Nothing, 1/1
Title: Nothing
Fandom: Robin Hood BBC
Author: jedimastercait
Pairing: Will/Allan
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Robin Hood is property of the BBC...unfortunately.
Warnings: Implied abuse.
Summary: Will knows something's wrong, he just doesn't know what.
Author's Note: Takes place sometime after 2x01.
"You can tell me what's wrong, you know..."
The soft words were uttered quietly in the early morning light, as the fire's embers glowed orange and Much's light snoring dissolved into the coo of the doves.
"Nothing's wrong" was the sleepy reply, muttered through a wide yawn.
Yet Will knew it was a lie, knew that not all was well with the man who lay beside him.
"You were having nightmares," Will tried.
The lean frame of Allan-a-Dale, lying on his side with his back to Will, seemed to shudder involuntarily. "Lots of people have nightmares," came his insistent denial. He did not turn to face Will, did not respond as the young carpenter's arm slithered across his torso and pulled him close.
"Not about Gisbourne," he whispered.
Allan was silent.
Will leaned in closer, until he could smell the strange mixture of forest, smoke, sweat, and musk that belonged only to Allan; until his lips softly grazed his companion's ear lobe.
This time, the outlaw shuddered in pleasure.
"Please," he breathed.
To his pleasure, Allan rolled to face him; to his horror, it was not the Allan he recognized. The bruise on his eye, yellowed with age, was no less noticeable than it had been a week earlier. The darkness of the swollen area, so contrast with his piercing eyes, only succeeded in accentuating the unfamiliar gloom they now held, as a storm of unchecked emotion raged behind clear blue.
His heart clenched. The Allan he knew never allowed his true emotions to show. He hid them underneath layers upon layers of lies, until, somehow he managed to convince all those around him that he was well. His Allan pretended to be strong, even in times of weakness, never betraying the frailty and uncertainty that lay in waiting under his brilliant façade.
This new Allan frightened him, for he could not endure witnessing the man he loved break.
"It's nothing." The third and final lie, implementing their unspoken agreement that Will would not ask a fourth time.
As frustration gripped him, he rolled onto his back, fingers grasping helplessly at his dark hair. Allan was truly too stubborn for his own good at times.
Part of love meant allowing those who loved you to help in times of need. This, Will had learned from observing his parents. But Allan, who had consistently been forced to fend for himself, who had been betrayed by everyone for whom he cared, had never learned what true devotion felt like. Allan was self-supporting, ready to fend for himself once he assumed Will was finished with him, and his heart ached knowing that Allan would never, could never fully trust him, no matter how hard he fought to prove his devotion.
Allan-a-Dale was a wounded soul.
Young Will Scarlett mulled over his thoughts as the world began to slowly awaken and their fellow outlaws began to stir. Suddenly, out of the silence, Allan spoke.
"I'm sorry."
The hesitant softness in which he spoke took the younger man by surprise, as the tender and sorrowful admission sounded unfamiliar from his lips.
Will shook his head, as his eyebrows furrowed in curious confusion. "For what?"
Allan's sad eyes found his own, and for the briefest of moments, Will found himself peering into the depths of a man who was shattering.
"Nothing."
Fandom: Robin Hood BBC
Author: jedimastercait
Pairing: Will/Allan
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Robin Hood is property of the BBC...unfortunately.
Warnings: Implied abuse.
Summary: Will knows something's wrong, he just doesn't know what.
Author's Note: Takes place sometime after 2x01.
"You can tell me what's wrong, you know..."
The soft words were uttered quietly in the early morning light, as the fire's embers glowed orange and Much's light snoring dissolved into the coo of the doves.
"Nothing's wrong" was the sleepy reply, muttered through a wide yawn.
Yet Will knew it was a lie, knew that not all was well with the man who lay beside him.
"You were having nightmares," Will tried.
The lean frame of Allan-a-Dale, lying on his side with his back to Will, seemed to shudder involuntarily. "Lots of people have nightmares," came his insistent denial. He did not turn to face Will, did not respond as the young carpenter's arm slithered across his torso and pulled him close.
"Not about Gisbourne," he whispered.
Allan was silent.
Will leaned in closer, until he could smell the strange mixture of forest, smoke, sweat, and musk that belonged only to Allan; until his lips softly grazed his companion's ear lobe.
This time, the outlaw shuddered in pleasure.
"Please," he breathed.
To his pleasure, Allan rolled to face him; to his horror, it was not the Allan he recognized. The bruise on his eye, yellowed with age, was no less noticeable than it had been a week earlier. The darkness of the swollen area, so contrast with his piercing eyes, only succeeded in accentuating the unfamiliar gloom they now held, as a storm of unchecked emotion raged behind clear blue.
His heart clenched. The Allan he knew never allowed his true emotions to show. He hid them underneath layers upon layers of lies, until, somehow he managed to convince all those around him that he was well. His Allan pretended to be strong, even in times of weakness, never betraying the frailty and uncertainty that lay in waiting under his brilliant façade.
This new Allan frightened him, for he could not endure witnessing the man he loved break.
"It's nothing." The third and final lie, implementing their unspoken agreement that Will would not ask a fourth time.
As frustration gripped him, he rolled onto his back, fingers grasping helplessly at his dark hair. Allan was truly too stubborn for his own good at times.
Part of love meant allowing those who loved you to help in times of need. This, Will had learned from observing his parents. But Allan, who had consistently been forced to fend for himself, who had been betrayed by everyone for whom he cared, had never learned what true devotion felt like. Allan was self-supporting, ready to fend for himself once he assumed Will was finished with him, and his heart ached knowing that Allan would never, could never fully trust him, no matter how hard he fought to prove his devotion.
Allan-a-Dale was a wounded soul.
Young Will Scarlett mulled over his thoughts as the world began to slowly awaken and their fellow outlaws began to stir. Suddenly, out of the silence, Allan spoke.
"I'm sorry."
The hesitant softness in which he spoke took the younger man by surprise, as the tender and sorrowful admission sounded unfamiliar from his lips.
Will shook his head, as his eyebrows furrowed in curious confusion. "For what?"
Allan's sad eyes found his own, and for the briefest of moments, Will found himself peering into the depths of a man who was shattering.
"Nothing."