There wasn't a way to justify what had happened. The fact of the matter was that they'd let their repressed feelings boil to the surface, culminating in a moment that they neither wanted to remember nor admit to enjoying. No one else knew what had happened; it was obvious by the way that they stared inquisitively, expecting them to blurt out the happenings of the encounter. They wouldn't give their prying eyes and ears the satisfaction.
He supposed that nothing horrifyingly terrible had resulted from that unbridled moment of emotion. No one had died, though he suspected that he might if people ever found out. He glanced over at her, trying to catch her gaze. He had to get her alone, try and sort this mess out, explain to her that he hadn't meant anything by it. Their eyes momentarily met, but she quickly turned away, occupying herself with keeping the fire up.
She didn't blame him for what had happened, but she did. She understood why he'd done it, but it frustrated her. She didn't want to understand why. She just wanted to be angry. For once, she didn't want to dissect things until they made sense. She wanted to stamp around and throw a proper tantrum. She could feel his eyes upon her, but she ignored them. Her brain kept offering her answers.
They'd both been separated from their loved ones, for one reason or another. They both similar interests and kindred spirits. They had been under the impression that they were going to die. They were a man and a woman, and they were only doing what men and women do.
Reason after reason popped up in her head, and she rejected each one, disgusted with the way her mind worked like a machine. She felt everyone else staring at her now. She knew that they didn't know. They couldn't possibly know, but they could sense that something was off. They could sense the awkward atmosphere between them, where there was usually camaraderie, a sort of sibling mentality.
Again, he tried to signal to her without being too obvious. Again, he was ignored. He ran his fingers through his hair, quickly becoming frustrated. Why was she being so difficult? Was there some kind of female code that dictated her behavior? Thou shall not make nice in a time of tension? Was that it? He shook his head, ignoring the concerned looks that he was getting.
She watched as he became more and more anxious, though she did nothing. Part of her was still denying what had happened. Finally, he became so irritated that he stomped out of the camp. Where the stares of the others had been evenly distributed between the two of them, they now concentrated on her. She tried to pretend that nothing was happening, but her stomach began to churn, and she felt her face grow hot.
She followed after him, dreading the encounter, but accepting that it had to happen. For a moment, there was silence. She nervously ruffled her hair, crossing her arms over her chest.
"You're like my brother," she finally said, not looking at him, staring across the river. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him nod.
"You're like my sister," he stated evenly. Another moment of silence transpired. As if drawn by some unseen force, they turned towards each other. His blue-green eyes met her brown ones.
"I love…" she began, but he cut her off.
"I know. I love…" he similarly started.
"I know," she replied. The beautiful thing about practically being brother and sister was that few words were needed. They simply stood there, staring at each other, an unspoken exchange taking place, the memory of that moment replaying in their minds. The way their stomachs had dropped when they were told that they would be tortured to death instead of hanged. That had meant little chance of being rescued. They had panicked; that's all there really was to it. Their passion, though not directed at each other, had been so overwhelming. It demanded an outlet, an external manifestation.
"So, are we square?" he asked, scratching at the back of his ear.
"I think so," she replied, relief evident in her voice.
"Good," he stated, patting her on the shoulder. "By the way, you're a fantastic kisser." She laughed, shaking her head as she followed after him.
"Should I tell that to Marian?" she asked.
"You do that, and I'll make sure that Will finds out," he warned, though there was a smile playing on his lips.
"Oy! Robin! Djaq! You're going to miss dinner!" Much called, stumbling into the clearing. There was another exchange of glances before they made their way back to camp. Things were back to normal. Much stood in defense of the nearly-cooked rabbit, smacking the back of Little John's hand with a wooden spoon when the woodsman tried prematurely to pick off a piece. Morgan had made some smart comment, for which Will had pulled her into a headlock, playfully mussing her hair. Djaq moved to break up the potential fight between the carpenter and the blacksmith. Robin went to diffuse the situation with Much and Little John. Yes, things were back to normal, whatever that meant.
I'd like to start by thanking everyone who has dropped a review on my other stories. I generally like to thank people individually, but because my final exams are drop-kicking me in the cerebellum, I trust that you will all understand.
Anyway, I have no idea where this story came from. It started as a short drabble, something to distract me from an essay.
The basic gist of it was that Robin and Djaq, the most completely off-the-wall pairing I could think of, were trapped in the dungeon and kissed.
So, I suppose I shouldn't write oneshots in an attempt to escape my philosophy work. XD
Hope you guys enjoyed it, even thought it was the most random thing ever. Please review!