Summary: "Wandering alone at night, Marian? You should know better by now." Oneshot.

A 'missing scene' exploring more of the deliciously complicated relationship between Guy and Marian (oh, back when this show used to be awesome…) Can be regarded as a companion piece of sorts to Dangerous Game, as it takes place within the same timeframe, mid Season 2. Marian's perspective is even harder to pin down than Guy's as there's a lot of ambiguity there. She really does walk a fine line and the fact that she doesn't crack under the strain is commendable (of course, if she merely succumbed to Guy, it would save her a lot of trouble…)

Midnight Walker

Icy fingers closing around her waist, yet she could feel the blood pounding beneath. She shivered - perhaps with loathing.

Unsteady, she breathed, and all she breathed was him. Leather and blood. Smoke and darkness. Clouding her senses, her mind spiralling, falling backwards into the dark. Chained to reality only by the possessive, unyielding grip of those hands. Hands that caressed, hands that killed.

He was too close. Always, too close. She could feel his heart beating through the barrier of leather. Beating for her. Oh, he was not as untouchable as he would have them all believe, this brutal, bitter, broken man. A word, a contemptuous look from her could utterly destroy him. God knows he deserved it.

But she said nothing.

The breath hitched in her throat even as her eyes flashed defiance. Never giving an inch.

The unspoken challenge was accepted. She saw it in that curved, silver smile. Slicing her open, a sharp dagger as deadly as the curved, cruel blade that hung at his waist.

"Marian…" The murmured syllables a challenge, a caress.

Eyes locked on eyes. Frozen by diamond blue, yet inside she was burning…

And far away, somewhere in the distant depths of her rational mind, she could only wonder… how had it gotten this far?

Long-practised routine now, her lithe body swinging through the narrow space offered by the rear battalion window, booted feet barely making so much as whisper as they came into contact with the stone floor. Easing herself upright, Marian chanced a glance down the long corridor, the gilded rays of silver moonlight darkening into obscurity. Pervasive silence closed in on her from all sides. Pulling her earth-hued cloak tighter around herself, she clung like a shadow to walls as she moved soundlessly down the draughty passage, azure eyes narrowed behind the mask, all her senses alert for the slightest hint of another presence. Slender fingers rested on the hilt of her dagger, prepared to draw it at a moment's notice.

With a stroke of luck, she might be able to reach her own chambers without harassment. Too often the battlements around her window were too heavily guarded to risk these midnight escapades from her own quarters; much better if the Night Watchman were glimpsed entering and leaving the castle as far from the Lady Marian's chambers as possible. Not that she couldn't handle herself when it came to a physical altercation with the guards, but it did make so much noise…

Yet she couldn't deny it gave her a certain amount of pleasure venting her frustration on the very guards that watched her so closely by day, acting as the prying eyes of the Sherriff and stifling her every moment. Smiling slightly, Marian pulled the silken strip of fabric from the lower half of her face, deeply inhaling the night air. Cold and clear and bracing, sometimes it felt like this was the only time she could breathe. She yearned for freedom, and these few hours she could steal under the cover of darkness were the closest she could come to attaining it. She refused to remain trapped in the castle like one of Vaisey's caged birds, singing pretty tunes when he demanded it. Of course, were the Sherriff ever to discover the extent of her disobedience, he might just snap her neck.

Yet Vaisey's sadism, his unpredictability, his mercurial mood swings were still somehow easier to face than his Master at Arms. Sometimes it seemed that her real conflict was with Guy. With the Sherriff at least it was open war, mutual enmity on both sides. Neither hid their dislike of the other and faced each other like a couple of arched cats, hissing and spitting. She knew that Vaisey was slippery as black oil and so was always cautious and cunning around him. But Guy…

With Guy, it was a meeting of fire with ice. Or fire with fire. The fight flared in her blood, her rebellious spirit causing her to instinctively resist his intimidations, refusing to allow him any small measure of power over her. Deep down, Marian suspected that if she merely gave in, became pliant and submissive, that he would lose interest, wander off and leave her freed from his suffocating presence. But it was not in her nature to lie down and admit defeat. She could neither avoid him nor ignore him. He would not allow it. She would not allow it. She had always relished a challenge and every encounter with Guy was to dance along a knife's edge. A delicious, deadly ritual. Dangerous. With Guy it was always this deception, these masks. Not like Robin, with whom she could truly be herself.

She didn't often think about how much she loved Robin. It was just there, an intrinsic part of her that she would not be Marian without. She only knew that she was more herself with him than with anyone else. Her love for Robin had always been a part of her, but if it were ever taken away…

Chance encounters in the woods and clandestine moments in the town were not enough. Each stolen interlude and whispered promise grazed her heart because it was never enough. Robin might be able to laugh at the world with a sparkle in his eye and a devil-may-care grin, but she could not bear things so lightly. The obstacles that separated them seemed more insurmountable than ever. Again he had urged her in low and appealing tones to join him and again she had refused. It was the same argument - he wanted her away from the danger of the castle, she would not leave her father. Not now, when he was alone and ill - how could she? And why could Robin not see this?

She loved him to distraction, but there was no denying that he infuriated her at times. Yet while there was always a touch of exasperation threaded through her arguments with Robin, their bickering was always softened by the fact they both knew - even when so angry she could scream - that they were fighting for each other. For England.

With Guy, on the other hand, she had no such assurance. Their conflicts were always dangerous, with sharp edges and jagged words. Every conversation one of coded implications and manifold layers. Seemingly innocent encounters were riddled with hidden meanings and subtly laid traps. Both were waiting for the other to slip up. It was a constant power struggle between them with more at stake than either were willing to admit.

She could stop this perilous game any time she wanted. Sometimes Marian suspected that Robin would prefer it if she did. But she would not remain a passive prisoner in a gilded cage. Trapped within these walls, she could not breathe. She hungered for action, even if could only be carried out at the dead of night and harboured the risk of hanging if she were ever discovered. But she could not stand by while innocent people suffered and died. She would not.

Removing the mask, she slid it easily through her belt alongside her dagger. She pulled her hood down, releasing the dark waves of hair that spilled loosely over her shoulders. Stealing another wary glance over her shoulder. Stone and shadows. Silence. Close now, and no movement or the telltale flicker of torches betrayed the presence of anyone she might run into before reaching the refuge of her chambers -

"Marian."

As those low, familiar tones echoed off the stone walls, Marian froze, too startled to think of fleeing. She would know that voice anywhere. Instinctively, the fingers of her sword hand curled inwards. But he had caught her fairly this time.

Slowly, she turned around. His shadow a deeper blackness in the darkness of the corridor. Only his eyes were visible in the intense gloom, thin circles of blue ice burning into her with unnerving scrutiny. His face was startlingly pale in the dark obscurity, sharp and ruthless and wary. And always, hungering. A leashed wolf the Sherriff let loose on the villagers to carry out his dirty work. The thought turned her skin to ice.

Unfurling himself from the clinging shadows, Guy moved easily towards her and she could only watch, uncharacteristically helpless as he approached with that long-limbed, predatory grace. He had no need to hurry. They both knew she was trapped here. It was another small way he asserted his power over her, toying with her life and safety between his large hands. Always reminding her that whatever small victories she scored were only because he allowed her to. She knew this and raged in silent fury over the fact.

With a sharply indrawn breath, her shoulders arched forward, rigid tension stiffening her spine. Her chin stubbornly set, Marian grimly waited for the inevitable interrogation as she told herself once again that she did not fear this man. Barely restrained fire danced beneath her skin as she faced him with fervid resolution.

"Guy," she said evenly, as though completely unaware she was violating the terms of her house arrest.

"What are you doing here?" His dark tone was edged with suspicion.

Excuses, vague and fleeting, darted through her mind. She was normally so good at this when it came to Guy, but he had caught her off-guard. If only Allan had been with him. Low as Allan had fallen recently, he had an unexpected way of lightening volatile situations in a way that she was begrudgingly grateful for.

"I just wanted some air -" The words sounded unconvincing even to herself. Guy was not fooled for a moment.

"Try again."

Closer still, the lean, harsh lines of his face unsoftened by any hint of tenderness or mercy. She had to tilt her head back to look at him. She hated that imbalance between them, one more weapon he used to his advantage. But she had weapons too, and she would not be cowed by him.

"I couldn't sleep, and -"

"You're lying to me." His voice was low and dangerous.

"No, I -"

"I know what you were doing. Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"

Her heart slammed against her ribs as she stared at him in shock. How… he couldn't know - he did -

Her slender fingers quivered, half-straying towards the dagger thrust through her belt, but she made no move to take hold of it. She was trapped, blinded by ice-blue eyes that seemed to see into her very core…

Why had she thought him like a wolf, Marian wondered half-wildly. No, with the sinuous folds of his black coat falling over his broad shoulders, he was a crow, a ragged, gluttonous bird sinking its talons into her tender flesh, prying out her secrets and pecking away at the flimsy wall of lies she had constructed around herself. He had been watching her with the greedy eyes of a scavenging predator for so long now; it was inevitable that he should be the one to find her out.

Words escaped her, breathless, without thought. "Guy, please, I -"

"No more lies, Marian. This ends, now."

Blind panic clawed its way up her throat. She could not believe this was happening. "I can explain -"

"Explain? Explain what? I know you were going to see your father."

Marian felt her mouth fall open slightly in surprise, but she recovered herself in an instant. Swallowing down the choking spasms of her palpitating heart, she almost laughed aloud. But long practice had taught her iron-willed self-discipline and she looked up at him steadily, certain the intense relief did not betray itself in her face.

"You're right of course, Guy."

"There." He actually smiled, though it could not be described as pleasant. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Let him think he had won this time. She made a show of reluctance even while a victorious laugh bubbled within her chest. "I didn't mean to disobey you."

"Really."

Suspicious still, his heavy brows drew together like charcoal smudges against the pallor of his skin. Hidden fires awakening in those diamond blue irises. She wondered again how eyes so cold could contain such fire.

"Really," she echoed.

Lightly, his gloved hand came to rest against the side of her face. The leather-covered pads of his fingers leaving a fleeting trail of warmth along the upturned line of her jaw. He was becoming bolder with these touches, more frequent, more lingering. Marian held herself deliberately still, caught between the bizarrely conflicting impulses to pull away and lean into the caress. Her nerves hummed as though she were in combat. Fleeting shivers that she had become aware of ever since she had encountered him that night at Locksley Manor. She had seen too much of him then, not merely the treacherous sight of bare skin warmed by the firelight, but the hunger in his searing expression as he had looked intently into her face. Searching for something. Something more than the mere hand of friendship she had so weakly offered. She could sense his simmering desire, so heady and potent she could almost choke on it. It crawled over her skin.

Guy looked down into her face, his deceptively indulgent voice a rough whisper. "But wandering alone at night, Marian? You should know better by now."

"I only wanted… my father is an old man, and he is not well -"

It was only half a lie. But dragging her father into this web of deception… it was a new low, even for her. Marian cringed at the knowledge that Sir Edward was already paying for her defiance. God only knew what the Sherrif would do to him if the truth of her actions ever came to light. She prayed that it was too dark for Guy to notice the mud that caked her buckskin boots. Beneath the concealing folds of her cloak, she could feel the sharp edges of her mask pressing against her hipbone, the sheathed dagger hidden just barely out of sight.

God, this was so dangerous. This treacherous game could get her killed at any moment. She realised now that she had been growing complacent - Robin's cavalier attitude perhaps, rubbing off on her. She would not be so careless again.

"I will see to it that your father is treated well." Guy's breath was warm against her cheek. He was far too close. "But next time…" His lowered voice a steel caress. A silken threat. "You ask."

"You're right, Guy. I - I should have trusted you."

His thin mouth curved, the betraying hint of dependence a subtle stoke to his ego. She hated that she knew that, hated how easy it was for her to manipulate his responses. Again, that sharp, prodding sense of guilt stabbed at her heart. No matter how noble the reasons, she was still manipulating this man, twisting his emotions to serve her own ends.

Her jaw clenched stubbornly. It was necessary. Her survival depended on it. Yet it was becoming increasingly harder to justify with every selfless action he carried out towards her. She thought of the tender, chaste brush of his lips against her cheek and the sense of remorse intensified. But she hardened her heart, knowing that every act of kindness towards her was countered by cruelty to someone else. His ruthless thirst for power was frightening in its intensity, and she knew that nothing would stand between Guy and the authority that he so desperately craved. Maybe not even her.

She expected another advance from him, a further excuse for his seeking fingers to make contact with her skin - he never hesitated to take such opportunities before now - so it was much to her surprise when he did not. Instead, he slid a leather-clad arm beneath her elbow, steering her surprisingly gently down the corridor. Falling into step easily beside her, so she did not have to keep pace with his long strides.

"Come," he said brusquely. "I'll walk you back to your chambers."

"That isn't necessary."

He raised a dark brow. "No?"

"I don't need to be kept under guard. I won't go wandering off again."

The wolfish flash of teeth. "Maybe I just enjoy your company."

This was safer ground. The playful banter, the light-hearted tone. But then she looked up, and the expression in his eyes was anything but light-hearted. Marian swallowed nervously and smiled.

"Then… I'm grateful."

Grateful. To the man who had coerced her into a betrothal, struck her father, burned down her house. It seemed strangely distant now. How had they gotten to this point? When had she stopped hating him?

"Hmm." He regarded her with a heavy-lidded, sidelong glance. But for once he did not press the issue. Granting her this small leniency, it was another way he forced her into his debt. She knew that one day he was going to demand something in return for these favours he bestowed. And when that happened… She swallowed down the icy trickle of unease that thought provoked and tried to keep her voice casual. Deceptively innocent, as though she were not consciously prodding this man to divulge the secrets he kept so closely concealed within the layers of his dark, impenetrable mind.

"What brought you to the castle tonight, Guy?"

"I had business with the Sherriff." His tones were clipped and terse.

"At this hour?"

"Marian, it is none of your concern."

"That means it is something I will not like."

His mouth tightened at her wilfulness. "Marian." His voice a warning.

She chanced a look at him. His profile was as cold and unyielding as stone. No, he would not reveal any more to her, no matter how she might try and coax the information out of him. She gnawed her lower lip, her brow furrowing in faint unease.

So Guy and the Sherriff had been meeting over business so urgent that it had to be carried out in the dead of night. That didn't bode well at all. Had she known of this before, perhaps she would have better expended her energies in trying to discover what it was that had to be discussed behind closed doors. She had spied on their clandestine conversations before and she had not been caught yet. In Nottingham castle there were always stone alcoves to hide within, deep shadows to slip within. She had learned the layout of her prison well in the weeks and months of her house arrest, tracing its passageways and secret corridors with lowered eyes while outwardly doing nothing to betray the sharp scrutiny of her guards.

Only with Guy did she have any sense of leverage. She needed him, much as it galled her to admit it. He was the only one who could make her state here bearable. In spite of everything, he was also the only one here who treated her as a person. There was a strange… bond between them. What was it? This reluctant, unsettling influence they seemed to wield over each other?

At times she almost liked him. By some cruel stroke of irony, he was the closest thing she had to a friend within these imprisoning walls where the loneliness would otherwise drive her half mad.

But it definitely wasn't friendship he wanted from her.

Oh, they still fought. Barbed words and pointed comments, mixed messages and misunderstandings. She oscillated between anger and guilt and pity and affection and revulsion with a rapidity that made her breathless. She could see his efforts to understand her, his bewilderment and frustration at her frequent withdrawals and evasive behaviour. He watched her beneath hooded eyes, ever trying to fathom out the mystery she placed before him.

He no longer acted with cold derision towards her. Perhaps he had learned that his contempt was actually easier for her to endure than his consuming passion. Icy scorn she understood. But his passion… that was what truly unnerved her. He made her very flesh crawl, yet the sensation was not entirely unpleasant. He enticed and repulsed her by turns. She hated that he was able to effect her so easily, to throw her cool resolve and resistance into such confusion.

How much easier it had been when she merely hated him. Or thought she did. But now -

Now she was haunted by shadows and gloved fingers and whispered voices in the dark. Voices deep down that told her were she willing to go down that path, that he would reveal to her everything; the Sherriff's plans, the Black Knights, the deepest, darkest secrets of his heart betrayed by candlelight beneath the cover of night. It was in her power. A wicked, buried part of her could not help but find it incredible how she could bend this powerful, ruthless man to her will.

But she never would.

They had reached her door and she could sense him hesitating, lingering, seeking an excuse to delay leaving her.

He found one. Perhaps the only thing that would have kept her here, the one weakness in her armour.

"How is your father?"

Marian sighed, and this time the emotion was entirely genuine. The gnawing anxiety that had been eating at her for weeks finally betraying itself. "He is frail and I fear he will only become worse if he is forced to remain in the dungeons. He puts on a brave front but I know he is worse than he is telling me."

There was a flicker, a momentary softening before he was stern again, sullen. That glowering, severe stranger that she hated. "You know the reasons he is being kept under guard."

"But if you could talk to the Sherriff, at least let him out of the dungeons -"

Anger flashed across his face, his low voice dark and bitter. "Marian, don't ask that of me. You know the Sherriff is not a man to be reasoned with."

She caught at his arm, feeling the leashed strength in the hard muscles that instinctively tensed beneath her entreating hand. "You are a better man than him, Guy -"

"But I am not a more powerful one. And until I am, I will continue to do what he asks of me."

Her temper flashed. "That is cowardice!"

"No, Marian," he whispered harshly, and she realised then how loudly they must have been talking. "That is survival. I am already walking a fine line where you are concerned."

She pressed her lips together and looked away. But Guy must have seen the contempt and anger that flared in her eyes for he exhaled in frustration. "Must everything be a fight with you, Marian?"

"Must you always do as he says?" she challenged in return.

"Give me a reason not to."

And suddenly, there was no longer anger but something quite different in his voice. The sound of it sent shivers coursing through her body.

She forced herself to speak calmly, deliberately misunderstanding his meaning. "You know what he's doing is wrong."

She was playing with fire. Provoking him. He breathed a faint, cruel laugh.

"Not good enough." Eyes lowered and smouldering. Burning away her resentment to ash.

They were straying into dangerous territory again and Marian knew she had to tread carefully. It was a fine line, a precarious balance that needed to be maintained. One false move could tip her over the edge. She could crush this man's heart within her small white hands if she wished to (and oh, when she had seen her beloved home ablaze she would have done so with savage delight) but casting him from her entirely was no longer an option. She licked her suddenly dry lips, searching for the right words to both distance and placate him.

Then, with unnerving swiftness, Guy had steered her against the door, one hand resting against the wood, inches from her waist. Not quite trapping her. There was still the faintest margin for escape, though it would mean physically pushing him from her. And she couldn't (wouldn't) do that. Oh, she had fought him before, though he didn't realise it. Parry for parry, thrust for thrust. Watching the movement of that muscled body encased in black leather, gauging his speed, his strength. She knew that she had been lucky thus far - she did not stand a chance against him in real combat. His size and strength would overpower her in moments. If she had not known it when he stabbed her in her guise of the Night Watchman, that night she visited him at Locksley Manor had confirmed it for her. Memories of that evening stole treacherously into her mind in spite of herself. His words had been cold, cruel even, but every action spoke otherwise. The raw longing in his gaze, the lingering touches. She had known, then, and it had not been difficult to break down his guard after that.

She met his eyes reluctantly. His thin mouth was pressed in a grim line, heavy brows drawn together. Strands of dark hair fell across his forehead, and he appeared concentrated, absorbed, though not at all fierce. It was somehow harder to face than his anger.

His voice was rough, halting. "When Winchester left with you… I thought…" His expression was bleak suddenly, frightening. "If the Sherriff had not wanted him removed and I had not rescued you -"

"But you did." She chanced a fleeting smile. "It seems we are both in each other's debt, sir Guy."

She had hoped the attempt at formality would create some distance between them. It didn't. On the contrary, something like predatory intent passed across his features.

"Indeed." His tones were smooth, liquid mercury running over her skin.

Marian realised then that his large hand had crept around her waist. She swallowed hard. When had he removed his gloves? At her chamber, at this hour, it was far too intimate.

His hand was warm. Betraying the human, the man beneath that ruthlessly icy exterior he maintained around everyone except her. Beneath the rippling folds of her cloak, beneath the flimsy barrier of silk, beneath her skin, the blood had begun to boil. Marble fingers caged even as they caressed. Always, that uneasy state between them, of power and tenderness, of seduction and submission. Looking up into his face that was darkened by the slant of shadow thrown across his profile, something inside her began to burn with raw fire.

He didn't know that if his fingers moved a couple of inches, he would be caressing the ugly scar his curved dagger had glanced off her ribs. Branding her. She could still recall the sensation; cruel silver slicing through flesh, then the burn of fever flaring in the blood. Is this how it would feel? The silver, then the burn? She would always bear the mark of that last encounter, a gossamer trail of white ice across her skin that served as an ever-present reminder of the dangerous man she was dealing with. The man that even now had her pressed back against the door, leaning over her so that she was aware of nothing beyond the immediate and overwhelming presence of him. This man she didn't quite hate.

He was always pushing the boundaries of this deadly game. Daring her to resist. Daring her to submit. Her back was pressed hard against the aged oakwood frame of the door, the one solid thing in this musky, clouded world. Feeling the warmth along his leather-clad thighs that never touched her. The air grew heavier with each passing moment. That scent of Guy, smoke and leather and darkness. The barely concealed hunger and longing in his gaze.

"Marian…" he murmured. His voice was velvet against the exposed skin of her throat. The slow exhalation of breath warm and haggard. Those cold blue eyes now burning like the hottest part of a flame. The expression she saw there made her want to run. Made her remain right where she was.

His cruel mouth hovered above hers, achingly close. Her heart tripped, stumbled, the unuttered question hovering in the unbreachable space between them. Would he? He had kissed her before during their engagement - a trite, dutiful brush of the lips to maintain appearances. But behind that she had always sensed the leashed passion, the forcible restraint that was just barely holding him back. The fleeting taste of damson wine and leather. Bitter, secret, smoky. The dark promise of so more, if she would only allow it.

Marian hesitated. Should she let him? The last thing she needed was for the Sherriff to hear of her nocturnal wanderings, a definite possibility if she aroused Guy's wrath. But no… Guy would not betray her. He had risked his life and position in warning her to flee Winchester…

… only to return moments later to clap her in irons.

No. Guy could not be trusted. But neither was she prepared to accept his advances for the price of his silence.

His mouth moved. She stole a breath.

"Guy -"

His fingers tensed. Poised. Breathing too hard, wanting too hard.

She did not look into his eyes. It would be over if she did.

"It's late," she managed at last.

The words had left her more harshly than she had intended. Bewildered hurt flashed through his eyes. She knew that look. It was the expression she saw on his face whenever he faced the wrath of Vaisey for some perceived incompetence. The beaten look of a cowed dog that keeps crawling back to its cruel master regardless.

His hand dropped back to his side. Then the cold, proud mask was back in place. Sneering contempt for her, or himself. Eyes blue as a plain of winter ice.

She sought for the right words to soften the blow. "I only mean… if the Sherriff were to find me out of my chambers…"

Her soothing tones tamed his defensive attitude, as she had known they would. Oh, she knew him all too well these days.

"Of course," he said. "I won't detain you any longer."

But she saw his hand unconsciously clench against his thigh, and wondered with a shiver of unease just how much the beast was really restrained. What would happen the day it finally broke free from the cage?

He drew back, and she was able to breathe again. Her hand groped for the door handle. Unsteadily. She gripped it tightly, the metal cold and reassuring against her fingers.

"Goodnight, Guy."

The sanctuary of her room was within sight. She needed to be alone, she needed to think, she needed to stop her body trembling -

His low voice halted her.

"Marian, I have been trusting you of late." A pause. "I hope you won't do anything to make me regret that decision."

Carefully feigned bewilderment, blue eyes widening in guileless imitation of innocence. "Of course not."

He watched her a moment longer, frowning slightly. She deliberately held his gaze. Her heart thudded. Liar. Again. Liar.

Then he nodded slowly, a slight inclination of his dark head that meant she was safe. For now.

"Until next time," he said, and disappeared into the shadows.

Every time you review, Guy takes his shirt off.