This fluffy little one-shot is a (very late!) birthday gift for the lovely Harlett—because turning 21 is a big deal, and because she's been really busy lately, and because she is "TEH AWESOME"!

Disclaimer: Don't own. Not profiting. Etc…

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Night had fallen, calm and cool. Outside, the sky was clear and full of stars, but for the occasional patchy cloud floating idly by. The world around her was dead silent—no people talking, or the noises of animals, no sounds of breathing but for her own. There was none of John's snoring, or Much's shifting in his sleep, or Allan's quiet sleep-mumblings to girls that weren't there. She stared at the gauzy cloth overhang above her head and surrounding her—a delicate canopy to keep the biting nighttime bugs out, instead of stars or the fluffy contours of trees, or the leafy net that disguised their forest camp; it was even an unusual feeling to be sleeping indoors.

And all alone.

Djaq sighed uncomfortably, and rolled over to find a more comfortable position. She was tired, and wanted to sleep, but her body was simply not having it. The mattress was too soft, the bedding too luxurious for her, after being used to sleeping on coarse blankets and itchy, greasy wool cloaks and mattresses stuffed with scratchy straw, through which there was always one particularly sharp bit poking into her back or her bottom or her thigh.

Sleepless nights weren't a completely new experience for her, though. Worry often kept her awake in the forest—thinking about the next day's plan to trick the Sherriff, worrying if they had enough food to feed the poor as well as themselves and knowing that they would all rather go hungry than suffer the poor to more misery. Worry whether or not Will was getting enough to eat or if he was deciding, once again, to go without for the sake of his friends. Worry about Allan, their fallen comrade, and worry about Marian and her recklessness. And some nights, after a run-in with the guards or an unusually strenuous day of being Robin Hood, she would simply be too exhausted to find sleep.

Except that on those nights, somebody else would often be awake with her. Some company while she waited for sleep—or for dawn, whichever came first. Usually the company was Will, quiet and watching her carefully from across the leafy ground. She remembered the chills she used to feel, the little sparks going up the back of her neck when she knew he was looking at her, even if she was turned away. Her chest always felt funny around him, fluttery and constricted and her hands always fairly itched to touch him, to stroke his hair or clutch his hand. Now she knew, of course, what all of those things meant—but back then, an outlaw living in the forest of a strange country and having worked so hard to establish her gender ambiguity, it was difficult for her to place those feelings.

Those odd reactions were just her heart's way of telling her that she loved him, her quiet companion. And she had the suspicion that he knew, or suspected, long before she told him that night in the barn. Will was just like that—he could strip a person bare of their deepest secrets with one sweep of those piercing green eyes. But he kept this knowledge, if he did indeed have it, to himself. He let her say it first. She had wondered, once or twice, if he might not have said anything himself if she hadn't confessed her love for him that night. When his turn came up, would he have said anything about her? She honestly had no idea.

The mattress turned uncomfortable again, and again she turned over, but it hardly helped. She kicked the sheets from her body in frustration and sat up. She couldn't get comfortable. Her back hurt from to too-soft bed, she was sweating and hot and itchy from the heavily humid air that she'd long forgotten how to deal with, and the room was too quiet for her to get any sleep in. She hunched forward with her arms draped over her crossed legs and buried her face in her elbows, loosing an aggravated sigh that bordered on a soft cry of anguish.

All she wanted was to sleep.

They'd been at Bassam's house now for a week, but it seemed a great deal longer. At first she thought she would be happy to be back home, until she realized how sorely she missed everybody and everything from the forest. Things that she once thought irritated her—Robin's increasingly dangerous plans, Much's whinging, the smell of damp leaves and the near constant drizzle—were now some of the things she missed the most. She missed the camaraderie, the closeness. She missed feeling like a family.

She missed feeling like she was home. With loved ones. While she loved her uncle, it just wasn't the same and she didn't feel quite right staying in his house. In the forest, at least, she earned her keep as the group's physician, helping in their endeavours to aid the poor and downtrodden. Here it was completely different. She wasn't the same person, either, as she was when she lived in this place so many years ago; her life disguised as a boy, captured and sold into slavery, and living outside the law in a country she had been taught to dislike had changed her completely. No longer was she the sprightly, enthusiastic, and somewhat idealistic young girl that Safiyyah had been. Djaq-the-woman was stern and no-nonsense, resourceful and completely realistic in her thoughts and expectations for her life. She didn't know whether or not there was a place here for Djaq-the-woman—perhaps it was still too early for her to tell.

But she still sorely missed the forest, and it made her heart hurt.

She looked up from her oddly bent position on the bed and glanced at the door on the other side of her chamber. It led to the room next door, the second guest room, where Will was sleeping. As hard as this sudden change was on her, she knew it was much harder on him. At least she had some roots in this land; Will was in all possible ways a stranger in a strange place. He neither spoke the language nor knew the customs; he had no ties here, except for her. No matter how happy she was that he was still with her, she almost sorely wished he'd gone back home to England with Robin and the rest of the gang.

"Won't do me much good to be back there, when you're here," he'd told her. "I'll be a bloody useless outlaw, thinking about you all the time."

She had wanted to tell him that it wasn't enough, that he shouldn't leave behind his home and his brother, his family within the gang, and everything he'd worked so hard for—just to be with her. But he'd pleaded, piteously begging her not to turn him away. She couldn't say no; it just wasn't possible, not when he'd looked so heartbreakingly sad at the possibility of never seeing her again, and not when he implored her with those big sad eyes.

Hard to believe that was only a week ago.

That door was looking awfully tempting. Bassam had locked it, to keep the shy young couple from secretly sneaking into one another's rooms at night. It didn't make much of a difference to her, though. She'd learned a thing or two from Allan a-Dale, and picking that lock with a hair-pin from the dressing table would prove absolutely no trouble at all. But she wouldn't do it; not because it was indecent—after disguising herself as a boy and living in the forest with a group of men, she couldn't afford to give half a shit about what was and wasn't proper—but because she didn't want to disturb him.

Instead, she pictured him in her mind's eye. He always looked so impossibly sweet when he slept, on his stomach—always on his stomach—with his head to one side and his forearms folded beneath his cheek, and his face would always turn the littlest bit pink as he slept. Sometimes, when she was the only person in camp awake, she would just watch him, count his breaths and watch him rise and fall with every breath. In the warmest months, or as warm as it ever got in England, he, like the others, would strip down to as little clothing as possible to sleep for the night. Occasionally he would sleep without a shirt or tunic, bare from the waist up. On those nights, she'd keep herself awake just to look at him, pale and gleaming in the darkness.

He was probably sleeping shirtless right now in the next room, just on the other side of that door. She sighed dreamily and flopped down onto her stomach on the bed, staring at the door like she could look through it, and see her love sleeping peacefully, beautifully, on the other side.

After the gushing thoughts of Will subsided, she realized she was growing uncomfortable again and grumbled; she swung her legs over the side of the bed and parted the gauzy curtain. She would visit the aviary, she decided. The pigeons always put her at peace, with their gentle cooing and soft little round bodies. They'd all be asleep now, obviously, but it might do her good to see them, and she would be careful not to disrupt their slumber.

She padded out of her room and down the stairs in her bare feet. The slippers Bassam had given her weren't getting much use; she wasn't used to wearing them, and the bottoms of her feet had been toughened like leather. The only thing the slippers succeeded in doing was pinching her little toe when she wore them for too long.

She tiptoed through the kitchen, around the dining room—careful not to bump into the table or any of the chairs in the dark—and through the last room before jumping down the two steps into the aviary.

Already she felt a little more comfortable. The open room was a little cooler, and the gentle tricking of a nearby fountain was a soothing sound. With her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see into the little niches in the wall where the birds roosted, little chubby white-and-gray lumps of smooth feathers snoozing on beds of grass and downy feather. Two of the birds were awake, having a soft, crooning conversation with one another across the room.

She sighed contentedly.

"What?"

The voice came from across the aviary, and she turned, frightened. Who was in here? Panic seized her briefly. Whoever it was spoke English—was it a Crusader? An intruder? She groped at her waist for the weapon she didn't wear.

A dark figure on the ground sat up, pale flesh stark against the black of night.

"Will?" She whispered, walking closer. "What are you doing down here?"

He nervously crossed his arms over his bare chest, trying to cover himself. "I—I—I couldn't… couldn't sleep," he stuttered. "I thought maybe I'd come down here for a bit…"

She was relieved that it was only him, and a jolt of happiness shot through her stomach.

"It seems we have the same trouble," she said as she knelt next to him.

He shifted nervously, still holding his arms across his chest, sweetly bashful in his attempt to hide himself from her. Of course, she was a bit underdressed herself in the thin linen nightdress. If she wasn't sitting on the ground with the excess fabric covering her, her bare legs would have been exposed from the knee down. The thought of this should have made her feel embarrassed or self-conscious, but it didn't. He'd seen her bare before, and she'd seen him; living in close quarters in their camp, they could keep no secrets.

But then, it was a different dynamic now. Before, they'd been catching covert glances of one another and sighing wistfully, each convinced that the other would never return their feelings. It was sort of funny, looking back on it. They were still a bit awkward and unsure with one another, not entirely certain how this change should—or shouldn't—influence their friendship.

She supposed that they'd learn eventually. Time would tell.

Slowly, he lowered his arms and placed his hands into his lap. Being in the intensely hot sun for so much time had changed him; he was brown and tan on his hands and forearms, and on his face and neck where his clothing didn't cover, but still very, very light elsewhere. Against her advice, he'd gone without a shirt during the heat of the day on their first day alone together in Acre. Once. His reward for this was terrible sunburn on his right arm and part of his back, angry and red and peeling. She'd felt a combination of anger and pity for him as she treated his burns while he whimpered pathetically. The burn had since healed, and he didn't dare go outside without being fully clothed anymore.

The sun had also lightened his hair ever so slightly, to a somewhat lighter brown colour, and he came out in a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. She loved those spots dotting his face, but would never admit it to him because he hated them. She thought they made him look sweetly beautiful; he thought they made him look like an eight-year-old.

Maybe they did, a little bit—but she still liked them.

She shifted into a sitting position and drew her legs up and hugged them to her chest; she turned to look at him and rested her head on her knees. They both laughed a little nervously, softly so as not to wake any of the birds or the household staff. Will's freckled cheeks turned pink as he absently reached up to rub the back of his neck.

"What made you come down here?" She asked.

He shrugged. "I'm not used to sleeping inside, and in a bed," he admitted. "I'm so used to being on the ground, out in the forest. At least out here, there's birds. And the fountain. I can close my eyes and pretend I'm…" he trailed off, uncertain as to how he should complete that sentence.

"Back in the forest?" She supplied; he nodded.

"I—I don't mean that I don't like it here or that I want to leave you," he said quickly, as if he'd just said something he shouldn't have. "I just… living here, it'll take a while for me to get used to it."

"I understand," she assured. "It will take me some time to adjust, as well."

He looked adorably surprised. "What? But, this is your home. Isn't it?"

She sighed. "This place, it is—was—Safiyyah's home. The woman called 'Djaq' will need some time to find her place here."

"You're not that person anymore." He didn't need to ask it as a question; he understood this, perhaps better than any of the rest of the group.

"No," she shook her head. "I am not. I have not been in many years."

"I guess that means we'll both have to get used to living here, then," he said as the tiniest smile crossed his features. "I'm… it's good that neither of us has to do it alone." He picked his words carefully, as if saying the wrong ones would frighten her away.

He was always very careful with his words, speaking only if and when he felt he had something of value to contribute to the conversation. She noticed he'd always been especially careful with his words with her. For a long time she thought it was because he was nervous or unsure how to talk to a woman; it wasn't until the final piece of the puzzle fell into place that night in the barn that she realized that he did it because he was trying to keep on guard, not blurt out anything that might have scared her.

Looking back on it, it was easy to see the hidden meanings in nearly everything he did—the encoded declarations of love and affection hidden in those shy smiles and secret touches, and smouldering looks and every so carefully chosen word. But back then, it was so hard to figure him out.

She, too, smiled slightly, then hugged her knees a little tighter in order to keep her hands clamped in front of her and quell the desire to reach out and touch him, although she did inch ever so slightly closer to him.

"Is that what kept you up?" He asked. "Worrying? That's what you're usually doing when you can't sleep."

"Not completely," she sighed. "Some of it is worry, about what is to come. I am so unsure of everything."

He nodded, but stayed quiet and let her continue.

"And some of it is that I am far too used to sleeping on the ground to be comfortable in a bed," she admitted. "Too soft, too quiet. There is no John snoring loudly enough to wake the dead, and no worry that I will wake up covered in ants."

He laughed the littlest bit.

"It will take some time before I grow used to this. All of it."

Silence.

"But…" she cast a sidelong glance at him and moved the littlest bit closer still. "But I am glad that I am not alone. Everything is uncertain, but at least I have you." She could feel her face heating up as the words left her mouth, knowing precisely how silly she sounded saying it.

He bowed his head a little bit and smiled again—that lovely, crooked, shy smile that she so adored and that always made her stomach erupt in a storm of butterflies. When he looked back up at her, she became suddenly and acutely aware of their proximity. He was so close to her then, just barely half an arm's length away; all she'd have to do was lean forward a bit, and he would be close enough to kiss.

Since the Kalila night in the barn, they had kissed only four times—after all, there were other more pressing matters than their newfound romantic feelings for one another. Things had gone almost dizzyingly fast after they fled Nottingham in pursuit of Marian, arriving in Acre and searching for their King. But that didn't completely stop the pair from taking advantage of the occasional few seconds of quiet privacy.

The first was definitely not private, nor was it quiet; it was soon after they confessed, just before they faced the Sherriff's soldiers outside. That kiss had been desperate and sad, both of them almost entirely certain that their first kiss would be their last and that one or both of them would die at the hands of the soldiers.

Their second kiss was on board the cramped and crowded ship that took all of them away from England. It was late at night, and nearly everybody had fallen into a fitful sleep; Djaq had just had a talk with Allan, in private where none of the rest of the gang would see them as all of them but for her and Will were still wary and mistrustful of their former ally. That night she had been tucked away in the quiet solitude of the ship's hold, not wanting to go up top and deal with the suspicious looks of the crew on watch, but neither was she ready to sleep. He found her there between two crates and sat with her in quiet comfort. Out of the blue, she told him how frightened she was for Robin—he was faced with the very real prospect that the woman he loved would be killed or worse, and a future that was terrifyingly uncertain. As scared as they both knew he was for his country and for his King, they also knew that somehow the fear of losing his Marian was exponentially worse. But Will knew her well enough to be able to read the subtext in her words, to know that she feared losing him. That this, too, was a possibility and he knew that it frightened her. He kissed her then, gentle and quick and sweet, silently trying to assure her that everything would be all right—and perhaps trying to reassure himself, as well. She'd snuggled up close to him and kissed his cheek; she must have fallen asleep there, and when she awoke she was back with the gang and wrapped snugly in Will's heavy cloak.

Being tied up in the desert, baking in the sun and waiting for the cruel heat to slowly kill them all as they hung limply in their restraints… it ranked with the most horrifying experiences any of them had ever had. Djaq remembered being behind him, watching him waste away before her and knowing that one of them would have to die first, leaving the other behind. She could see him, but he couldn't turn around and see her—the only assurance he had that she still lived was if she spoke to him, and as the hours wore on and she grew more and more exhausted, the energy it took to talk was simply more than she could muster. Across from her, Robin and Marian had been reciting wedding vows, all the while knowing that they would soon be dead; part of her wanted to do the same with Will, to marry him while they still had the chance, but something stopped her from bringing it up. Whether it was sadness or bashfulness or something else all together, she had no idea. And then Carter turned up, just in time, and began cutting them free one after another. There was no time to stop—hardly any time to breathe—as they scrambled to find Richard and rescue him. It all passed in a blur, but she had insisted that they stop, if only briefly, to collect themselves for the ordeal that surely lay ahead. At an oasis, they quickly ate and soothed their stinging wrists with the cool water. As Djaq knelt beside Will, carefully wrapping his rope-burned wrists in clean bandages, he all but fell into her arms, hugging her tightly and breathing shakily against her sore shoulder. "I didn't want to lose you," he'd murmured to her as he held her. "I couldn't lose you." She'd hugged him back, her hands exploring his back and shoulders and arms—she made herself believe at the time that she was just making sure he hadn't sustained any damage from being tied up. That third kiss was one that she'd started, arms looped around his neck and holding as tightly as he held her, too frightened to let go.

The gang lingered for a few days at Bassam's house after they buried Marian, trying to work out what to do next. She felt oddly out of place then, knowing what the next step was for her and that it didn't involve her friends. Will knew her well enough to discern that, as well. He knew she'd made the decision to stay and went right to the point, asking her if she was sure of this. She'd nodded, the knot in her throat taking away her ability to talk. She couldn't dare ask him to stay, no matter how much she wanted for him to, but he shocked her by asking it himself. She'd been torn then—torn between wanting to be by his side, and wanting him to live the life he'd always known and loved in England. When he pleaded with her to stay, nearly on the verge of tears, she realized that it would be cruel of her to refuse to let him stay there when this was clearly the choice his heart had made and she agreed. Then the weight of the events of the last several days suddenly fell like a barrel of bricks on them both, and they collapsed into each other. They did cry then, both of them; cried for Robin and his darling Marian; cried for their friends, for whom the future was even more unsteady and uncertain than it would be for them; cried knowing that they'd be abandoning Robin's cause, their cause, for one another; cried for the family they loved in Sherwood that they might well have never seen again. The last kiss wasn't passionate or beautiful, but it was the first after which their life together would follow—wherever that life led them. As she sniffled into his chest and wiped her eyes on his dirty tunic, she'd heard him whispering "I love you" over and over again above her head.

And that was it—the only times she had ever kissed Will Scarlett, the man she loved.

Four kisses, and four surprisingly similar circumstances. With the slightest hint of internal humour, she wondered if she might not be able to kiss him if the threat of death or loss wasn't looming somewhere overhead.

She loosened her grip around her legs and relaxed a little bit. He was watching her carefully across the small space between them. They were close now—very close.

Nobody was around. Nobody would scowl at them if they dared hold hands or if one of them had the poor judgment to give the other a quick kiss on the cheek. She knew that the people in Acre looked on him with the same uneasy uncertainty that the people in England had looked upon with her; they didn't trust the unwashed European to do right by a woman, even if she trusted him with her life.

But alone in the aviary in the middle of the night, there was none of that. It was just the two of them.

She brought a shy, tentatively shaky hand up to his face and cupped his cheek gently; he closed his eyes and brought his own calloused, work-roughened hand up to cover hers. His thumb gently stroked the back of her hand.

"Djaq…" his voice was husky as he whispered her name. With his eyes still closed, he turned his head to the side and kissed the palm of her hand, warm lips and warm breath on her cool skin. He took her hand from his face and pulled her closer to him, surprising a quiet gasp from her as she fell forward into him.

One arm was around his neck with her hand splayed out on the top of his bare back, and the other was on the ground next to her, steadying herself from falling completely on him; his arm encircled her waist securely. Close, oh, so close, now—close enough for their noses to be touching, close enough to breathe the same air.

It was so tempting. But, of course, completely inappropriate; if her uncle or one of the servants spotted them, in their state of undress, locked in an embrace and possibly doing more than just "embracing", they would both be in a great deal of trouble. The aviary was on the ground floor, too. A total stranger walking by might spot them, and goodness knows what they might think.

Now she was just letting her nerves get in the way. It was the middle of the night. Anybody who might cause trouble for the young couple was asleep, and even if somebody did see them, they would probably assume it was just a dream. After all, how absurd would it be for the lady physician to be seen in her uncle's aviary in the dead of night, tongue-kissing the English carpenter?

Absolutely bizarre. Nobody would believe it.

There was nobody here, she reminded herself as a jolt of heat surged through her body and she compulsively closed the distance between them and kissed him. At first it was shy and hesitant, but when he responded with fervour the kiss grew more intense. He, too, was timid at first, testing to see how far she might let him go. When she offered no resistance to his actions, he moved his mouth smoothly against hers, again and again until it left her almost breathless. Then he released her lips in favour of mouthing feather-light kisses across her cheek and under her ear, making a soft whimper escape her as she lost her breath all over again. Again, he paused, nuzzling her neck gently and questioningly, waiting for her cue to continue; he would not rush her.

She mewled quietly. "Will," his name was a sigh on her lips. It was all he needed.

He clutched her tightly and pulled her flush against his bare chest, kissing her lips once again. His enthusiasm somewhat surprised her; he'd never been quite this bold before. But then, the only other times she'd kissed him, they'd been with the gang, or at least close enough to them that they'd be caught, and often in a great hurry, and neither of them had the chance to do much of anything but share a quick kiss. Now that they were alone, he was—both of them were—being much more forward than they'd ever dared to be before.

She quietly revelled in this.

His hand moved from her waist and travelled up her back, running along the thin fabric of her nightdress ever so gently with his fingernails, making her shiver and raising goosebumps all over her body—it drove her crazy. She loved it.

Her hands scrabbled at his back, instinctively trying to steady herself by grabbing hold of his shirt, only to foggily remember that he wasn't wearing one when her hands came in contact with bare skin. Instead, she settled for winding her arms about his neck sinking into warm tingles as he continued kissing her.

He moved again, his free hand now travelling up her neck and tangling in her hair, tugging on the short locks, making her whole scalp prickle. When he pulled harder, it stung and startled a cry from her as she broke away from him; she whimpered quietly and rubbed the back of her head. It broke him from his lusty daze and he snapped his head up and leaned back away from her quickly.

"I'm sorry!" He whispered, looking suddenly alarmed and apologetic for his actions. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I got carried away—"

She cut him off swiftly by clamping her hand over his mouth. "Do not apologize," she purred. "Keep going." She punctuated by taking her hand down and kissing him once again. The look on his face when she broke the kiss was a combination of confusion and eager surprise; she giggled softly at his expression.

"Djaq," he began in a hoarse whisper.

But she didn't let him finish and began pressing her lips against his neck, dragging kisses down his throat before devilishly flicking her tongue into the hollow at the base of his neck. His words trailed off into an incomprehensible garble of syllables.

"Yes?" She asked hotly, her lips hovering just over the delicate skin of his throat. Her head was all fuzzy and blood rushed in her ears. She felt warm all over, and her heart fluttered excitedly in her chest. He was trembling, breathing raggedly, with one hand once again fisted in her hair and the other firmly grasping the nightclothes bunched at her waist.

It probably would have been wise to stop this, but she didn't want to; she wanted to keep going. She had all of this pent up frustration and emotion that had been brewing inside her since she joined the gang in England, and she wanted to let it out somehow. Four too-quick kisses during sad and hurried moments weren't nearly enough.

But Will was the one thinking clearly.

"We have to stop," he rasped.

"No we don't," she squeaked.

"Somebody could catch us."

"It is the middle of the night," she argued. She struggled against his hands planted firmly on her shoulders, keeping her at arm's length from him, and she voiced her displeasure in low growls. "Nobody is awake."

His breaths were coming shallow and his chest heaved; he was glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. It took a great deal of willpower on her part to keep from wrestling his hands away and pouncing on him.

"What if…" he gasped and steadied himself. "What if we wake somebody up?"

Djaq sighed, defeated, and sat slightly back on her heels. As much as she hated it, she knew that he was right. She didn't back away completely and maintained their close proximity, contemplating whether or not they should stop now or in a few minutes. This was decided for her almost immediately, when some muffled, shuffling footsteps echoed through the otherwise silent house.

Frightened, they both sprang away from one another, scooting backward until they backed up to the coarse stone walls and, hopefully, out of sight of whoever was coming in their direction. Time crawled as they watched the aviary doorway, waiting for Bassam to burst in and bellow at them for doing something completely inappropriate.

Around the corner there came a white-clothed figure, shuffling sleepily across the hall in front of the doorway. It wasn't Bassam—it was one of the housekeepers, an older man, and by all appearances he was fast asleep. Djaq released a slow, shaky breath.

"It is all right," she whispered, her voice just barely audible. "I think he is asleep, or else not completely awake."

"Is he the man with the goats?" Will asked with a tiny smile.

She smothered her laughter with her hand. "No, he is not—just a sleepwalker."

They waited, barely daring to move, for the man to walk back and for the coast to be clear. Eventually he waddled back to bed, still fast asleep, with a half-eaten lump of bread in his hand and still chewing.

"So that's the food thief," she remarked offhandedly.

He laughed quietly.

They waited for a few more minutes to make sure that he wasn't going to make another trip. Once they were satisfied that they were safe, Will unfolded his legs and stood up; he extended his hand down to her.

"We should probably go back to bed," he suggested.

She nodded and took the offered hand. They walked hand-in-hand together back to the end of the house where their bedrooms were, and stood between the two doors for a long time.

"So… we should…" he began.

"Yes, we should."

Pause.

"You know, I don't think I've ever had a room all to myself," he told her. "Never. I always had to sleep with my brother. I didn't even have a bedroll to myself until I was sixteen. It feels weird to sleep all alone like this."

"I always shared a room with my brother, as well. I am—we are both so used to being surrounded by people. Sleeping alone is uncomfortable." She looked pointedly up at him, hoping he might ask or offer, but knowing that he was still a bit too bashful to do it.

Another pause and neither moved. His spotted cheeks were turning pink again, no doubt thinking back on what they'd just done. He dropped her hand and began to hesitantly lean toward her; with his palm on her cheek, he gave her a swift kiss on the lips.

"Goodnight," he whispered before entering his own room.

She stood in the hall for a few moments, leaning back against the wall between the two doors. A warm fizz rose up under her cheeks and through her belly; her lips were swollen from their feverish kissing in the aviary. Eventually, she headed back into her own room and sat on that bed, falling back with a sigh and staring at the canopy overhead. But all too soon, the too-soft surface began to hurt her back again and she sat up. In one final, frustrated attempt at getting comfortable, she tore the bedclothes away and piled them on the floor next to the bed, making an improvised bed for herself.

She settled into her little nest of blankets and found herself more or less immediately more comfortable than she'd been on the bed. But even then, she found she couldn't get any sleep. She kept replaying the scene from the aviary in her mind—felt his hands on her body and his warm lips against hers and on her neck. If sleep was elusive before, it would be near impossible now—but if she did sleep, she consoled herself, she imagined she would some very nice dreams.

With another sigh, she rolled over on her stomach and looked up at the locked door across from the bed. It had never looked more tempting than it did now.

After staring at that door for a time, she finally gave up. She picked up one of the pins from the dressing table and quickly picked the lock between their rooms; the door swung open on thankfully silent hinges.

Will was still awake, sitting up in his own floor-bed. When he heard her come in, his head snapped up and through the darkness she saw him frown.

"I still cannot sleep," she whispered sheepishly. "I do not like being alone."

He smiled that shy smile. "Me neither."

"I've locked the door to my room—if you lock yours, nobody has to know. If you would let me stay in here with you…" she trailed off and waited for his answer, her hands clasped nervously in front of her.

"Well, come on, then," she heard him say.

She looked up to see him moving over and patting the space next to him. She grinned and trotted over, and carefully settled down next to him.

"If your uncle finds out about this, I'm telling him it was all your idea," he warned her sleepily as she curled up against him.

"Then we shall just have to make sure he does not find out."

Satisfied with her answer, he sighed and kissed her cheek before he lay down close to her.

The last thing she remembered as she finally began to nod off was his arm settling around her stomach and his face buried in the crook of her neck. For the first time since they left England, sleep came easy to her, curled up in Will's arms in a pile of blankets on the floor.

Their future here wasn't certain—a great many challenges lay ahead, of that there was no doubt. It would be a long time before they settled into their new lives here, before they were comfortable in this new world. A long time before the people here accepted Will into their midst; and probably even longer than that until they grew to accept her, the woman physician who had stooped so low as to live in England and aid in their cause there and to love the Englishman.

For now, though, this was enough.

o…o

0…0…0…0…0

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARLETT!

For a while, I wasn't sure if this story was my best work—I haven't been feeling well for the last few days and the meds are really messing with my head. But now that I've finished it and read it over, I'm very happy with it. And I do hope that you've enjoyed reading it! Especially the fantabulous Harlett, for whom this story was written. :D

Yes, yes, I know—get my butt in gear and get back to "Home Fires." I'M GOING!