Alan and Much Story from Ages Ago
Title: Unexpected.
Rating: PG.
Pairing: Much and Alan, if there is one.
Disclaimer: I own nothing! At all! (I'm really a hermit with a computer.)
Author's Note: Wrote thi absolutely ages ago, and one hope's there's nothing against x-posting on here, as this has been posted under the same name on Fanfiction.net, where I've been posting things for a while. As you can see, the Allan/Much thing has always interested me, and I look forward to writing, reading and watching more of their friendship over this series!
Summary: Realised that above does not summarise at all. Much can't sleep, and to his surprise neither can Alan. Unexpected results. (I suck at summarising, ask anyone who's ever tried to teach me English Lit!). Apologies also for it being such a tome!
Words: 2443
Much had long since adjusted to the noises of the open forest. The dawn chorus had ceased to wake him, and he would not be disturbed by the noises of the deer trotting past, of the boars snuffling through the undergrowth. When they had first arrived back in England it had kept him awake at night, and woken him easily. The Holy Land was quiet. Deathly silent he had always thought. The only noises were the noises of the wounded, and those he quickly learnt to block out. They had always been too exhausted, mentally and physically, to stay awake. But now Much appreciated the sounds of the woodland, the sweet Englishness to them. The sounds of his childhood wanderings.
Not today though. He woke in the night, when only soft tendrils of sunlight were beginning to shine through the spring leaves. He lay in his bed, pushing back the covers, and ran through the possible reasons for his insomnia. He had eaten well, thus it could not be the most common problem, that he was hungry. He had exercised well the day before, so it should not be restlessness. It was perfectly warm, so it was not cold. He sat up, pulling his legs into him, and leaning his arms on them. He looked about the camp; everyone else was still fast asleep. Alan was curled up in the corner, John was sleeping on his side, resting his head on his hands, Will was on his back, arms folded and legs pulled up. Robin was stretched out on his back, hands behind his head. During the summer months they always slept in relative undress, Much was wearing his legendary boxers and his long sleeved t-shirt. His feet were bare, but he stepped out a bed anyway, and walked over to the camp fire, which they had let burn out, as the night was a warm one. His head was also bare for once; his hat had been left behind on his pillow. He walked out into the forest for a few paces, then leant against a tree, one hand going to his pocket, the other absent-mindedly running through his hair. A long sigh escaped him. He was tired, his hand going from his hair to his eyes, wiping away sleep dust, but he knew that he was fully awake now, and was unlikely to be able to find sleep again. There did not seem to be any activity in the forest, it was still. A slight breeze blew his hair off his forehead, and he took a deep breath of it, the scents of the forest in some way comforting him. He did not know why this had been set off today, but he felt the war wounds. Usually he could easily hold them back, until he had to kill, or heard cries of pain. Then it would all come flooding back mid-battle, and he would fight all the harder to rid himself of the memories. But today it was calm, and the week had been relatively eventless. Maybe it was the stillness. As he pondered these, he did not hear someone walk towards him, and he jumped when a hand was placed on his shoulder. In the milliseconds that followed a million thoughts shot through his head. ‘You stupid idiot! Caught off your guard again!.’ ‘Robin, what’s he doing up?’ ‘Has that much time past? Am I as mad as that?!.’ He turned round quickly, to be met by someone he had not been expecting.
‘All right mate, calm down!,’ Alan whispered to him. Much let out an odd sigh, a mixture of relief and confusion.
‘Alan, I wasn’t expecting you, that’s all,’ he whispered, turning away again. Alan moved forward and stood next to him.
‘Can’t sleep?.’ He looked at Much with concerned eyes. He never knew quite what to think of Much. He found him mysterious. With Robin it was relatively easy to tell what was going through his mind, he was quite open in that way. And although on the surface Much was equally open, his heart on his sleeve, Alan always got the feeling that there was a lot more going on underneath with Much.
‘No, not really,’ Much said in reply. Alan was shirtless, wearing only a pair of trousers that he had pulled on to get out of bed. He felt himself making an effort to avoid Alan’s gaze.
‘Something...wrong?,’ Alan asked. As he spoke the word ‘wrong’ a scream ran through Much’s mind, one which had become all too familiar to him. The cry of the first man he killed. They had been attacking a camp in the Holy Land, and before he had been able to think, a man ran towards him, his blade raised to strike him. Reflex and adrenaline took over, and Much ran forward, running his blade straight through the man’s insufficient armour, and the cry he had let out had chilled Much to the bone, and made a shiver run through him from head to toe. But it was over as soon as it had started, and he ran after Robin, killing as he went. But that scream still ran through his head in times of private anguish, and he had to try to hold back another shiver as he heard it now, as real as Alan in front of him. The quiet of the forest was disturbed; he could have sworn he actually heard it in his ears, not his mind. He subconsciously cowered into the tree, and Alan put a hand on his back.
‘Hey, don’ worry mate,’ Alan said, far from sure what he was telling Much not to worry about.
‘It’s fine, Alan, I’m fine.’ Much folded his arms, and put a hand to his mouth, beginning to nibble one of his nails. Alan had watched Much more than the others knew and he seemed to have been the only one to notice the comparisons between Frank and Much. He knew that Much saw himself in Frank. He had respect for Much. He had wanted to go to war, but he had been too scared to do anything about it. Some boys he knew had lied about their age, an easy thing to do, in order to be able to go, but he had decided against it at the last minute. He knew nothing of the horrors that Much had seen, and from what he could gather, all his friends who had gone to war would never return. He did not really know what to do, so he put one arm around Much’s shoulders and then placed the other on the shoulder closest to him.
‘Tell me about it Much,’ he said quietly, but there was pleading in his voice. He could tell that Much was working to hold back sobs, and without really thinking his hand went to Much’s hair, gently stroking through the hair on the back of his head. The dirty blond hair was soft to touch, and he found himself staring at the strands in his fingers. He dragged his eyes away, and looked to Much’s face. Much’s eyes were shut, screwed shut, and he was taking long, controlled breaths.
‘I can’t Alan. It’s too much.’ Alan moved round to face the slightly taller man, and put a hand to his cheek.
‘It’s okay Much. No-one expects this not to bother you.’ Much put his arms round Alan’s neck, and pulled him closer, into a hug.
‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
‘You ain’t got anything to be sorry for Much. I wanna help.’ His hand went to Much’s cheek, and Much opened his eyes, looking straight into Alan’s. Alan took a deep breath, then swallowed, as if bracing himself. ‘Robin doesn’t notice you. You don’t deserve it Much, he doesn’t notice that you’re not okay.’ Much pushed Alan’s hand from his cheek, and turned away, leaning against the tree.
‘He does. He’s busy, he’s got problems of his own. Pretty big ones in case you hadn’t noticed,’ Much whispered sharply.
‘Okay, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry. But he doesn’t help, does he? Do you ever talk about it?’
‘It’s not something you talk about Alan. Talking about it only makes it worse.’ His voice slowed from the quick, angry tone, and Alan heard despair entering it.
‘Much, I’m sorry, but I just want to help. Is there nothin’ I can do?’ Much turned back to him, and wrapped his arms round him again. Alan put his hands on Much’s back, and slowly rubbed them up and down. Much sighed, and let the sobs that he had been holding in escape him. Much sort of collapsed into him, as he cried the tension in his muscles which he had not realised had built up was released. Alan was shocked, he had never seen such openness in Much, and hardly knew what to do, but felt tears pricking his own eyes, at the thought of the horrors that could have brought such a strong man to be sobbing against his shoulder. Much then pushed him back, and turned away again, wiping his eyes.
‘You need to get some sleep, go and lie down; I’ll see you at breakfast.’ Alan was slightly hurt that Much had tried to brush him off, but he wasn’t giving up easily.
‘Nah, I’m awake now, might as well stay here, and it’s near enough morning anyway.’
‘Fine,’ Much said, and slumped onto the floor, leaning against the tree. Alan sat next to him, slightly round the side of the tree. They were silent for some time, and each began to wonder if the other had fallen asleep.
‘Alan?,’ Much asked, quietly.
‘Yeah?,’ Alan replied, surprised that Much was awake.
‘You say Robin doesn’t notice. How come you do? Is it obvious?.’
‘Nah Much, it ain’t obvious. It’s just, well, not meaning to be harsh, but you’re not quite like us are you? Robin’s got his cause, he’s got Marion, so he doesn’t seem to care much about it all. The rest of us aren’t like you, we weren’t there. And I guess Frank helped. It didn’t occur to me how strong, well, you, must be to cope with it.’
‘Frank had a much harder time than me, than us. He was captured. He killed his own countrymen, that’s different. Robin feels it, I know he does. He screams in his sleep sometimes.’ Much’s voice was quiet, and had a ghostly quality to it. And, no offence intended, but it’s not like you and I are great friends.’ Alan was again stung by his words. He knew he had not always been kind to Much, but he did not know that Much felt so distanced from him.
‘Well, I want to be your friend Much. You gotta just ignore most of the stuff I say, I’m stupid.’
‘You’re not stupid Alan, we all know that.’
‘Well then, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve been harsh to you.’ Much put an arm round Alan’s shoulders, and seemed to be recovering his joviality.
‘Alan, I think I can cope with a bit of boyish teasing.’ But then he sighed again. ‘Just don’t judge Robin by this. War is a lonely thing. It makes strangers of brothers.’ He looked at Alan, and absent-mindedly pushed his hand through Alan’s hair. ‘There is nothing that can be done to help us. The only comfort is knowing that we still have friends who will look after us, who will stand by us.’ Alan stared into Much’s eyes, a ray of sunlight hitting them, making the dusky blue glow. Much turned away again. ‘We should never have started the war. Much as I love the King, my loyalty is forever to him and my country, it is a stupid war. We get nothing from it but death and horror. Year after year it continues, and we make so little headway. All the time young, fit Englishmen fight for a vague cause and die in obscurity.’ The tears swelled in Alan’s eyes, as he thought of his friends who had gone to war, his childhood companions who had left him, and now he would never see them again. They would never see the soil of their homeland again, never return to the sweethearts they left, or see their sibblings grow strong. Alan let out a sob, and put his head in his hands.
‘Oh, Alan, I’m sorry.’ Much moved round the tree, and took Alan in his arms. Alan curled into him and sobbed. ‘I should have thought.’ He held Alan tighter, shutting his eyes as he kissed the younger man on the head. They sat for several minutes, Alan sobbing into Much’s chest. Then Alan began to quiver.
‘Come on, you’re cold, you need to go to bed,’ Much said. He pushed Alan back, and brushed his hair out of his face. He pulled Alan back into a hug, which Alan returned with all his strength, and whispered ‘All right?,’ in his ear. Alan nodded, wiping his eyes with a hand.
‘Sorry, Much, it’s just these guys I knew,’ Alan began, before Much shook his head.
‘You don’t have to explain yourself Alan, I know. It’s fine.’ Much then stood, and offered Alan a hand, which he accepted, and pulled him to his feet.
‘Thank you, Alan,’ he said, before turning back to his bed. Alan stood still, watching him for a moment. His hair was still messy, and his T-shirt had ridden up slightly from where he had been sitting, revealing a sliver of soft skin. Alan gulped, before moving, and returning to his own bed. Much lay on his bed, and watched Alan curl up in his own. He wiped his eyes, then smiled to himself. He was glad to see that there was some compassion in Alan, and he had to admit that it was nice to be able to talk to someone. Alan was not entirely right, he and Robin had talked about it, but it was true that Robin was often preoccupied, either with the Sheriff or with Marion. He smiled to himself, as he heard Alan’s breathing even out, and saw him role over. He was asleep, and clutched his pillow, the expression on his face one of calm. Much sighed, and then rolled over in his own bed, and fell into a gentle sleep.
Rating: PG.
Pairing: Much and Alan, if there is one.
Disclaimer: I own nothing! At all! (I'm really a hermit with a computer.)
Author's Note: Wrote thi absolutely ages ago, and one hope's there's nothing against x-posting on here, as this has been posted under the same name on Fanfiction.net, where I've been posting things for a while. As you can see, the Allan/Much thing has always interested me, and I look forward to writing, reading and watching more of their friendship over this series!
Summary: Realised that above does not summarise at all. Much can't sleep, and to his surprise neither can Alan. Unexpected results. (I suck at summarising, ask anyone who's ever tried to teach me English Lit!). Apologies also for it being such a tome!
Words: 2443
Much had long since adjusted to the noises of the open forest. The dawn chorus had ceased to wake him, and he would not be disturbed by the noises of the deer trotting past, of the boars snuffling through the undergrowth. When they had first arrived back in England it had kept him awake at night, and woken him easily. The Holy Land was quiet. Deathly silent he had always thought. The only noises were the noises of the wounded, and those he quickly learnt to block out. They had always been too exhausted, mentally and physically, to stay awake. But now Much appreciated the sounds of the woodland, the sweet Englishness to them. The sounds of his childhood wanderings.
Not today though. He woke in the night, when only soft tendrils of sunlight were beginning to shine through the spring leaves. He lay in his bed, pushing back the covers, and ran through the possible reasons for his insomnia. He had eaten well, thus it could not be the most common problem, that he was hungry. He had exercised well the day before, so it should not be restlessness. It was perfectly warm, so it was not cold. He sat up, pulling his legs into him, and leaning his arms on them. He looked about the camp; everyone else was still fast asleep. Alan was curled up in the corner, John was sleeping on his side, resting his head on his hands, Will was on his back, arms folded and legs pulled up. Robin was stretched out on his back, hands behind his head. During the summer months they always slept in relative undress, Much was wearing his legendary boxers and his long sleeved t-shirt. His feet were bare, but he stepped out a bed anyway, and walked over to the camp fire, which they had let burn out, as the night was a warm one. His head was also bare for once; his hat had been left behind on his pillow. He walked out into the forest for a few paces, then leant against a tree, one hand going to his pocket, the other absent-mindedly running through his hair. A long sigh escaped him. He was tired, his hand going from his hair to his eyes, wiping away sleep dust, but he knew that he was fully awake now, and was unlikely to be able to find sleep again. There did not seem to be any activity in the forest, it was still. A slight breeze blew his hair off his forehead, and he took a deep breath of it, the scents of the forest in some way comforting him. He did not know why this had been set off today, but he felt the war wounds. Usually he could easily hold them back, until he had to kill, or heard cries of pain. Then it would all come flooding back mid-battle, and he would fight all the harder to rid himself of the memories. But today it was calm, and the week had been relatively eventless. Maybe it was the stillness. As he pondered these, he did not hear someone walk towards him, and he jumped when a hand was placed on his shoulder. In the milliseconds that followed a million thoughts shot through his head. ‘You stupid idiot! Caught off your guard again!.’ ‘Robin, what’s he doing up?’ ‘Has that much time past? Am I as mad as that?!.’ He turned round quickly, to be met by someone he had not been expecting.
‘All right mate, calm down!,’ Alan whispered to him. Much let out an odd sigh, a mixture of relief and confusion.
‘Alan, I wasn’t expecting you, that’s all,’ he whispered, turning away again. Alan moved forward and stood next to him.
‘Can’t sleep?.’ He looked at Much with concerned eyes. He never knew quite what to think of Much. He found him mysterious. With Robin it was relatively easy to tell what was going through his mind, he was quite open in that way. And although on the surface Much was equally open, his heart on his sleeve, Alan always got the feeling that there was a lot more going on underneath with Much.
‘No, not really,’ Much said in reply. Alan was shirtless, wearing only a pair of trousers that he had pulled on to get out of bed. He felt himself making an effort to avoid Alan’s gaze.
‘Something...wrong?,’ Alan asked. As he spoke the word ‘wrong’ a scream ran through Much’s mind, one which had become all too familiar to him. The cry of the first man he killed. They had been attacking a camp in the Holy Land, and before he had been able to think, a man ran towards him, his blade raised to strike him. Reflex and adrenaline took over, and Much ran forward, running his blade straight through the man’s insufficient armour, and the cry he had let out had chilled Much to the bone, and made a shiver run through him from head to toe. But it was over as soon as it had started, and he ran after Robin, killing as he went. But that scream still ran through his head in times of private anguish, and he had to try to hold back another shiver as he heard it now, as real as Alan in front of him. The quiet of the forest was disturbed; he could have sworn he actually heard it in his ears, not his mind. He subconsciously cowered into the tree, and Alan put a hand on his back.
‘Hey, don’ worry mate,’ Alan said, far from sure what he was telling Much not to worry about.
‘It’s fine, Alan, I’m fine.’ Much folded his arms, and put a hand to his mouth, beginning to nibble one of his nails. Alan had watched Much more than the others knew and he seemed to have been the only one to notice the comparisons between Frank and Much. He knew that Much saw himself in Frank. He had respect for Much. He had wanted to go to war, but he had been too scared to do anything about it. Some boys he knew had lied about their age, an easy thing to do, in order to be able to go, but he had decided against it at the last minute. He knew nothing of the horrors that Much had seen, and from what he could gather, all his friends who had gone to war would never return. He did not really know what to do, so he put one arm around Much’s shoulders and then placed the other on the shoulder closest to him.
‘Tell me about it Much,’ he said quietly, but there was pleading in his voice. He could tell that Much was working to hold back sobs, and without really thinking his hand went to Much’s hair, gently stroking through the hair on the back of his head. The dirty blond hair was soft to touch, and he found himself staring at the strands in his fingers. He dragged his eyes away, and looked to Much’s face. Much’s eyes were shut, screwed shut, and he was taking long, controlled breaths.
‘I can’t Alan. It’s too much.’ Alan moved round to face the slightly taller man, and put a hand to his cheek.
‘It’s okay Much. No-one expects this not to bother you.’ Much put his arms round Alan’s neck, and pulled him closer, into a hug.
‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
‘You ain’t got anything to be sorry for Much. I wanna help.’ His hand went to Much’s cheek, and Much opened his eyes, looking straight into Alan’s. Alan took a deep breath, then swallowed, as if bracing himself. ‘Robin doesn’t notice you. You don’t deserve it Much, he doesn’t notice that you’re not okay.’ Much pushed Alan’s hand from his cheek, and turned away, leaning against the tree.
‘He does. He’s busy, he’s got problems of his own. Pretty big ones in case you hadn’t noticed,’ Much whispered sharply.
‘Okay, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry. But he doesn’t help, does he? Do you ever talk about it?’
‘It’s not something you talk about Alan. Talking about it only makes it worse.’ His voice slowed from the quick, angry tone, and Alan heard despair entering it.
‘Much, I’m sorry, but I just want to help. Is there nothin’ I can do?’ Much turned back to him, and wrapped his arms round him again. Alan put his hands on Much’s back, and slowly rubbed them up and down. Much sighed, and let the sobs that he had been holding in escape him. Much sort of collapsed into him, as he cried the tension in his muscles which he had not realised had built up was released. Alan was shocked, he had never seen such openness in Much, and hardly knew what to do, but felt tears pricking his own eyes, at the thought of the horrors that could have brought such a strong man to be sobbing against his shoulder. Much then pushed him back, and turned away again, wiping his eyes.
‘You need to get some sleep, go and lie down; I’ll see you at breakfast.’ Alan was slightly hurt that Much had tried to brush him off, but he wasn’t giving up easily.
‘Nah, I’m awake now, might as well stay here, and it’s near enough morning anyway.’
‘Fine,’ Much said, and slumped onto the floor, leaning against the tree. Alan sat next to him, slightly round the side of the tree. They were silent for some time, and each began to wonder if the other had fallen asleep.
‘Alan?,’ Much asked, quietly.
‘Yeah?,’ Alan replied, surprised that Much was awake.
‘You say Robin doesn’t notice. How come you do? Is it obvious?.’
‘Nah Much, it ain’t obvious. It’s just, well, not meaning to be harsh, but you’re not quite like us are you? Robin’s got his cause, he’s got Marion, so he doesn’t seem to care much about it all. The rest of us aren’t like you, we weren’t there. And I guess Frank helped. It didn’t occur to me how strong, well, you, must be to cope with it.’
‘Frank had a much harder time than me, than us. He was captured. He killed his own countrymen, that’s different. Robin feels it, I know he does. He screams in his sleep sometimes.’ Much’s voice was quiet, and had a ghostly quality to it. And, no offence intended, but it’s not like you and I are great friends.’ Alan was again stung by his words. He knew he had not always been kind to Much, but he did not know that Much felt so distanced from him.
‘Well, I want to be your friend Much. You gotta just ignore most of the stuff I say, I’m stupid.’
‘You’re not stupid Alan, we all know that.’
‘Well then, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve been harsh to you.’ Much put an arm round Alan’s shoulders, and seemed to be recovering his joviality.
‘Alan, I think I can cope with a bit of boyish teasing.’ But then he sighed again. ‘Just don’t judge Robin by this. War is a lonely thing. It makes strangers of brothers.’ He looked at Alan, and absent-mindedly pushed his hand through Alan’s hair. ‘There is nothing that can be done to help us. The only comfort is knowing that we still have friends who will look after us, who will stand by us.’ Alan stared into Much’s eyes, a ray of sunlight hitting them, making the dusky blue glow. Much turned away again. ‘We should never have started the war. Much as I love the King, my loyalty is forever to him and my country, it is a stupid war. We get nothing from it but death and horror. Year after year it continues, and we make so little headway. All the time young, fit Englishmen fight for a vague cause and die in obscurity.’ The tears swelled in Alan’s eyes, as he thought of his friends who had gone to war, his childhood companions who had left him, and now he would never see them again. They would never see the soil of their homeland again, never return to the sweethearts they left, or see their sibblings grow strong. Alan let out a sob, and put his head in his hands.
‘Oh, Alan, I’m sorry.’ Much moved round the tree, and took Alan in his arms. Alan curled into him and sobbed. ‘I should have thought.’ He held Alan tighter, shutting his eyes as he kissed the younger man on the head. They sat for several minutes, Alan sobbing into Much’s chest. Then Alan began to quiver.
‘Come on, you’re cold, you need to go to bed,’ Much said. He pushed Alan back, and brushed his hair out of his face. He pulled Alan back into a hug, which Alan returned with all his strength, and whispered ‘All right?,’ in his ear. Alan nodded, wiping his eyes with a hand.
‘Sorry, Much, it’s just these guys I knew,’ Alan began, before Much shook his head.
‘You don’t have to explain yourself Alan, I know. It’s fine.’ Much then stood, and offered Alan a hand, which he accepted, and pulled him to his feet.
‘Thank you, Alan,’ he said, before turning back to his bed. Alan stood still, watching him for a moment. His hair was still messy, and his T-shirt had ridden up slightly from where he had been sitting, revealing a sliver of soft skin. Alan gulped, before moving, and returning to his own bed. Much lay on his bed, and watched Alan curl up in his own. He wiped his eyes, then smiled to himself. He was glad to see that there was some compassion in Alan, and he had to admit that it was nice to be able to talk to someone. Alan was not entirely right, he and Robin had talked about it, but it was true that Robin was often preoccupied, either with the Sheriff or with Marion. He smiled to himself, as he heard Alan’s breathing even out, and saw him role over. He was asleep, and clutched his pillow, the expression on his face one of calm. Much sighed, and then rolled over in his own bed, and fell into a gentle sleep.