Just a one-shot that takes place after series two, episode six. Enjoy!

O-u-t-l-a-w-s

He felt sick on his stomach. He'd seen dead bodies before. He'd seen plenty of them. He'd buried them before, too. But that was different. Most of those people had died from sickness. From starvation. Some of them had died of old age. They hadn't been murdered in cold blood.

He drove the shovel into the dirt, scooping the earth out of the way, focusing on the task at hand, trying to force the thoughts of the body out of his head. He'd picked a spot out in the woods. No one went there, not even Robin and the gang. It was a good thing, he decided. Less chance that someone would find the grave, the evidence.

He didn't think of how the man had been alive moments ago. He didn't think of how he'd been left to take care of the corpse. He didn't think of how he'd dragged it to this remote spot in the woods. He thought of other things.

He thought of his fight with Robin. Would he have done it? Would he have took the swing, sending Robin into the bubbling tar? He shuddered. No, he told himself firmly. He had never intended to kill Robin. He had just been angry. He couldn't kill Robin. That's part of the reason that he'd gotten into this whole mess.

"I'm not helping you kill Robin. I'm not helping you kill anyone."

"Yeah, I respect you for that. So, let's look at this another way, shall we?"

Another way. Spying. He knew that it was wrong, but he knew the alternative was worse. Or was it? He had saved his life, but his betrayal had left him dead in the eyes of those that he cared about the most. He grimaced. The betrayal was worse.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead. He'd dug a whole about six feet long. The body would fit now, but he kept digging. It was too shallow. He reflected on the thought. He'd been thinking about the grave, but it applied to the rest of his thoughts. Too shallow. His reasons for accepting Gisborne's deal? Too shallow. His anger with Robin? Too shallow. His words of resistance spoken in the dungeon? Too shallow.

When it came down to it, he hadn't had the guts to stick to his words.

"I'm not helping you kill Robin. I'm not helping you kill anyone."

He felt disgusted with himself. He had turned away when Gisborne stabbed the man, but he had done nothing to stop it. Now, he was digging the grave. His gaze kept falling on the body. Every time, he forced himself to look away, to focus on anything but the corpse.

Even if he wasn't looking at it, he could see the body. In his head, the dead old man became a dead young man. Roger of Stoke. He'd never wanted Roger to die, but he had ratted him out to Gisborne. He might as well have stabbed the messenger himself.

He stopped digging. What was he doing? Why had he let it come to this? Why had he turned to Gisborne? He told himself that he didn't have a choice. Even as he thought it, he heard Robin's angry words in his ears.

"Everything is a choice! Everything we do!" The truth was that he did have a choice. He could've let Gisborne kill him in that dungeon. He could've simply taken the gold, never to report back to Gisborne. He could've told Robin the truth. Now that he looked back, he saw so many different choices that he could've made. He could walk away right now, leave Nottinghamshire. Leave Robin and Gisborne and everything else behind. He shook his head and kept digging.

He couldn't leave. Even if he was dead to the gang and a pawn to the Sheriff and Gisborne, he couldn't leave. He had nothing here; he had less than nothing anywhere else.

He stood back, looking at the grave. He pushed the body down into the hole, filling it in as quickly as he could. He looked at his hand. They were covered in dirt, but he could only see blood. Roger of Stoke's. Winchester's. And if the Sheriff succeeded, King Richard's. He walked away from the grave, taking the horses from the carriage and heading back to Nottingham.

He had messed up. He knew that. The evidence was in the grave he'd just filled in. The grave that, like him, had been shallow. He swallowed.

"You're a terrible person," he said aloud. "You're low. You're a liar. You're a traitor." Somehow, saying it aloud made him believe it less. Hearing the words seemed to stir something inside him. Her voice floated through his head, acting as a conscience.

"Allan, you did what you did. Get up and move forward."

He nodded. He was going to find a way to fix the mess he'd made. He was going to find a way to redeem himself. Robin had told him that he couldn't make him trust him. He took a deep breath. He was going to find a way to prove Robin wrong.