Denial , Chapter 49: A Question of Doubt
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Summary of previous chapters...
Title: Denial, Ch. 49: A Question of Doubt
Author: wastingyourgum (with much appreciated assistance from robinfanatic )
Characters/Pairings: Guy/Marian, Sheriff Vaizey, Allan/Guy
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst, Hint of Slash
Words: 1543
Disclaimer: BBC & TA own; we just want to play in their universe
Notes: This continues the 'Round-Robin' fic 'Denial'. Takes place between 2x12 and 2x13.
Beta'ed by the undoubtedly wonderful robinfanatic and darkentwisted .
Summary: A series of vignettes during Team Leather's voyage to the Holy Land...
A Question of Doubt
by wastingyourgum
"Don't you trust me?"
Her delicate hands hold up the ugly iron chain as if it's a bracelet of the finest silver and he realises with a shock just how strong those seemingly fragile feminine fingers actually are.
These are the hands of the Nightwatchman - archer and sword fighter - and yet every time he looked at them, imagining them tracing across his skin, he saw only beauty and softness, the hands of a lover and a wife.
"How can I? Though I would prefer not to see you chained like an animal - that is the Sheriff's orders. I swear should anything happen I will release you immediately. If the boat goes down you will not be anchored to it."
He sees her face pale slightly. That thought had obviously not even occurred to her.
"Have you eaten today?"
"Allan promised to bring me something when he returns."
"Good."
"Can you not let me out of here? Just for an hour, Guy, that's all I ask. I haven't seen the sky in weeks."
"We'll land in Cyprus soon. You will have a chance to walk on dry land again."
"I shall look forward to that. I cannot imagine the life these sailors must endure."
"They grow used to the ground under them constantly shifting. They adapt to living off balance. After a while it is the steadiness of dry land that they find difficult."
She decides to shift the ground under his feet a little. "Guy, what are you not telling me?"
"Not telling you?"
"Allan swore he would protect me from the Sheriff--"
"He's not been down here...he's not harmed you--" Now it is his face that drains of colour.
"No, no, not that but I'm worried for Allan. When you are here with me what is to prevent the Sheriff from going after him?"
He's grateful for the long years of keeping his expression carefully neutral. Would she be as concerned about him knowing what he has endured for her - and for him - since they'd left Portsmouth? "Allan is fine. I told you both I would protect you - though I'm not certain I can protect Allan from himself."
She looks puzzled by his cryptic reply but before she has a chance to respond, a sinister voice calls out.
"Gisborne?" Heavy footfalls pound down the stairs into the hold. "Ah, Gisborne, there you are. Visiting your little leper friend again?"
"My Lord." The neutral expression never flickers for an instant despite a sudden fervent desire for that first step to have been missed. A 'tragic' accident would solve so many problems... or an illness - he notes the grey pallor, the halting, hesitant movements. "Are you well, my Lord?"
"Never better, dear boy...Oh my dear Marian, you must learn not to scowl. Your face will be lined with wrinkles before we land in Acre and we cannot have you looking like an old leper, now can we? That would be such a shame." He idly plays with a strand of her hair and she tugs away from him in disgust.
"Of course," he continues, "the sun is much stronger in Palestine. It can burn and dry your pretty little skin so it feels and looks like tough leather. Gisborne and your weasel friend Allan won't find you so attractive then, will they? Though that won't be our problem for long. Where is that boy anyway? I don't think I've seen him since we left Messina."
"He's been eavesdropping on the crew, my Lord. I thought it may be useful."
"Hmm, perhaps. Is our little hell-cat still safely secured?"
She holds up the chain, demonstrating with a sneer what she thinks of being chained like an animal yet again.
"Good," he purrs and holds out his hand for the key. There is a brief awkward silence.
"What's the matter, Gisborne? Don't you trust me?"
"Of course I trust you, my Lord." He hands the key over without so much as a glance back as they both head for the stairs.
"Excellent. My cabin, five minutes."
>>>--------------------->
"Don't you trust me?"
The hard fingers feel like a hawk's talons digging into his shoulders. He's steeled himself over many years not to flinch when the older man touches him so intimately but deep down it still makes his skin crawl.
"Of course I trust you, Gisborne. Would you be here and still breathing if I didn't? No - I just feel I should have the key for Lady Marian to save you from any... temptation. I still have my doubts about that boy of yours, though."
"He can be trusted too, my Lord. If he was going to leave he'd have done so before we left England."
A snort. "He could barely walk - he wasn't going anywhere you didn't carry him. Still, he didn't attempt to jump ship in Messina and he's looking a lot better these days..."
"My Lord, I still think it would be unwise to do anything to him on board ship. He's made several friends amongst the crew and we have nowhere to go should they turn on us."
"Perhaps you're right. I can wait until we reach Acre for any more...fun."
Internally he sighs in relief but to the man standing behind him he may as well be made of stone. "Will there be anything else, my Lord?"
"No, not tonight." The clinging grip is mercifully released. "God knows what was in that stew - couldn't tell when I saw it the first or the second time... I'll see you tomorrow morning, Gisborne."
"Yes, My Lord." Only when the door closes behind him does he finally let go the breath he hadn't even realised he was holding.
>>>--------------------->
"Don't you trust me?"
His long, slender fingers dance around the cups, caressing each with the gentlest of touches.
"Look, I swear - you keep your eye on it, you'll spot it every time. And be fair - I'm not usually doin' this on a table that's swingin' back and forth like a merchant's wife's backside on an 'orse! That's got to make your chances even better, eh?"
The scowling sailor puts down his coin and points to the cup on the left. The ball that wasn't there a moment before suddenly is as the cup is raised.
"Aw - y'see? I dunno why I bother. Bunch of sharp-eyed gents like you, I'm bound to lose... Still - double or quits?"
He's still got it. He'd 'acquired' the cups in Marseilles more for the sake of having something to do and some familiar part of his old life back than any real intention to use them. He'd gone through the well-rehearsed patter in his room alone, satisfying himself that his hands no longer shook like they had at the beginning of the journey two months ago. Once he knew he could still do it the temptation to convert the muscle memory to money had eventually proved too much.
Besides, the crew's quarters were the only place he thought he may be safe while Gisborne was with Marian. If the Sheriff was thwarted in his intentions towards her, he knew where he'd look to next - so really being in company was just good sense and if he wanted to make a few coins at the same time - where's the harm?
He lets them win just enough to keep them interested and after only a very short while a small crowd has gathered. The jokes and banter all come flooding back and he's almost starting to enjoy himself and forget his other cares. This is the bit he's good at, keeping them off balance and their attention misdirected when the odds 'miraculously' turn in his favour and the flow of money subtly tips towards him.
"Haven't you gotten into enough trouble with this game?" His Master's voice. The sailors look up muttering sullenly as their fun is spoiled by the nobleman's interruption, not knowing he's saved them all several hard-earned pennies.
"C'mon, Gis - it's just a bit of harmless fun... Right, lads?"
He gasps as the leather-covered fist grabs the front of his shirt and he is hauled bodily out of the room and slammed back against an upright beam by the stairs leading to the deck.
"You're not in an Inn with a handy back door and a besotted serving wench to hold it open for you! If just one of those men suspected you, you'd be over the side with a very long swim home, you idiot!"
"Yeah, but I'm bored... 'Ere - shouldn't you be with Marian?"
"The Sheriff's dinner disagreed with him - there's no risk of him bothering her tonight. I'm sure he would be happy to find something to alleviate your boredom tomorrow though..." The sudden sickness in his stomach has nothing to do with either his food or the ship's motion. "Or maybe you'd prefer that I gave you something to do tonight?" A lick of the lips, a gleam in the eyes, an invitation.
There is a significant pause.
"What's the matter, Allan? Don't you trust me?" That damned smirk that he can't resist.
"Of course I trust you, Gis - I'm your boy."
"Good. My cabin, five minutes."
>>>--------------------->
On to Chapter 50 and the outlaws have just left Marseilles...
Summary of previous chapters...
Title: Denial, Ch. 49: A Question of Doubt
Author: wastingyourgum (with much appreciated assistance from robinfanatic )
Characters/Pairings: Guy/Marian, Sheriff Vaizey, Allan/Guy
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst, Hint of Slash
Words: 1543
Disclaimer: BBC & TA own; we just want to play in their universe
Notes: This continues the 'Round-Robin' fic 'Denial'. Takes place between 2x12 and 2x13.
Beta'ed by the undoubtedly wonderful robinfanatic and darkentwisted .
Summary: A series of vignettes during Team Leather's voyage to the Holy Land...
A Question of Doubt
by wastingyourgum
"Don't you trust me?"
Her delicate hands hold up the ugly iron chain as if it's a bracelet of the finest silver and he realises with a shock just how strong those seemingly fragile feminine fingers actually are.
These are the hands of the Nightwatchman - archer and sword fighter - and yet every time he looked at them, imagining them tracing across his skin, he saw only beauty and softness, the hands of a lover and a wife.
"How can I? Though I would prefer not to see you chained like an animal - that is the Sheriff's orders. I swear should anything happen I will release you immediately. If the boat goes down you will not be anchored to it."
He sees her face pale slightly. That thought had obviously not even occurred to her.
"Have you eaten today?"
"Allan promised to bring me something when he returns."
"Good."
"Can you not let me out of here? Just for an hour, Guy, that's all I ask. I haven't seen the sky in weeks."
"We'll land in Cyprus soon. You will have a chance to walk on dry land again."
"I shall look forward to that. I cannot imagine the life these sailors must endure."
"They grow used to the ground under them constantly shifting. They adapt to living off balance. After a while it is the steadiness of dry land that they find difficult."
She decides to shift the ground under his feet a little. "Guy, what are you not telling me?"
"Not telling you?"
"Allan swore he would protect me from the Sheriff--"
"He's not been down here...he's not harmed you--" Now it is his face that drains of colour.
"No, no, not that but I'm worried for Allan. When you are here with me what is to prevent the Sheriff from going after him?"
He's grateful for the long years of keeping his expression carefully neutral. Would she be as concerned about him knowing what he has endured for her - and for him - since they'd left Portsmouth? "Allan is fine. I told you both I would protect you - though I'm not certain I can protect Allan from himself."
She looks puzzled by his cryptic reply but before she has a chance to respond, a sinister voice calls out.
"Gisborne?" Heavy footfalls pound down the stairs into the hold. "Ah, Gisborne, there you are. Visiting your little leper friend again?"
"My Lord." The neutral expression never flickers for an instant despite a sudden fervent desire for that first step to have been missed. A 'tragic' accident would solve so many problems... or an illness - he notes the grey pallor, the halting, hesitant movements. "Are you well, my Lord?"
"Never better, dear boy...Oh my dear Marian, you must learn not to scowl. Your face will be lined with wrinkles before we land in Acre and we cannot have you looking like an old leper, now can we? That would be such a shame." He idly plays with a strand of her hair and she tugs away from him in disgust.
"Of course," he continues, "the sun is much stronger in Palestine. It can burn and dry your pretty little skin so it feels and looks like tough leather. Gisborne and your weasel friend Allan won't find you so attractive then, will they? Though that won't be our problem for long. Where is that boy anyway? I don't think I've seen him since we left Messina."
"He's been eavesdropping on the crew, my Lord. I thought it may be useful."
"Hmm, perhaps. Is our little hell-cat still safely secured?"
She holds up the chain, demonstrating with a sneer what she thinks of being chained like an animal yet again.
"Good," he purrs and holds out his hand for the key. There is a brief awkward silence.
"What's the matter, Gisborne? Don't you trust me?"
"Of course I trust you, my Lord." He hands the key over without so much as a glance back as they both head for the stairs.
"Excellent. My cabin, five minutes."
>>>--------------------->
"Don't you trust me?"
The hard fingers feel like a hawk's talons digging into his shoulders. He's steeled himself over many years not to flinch when the older man touches him so intimately but deep down it still makes his skin crawl.
"Of course I trust you, Gisborne. Would you be here and still breathing if I didn't? No - I just feel I should have the key for Lady Marian to save you from any... temptation. I still have my doubts about that boy of yours, though."
"He can be trusted too, my Lord. If he was going to leave he'd have done so before we left England."
A snort. "He could barely walk - he wasn't going anywhere you didn't carry him. Still, he didn't attempt to jump ship in Messina and he's looking a lot better these days..."
"My Lord, I still think it would be unwise to do anything to him on board ship. He's made several friends amongst the crew and we have nowhere to go should they turn on us."
"Perhaps you're right. I can wait until we reach Acre for any more...fun."
Internally he sighs in relief but to the man standing behind him he may as well be made of stone. "Will there be anything else, my Lord?"
"No, not tonight." The clinging grip is mercifully released. "God knows what was in that stew - couldn't tell when I saw it the first or the second time... I'll see you tomorrow morning, Gisborne."
"Yes, My Lord." Only when the door closes behind him does he finally let go the breath he hadn't even realised he was holding.
>>>--------------------->
"Don't you trust me?"
His long, slender fingers dance around the cups, caressing each with the gentlest of touches.
"Look, I swear - you keep your eye on it, you'll spot it every time. And be fair - I'm not usually doin' this on a table that's swingin' back and forth like a merchant's wife's backside on an 'orse! That's got to make your chances even better, eh?"
The scowling sailor puts down his coin and points to the cup on the left. The ball that wasn't there a moment before suddenly is as the cup is raised.
"Aw - y'see? I dunno why I bother. Bunch of sharp-eyed gents like you, I'm bound to lose... Still - double or quits?"
He's still got it. He'd 'acquired' the cups in Marseilles more for the sake of having something to do and some familiar part of his old life back than any real intention to use them. He'd gone through the well-rehearsed patter in his room alone, satisfying himself that his hands no longer shook like they had at the beginning of the journey two months ago. Once he knew he could still do it the temptation to convert the muscle memory to money had eventually proved too much.
Besides, the crew's quarters were the only place he thought he may be safe while Gisborne was with Marian. If the Sheriff was thwarted in his intentions towards her, he knew where he'd look to next - so really being in company was just good sense and if he wanted to make a few coins at the same time - where's the harm?
He lets them win just enough to keep them interested and after only a very short while a small crowd has gathered. The jokes and banter all come flooding back and he's almost starting to enjoy himself and forget his other cares. This is the bit he's good at, keeping them off balance and their attention misdirected when the odds 'miraculously' turn in his favour and the flow of money subtly tips towards him.
"Haven't you gotten into enough trouble with this game?" His Master's voice. The sailors look up muttering sullenly as their fun is spoiled by the nobleman's interruption, not knowing he's saved them all several hard-earned pennies.
"C'mon, Gis - it's just a bit of harmless fun... Right, lads?"
He gasps as the leather-covered fist grabs the front of his shirt and he is hauled bodily out of the room and slammed back against an upright beam by the stairs leading to the deck.
"You're not in an Inn with a handy back door and a besotted serving wench to hold it open for you! If just one of those men suspected you, you'd be over the side with a very long swim home, you idiot!"
"Yeah, but I'm bored... 'Ere - shouldn't you be with Marian?"
"The Sheriff's dinner disagreed with him - there's no risk of him bothering her tonight. I'm sure he would be happy to find something to alleviate your boredom tomorrow though..." The sudden sickness in his stomach has nothing to do with either his food or the ship's motion. "Or maybe you'd prefer that I gave you something to do tonight?" A lick of the lips, a gleam in the eyes, an invitation.
There is a significant pause.
"What's the matter, Allan? Don't you trust me?" That damned smirk that he can't resist.
"Of course I trust you, Gis - I'm your boy."
"Good. My cabin, five minutes."
>>>--------------------->
On to Chapter 50 and the outlaws have just left Marseilles...