There's some nauseating cuteness ahead in this chapter. You might want to check your socks! Thanks to this irritating little story flaw—the plot—the story also turns a little bittersweet here. I think it's a little bit redundant by now to point out that this story's gotten a bit out of control, and to swear that I never meant for the story to get this long. It was just supposed to be a one- or two-shot with some dirty fluff in it, and it turned into a proper fully-chaptered story. Anyway—enjoy the chapter, and happy Halloween to those of you who celebrate it. (My philosophy is that you're never too old for funny costumes and free candy.)

Disclaimer: The disclaimer hasn't changed. I don't own the characters I'm using. If you'd like to pretend I do, though, I won't object.

0…0…0…0…0

o…o

He'd never seen a house as big as this one before. Djaq wasn't lying when she warned them that her adoptive uncle was a very wealthy man. All of the houses in this city were huge and ornate, more than anything he had ever seen before in England. Bassam's estate—it really was an estate, many floors high and sprawling and massive, laid out on a courtyard with elaborate gardens—was bigger and grander than Locksley Manor or even the castle at Nottingham.

The whole house was open, even indoors. Since it was the middle of November and still reasonably warm—not the bitter, rainy cold he'd become accustomed to in England—he imagined that the winters here were mild at worst, and so there was no need for thick, insulating walls to heat the house. There were open archways leading from room to room, instead of doors, often open or separated from other rooms by little more than a curtain, and the roof was slightly domed. It made the house look almost bigger on the inside than it was on the outside.

There were fountains indoors as well as in the courtyard, masterfully carved stone lion's heads trickling water into artificial square ponds or basins at will. It seemed almost like magic.

The very furniture in the house was of higher quality than anything he would ever have expected to see in his entire life. The woodcarvers and carpenters and artisans in Acre must have been the most skilled artisans anywhere in the whole world. It made him feel like a clumsy, bumbling novice.

Will looked with an awed expression around the house, at the carved wooden window screens and the expensive silks draped everywhere. This was where Djaq lived, where she grew up. Wealth and privilege were at her fingertips. She had servants! It was astounding that she would have given this life of leisure up, willingly, and left it all behind. She must have known when she disguised herself as her brother, and when she was taken slave and taken away from her homeland, that she would never live this life again. It was only a rather unfortunate twist of fate that they found themselves here now. But she chose to stay in England with a bunch of dirty outlawed men that she hardly knew, living in a dirty forest and doing dirty work. Once she was free, there was nothing to stop her from leaving and coming back to this, but she didn't.

He was looking up at the ceiling as he absently walked around—there were decorations and carvings and funny markings on the ceiling in this place, like they couldn't find anywhere else to put it—in absolute astonishment. Even though he knew, in his heart, that Djaq loved him completely, there was still a tiny little niggling part of his mind that doubted if he was truly worthy of this woman. Especially considering her upbringing; what could he, a simple and poor carpenter who couldn't even write his own name, offer to this woman who seemingly had everything?

Himself, a little voice in the back of his head answered the question. She loved him, she wanted him. She made that abundantly clear, and he could never doubt her. Perhaps, though, he thought, this was why she seldom offered up details about her past—she might have feared that the knowledge of this wealth would intimidate them, and in particular him. This world was so startlingly different from the one that he grew up in.

Suddenly, he felt himself stumble mightily, flailing around like a drunken acrobat and trying to catch himself as he tripped over a low foot stool and tumbled gracelessly to the ground. A timid-looking veiled servant girl in the corner of the room lifted her hand and covered her mouth, suppressing her quiet laughter but still looking at him with big, wide black eyes, as if she wasn't completely sure what to make of him.

"Are you all right?"

The familiar voice made him look up into Djaq's grinning face. She didn't look at all concerned that he'd just fallen down.

"Fine," he said quickly, pulling himself onto his feet. She offered her hand and helped him up. "I didn't see it."

She turned over her shoulder and addressed the still-giggling servant girl in the corner, speaking in rapid Arabic. The girl nodded quickly and scurried from the room like a frightened mouse on her little cloth slippers in a flutter of colourful fabrics and drapes and shawls. He was used to seeing her order people around—except for Robin, she was the best natural leader in their group—but it felt different seeing her give orders to a servant.

"I hope you didn't yell at her," he said.

"Of course not. Why would I do that?"

"She was laughing."

"So was I."

"Ah."

Pause.

"You were staring at the ceiling."

"It's the first time I've ever seen a place with artwork on the ceilings."

She looked up, causing the hood made of her shawl to fall from her head. "Oh, that. It is calligraphy."

"Is it?" He looked back up again. Even though he couldn't read, he did recognize a few letters, and these didn't look like any he'd ever seen before. "Doesn't look like any words I've ever seen."

"Arabic writing is different from English."

"What's it say?"

She squinted. "The names of family members, ancestors. Hasim, Maram, Aamina, Laila. Bassam, Faridah, Jibril…" she trailed off and frowned.

"What?"

"That one is new," she said softly, pointing up directly over their heads. He looked but he couldn't pinpoint the mark she meant. They were all completely alien to him, swirls and lines and funny shapes that certainly looked pretty but that didn't mean anything to him.

"Which one?"

"That one, at the edge there."

"What is it?"

"It says… Safiyyah."

Pause.

"Your name," he said softly. "Your real name."

She didn't say anything. Her expression was unreadable and her eyes were wide. Clearly, this change meant something significant to her, but he couldn't begin to guess what and he felt that the time probably wasn't appropriate to ask.

She stared at that ceiling for a long time, so long that he wondered if she hadn't forgotten about him.

Then she shook her head quickly and she smiled gently at him.

"Come with me," she said, taking his hand. "There is something I want to show you."

He followed her obediently, like a puppy following his master. Before they arrived in Acre—before they snuck into the city, was more like it; it was harder getting into this heavily-guarded city than the Sherriff's castle in Nottingham—he wasn't completely sure what she would or wouldn't do around her uncle. He'd almost expected her to be a little less openly affectionate towards him now that they were on land and among her countrymen—particularly in front of her uncle, who practically brought her up. But she didn't seem to care, and disregarded the stares from onlookers at their joined hands and lovestruck smiles.

He quite liked it. There was a certain swell of pride in him, knowing that anybody who looked would see them close and joined like this and know that she was his, that this beautiful woman had chosen him.

She led him now through a labyrinth of rooms and hallways with the ease of practice, ending up in another open room, this one very simple and undecorated, with a fountain and little perches and bird baths. The trickling water echoed in the quiet room and the long rectangular 'pond' threw the half-light of evening around in little ripples. All along one of the walls, there were niches cut into the stone and covered by wire cage doors. In each one was a little white or gray pigeon.

He turned to her and grinned. "Pigeons. I remember you talking about them."

"The aviary," she said, absently reaching in between the little wire door and stroking a bird on the back through the cage. "I used to come here whenever I wanted to be alone. Sometimes I would talk to them—I liked to pretend they could understand me." She had a little half-smile on her face.

The idea of Djaq talking to birds seemed so at odds with the woman he knew. It was almost childlike and sweetly innocent.

He knelt and reached for one of the cages, cautiously petting the little white bird with his fingers; it looked back at him with those little glossy black eyes, cocking its head to the side and crooning softly as if he was some kind of curiosity. When he put his hand down, the bird jumped into his palm as if this was the most natural thing in the world. It sat there, gently cooing and looking at him; he stroked the soft feathers gently as he held it.

He saw her stand next to him, smiling down at him, and he couldn't help but return it with one of his own as he placed the pigeon back into the little cubby hole and closed the hatch.

"When I was a little girl, I loved these birds," she explained to him as they walked slowly through the aviary side-by-side. "I thought, when I grew up, I would live here and train them—the closest I would ever get to flight."

She looked off dreamily into the distance through one of the high windows; just then, with the orange glow of late evening on her face, she was unearthly beautiful. No other woman in the world could approach her, ever.

"Do you understand?" She asked, turning to him with those big black-gem eyes.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, I do, actually."

They both smiled then, wide and understanding. Bassam was watching them carefully from the edge of the aviary, but Will neither noticed nor cared.

Their isolated little bubble was deflated as they walked up the little step into the dining room where the rest of the gang sat on cushions around a low table, bowls and plates piled with food for the house guests. He still found it somewhat surprising that this man would go through this sort of trouble or hospitality for total strangers—Europeans, too. He truly was a gracious man. They would owe him, and Djaq, for this kindness.

The rest of the gang was taking advantage of the food present to eat their fill, before they were to go off in search of the King and not have another opportunity like this for some time. Robin was speaking with Bassam, about the urgency of the mission that lay ahead of them and their need for his help. She spoke on their behalf, telling her uncle that their mission was indeed one of peace and that they wanted to meet the English King to convince him to stop fighting and come back.

But for the most part, he didn't hear any of her words; instead, he sat quietly at his seat, staring across the table at the woman he so dearly loved. She was the only person in his line of sight. Everybody else was a blur on the fringes of his awareness.

Servants were sent scurrying all over the house during the early evening, setting up quarters and beds for the onslaught of new guests. Even this grand house didn't have enough spare bedrooms for all six of them to have their own rooms. Only Djaq was guaranteed her own, and that was merely because she was a woman and couldn't be expected to share a room with a man.

She must not have thought it appropriate to point out to her uncle that she did just that all the time in the forest.

Sleeping arrangements were decided amongst themselves. Much and Robin and John would have one room; nobody except for Djaq and Will had forgiven Allan enough to decide that either of them would be willing to share a room with him, so Will decided to take the room with him. Djaq's room was on the floor above her friend's rooms, in the bedchamber she'd occupied when she was younger and still lived in this house, all by herself at night for the first time in years.

"It feels strange," she confessed to Will as they sat together in the aviary as the rest of their friends were in the various other quarters of the house, occupying the time between supper and bed in their own ways.

"How so?" He asked, looking up from the russet-red and white pigeon she placed in his cupped hands.

"I have not slept alone in a very long time. It will feel… lonely."

"I don't suppose your uncle has any unused cupboards somewhere in this house, does he?" He teased. Djaq laughed.

"Oh, I remember there being little hiding places all over the place—but I doubt that I would be small enough to fit into any of them now, let alone for two of us to fit. It was much easier to hide in this house when I was eight."

He sighed and shook his head. He looked a little disappointed, and, really, so was she. She'd have liked to have spent the night with him—whether or not they did anything, she just wanted to sleep with him. Having grown used to sleeping all night with him, nestled together in their blankets, over the past few weeks on board the ship, she didn't think it would be easy to transition back to sleeping on her own.

The thought of sleeping by herself, away from the rest of the gang and separated by an entire floor, was almost scary. Like a child afraid of the dark. She was so used to them being there, for there to be other people sleeping peacefully and breathing evenly around her. Sleeping alone would feel… eerie. She didn't want to, but she knew that her uncle would never hear of her sleeping in a room with men, and there was no way she could innocuously sneak into Will's bed or for him to sneak into hers. Not in Bassam's house. Not with the servants who worked for him breathing down her neck; these people had known her for a long time and knew all of her tricks. She would be able to sneak nothing by them.

But she still didn't want to sleep alone, especially not tonight. They all knew how dangerous the days ahead of them would be; their mission began tomorrow morning at first light, when they would be taken to King Richard's encampment in the desert. With the knowledge of the possibility that any of them could be killed any time after morning, she wanted to spend tonight with him.

He was silent, probably caught up in his own thoughts. She took the pigeon from him and put her back into her roost for the night; as she did so, he stood behind her and placed a hand on the nape of her neck, standing close to her and breathing her scent with his lips against her hair.

From one of the aviary's doorways, a woman cleared her throat. They sprang apart quickly. The middle-aged servant woman covered her small smile with the back of her hand before she spoke.

"Safiyyah," she said. "All six beds are all arranged for the night. I think it's best you all get a good night's sleep tonight."

"Of course," she answered in her native tongue. Will frowned in confusion, not understanding a thing that was being said. "She says that all the beds are made, and we should get some sleep."

"We have a bedtime? We can't stay here for a while?"

"You cannot argue with Ayla," she told him. "She is very stubborn."

"Like another woman I know."

She bit her lower lip a little bit. "Ayla, we'd like a few more minutes, if you don't mind."

"What're you saying?" Will asked, looking piteously lost.

"I asked if we might have a few more minutes of privacy," she said. "I do not want to go yet—do you?"

"No."

The woman shook her head. "No, Safiyyah. You've a long day ahead of you. Both of you shall need as much rest as you can get."

Djaq sighed. "But—"

"Safiyyah," Ayla said gently, coming to rest a weathered hand on her shoulder. Then she smiled, a wide, cheeky, toothy smile that the younger woman had never associated with anything good when it came from Ayla. "I said that six beds were made. Six beds do not have to be occupied."

Her eyebrows rose slowly in surprise at the realization of what the woman had said.

"I expect you both to be in bed in ten minutes," she finished. "Goodnight, Safiyyah." She switched to halting, broken English. "Have a sleep well, Englishman."

And with that she left the aviary.

"Why are you smiling?" Will asked suspiciously.

She was giggling as she repeated Ayla's words to him in English, keeping her voice low. Then she stood on her toes and pecked him on the lips before trotting out of the aviary and making her way up the winding flights of stairs to her bedroom for the night.

Even with Ayla's words and Will's newfound brazenness, she very much doubted that he would actually traverse the dark and unfamiliar house in the middle of the night in order to sneak into her bed. He was still too shy for that, too self-conscious, and mostly likely scared of being caught by Bassam and horribly lambasted for it. But perhaps planting the idea in his mind would be enough to make him consider it.

But she desperately didn't want to be by herself tonight.

She fell into bed, finding the feathery mattress to be far too soft after being used to sleeping on the ground in the forest for such a long time. It had been many, many years since she'd been in this room—the delicate, gauzy drapes, the silk sheets, the soft pillows and the expensive room décor all looked alien to her.

The room was eerily empty. She half-expected to be able to move through the dark and encounter the sleeping bodies of her comrades, but she knew they were all in other rooms and away from her.

It was warm, as well—too warm. Not hot, but still not what she'd grown accustomed to. She was used to the forest nights during this time of year being very cold, not like it was here in Acre. She'd long forgotten how this felt, and it wasn't comfortable.

Sleep did not come easy; she lay back in the bed, staring at the silky canopy above her bed and the ceiling overhead. The wooden window screens cast X-shaped shadows across the room. She had no idea how long she lay there, staring at the door and waiting for it to open and reveal her lover come to see her, but it must have been a long time and eventually she accepted that she would be spending the night by herself. Will probably couldn't get away from Allan, and she could hardly sneak through the house and go to his room.

She didn't much like this, but there was little she could do about it.

She was just beginning to doze off into that hazy pre-sleep when a sound outside the window surprised her into fully alert wakefulness. She sat up in bed, straining to hear through the still air. It sounded like there was somebody outside. Instinct took over and she immediately thought the worst—that somebody was trying to break into the house and hurt somebody or steal their things. The fact that she was three floors up and that a potential thief would have to be an idiot to try to break into the house at this level didn't occur to her as she grabbed the closest improvised weapon she could lay her hands on—a brass bedside taper cradle—and took up her position by the window in wait.

The figure outside was silhouetted against the light of the moon and obscured behind the latticed window screen. She couldn't see him—she was sure it was a man—in any detail, but he couldn't see her from this angle, either. As soon as the window was opened, a tall, lanky figure slipped carefully through and planted his feet quietly on the floor.

She was just about ready to bash the intruder, whoever he was, on the head with her weapon and thrash him soundly for intruding on her uncle's home when he turned, and his face caught the light, and she saw—

"Will!" She gasped, dropping the taper cradle to the floor with an almighty clatter.

The young man put his hands up defensively, hopping back to get out of her reach lest she decide that she was actually going to hit him.

"I'm sorry!" He apologized in a whisper-yell. "Please don't hit me!"

"You climbed up the wall?" She asked, walking over behind him to stick her head out the open window and looking down the sheer side of the building to the open window of the floor below. It was at least ten feet to the windows of the next level; the only thing he could have possibly gained a foothold on was the shallow little stone lattice up the side of the house. If he'd fallen…

"I didn't know if I'd be able to find your room the normal way," he confessed sheepishly, looking down and blushing pink. "It's a big house and I thought I'd get lost. But I knew you were right above me."

A short little giggle came from her lips and she closed the distance between them, fastening her arms around his waist. Her uncle had provided her—provided all of them—with sleeping attire for the night: plain, long, loose tunics of undyed linen. The thin material was much more comfortable in the warm evening air, not to mention how nice it felt to wear something clean for the first time in goodness knew how long. But Will hadn't put his on, and was still dressed as he had been, in his shirt and tunic and trousers and boots with his cape hanging down over his thin shoulders all the way to the floor. The wool felt comforting and familiar against her cheek as she rested against his chest.

"Have you come to keep me company?" She murmured.

He nodded. "I don't like sleeping without you. I've… I've gotten used to it. I dunno if I could sleep without you again."

She felt her eyes go a little wider upon hearing him say that. How could she be expected to sleep by herself ever again after having grown used to his warmth at her back and his strong arms around her waist and his face buried in her neck?

"That sounds awful, doesn't it?"

"No," she assured him gently, rubbing her cheek against his clothing. "I feel the same way. I think it is sweet."

She pulled him by the sides of his cloak as she backed up towards the edge of the bed where she then sat down, sinking low into the soft mattress. He sat next to her, his body angled to face her; he took both of her hands in his and set them on the bed between them. His pale face was half-lighted by the dim blue-white light of the nearly full moon outside; she leaned forward and pressed a gentle little kiss on his lips. He responded quickly, deepening the kiss and leaning into her.

Inch by inch, she closed the distance between them until she was nearly sitting in his lap. Her hands moved up to clasp his shoulders; his were on her neck and around the top of her back, pulling her close to him. The kisses intensified a little bit, the movement of their mouths on one another growing quicker and harder. She kissed his cheeks and along the line of his jaw, feeling coarse beard stubble on her lips as she went.

She couldn't get enough of him. It just wasn't possible.

As she lay back in the bed, she pulled him down with her by the shoulders until he was holding himself up over her. He kept one hand on her and used the other to pull the cloak ties free and discard the garment, and kicked off his boots quickly. He shifted above her and moved to lie down on his side, supporting himself up on one elbow and using his other arm to pull her closer to him.

They were comfily tangled together, pulling the sheets up around them as they settled into bed side-by-side. His heartbeat was comfortingly rhythmic, his breathing slow and deep and stirring her hair ever so gently. The smells of the forest were long faded from his old, well-loved clothes, the only scent remaining being that of the oily wool itself, familiar and earthy and characteristically English.

She snuggled into his chest and rubbed her cheek against his clothed shoulder. One arm was draped over her side and his hand brought up around her back to gently clasp the ball of her shoulder. His clothing was rough on her cheek, on her partially-bared arms and on her legs, and through the thin fabric of her borrowed tunic; even with his cloak gone there was just too much between them, she decided, and she began to pull at the collar of his shirt and tunic with desperate grasps. She felt overcome with the sudden need to feel as close to him as possible, to press herself to him as quickly and as thoroughly as she could. Tomorrow's plans weighed heavily on her mind; the thought had been in the back of her mind all through dinner, all through the night, and in truth ever since they'd made landfall in Acre. And she was more and more desperate to enjoy Will as much as she could now that their time together could be drawing to a close. She just wanted to be close to him, to touch him. She didn't particularly care to do anything more physical than hold onto him and feel his bare body on hers.

It seemed that Will understood her wordless request in pulling on his clothes so wantonly; he kissed her briefly, then sat up and swiftly pulled his shirt and tunic off over his head all at once, letting them slide off the bed and onto the floor in a dark heap on the cool stone tiles. That done, he leaned forward, backing her into the soft bedding and devouring her lips with sweet, hot, knee-weakening kisses. She returned them with fervour, going completely boneless beneath him.

But she still wasn't completely satisfied. She wanted more of him, all of him. So she started to pull on his trousers, begging him silently to remove them. He did so eagerly, obeying her without a second thought. In any normal situation, she might have found it amusingly odd that Will Scarlett—always so tough and resilient and so very wilful—was complying submissively with her wordless demands without any second thoughts. It seemed so different than the personality of the man she'd grown to know and love over the years—not inherently bad or wrong. Just… strangely at odds.

But this wasn't a normal situation, and she didn't want to waste this night by giggling and spoiling it.

He reached down her body in gentled caresses, sliding one hand up her leg under the fabric of her sleeping tunic. She grabbed his hand and pulled it away before he got any higher than her thigh and pushed him back ever so slightly with her other hand flattened on his chest. He snatched his hand away from her quickly and frowned; his eyes were a little glazed as he looked at her, looking both confused and worried.

The poor boy—he was still frightened of disappointing her and of doing something wrong, even after all this time. She moved the hand up his neck and to his cheek, cupping it gently in her hand. She'd probably confused him as to what, exactly, she wanted.

"What did I—?"

She fidgeted under him, trying to think of how to say this. "I just want to… be close to you. Hold you. It would be more than inappropriate for us to do anything more here, in his house. Is that all right?"

He smiled gently, relieved. He bent low and nuzzled her cheek.

"I don't mind at all," he said. "I'd like that." He lipped her neck and wound his arms around her shoulders.

"Wait."

She slipped out from under him and sat up as she began to hike her tunic up, pulling it out from beneath herself. He gave her a lopsided little grin and reached down to follow the line of her clothing all the way down to the bottom of the bunched-up garment around her hips. He pushed it up her body slowly, his broad hands ghosting oh-so-softly over her skin as he went along. She lifted her arms to let him strip her nightclothes off over her head, leaving her naked before him once again.

They had done this countless times in the last weeks—there was absolutely nothing else to do on the ship—but every time he looked on her, that look of reverent awe came back across his face, as if he was always left in wonder at her. The way he looked at her, the passionate look in his face as his expressively beautiful green eyes studied every inch of her bare body, made her feel, perhaps for the first time in her life, like she was something truly, genuinely beautiful.

With nothing left between them, there was skin on skin again, and it was thrilling and wonderful. She pulled him back to her and kissed him again. He kissed her back, sweetly, gentle little pecks on her lips as they snuggled down once again together; he hugged her snugly back against him, her bare back pressed against his bare chest, holding her close.

With every passing moment, the frightening thoughts of tomorrow—of the possibility of certain doom and the difficult mission that awaited them—drifted further and further from her mind, until all that she was aware of was Will, solid and steady at her back, his hold comfortable and secure around her, his breath warm in her ear and against her cheek.

o…o

The direct eastern exposure of her old room was helpful during the summer months, when the room was cool and shaded during the hottest hours of the day, but Djaq remembered vividly why she didn't like it when the blazing orange light of sunrise came in through the window covers and woke her quite jarringly from her sound sleep. She squinted in the blinding light, bringing one very sluggish arm up to shade her eyes with her hand.

It was early. During the lazy weeks on the ship, they hadn't had any reason to wake up in a timely fashion, so they'd grown a bit spoiled by sleeping as late as they pleased. Even when they were in the forest, Robin never insisted they wake at dawn. The rude awakening of bright light in her face was almost enough to make her cranky.

Almost.

Will was still behind her, hugging her in his sleep with his face buried in the side of her neck and a leg over her hip—it was like he wanted to absorb her into his body with his hold. She couldn't be anything but happily content with him there.

She stayed put, not wanting to disturb him by getting up and moving about. She probably couldn't have loosened his grip on her waist and shoulders without a pry bar, anyway. Not that she wanted to move.

She dozed off and on for a while, her head burrowed in the sheets to ward off the painfully bright light from the window.

His hand tightened on her shoulder and he clutched her closer to him, but she didn't realize that he was awake until she felt him kiss her neck. She turned in his hold and snuggling into his chest and nuzzling the base of his throat; he kissed the top of her head, lips lingering in her dark hair.

"Morning," she whispered.

"That light is almost painful," he groaned softly.

"I know."

Pause.

"Do we have to get up yet?"

"I do not think so."

"Good," he said. He reached behind them and pulled one of the pillows from the head of the bed and propping it up behind her to block the sunlight. "I like this. I'm too comfy to want to go anywhere yet."

"Me too."

"We will have to wake up eventually, though, since…"

He trailed off, not wanting to finish that thought. She knew what he meant and nodded into his chest. Time was ticking slowly through her fingers—soon, they would be forcibly dragged from their little world and dropped into their mission to the Crusader's camp, to rescue the English King and then find Marian and deal with Gisbourne and defeat the Sherriff and…

It was mind-boggling. Part of her—a small but increasingly hard to ignore part—wondered if this was at all possible to accomplish. Certainly they had a lot to do, and they were used to doing a lot of things at once, but so much of their plans hinged on some rather shaky things. That the King trusted Robin; that Gisbourne and the Sherriff, who knew of Marian's secret double-life as the Night Watchman, wouldn't harm her; that the six of them would be able to defend themselves against Saracens and Crusaders alike. The more she thought about it, the more frightening it became.

"Djaq?"

"Hm?"

"I've been… thinking."

She leaned back to look into his face and frowned when she saw the worried look in his eyes. "What of?"

"Today—everything that needs to be done—it's so dangerous."

"I know that. You do not need to remind me."

"And I thought that, maybe…" He fidgeted.

"What?"

"You should stay here."

She sat up abruptly and pushed away from him. "What?"

"You'll be safer here than if you came with us to the King's camp."

"I cannot believe I am hearing this!"

"Please," he begged. "Let me speak."

She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for him to try and explain his way out of this mess.

"I saw how those Crusaders looked at you! Like you were some kind of an animal." He frowned and absently gripped the sheets bunched under their bodies. "These are people who would think nothing of running you through for no other reason than because you're Saracen—people who kill others every day for just that reason!"

"I know that," she spat venomously. "I knew before we came here how much danger I would be in. Robin gave us all the opportunity to leave if we did not want to do this. But I came, and I accept the fact that I could die fighting this fight."

"But if something happened to you—"

She cut him off.

"If something happened to me?" She hissed, her face growing hot and pink with her suppressed anger. "Do you think I would not be devastated if something happened to you? There is just as much chance that you could be killed as there is me!"

"This is your home."

"No. It was, once, a long time ago, but not anymore—and I am not the same girl who lived here all those years ago. My life and my home are where I decide that they are, and I have decided that they are in England."

He didn't say anything. He was just staring at her, his eyes so very intense, as if he was trying to take in everything and imprint her into his memory forever. It made her feel fluttery despite her anger at him. She drew her knees up and hugged them tightly to her chest, returning his intense stare with one of her own.

He finally spoke. "I couldn't live with myself if you were hurt, or worse, when I know you could be kept safe here. I love you," he punctuated the words by kissing her shoulder softly. "If I didn't do everything I could to keep you safe…"

"You do not think I feel the same way?" She asked again, gently this time. "I love you, too, Will. I do not want anything to happen to you either—it would destroy me!" She wiped her hand over her cheek. "It would destroy me…" she whispered.

He reached up and stroked her hair from he forehead.

"I understand how you feel—more than you realize."

"I know you do," he sighed. "I just… I wish…" he trailed off.

"What if this were turned around?" She continued. "What if I took away your axe and made you stay here and told you that I love you too much to let you fight for what you believe in? Made you watch at the door while the rest of us went off to fight?"

"Won't you even consider it?"

"I wish I could say that I would, but… I cannot. That would be a downright lie. This is my fight, too. It is not fair to me to try to stop me from doing this. It is my decision. My choice—I made it myself. Please do not try to force me not to fight."

"Djaq…"

"I know what the danger is. As do you."

"Yes."

"This is not the first time we have faced the possibility of death, and certainly it will not be the last. You cannot let this—let us—change the way we have always done things. Over-protectiveness does not suit you."

"Is there no way—"

"No. Please stop asking. We are going—both of us—together. If we are going to die today, I should like to go down fighting by your side."

"There's no convincing you."

"Absolutely not. Is it so hard for you to let me make this decision for myself?"

He looked down into his lap bashfully. He was silent as the seconds slipped by, as if he was debating whether or not to answer this. "Yes," he admitted, the whispered word barely audible.

His overzealous protectiveness should have irritated her—she hated being smothered and restrained and prevented from making her own decisions. But she couldn't fault him for it, though; she knew exactly how he felt. She hadn't said it, but she desperately wished that he would stay behind at Bassam's house, so that she could be reasonably assured that he was safe.

The fear that death would separate them was intense and real and almost suffocating. Death would part them forever—whether only one of them died or they were both killed. Her Paradise was a different place than his Heaven. Eternity was a long time to be without him, watching him from Paradise without ever being with him.

She shivered. She hated the feeling of certain doom that settled over her.

"I would apologize," she said gently, placing her cupped hand on his pink and sunburned cheek. "But there is nothing to apologize for. This is my choice to make—not yours."

"I know," he murmured. "I'm sorry for pressing it."

"I do not blame you. But you should know better than to try to keep me from the fight that I have chosen."

"Stubborn," he growled gently, affectionately, in her ear.

"Would you have me any other way?"

"Never," he said. Then he looped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her back down with him as he lay back in the bed. "Could we stay here for a while, then?"

She snuggled up to him, her anger dissolved. It was impossible to stay cross with Will. "Of course," she whispered. "We should stay here as long as we can."

o…o

0…0…0…0…0

The story has gone from being a sweetly fluffy tale of Djaq and Will to a rather bittersweet and foreboding thing. So much for melting your socks. I've actually finished writing the story by now (this isn't the last chapter, there are still a few left!), which is also a little bit bittersweet. Granted this story is nowhere near as long as 'Home Fires' was, it still makes me a little sad to see the story coming to a close. I hope you've all enjoyed the read. Until next week then—please drop a note if you feel so inclined. All feedback is appreciated, like always, but never demanded.