A/N: I really wanted to write another Will/Djaq oneshot, since I haven't written one since my first RH fic. Suddenly, this fic popped into my head. It's a bit scattered, I'll confess. Blame poor, tired Will. It's his POV, after all . ; ) Or you could blame me who stayed up late writing this instead of studying or going to sleep, like any sensible person would. Oh, well, it's a break from my recent angsty stories. Maybe my little sister won't hate me now. ; ) Although, since I'm such an addict, it does get a little angsty in the middle... Anyway, enjoy, and please don't forget to click that little button on the bottom that say "Submit a review." :)

Edit: Now re-edited. Thanks to bekaz13 and JealousoftheMoon for pointing out my atrocious tense changes. :)

It had not been his finest day.

Will Scarlett massages his aching forehead, only to be stopped by a worried look from Djaq.

"Headache," he explains sheepishly.

"Shall I get you something for it?" she asks, concern turning her eyes a darker shade of brown.

"No. All I need is sleep."

Djaq smiles with sympathy. "It has been a long day. Go to bed." She waves a hand towards his hammock.

He can not help smiling back at her, until suddenly he has a vision of her in a gold, silk dress. He flushes scarlet, as if she can read his mind. He practically runs to his hammock. Sleep—he needs sleep.

As he settles in his hammock, his thoughts return to the events of the day.

Don't get him wrong—he's certainly had worse days. Getting hung comes to mind.

It has been a strange day, to say the least: Marian running around clinging to a foreign count, Djaq infiltrating the castle as a serving girl—and a very pretty one at that (Will flushes again)—Robin dancing through a booby-trapped store room, a daring robbery, and an escape by fancy carriage. Not to mention Will's life nearly ending in a most unromantic way—death by poison arrow in the back. Certainly it was unlike any day Will had before his outlaw days. Perhaps that is what scares him the most about this day—in its strangeness, it has been, well, ordinary.

His tired head tries to make sense of the emotions the day has elicited. The pulsing in his head sounds like a name. Djaq...Djaq...Djaq.

He is only glad they all made it through the day. It was a foolhardy plan, but they are outlaws and fool was their middle name. He knows their plan had so many risks. The hole in his cloak is proof of that. His mind replays the moments that left him breathless this day: Watching Robin hastily shove coins in burlap sacks while sand counted away what might well be the last moments of his life. Djaq turning to walk back down the hall and all of him longing to follow her, to keep her safe. Clinging to the Count's coach for dear life in a breathless escape, the contents of the Sheriff's strong room carefully stolen right from beneath his tricky nose. Really, it was amazing something hadn't gone badly wrong.

His mind wanders back to Djaq. When Robin first presented the plan, Will had to bite his lip to keep from protesting. His eyes had met hers across the fire. Djaq met his faintly disapproving look with one of her own, daring him to stop her. He nearly protested in quiet to Robin later, unpleasant reminders of Djaq's previous capture by the Sheriff fresh on his mind, but then he realized that this is what Robin feels every day, only stronger, because Robin loves Marian with a declared passion and she loves him back with no reserve. He and Djaq have no such understanding. He cannot be sure she feels the way he does. The thought saddens him. He can feel the arrow in his back as he wonders if she would ever know his feelings had he died today. Would she care? He wants to believe she loves him, too, but he is too afraid to look close enough to find the answer.

Unbidden, a vision of Djaq in a dress springs to mind. In the semi-darkness, he finds himself flushing once more. She looked so beautiful...Not one of the gang—him least of all—were guilty of forgetting she was a woman. They were, however, guilty of forgetting she could be—was—beautiful. When he first saw her in the dress, he could not help but stare. He was completely transfixed by her beauty. The scowl quickly shook off the illusion, but it was even more endearing because it was her, more so than the fancy dress clinging to her small form. He had moved quickly away from her to keep watch. As he walked away, he had to stop himself from looking back at her. The whole night he had been distracted by thoughts of her in the dress and thoughts of her in danger. He supposes this is because the dress makes her look more vulnerable, which he knows she is not, but then again he worries for her always, no matter what she is wearing.

"Here." The sudden stern voice of the woman he was just thinking about jolts him fully awake. When he opens his eyes, a mug appears. Startled, he quickly accepts it and swivels to a sitting position that puts him eye level with Djaq. He crooks an eyebrow at her as he takes a sip of the murky liquid.

"For your head," the Saracen explains.

Will chokes. His head? She must think him touched in the head!

Much, who is passing by, pounds him on the back.

"You were frowning in your sleep. I thought perhaps your head ache was getting worse," she goes on to explain, looking at him a little strangely, probably because he has a petrified expression on his face. That or the fact that his face is bright red because he just choked on her medicine and not because he was just thinking about her. Feeling a little humiliated, he swallows down the rest of the draught and obediently hands her back the mug.

"Thank you."

She smiles a beautiful smile. He smiles back, but quickly flops back down in his hammock, before his tired mind can begin to picture her in a golden silk dress again.

He really doesn't need this day to get any more difficult.

The End.