Hands
Title: Hands
Author: pink_flame_87
Word Count: 1,857
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Allan/Kate, mentions Robin/Kate, Robin/Isabella, Robin/Marian and hints at Marian/Allan & Djaq/Allan
Genre: Romance
Spoilers: Season 2 and Season 3 romantic pairings mentioned, general season 3 spoilers as well
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: None of the characters or Robin Hood story lines belong to me (sadly)
Notes: I know there aren't a lot of Kate fans out there, but I thought she had real potential with Allan. I was inspired by the prompt single word: Hands and this is an entry for the intercomm challenge. This is my first Robin Hood story and any feedback would be appreciated!
Normally, Allan would have looked forward to an assignment such as this.
Being told, “Allan, go see if Kate is done bathing yet” certainly had to rank above orders such as “Allan, break into the dungeons right under the Sheriff’s nose” and “Allan, face certain death daily without hope of financial reward”, and only just below “Allan, investigate that nunnery”. But this wasn’t just any girl, this was Kate, and the last thing he needed was to happen upon her in some state of undress. Whether it was by her own hand, or Robin’s, or over straining his sense of restraint, such a task was likely to kill him one way or another. Not that he truly had a choice, so off he went muttering to himself about how that girl was better at torture than Gisborne and only slightly prettier to look at.
When he found her by the stream bank she was fully clothed and rubbing something desperately into her palms, small noises of frustration escaping with every motion.
Allan paused for a moment, debating whether it was worth it to announce his presence and ask what she was doing. His motivation was equal parts curiosity and concern but he knew that even if he spoke to her with the best intentions she wouldn’t thank him for it. Actually, that was pretty typical when he thought about it. When did anyone ever thank Allan A’Dale for anything? Especially Kate. Did she ever thank him for trying to keep her spirits up when they’d been captured? Did she ever thank him for making sure she got the first bowl of Much’s stew, the least worn out blanket, the seat closest to the fire? Of course not! She was a stubborn and selfish creature if he’d ever seen one and any hints of feminine kindness seemed reserved for Robin. Robin…that bit didn’t bear thinking about, not when Allan was doing his best to prove his loyalty.
“Best leave her to her womanly foolishness,” Allan muttered to himself, easing his way away from the tree he’d been leaning against, preparing to head back to camp and make some excuse for Kate’s lack of presence.
“Damn!” Kate’s shout stopped Allan in his tracks. He glanced back in time to see her toss away whatever she’d been rubbing into her palms and swat angrily at her face as though she found her tears more annoying than distressing.
Allan would have continued back to camp, truly he would have, if Kate hadn’t decided to swear in just the way she had during their time with Rufus. Her uncouth ways were nothing new, but Allan was as helpless to ignore that tone as he had been then.
“Oi! Cover up your naughty bits if you don’t want them seen! I’m coming down.” Allan made a big show of covering his eyes with his hand and stumbling down the embankment despite the fact that he knew full well whatever she was doing had nothing to do with bathing.
“Allan!” Kate was predictably unhappy to see him. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, you’ve been gone an age, haven't ya?” Allan answered, peeking out from between his fingers as he took a seat next to Kate. “The gang sent me to make sure you hadn’t managed to drown yourself.”
“I’m not a child, Allan!” Kate protested. “Oh for God’s sake, uncover your eyes.”
Allan lowered his hand and had to fight hard to hold onto his cheeky grin when he saw the scene before him. Kate’s eyes were red and swollen from tears, in fact her entire face looked a little worse for the wear. Even worse, he could see one of her hands from where it was resting on her lap and the palm looked raw and painful.
“What’s all this then?” Allan asked, reaching out without thinking to take her hand in his, turning it over so he could get a better view of her injury.
“It’s nothing,” Kate snapped as she yanked her hand away from him. “We’d better head back to camp.”
“It’s not nothing,” Allan insisted taking her hand once again in his, more firmly this time to prevent her resistance. “What have ya done to yourself now?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kate tried again, though her voice sounded tight and choked to Allan’s ears. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“It matters,” Allan told her firmly. “It matters if someone I…if my…friend…well, you’re a proper member of the gang now, aren’t ya? And if I get run through because you can’t hold a sword properly tomorrow, you can expect a mighty unpleasant haunting alright?”
Kate smiled in spite of herself at that.
“Now, you’re going to tell your old friend Allan why you’ve suddenly taken such a dismal view of your own skin,” Allan instructed softly, doing his best to keep his tone as light and normal as possible.
“I was only trying to make them soft,” Kate admitted after a lengthy silence. “Some of the women in the village used to say it helped to rub the rough side of bark on your hands, but it didn’t work anyway.”
“I doubt they meant to rub it to the bone!” Allan scoffed, shaking his head. “Only a silly girl would spend her time worrying about how soft her hands were anyway.”
“You’re right,” Kate’s voice broke slightly, though she tried to cover it quickly by sounding angry. “Only a silly girl would think she could make herself something she’s not. I’ll always be the silly potter’s daughter from Locksley, who smells like clay and has hands you could sharpen a blade on! I’m not fit for anything…anyone…else.”
Allan felt an odd tightening in his chest that he deliberately chose to attribute to the dropping temperature as the sun went down, anything other than jealousy.
“I’m not being funny, but I doubt your hands are your bits Robin’s most interested in,” Allan offered.
Kate attempted to yank her hand from his grasp again, but Allan stubbornly resisted. If he were a betting man, and truth be told he was, he would lay odds that she’d never let him hold her hand again and he wasn’t above taking advantage of the situation.
“Who said anything about Robin?” Kate sniffed, her attempts to remain emotionless crumbling.
“Never spin a tale for the master, Kate,” Allan chuckled humorlessly. “I can spot it a mile off. Now what makes ya think Robin would care about something like that? I know our lodge is lovely, but we make allowances for everyone’s personal state now and then. Do you think John’s hands are soft? Not to mention the size of em!”
“Allan,” Kate tried to interrupt.
“No really, Kate, have you had a good look at em? Big as my head!” Allan enthused, almost managing to forget for a moment what they were actually discussing.
“Allan, I’m not like John!” Kate sobbed, taking Allan by surprise. “I’m not a man! I’m a girl…a woman…and Robin will never…I can’t touch him without thinking…I’m not good enough for him and I never will be.”
“Kate,” Allan trailed off completely caught off guard. What did she expect him to do, convince her that she was perfect for someone else?
“The women he’s loved, Isabella…” Her voice trailed off for a moment before continuing in a sort of jealous and yet awed whisper. “Marian…they were both ladies. Fine, noble ladies, born to a life of embroidery and little else and I’ve spent my life slopping pigs and making pots. The life we live now hardly helps. My hands aren’t the hands of a lady, Allan. Every time I touch him it must remind him what he’s lost, what he should have.”
Allan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was that really the way she saw things? Was that really the way she saw herself?
“That’s it, I always knew you were mad,” Allan told her decidedly as though there could be no room for further argument.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Kate snapped, trying to staunch the tears that were stubbornly escaping.
“Look, I’m not being funny but you don’t know what you’re on about. Isabella turned out to be a lunatic, didn’t she? And Marian hated embroidery, she would have given anything to do something useful.”
Kate didn’t answer, only glanced up at Allan’s face with something that looked an awful lot like hope.
“Here, let me see,” Allan drew the hand he held closer to his face. “Right, just as I thought. As usual you’ve got everything completely wrong, Kate.”
Not daring to look at the girl it belonged to, Allan lightly traced the inflamed skin of her palm, that familiar tightening in his chest increasing.
“This spot here says you were born to an honest trade and worked hard at it, kept your family together when times were hard.”
He trailed his fingers gently to a new location on her palm, tracing soft circles on the sore flesh.
“And this spot says you work as hard around the camp as any of us, probably double what Much does, come to that.”
She let out a soft giggle, and Allan couldn’t help but grin to himself as he let his fingers glide delicately across her palm.
“Ah, and this spot here says that you spent a week straight training with that sword of yours, never saw ya put it down for a full minute at a time. It says you missed your family but didn’t let it stop you from being useful. And it says you’re incredibly reckless, and stupid, and more trouble than any girl has a right to be…but you’re also bravest girl I’ve ever known.”
Finally daring to meet her eyes, Allan tried to deny the fluttering in his chest at the expression he found there.
“And it feels like the hand of lady to me.” He finally told her, forcing a cheeky grin as he released her hand.
“Allan…” Kate’s tone spoke of regret, and missed opportunities, and unlived lives all of which were far too familiar for Allan to want to acknowledge them. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt those fleeting moments of possibility had Robin not been his leader, Will his best friend. In the end though, flirting with Marian, daydreaming about Djaq, sharing what he’d thought might be his last moments chained beside Kate…none of it mattered.
“Let’s get back to camp,” Allan stood offering Kate his hand. “Much’s stew is miserable but we don’t want them to eat it all before we get back.”
And that, he knew, would be that, because these were the facts of life: He was Alan A’Dale. He was rarely being funny. And he never got the girl.
Allan was so lost in his thoughts as they walked, he barely felt it when a hand slipped into his.
“I’ll hate you even more tomorrow,” Kate told him lightly.
He’d heard that before. It might even be true. She might go running back to Robin as soon as they reached camp. But for now, she was holding his hand, and for now, that was enough.
Author: pink_flame_87
Word Count: 1,857
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Allan/Kate, mentions Robin/Kate, Robin/Isabella, Robin/Marian and hints at Marian/Allan & Djaq/Allan
Genre: Romance
Spoilers: Season 2 and Season 3 romantic pairings mentioned, general season 3 spoilers as well
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: None of the characters or Robin Hood story lines belong to me (sadly)
Notes: I know there aren't a lot of Kate fans out there, but I thought she had real potential with Allan. I was inspired by the prompt single word: Hands and this is an entry for the intercomm challenge. This is my first Robin Hood story and any feedback would be appreciated!
Normally, Allan would have looked forward to an assignment such as this.
Being told, “Allan, go see if Kate is done bathing yet” certainly had to rank above orders such as “Allan, break into the dungeons right under the Sheriff’s nose” and “Allan, face certain death daily without hope of financial reward”, and only just below “Allan, investigate that nunnery”. But this wasn’t just any girl, this was Kate, and the last thing he needed was to happen upon her in some state of undress. Whether it was by her own hand, or Robin’s, or over straining his sense of restraint, such a task was likely to kill him one way or another. Not that he truly had a choice, so off he went muttering to himself about how that girl was better at torture than Gisborne and only slightly prettier to look at.
When he found her by the stream bank she was fully clothed and rubbing something desperately into her palms, small noises of frustration escaping with every motion.
Allan paused for a moment, debating whether it was worth it to announce his presence and ask what she was doing. His motivation was equal parts curiosity and concern but he knew that even if he spoke to her with the best intentions she wouldn’t thank him for it. Actually, that was pretty typical when he thought about it. When did anyone ever thank Allan A’Dale for anything? Especially Kate. Did she ever thank him for trying to keep her spirits up when they’d been captured? Did she ever thank him for making sure she got the first bowl of Much’s stew, the least worn out blanket, the seat closest to the fire? Of course not! She was a stubborn and selfish creature if he’d ever seen one and any hints of feminine kindness seemed reserved for Robin. Robin…that bit didn’t bear thinking about, not when Allan was doing his best to prove his loyalty.
“Best leave her to her womanly foolishness,” Allan muttered to himself, easing his way away from the tree he’d been leaning against, preparing to head back to camp and make some excuse for Kate’s lack of presence.
“Damn!” Kate’s shout stopped Allan in his tracks. He glanced back in time to see her toss away whatever she’d been rubbing into her palms and swat angrily at her face as though she found her tears more annoying than distressing.
Allan would have continued back to camp, truly he would have, if Kate hadn’t decided to swear in just the way she had during their time with Rufus. Her uncouth ways were nothing new, but Allan was as helpless to ignore that tone as he had been then.
“Oi! Cover up your naughty bits if you don’t want them seen! I’m coming down.” Allan made a big show of covering his eyes with his hand and stumbling down the embankment despite the fact that he knew full well whatever she was doing had nothing to do with bathing.
“Allan!” Kate was predictably unhappy to see him. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, you’ve been gone an age, haven't ya?” Allan answered, peeking out from between his fingers as he took a seat next to Kate. “The gang sent me to make sure you hadn’t managed to drown yourself.”
“I’m not a child, Allan!” Kate protested. “Oh for God’s sake, uncover your eyes.”
Allan lowered his hand and had to fight hard to hold onto his cheeky grin when he saw the scene before him. Kate’s eyes were red and swollen from tears, in fact her entire face looked a little worse for the wear. Even worse, he could see one of her hands from where it was resting on her lap and the palm looked raw and painful.
“What’s all this then?” Allan asked, reaching out without thinking to take her hand in his, turning it over so he could get a better view of her injury.
“It’s nothing,” Kate snapped as she yanked her hand away from him. “We’d better head back to camp.”
“It’s not nothing,” Allan insisted taking her hand once again in his, more firmly this time to prevent her resistance. “What have ya done to yourself now?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kate tried again, though her voice sounded tight and choked to Allan’s ears. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“It matters,” Allan told her firmly. “It matters if someone I…if my…friend…well, you’re a proper member of the gang now, aren’t ya? And if I get run through because you can’t hold a sword properly tomorrow, you can expect a mighty unpleasant haunting alright?”
Kate smiled in spite of herself at that.
“Now, you’re going to tell your old friend Allan why you’ve suddenly taken such a dismal view of your own skin,” Allan instructed softly, doing his best to keep his tone as light and normal as possible.
“I was only trying to make them soft,” Kate admitted after a lengthy silence. “Some of the women in the village used to say it helped to rub the rough side of bark on your hands, but it didn’t work anyway.”
“I doubt they meant to rub it to the bone!” Allan scoffed, shaking his head. “Only a silly girl would spend her time worrying about how soft her hands were anyway.”
“You’re right,” Kate’s voice broke slightly, though she tried to cover it quickly by sounding angry. “Only a silly girl would think she could make herself something she’s not. I’ll always be the silly potter’s daughter from Locksley, who smells like clay and has hands you could sharpen a blade on! I’m not fit for anything…anyone…else.”
Allan felt an odd tightening in his chest that he deliberately chose to attribute to the dropping temperature as the sun went down, anything other than jealousy.
“I’m not being funny, but I doubt your hands are your bits Robin’s most interested in,” Allan offered.
Kate attempted to yank her hand from his grasp again, but Allan stubbornly resisted. If he were a betting man, and truth be told he was, he would lay odds that she’d never let him hold her hand again and he wasn’t above taking advantage of the situation.
“Who said anything about Robin?” Kate sniffed, her attempts to remain emotionless crumbling.
“Never spin a tale for the master, Kate,” Allan chuckled humorlessly. “I can spot it a mile off. Now what makes ya think Robin would care about something like that? I know our lodge is lovely, but we make allowances for everyone’s personal state now and then. Do you think John’s hands are soft? Not to mention the size of em!”
“Allan,” Kate tried to interrupt.
“No really, Kate, have you had a good look at em? Big as my head!” Allan enthused, almost managing to forget for a moment what they were actually discussing.
“Allan, I’m not like John!” Kate sobbed, taking Allan by surprise. “I’m not a man! I’m a girl…a woman…and Robin will never…I can’t touch him without thinking…I’m not good enough for him and I never will be.”
“Kate,” Allan trailed off completely caught off guard. What did she expect him to do, convince her that she was perfect for someone else?
“The women he’s loved, Isabella…” Her voice trailed off for a moment before continuing in a sort of jealous and yet awed whisper. “Marian…they were both ladies. Fine, noble ladies, born to a life of embroidery and little else and I’ve spent my life slopping pigs and making pots. The life we live now hardly helps. My hands aren’t the hands of a lady, Allan. Every time I touch him it must remind him what he’s lost, what he should have.”
Allan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was that really the way she saw things? Was that really the way she saw herself?
“That’s it, I always knew you were mad,” Allan told her decidedly as though there could be no room for further argument.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Kate snapped, trying to staunch the tears that were stubbornly escaping.
“Look, I’m not being funny but you don’t know what you’re on about. Isabella turned out to be a lunatic, didn’t she? And Marian hated embroidery, she would have given anything to do something useful.”
Kate didn’t answer, only glanced up at Allan’s face with something that looked an awful lot like hope.
“Here, let me see,” Allan drew the hand he held closer to his face. “Right, just as I thought. As usual you’ve got everything completely wrong, Kate.”
Not daring to look at the girl it belonged to, Allan lightly traced the inflamed skin of her palm, that familiar tightening in his chest increasing.
“This spot here says you were born to an honest trade and worked hard at it, kept your family together when times were hard.”
He trailed his fingers gently to a new location on her palm, tracing soft circles on the sore flesh.
“And this spot says you work as hard around the camp as any of us, probably double what Much does, come to that.”
She let out a soft giggle, and Allan couldn’t help but grin to himself as he let his fingers glide delicately across her palm.
“Ah, and this spot here says that you spent a week straight training with that sword of yours, never saw ya put it down for a full minute at a time. It says you missed your family but didn’t let it stop you from being useful. And it says you’re incredibly reckless, and stupid, and more trouble than any girl has a right to be…but you’re also bravest girl I’ve ever known.”
Finally daring to meet her eyes, Allan tried to deny the fluttering in his chest at the expression he found there.
“And it feels like the hand of lady to me.” He finally told her, forcing a cheeky grin as he released her hand.
“Allan…” Kate’s tone spoke of regret, and missed opportunities, and unlived lives all of which were far too familiar for Allan to want to acknowledge them. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt those fleeting moments of possibility had Robin not been his leader, Will his best friend. In the end though, flirting with Marian, daydreaming about Djaq, sharing what he’d thought might be his last moments chained beside Kate…none of it mattered.
“Let’s get back to camp,” Allan stood offering Kate his hand. “Much’s stew is miserable but we don’t want them to eat it all before we get back.”
And that, he knew, would be that, because these were the facts of life: He was Alan A’Dale. He was rarely being funny. And he never got the girl.
Allan was so lost in his thoughts as they walked, he barely felt it when a hand slipped into his.
“I’ll hate you even more tomorrow,” Kate told him lightly.
He’d heard that before. It might even be true. She might go running back to Robin as soon as they reached camp. But for now, she was holding his hand, and for now, that was enough.