It was almost a month gone since Robin had freed Stutely from Gisborne's tortures and restored him to the fold, but it felt like he was still finding his footing, trying to figure out where he fit. It was frustrating. A couple of decades was bugger-all for their kind, a speck against the centuries they'd travelled side-by-side.
Sometimes he fell into the old rhythms so easily – in the wake of a daring escape when Rob finally unloaded his burdens and in the quiet moments with Tuck when Will found the words to share his, recalling old exploits over beers with John or reaming out Scarlet for exploits more recent. But it wasn't the old days, and so much had changed in those two decades. He was still getting his head around how much. He could feel the weight of it pressing between him and the others – of secrets and scar tissue, of the history he'd miss out on and the history he was losing – and some days he didn't know that he'd ever bridge it.
Didn't help that everything had been so mad, he supposed. He'd scarcely had time to celebrate Marian's return before Tuck had been jumped, and in the ensuing horror Will had barely managed to say two words to her. That, at least, was easily rectified.
When he found the place, to all appearances boarded up and empty, he chuckled. Hiding in plain sight. Bloody brilliant. He'd missed Marian's sharp, clear-headed insight.
Stutely headed round the back as instructed, knocked and stepped inside to be greeted with a fond hug. He was grinning when she drew back. "Never thought I'd see the inside of a speakeasy again. For a moment there I expected you to ask for the password."