Obviously the little princess was facing the problem of getting the water from the pot into the tub. Well, let her deal with it.

He took his time preparing the rabbits, and when he was done, he buried the entrails and skins some distance from the hut. That done, he cleaned his hands at the well and went back into the shed to have a closer look at the potatoes there.

He decided they were old and squashy, but still edible. There also were some carrots left, shrivelled and blackened, but maybe still good inside. He took some potatoes, some carrots and two of the apples and carried it all back into the hut. After yesterday, today's meal would be something of a feast.

He entered the hut and put the vegetables on the small desk that was leaning to the wall next to the fireplace. Then he turned to the girl sitting on the floor, clutching the piece of soap he had handed her.

"Well, princess", he asked acidly, "shouldn't you have your hands in the tub, scrubbing away at the shirt?"

"I... I tried", she stammered. "But... the water... it was too hot, I could not reach into it."

He stared at her for a moment, while the meaning of her words slowly sank in. With two quick steps he went to the tub and looked inside. Finding his fears confirmed, he groaned, rubbing his hand over his forehead.

"Princess", he said, "what ever were you thinking, putting my shirt into boiling water?"

"But... you said...", she stuttered.

"I said warm, princess. Warm. Not hot. There's a difference, you know?"

"But... why... I thought..."

He reached into the still very hot water and fished out what was left of his shirt, holding it up.

"That's why, your highness. That's what happens if you wash a shirt too hot. I thought even someone as green as you knew that." He looked down at the shirt in his hands, which by now would fit someone half his size. Then he lifted his gaze and stared at her.

She was looking at the shirt in his hand, horrified. "Oh gods", she whimpered. "I did not know... I'm so sorry... I...", she broke off, too dismayed to continue.

Suddenly, the humour of the situation struck him, and his lips started twitching. He tried to repress it, but in the end could not help it and broke into laughter.

"You know, mousie", he snorted, "you sure do cost me a lot of shirts."

Still chuckling, he started to wring out the shirt while she stared at him as if he had sprouted a second head.

"Tell you what, princess. I get some cold water to cool it down, and you can try again with this one." He pulled his shirt over his head and threw it to her. "But remember – if you continue to destroy my shirts, I will have to go without all the time soon. Or is that the reason why you do it in the first place?"

He looked up to grin at her and found her still staring at him, looking as if she had been struck by lightning, blushing furiously.

He rolled his eyes. "Gods, you're so straight-laced, I can hardly believe you're engaged. Even that milksop you were going to marry should have taught you something about male anatomy. You really do act as if you've never seen a man before."

He took the pot, turning to the door. "Well, we can fix that, stare all you like", he said, over his shoulder. "But try to be nice to my shirts from now on, I only have two left I can wear."

Still shaking his head in disbelief, Bishop went outside to fill the pot with cold water. After what he heard of her conversation with that sissy she was engaged to, he had assumed she was the one with the fire. But now it sure seemed as if she was quite the prude.

For a second, the thought of trying to show her what she missed sent his heart racing, but then he mentally shook himself. It would be a mistake, a grave mistake, to allow himself to give in to that urge.

And in the end, he would be left wanting anyway, because it was not her he longed for. It was another woman he really wanted.

He filled the pot with water, went back inside and poured the cold water into the tub, leaving some in the pot for the stew. He hung the pot back in the fireplace and added the pieces of rabbit, so that the meat could start cooking already.

He glanced at the girl and saw she was still sitting in the same spot, staring at the ground, obviously refusing to look up.

He snorted contemptuously. "Guess I'll cover myself up, so your lily-white self will not be offended by the view of my bare back anymore. This really is ridiculous, you know that? Even by your standards."

He went to his backpack and took out his last clean shirt. "Go wash my shirt, princess, and I would be immensely grateful if it survived the process. After that you can help me with the stew."

He threw the shirt over his head and turned to her. She had scuttled to the tub and put his shirt into the water, but at his words, she looked up, the colour still deep in her cheeks, but an alarmed look in her eyes.

"Stew...? But... I..."

He curled his lips in disdain. "Don't tell me, little mouse. You can't cook."

She blushed even deeper. "I... I... no", she whispered. "I can't."

He sneered at her. "You really are useless. Tell me, what can you do? There must be something you have learned how to do in your life."

She ducked her head, not answering for some seconds, obviously thinking wildly, trying to find something she was capable of doing. "I... I can sing", she finally said, hopelessly.

He just had to laugh. "You can sing", he repeated. "Well, ain't that grand." He sat down on his bedroll, taking out his dagger and his plate, putting it before him to start working on the potatoes.

"Sing, then", he said, still snickering. "Sing for me, little mouse. If that's the only thing you can do to please a man, sing. And don't forget my shirt while you're at it."

She flinched under his words, but obediently started to scrub his shirt with the help of the soap. Her long hair fell in front of her face, hiding it like a curtain, and then her voice sounded out, small and shaky.

Bishop took the first of the potatoes and started to clean it from sprouts, while he listened to her song.

She sang an old song about a woman, waiting for her son to return to her in a dark and cold winter's night. And if she had started out weak and insecure, after the first lines her voice gained in volume, as she seemingly forgot about him listening, and soon her voice filled the room, sweet, clear and full, while she continued to work on the shirt.

Captivated against his will, Bishop stopped working and let his dagger sink, watching her, listening. Something strange stirred inside him, a soft ache in his chest, a longing, painful and bittersweet, and he continued to listen, his eyes fixed on her, not able to shake the wistful tug in his heart.

When the song ended, she looked up at him, smiling shyly. And before he could stop himself, he felt a small smile appear on his face as well.

He could have slapped himself and drew a deep breath, searching for something biting to say, to destroy that strange mood that seemed to have settled between them, when she took the shirt out of the water, holding it up for him.

"Is that good?", she asked, that shy smile still on her face, and sounding so absurdly hopeful he could just wordlessly nod and quickly force himself to return his attention to the vegetable in his hand.

"You have to take it outside, rinse the soap out with clear water", he grumbled.

"I can do that!", she said, avidly, and hopped to her feet, making for the door.

"Wait!", he said, and she stopped, turning to him, a question in her eyes.

Sighing and thinking that he was somehow losing it, he put the dagger and potato down and got up.

"Your feet are bare, and it's still raining outside. Let me do that."

He went to her, taking the shirt out of her hand while she looked at him, blinking confusedly. He could sympathise with the feeling, he felt confused himself. It was not a feeling he appreciated.

He went outside, into the still pouring rain, and cranked up another bucket of water. With that, he slowly rinsed his shirt, his thoughts racing.

The whole situation was no good, no good at all. How could he stand two or three days more in her company, if he let her get to him like this? Why, why ever did she have to be so much like Riana? It was a cruel joke, and the punch line was on him.

He braced himself on the edge of the well, head lowered, and let the rain beat down on him, soaking him once more. The fact that his last dry shirt was getting thoroughly wet was not lost on him, but maybe the rain could cool him down some, help him get things back into focus.

When he started to shiver from the cold, he shook himself, wrung out the shirt and went back inside, dripping wet for the umpteenth time this day.

He really wondered why he bothered putting on dry clothes in between. Well, that was done with anyway. He did not have any left.

He put his washed shirt over the back of the lopsided chair and turned it to the fire, so the shirt would dry more quickly. Then he faced the girl, who... had taken his dagger, and the plate, and was hacking away at the potato with abandon, the pink tip of her tongue between her teeth in concentration.

"What ever are you doing, princess?", he asked, staring at the mutilation of a perfectly good vegetable.

She looked up at him, half hopeful, half afraid. "I... I just wanted to help. Don't you have to cut it...?"

He snorted, fighting the laughter that threatened to rise. She really was so green, it bordered on absurd.

"Cut it, mousie, yes. Hack it into a pulp, no. Unless you want mashed potatoes. And even then you cook them first. And you forgot to peel it before cutting it."

She blinked at him, looking devastated. "Peel it...?", she asked. "Oh. Yes, of course."

She took another potato and said: "I'll peel it!", and before he could stop her, she sliced the dagger deep into the potato, sprouts and all.

He groaned and quickly walked up to her, dropping to his knees behind her, reaching around her and catching her hands.

"Stop, stop, for the gods' sake", he said, part amused, part exasperated. "Let me show you how to do it!"

She tensed a bit, but he ignored it and took the dagger out of her hand, putting it down.

"First, you strip off all those sprouts", he explained. "Fresh potatoes don't have them, but these are old. You just remove them with your thumb, see? Now, take the dagger."

She did as she was told, and he put the potato into her other hand, then taking both her hands into his, guiding her fingers, leaning a bit into her from behind.

His cheek touched her hair, her ear was next to his mouth, and her scent filled his nostrils, while her back pressed against his chest. He could feel his breath quicken as he fought the impulse to slowly trace the rim of her ear with the tip of his tongue.

He closed his eyes for a second, trying to get his bearings, then forced himself to focus on the task. "You hold the potato like this", he explained, and his voice sounded hoarse even in his own ears. "Then you slice the dagger under the skin, trying to cut it off as thinly as possible. You always pull the dagger into the direction of your thumb, so be careful not to slip and cut yourself. Yes, like that."

He guided her hands, holding them in his, fighting the strange, unwelcome thoughts having her this close brought up. Finished with the first potato, he let go of her hands, relieved to be able to draw back slightly.

"Now, try it yourself, mousie. But be careful, our stock on potatoes is somewhat limited, so try not to mangle it too badly."

She giggled, the sound reminding him of the tinkling of a bell, light and gay, and turned around to smile at him, her face just inches from his, her eyes – Riana's eyes – sparkling with laughter.

He felt a bolt of desire race up his body, hot and urgent, making his heart race and his pulse pound in his ears. His breath stuck in his throat as he stared at her, her lips so tantalizingly close, and he just wanted to grab her, throw her onto his blankets, tear that stupid dress off and...

With a foul curse he ripped the dagger from her hands.

"Oh, for the heavens' sake, get lost! I don't have all night, teaching a stupid, spoilt brat the simplest things! Go, sit in your corner, and be useless, like you've been all your life! Just get away from me!"

He jumped up, hurled the mess she had made of the first potato into the fire and stomped to his sleeping roll, letting himself plop down on it and continued to prepare the stew in brooding silence, not sparing her another glance.