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howlett-n-morgan · 10 days ago

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I’m not gonna lie, the reason this was written put me into a dark place for a while, and writing it helped to make things a little easier for me, so I am pretty proud of myself for getting through it.

Thank you as always for reading, I really appreciate your words and hope you continue to enjoy reading it!!

Take Me Home

8. Time Of Need

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: here it is, guys. i apologize in advance for this very hard read, it was mostly just a way for me to vent out some frustration that I've been having recently with things that have resurfaced in my life. if anyone has ever gone through something like SA or similar to it, please know you can always talk to me. I understand, and i am with you guys.

Summary: With John back in the camp, things go back to normal, until a town excursion with a few gang members leads to a terrible tragedy.

Warnings: literally everything holy shit- Sexual Assualt, Gun Violence, mentions of blood. Mentions of pregnancy and miscarriage. mentions of mental illness and depression. PTSD. mentions of dismemberment and other acts of physical violence.

WC: 20k (yes, you read that correctly)

“Oh,” you smiled, trying to be decent with someone who has potentially seen you before… although you aren’t sure how. “I know a lot of people.” “His name was Christopher Mathis,” the man’s voice changed, and turned cold. It sent a chill down your spine immediately and you sensed that you were in danger. “You shot him dead right in front of me.” And it was only then when he was before you that you assessed his nature. He was a threat, because he knew who you were. No one has ever recognized Texas Red outside of his facade.

There will come a time of need, and when that need comes, there is no better man to have in your corner than Arthur Morgan…

John has kept to his word, showing just how much he cared about his family. It was a slow process to reintegrate, and to start taking on responsibilities, both for Jack and Abigail, but he was doing it. You saw with your own eyes just how much he was trying.

You were also experiencing something over the past week that you thought was impossible. Dutch started favoring you.

He even let you lead a job for the first time since your accident on the train a while back. It was a small job, that was for sure, but it felt good to have the balance of before, of Charlie Brooks and Texas Red. It may not be your true origin, but after years of wearing the name and the talent that goes along with it, it’s becoming who you are.

You’ve been wearing dresses around the camp again. Although you still kept the look of a young man to fool the people in town whenever you could. It was easier that way, making sure no one saw resemblances. You remember back in Agua Fria how there had been wanted posters with a masculine outline of your face on it, Texas Red being the name in thick letters above the drawn lines. It was easier to confuse people there when they had a face on paper, not just in their heads. No need to put that face on top of a girl wearing a frilly dress.

It’s been a good week, you’d like to think. The camp seems to have completely forgotten about your troubles, and moved on with eloquence. It most likely has to do with the fact that you brought John home, and no one was as upset about it as they originally thought.

Sitting with your back against one of the desert trees, you scribbled away on a ledger that you were working on, face completely focused until a radiant, sun kissed figure appeared before you, kneeling down.

You pretended to ignore him, rereading the list you made a few times over. He knew it was a farce, but he loved playing these games with you. They seemed to intensify with every interaction. He was trying his absolute best to work himself another opportunity like he’d had around the campfire the night of John’s return.

He huffed an amused scoff, shuffling around on the dirt until he was sitting with his back to your outstretched legs, faking a wide yawn and laying backwards onto your lap. You couldn’t hide your smile if you tried, peering over your book to greet him.

“Hello, Arthur,” you spoke, holding back a giggly grin. He’d now taken to ignoring you, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes as if he were napping.

Two can play that game. You set the pencil back down into the fold of the ledger to free one hand, letting it card through the strands of his hair. It was getting longer again, the pieces in the front framed his face how you liked it.

“Keep that up and I’ll fall asleep for real,” he uttered, his own smile spreading gently at the feel of your fingers.

“Can’t have that, you’ve got a busy day ahead.”

“I do?” He peeked with one eye open at you, with confusion woven through his furrowed brow.

“I don’t know. That’s how it usually goes,” you shrugged, continuing to rake your fingers through his hair despite the threat of him falling asleep.

“I think for once I’m gettin’ an easy day. The question is, how should I spend it?”

You could think of several things, but of course you wouldn’t voice these things aloud. You were certain of Arthur’s feelings by now, but even with the assurance that your adoration is returned, you’re both still on the precipice of changing the dynamic, and ending the game. It’s fun, and it makes the tension thicker with every encounter.

“I say you should help me with my busy day,” you replied, taking up the pencil in your hand again and scribbling away the next part of your task.

“Yeah? And what are we doin’ exactly?”

He sat up from his reclining position on your legs to move onto the ground beside you, glancing over your shoulder.

“I’ve been making a list of necessities we’re missing from the inventory. I guess Hosea’s gonna take a cart into town tomorrow for supplies.”

“Ah, I see…”

He leaned close, watching you write each thing down as it was needed. With the budget for items, you were working hard to figure out what was needed more and how much of it. He liked watching you write, your handwriting was so neat and elegant.

He sat there for a while, staring at the page, then turning to watch the camp. He seemed to be enjoying himself until his restlessness caused him to fiddle with the outer skirt of your dress. You weren’t wearing the top of it today, just a corset and chemise because of the heat, but the light blue skirt had some holes in it, too big for patching or mending in his opinion.

“I’ve been meaning to buy you a new one.”

You let your pencil fall to the page, turning your face to see his eyeline reaching the holes in your skirt. “You don’t have to buy me anything, ya hear? Besides, s’just a few little holes, no one’s gonna know.”

“I bought you this one, already,” he reminded, trying to get you to concede, but of course you were stubborn and hard-headed.

“And it’s my favorite thing I own,” you defended it, although it was falling to pieces every day you wore it.

“Besides your gun…” he corrected.

You sighed, needing to admit it was in fact second to the pistol that you depended on.

“Besides my gun…” you nodded along.

“I like gettin’ you things,” he shrugged, leaning a little further into you when he reached for the other side of your skirt hem. “If your skirt has holes I’ll buy you something new.”

“Half the girls in camp have holes in their skirts, Arthur.”

“They ain’t you,” he spoke firmly. He started standing to his feet, dusting his pants off and shaking his hands after. “If I don’t find something else to do today, I’ll go into town and get you a nice one.”

“Arthur-“

“Nope. I won’t hear it,” he shoved off your reply, keeping any further protesting from reaching his ears.

You huffed a breath out, rolling your eyes before letting a smile across your lips. He was so stubborn, but you couldn’t deny you loved how much he wanted to do something for you, wanted to provide for you.

The day went on until about noon, and Dutch called everyone to the center of the camp when the sun was right overhead. Everyone was hot and sweaty in the midst of the heat, but they listened to the speech anyway.

Apparently, there was a Grand Marquis passing through the town, only making a stop to tour the mountains. It was highly unlikely that someone of such status would linger for longer than they had to, and Dutch knew it. He wanted a select group to go into town this afternoon and scout out the area around the Inn that he was staying at.

The special list of people included: Arthur, Javier, John, Mac, Karen, and You.

You weren’t necessarily sure how he came up with the list, but you weren’t complaining, you were just glad to be back on jobs again. So was John, funnily enough.

Sean asked what the rest of them were to do in the time being, and Dutch had a spooky little answer of: get ready…

You weren’t sure if he already had a plan in place, or if he was waiting on the intel you all would bring him, but you imagined the job was going to be huge. You hadn’t been on such an expensive job since the train, but you were ready to prove yourself this time. Whatever happened, you would not be the reason this job goes south.

You started heading towards your tent to change, but then Dutch stopped you, a hand on your shoulder.

“Maybe it’s for the best on this one that Texas Red isn’t recognizable,” he said in a concerned manner. At first you thought he was being over cautious, but on second thought, you remembered just how much of a ruckus you’d caused when you dueled a man outside the saloon. Even the shopkeeper is afraid of you, now.

Dutch was right, it’s for the best that no one knows.

So instead you grab the holster meant for your lower thigh, strapping it on and setting your beloved pistol into place. It was all you really needed for a small reconnaissance job, and it wouldn’t even be drawn.

Arthur catches you with your foot up on a barrel, the exposed skin of your leg on view for him to see. He leaned against his wagon and whistled out in a low tone, grabbing your attention.

“Arthur Morgan,” you scolded playfully, dropping your skirt and putting your foot down to the ground. “Don’t you know it’s bad manners to stare at a lady without proper apparel?”

He stopped leaning on his wagon, taking slow strides towards you with his hands on his belt.

“I’ve seen you in less…” he trailed, raising a brow and tilting his head. When you saw the smirk on his lips you scoffed. The devil himself, but he was still so handsome.

“Only one time, and I was bleedin’ out,” you remarked, arguing with his naughty sentiments.

He scratched the back of his neck, nodding in agreement. He was almost too timid to say his next line, but as he began to take his leave, he turned around, walking backwards to keep you in his eyeline a moment longer.

“I’m sure it won’t be the last…”

With that, he turned back around, avoiding the aftermath of his comment that left you completely speechless. Your eyes grew wide, and it took you a moment to process what he was really saying. Arthur Morgan is thinkin’ about taking my clothes off.

You shook your head to try and get refocusing on the job, but he stayed within the confines of your mind.

Standing in the middle of town beside Karen, you looked around the Inn. Arthur had already gone down another path and taken Mac with him. The two were trying to examine the exit through the back.

You had just been lingering around the front of the establishment, but given that it’s a bigger, slightly wealthier Inn, you figured the terrace might be the best way inside. You looked to the left and right, listening to Javier and Karen squabble about the Marquis himself before you decided you wanted a new perspective on the building.

“I’m gonna try and find a way onto the terrace,” you nudged Karen, hearing a vague response before they were back to arguing.

You took your time, trying to act as inconspicuous as possible, going down one alley, then the next, trying to find a point of entry to a neighboring building. If you could just get to a nearby roof, it would be easy to climb over the railing of the Inn’s terrace.

You finally found a spot nearby, where some carpenters had been taking a break, setting their tools down and throwing down their gloves. When they left the area, you nearly cheered. There was a maintenance ladder, perfectly placed by the building three doors down.

You minded your own business, continuing to walk through the alley, looking left and right before scaling the ladder. Once on the rooftop, you were able to inconspicuously walk along the edge of each rooftop until you reached the terrace. You didn’t bother making a spectacle of yourself to actually climb over, but just made mental notes on the small distance and where the windows were placed.

Overall, it looked like the easiest way inside, never mind the fact that no one knew which room belonged to whom.

You leaned around the side, making sure you were still relatively hidden before descaling the buildings. You realize only now that another hole in your skirt was made when you went down the ladder. The worn fabric caught on a steep splinter in the wood.

You huffed out a sigh, knowing that if Arthur already checked out the building, he was likely at the general store now.

“Excuse me, pretty miss?” A voice erupted from down the alley, further away from the street.

You turned and were met by a man, likely a towns person who was unsure of why you were climbing ladders in a back alleyway. Curiosity killed the cat.

“Yes, sir?”

“My name is Earl Hayes,” he began speaking gently. Holding his hat in his hands before taking slow steps towards you. “I believe you knew one of my friends…”

He looked cordial and timid, likely a farmer from the attire he wore:

“Oh,” you smiled, trying to be decent with someone who has potentially seen you before… although you aren’t sure how. “I know a lot of people.”

“His name was Christopher Mathis,” the man’s voice changed, and turned cold. It sent a chill down your spine immediately and you sensed that you were in danger. “You shot him dead right in front of me.”

And it was only then when he was before you that you assessed his nature. He was a threat, because he knew who you were. No one has ever recognized Texas Red outside of his facade.

“I’m sure you’ve got me mixed up with someone else…” you trailed, taking steps backwards until your back hit something. Turning around, you were face to face with two other men, taller and stronger than you if you had to guess. You couldn’t take either of them if you tried.

“Grab her hands,” Earl said, his tone firm and his words fast. You didn’t even have a chance to reach for your gun when they got you by the arms, taking you to the brick wall behind you. You notice immediately the black ink tattoo that’s right by your face, keeping you in line. “Hold her still.”

“Let go of me!” You jerked around, feeling as though another brick wall was holding you down. You started screaming, but before the breath in your lungs could even carry it out, Earl placed a dirty hand over your mouth, the harshness of it had slammed your head into the wall. The dizziness was almost a comfort when it distorted your vision, but it didn’t last long, and you were again met with the demon eyes of the man you thought was a timid farmer.

Earl reached beneath your skirt, drawing your gun and holding it in his hands before tossing it to the side. “Can’t let her get her hands on this. We’ll all be dead…”

“We gonna kill’er?” One of the men spoke, his tone conveyed just how dull minded he was, probably convinced into this situation by the lunatic who’s hand is over your face. You have no idea how he was sure about you, but you didn’t care, you just wanted out of here, wanted to be back with your family. Back with him…

You tried to kick at the man in front of you, but it didn’t do much. The men holding your hands down each picked up a leg, spreading them apart as Earl stepped between them.

“Not yet,” he muttered darkly, gathering up the skirt and petticoat you were wearing. You started thrashing around even more, but their hands were just too strong, and too determined. “She is a pretty little thing…”

No, this wasn’t happening. You weren’t stuck here, with no one around… this couldn’t be happening, right? Someone would come and stop them, they had to. Someone, anyone.

As the men were able to get your skirt and bloomers to the ground, they struggled with the petticoat, so you broke your mouth free of the man’s hand for a long enough second to scream the only name that came to mind.

“Arthur!”

John came back to Javier and Karen, holding a piece of paper in his hands.

“I got something good. Take a look,” he opened the folded page, showing a floor plan of the entire top floor. Not only did it have the complete design, but also a room number.

“Is that where the Marquis is?” Javier asked, drawing a finger over the biggest suite.

“I’d imagine so. It’s the most expensive room they got,” John reasoned, refolding the paper and shrugging his shoulders. “Now we just need a way in.”

Right then, their heads turned in every which direction, hearing a scream that was foreign yet somehow familiar.

“Did you hear that?” Karen’s voice perked up. She looked every which way, but standing where they were, they couldn’t determine where the sound was coming from.

“It almost sounded like…” Javier trailed, his train of thought being silenced for a few seconds as they listened for it again.

The air was stiffly quiet, and their hearts raced in their chests in the hushed moments, unsure of what to do, yet.

It wasn’t until the blood curdling call of their enforcer came that they realized the situation at hand.

“Arthur!” It rang in the air, and they now had a general direction of where it came from.

“Shit, it’s Brooks…” Javier breathed out, his hands getting clammy from just the thought of one of their own being in trouble. “John, go find Arthur.”

And as soon as the instructions were given, they all split up, John running towards the last place he saw Arthur, and the other two running towards the sound of the screams.

They looked down every road, checked every nearby building with an open window. They went at a panicking speed, and still it wasn’t fast enough.

Javier was the one to find you… and he nearly doubled over and emptied his lunch onto the ground. There were three men, and there was you, and you were completely at their mercy, a hand over your mouth and overflowing tears running down your cheeks as one man pounded you against the wall.

He intervened immediately, pulling his gun and rushing into the scene with a yell.

“Hey!” He shouted, his gun about to be unloaded into someone’s head.

When they knew they were caught, they tried to scatter, dropping you to the ground without regard. Earl and one of his men got around the corner before Javier could do anything, but he shot one man in the leg, tackling him into the wall the next second. This man was bigger than he was, but he was putting up a fight to keep him down.

You never stopped crying, and how could you? Your hands shook, and your body was aching with a pain unimaginable.

“Karen!” Javier shouted, and within a moment, the woman rushed down the alleyway. She froze at the sight, her hands going over her mouth as she slowly approached. “Get the others over here.”

Hearing the command was not exactly a comfort. You didn’t want anyone to see you like this, and in this moment you just wished the earth would swallow you whole. Everything was happening at you and around you so quickly, you were trembling at every thought.

Javier was still struggling to contain the man he’d caught, the sheer size of him becoming a hassle. But he couldn’t let him go. He knew Arthur would want a say in the matter. Arthur had strong hands, and a gruesome temper when it was brought about. He’d make quick work of dismantling this man.

Arthur had long since ditched the idea of recon, nearly the moment they arrived. He said he was going with Mac to check out the back entrances, but once he got there he let the younger man take the lead on it, and headed directly for the general store.

He’d made a promise he intended to keep, stepping into the establishment and going to the counter. He’d looked at a few trinkets on display, noticing some of the old and cheap pieces of jewelry they kept in the case atop one shelf. There was a ring inside, small, and nothing extravagant, but completely and totally fitting of an outlaw. The stone was not a diamond, but instead a small, dirty turquoise. He knew he could shine it up nice and pretty, so before he even got into the catalogue, he asked the shopkeeper to open the small case for him.

He plucked the ring from the bunch, and the shopkeeper looked appalled at his decision, but there was only one thing that Arthur could think of. She’d love this…

And that’s the thought that possessed his next decision. “How much?”

“This old thing? Can’t ask for more than a dollar…” he shook his head, seeing as though this customer was extremely lacking in good taste, his opinion on the matter, anyway.

“Sold,” Arthur joked, laying a bill on the counter and pocketing the ring. He didn’t quite know what he planned to do with it yet, but he figured he had time.

He took a while browsing the catalog, looking through each dress in the book and making notes on the things he remembered that you liked about the first dress he bought you. It’s not too long, and easy to clean the hem. It’s lightweight cotton, and keeps you cool in this treacherous weather, supposedly springtime in the desert. It was easy to put on, minus the few buttons at the back. It had shorter mid-sleeves that accommodated your work.

All of these things he was taking into careful consideration before the door of the establishment burst open. Arthur turned and saw John, a look of fear on his features.

“Arthur,” he let out, taking a quick breath. “It’s Charlie.”

And then every muscle in Arthur’s body tensed, his mind immediately going to the worst case scenario. There was a duel, and someone was finally faster. It’s the only thing he could think of, but he didn’t ask. He just dropped the catalog and ran from the store with John, following him back into the square when they saw Karen.

“We found her,” she said, shaking and crying with every step.

“What happened?” Arthur asked angrily, but she couldn’t answer him. He would have to see it for himself. She choked out a sob and led them to the alleyway, nearly stumbling over her feet in her distraught manner.

Arthur could see everything in slow motion when he turned the corner. He froze in place for only a second or two, but with each beat of his rapid heart, he could see and feel everything that had happened. It was like the strongest dead eye a man could have.

You were on the ground, huddled against the wall. Your skirt was torn and puddled in the dirt next to you, holes be damned. Your petticoats were shoved up in a bunch, and he could see that there was blood on them, and running down the inside of your legs. You were completely disheveled, the dirt from the wall stained your skin, and your hair was a mess. When he saw your bloomers hooked around one ankle, stuck on your boot, he broke from the trance. It had only been a moment, but he feared it had been too long.

He ran to you, kneeling down on the ground and trying to figure out the best way to touch you, if he even could. The sobs that erupted from you had broken him in a way he doesn’t think he could ever recover from. Not his Red… no.

He placed a hand at your face, as gently as he possibly could, and wiped away some tears with his thumb. More fell right after, and as he met your eyes, he couldn’t see the usual glint in them. Even when you were angry with him he could normally see it. It scared him half to death to find it gone… you weren’t even there.

He finally turned from you, seeing how Javier had just about wrangled a man to the ground, and Arthur took one look at the man before his vision was clouded and his physicality took over.

He doesn’t even care to hold back. He moves Javier out of the way, and starts beating the man senseless. The man is begging, pleading for mercy, for forgiveness… but Arthur is an angry animal. His punches only get harder, and he can’t stop himself. He wonders for a moment if you begged and pleaded for this man to stop, and that’s when he starts to hear and feel the cracking of bone under his fist.

He momentarily notes how John and Karen are talking to you, hearing the sobs continuously over it all. It fuels his rage, the blood dusting his fingers barely becomes a consequence.

He cares about much. The camp, the members within it, his family for as long as he can remember… it’s all he’s been able to focus on since his last love broke his heart years ago. But then you came along. You had shown him up, you had impressed him, you had angered him, and most importantly, you had intrigued him.

When he first began teaching you, he’d grown a fondness, something the likes of a good friend. When he was the only one who knew your secret, it became more protective, and those feelings turned into something stronger. Devotion. He wanted to do anything he could to help you, to shield you from harm. When the camp found out about you, he’d been scared. Not knowing your fate that day made him contemplate something he thought he’d never do. Leave the camp, if you’d been kicked out. His loyalty to Dutch was strong, anyone could see that… but after waiting years for the right person, his loyalty to you was now stronger.

It was then he knew his heart had been mended. He no longer feared the loving touch of a partner, he craved it. He craved you, and everything that came with it. The ring in his pocket weighed heavily, and the strain on his mind came quickly.

He hadn’t been here, and he failed to do the one thing that had been in him since the very beginning. He didn’t protect you. He left you alone and you went through hell without him.

“Arthur…”

He’d heard the call of his name, but took a moment to come out of his own head.

“Arthur!” He heard it loud and clear this time. Javier stood beside him, trying to pull him away from the bloody and downright destroyed body of the man he’d been beating senselessly. “He’s already dead.”

It’s not enough, Arthur thinks. He should be obliterated.

“We need to get her out of here,” Karen said, sniffling her own tears long enough to get out the words. “I have to get her somewhere I can check her, make sure she doesn’t need a doctor.��

And then Arthur was back to work. He’d only now noticed that Mac had shown up, being kind enough to lay his jacket over your shoulders. He was the only one stupid enough to wear a jacket in this weather, but Arthur was grateful you would have something to shelter yourself with.

“The Inn is just a few doors down, we can get a room.”

Arthur let John take the lead, not saying a word as he knelt down beside you again, trying to find the best way to pick you up. You were sensitive to touch, but you held onto him when he scooped you from the ground. Your entire body shook, and he had to keep himself together for you, otherwise he’d be a mess.

“I’ve got you,” he choked out, unsure of what else he could possibly say.

John led the group towards the Inn, and Karen went inside first to get a key. It wasn’t long before Arthur and Javier were following Karen into the building, leaving the others outside. The Inn keeper would be very confused in a days time, but it was of little consequence.

The room was thankfully on the first floor, right next to a bathing area in case it was needed. Arthur set you down on the bed in the corner, and Karen had to literally shove him along to get him outside the room to close the door.

He knew for propriety’s sake that he needed to wait out here, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to be by your side and do everything he could to make up for his time of absence.

He paced outside the door for a few seconds before turning to Javier.

“What the hell happened?”

Javier was frightened, not of Arthur, but of recalling the events as they occurred. They’re going to be burned into his memory.

“We were scouting this place, and John got a lead,” he began, taking a deep breath and rubbing the back of his neck. “We heard someone scream, but we didn’t know where it came from…”

Javier was keeping his eyes away from Arthur’s, because he knew he wouldn’t make it through the story if he didn’t.

“A few seconds later we knew it was her, because she was screaming your name.”

Arthur got a lump in his throat just imagining it. His heart had not stopped hurting in his chest since he saw you, but knowing you called for him was too much.

“We didn’t hear anything else, but when we found her, there were three men involved. I shot the one, wrangled him down, but the others got away.”

“There were more?” Arthur’s tone was still on a sharp edge, but he was trying to hold back from shouting when he knew you were right behind that door.

“We’ll find them,” Javier assured, placing his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “And we’ll kill them.”

And usually this sentiment would hold Arthur up for the time being, but right now, it was just another stab to his heart. The monsters that did this were still alive and walking. They think they got away with it.

He turned his back to the wall, leaning against it before letting his body slide down until he was sitting. He tried to hold it back, he tried to keep himself strong… but that’s the love of his life in the room behind him, and he can’t bear the thought of everything you went through while he was off somewhere else. He will never deserve you after this. After what he believes he’s done.

He drops his head, and Javier hears the faintest snuff. He’s almost shocked. He’s seen friends and family die in front of Arthur, but the man’s stoicism remained. He has never seen Arthur cry before.

“You said she called for me?” His weary voice sounded faintly in the hall.

“Arthur…” Javier knew him, and he had a good idea of what went through his head. He was a very self deprecating man, who didn’t think much of himself to begin with… but add a situation like this, where the girl he loves was abused? “You can’t blame yourself.”

Arthur disregarded his statement, ignoring anything that might try and make him feel better. He didn’t want to feel better, he wanted to feel shitty, and let the guilt punish him.

“Did she sound scared?” He asked, knowing that he probably shouldn’t hear the answer.

“It all happened so fast, I don’t remember…”

He was lying. The blood curdling scream still echoed in his head, but it doesn’t need to echo in Arthur’s too. Especially knowing Arthur would imagine it much worse.

“When you found her… were they-?”

“Yes…” he cut Arthur short, not wanting to hear his question in full. “I couldn’t see everything, but her blood was on him.”

Even just recalling the sight made Javier nauseated again. He slid into a sitting position with Arthur, head against the wall as he waited.

Karen took a few more minutes before she came out of the room, looking directly at Arthur.

“She doesn’t need a doctor for now, but that could change….” She shut the door behind her, not wanting you to listen in on the conversation, though the thin walls probably allowed you to, anyway.

“Why? What’s wrong with her?”

“She has a small tear that she’s been bleeding from… but I’ve taken care of it for the time being.” Her explanation didn’t put anyone at ease, and her next remark would do even less. “We’ll have to watch her real closely, and might even have to track her cycle.”

“Track her….” Arthur trailed, putting the pieces together in his head. He looked at Karen with an immense seriousness, his eyes wide. “You think he-?

“I don’t know. Given he was interrupted, I’m guessing not, but we still need to be sure.”

Arthur couldn’t bear to think about what that would mean for you. What might happen if you were to fall pregnant with the baby of your abuser. He hopes it never comes to that. He hopes for the absolute best outcome for all these things concerning you, but he knows his forced optimism is probably misplaced.

“Can I go in there?” He asked, taking his hat and holding it in his hands.

Karen sighed out, her brows raising in thought. It’s not like he could do any harm. You trusted Arthur more than anyone.

“I suppose,” she paused when he hastily reached for the doorknob. “Be slower than that, and be careful, ya hear?”

He nodded, his eyes closing for a moment as he took in a deep breath.

He entered the next second, and tried to keep his reaction steady. He knew he’d be pained by the view, but he had to be beside you again.

You looked much better than earlier, albeit slightly tired. Karen had cleaned you up, and laid you down, letting you rest amongst the sheets of the bed. They were comforting, and engulfed you in warmth and safety. As much as a piece of fabric could do, at least.

When you saw him approaching, hat in his hands and head tilted downwards in sorrow, you tried to sit up a little, ignoring the pain between your legs in favor of seeing him face to face.

He looked nervous to approach you, but he really shouldn’t have been. You wanted him near you. He was a source of comfort, and he was a safe haven.

“Arthur,” you spoke his name, and immediately he knew that he was in the right place.

You didn’t look excited to see him, your face was too expressionless for that… but if he had to guess, you seemed a bit relieved when he walked in.

“Red…” he took slow steps until he was at the edge of the bed, lowering himself as gently as he could. “I feel like a fool for asking, but are you alright?”

You huffed a breath, and it came out shakily.

“I’m as well as I can be,” you told him, and though it was meant to make him feel better, he didn’t care to. He could hear the break of your voice.

He nodded, dropping his head. He didn’t want you to see him cry. He wanted to be stronger for you, but he couldn’t be.

“I think I’m still coming to terms with what just happened,” you explained, furrowing your brows and trying to continue. “It’s so strange… I don’t even remember most of it, just that I was really scared. I thought when they were done they would kill me.”

You’ve almost never been afraid to die. From the very beginning of Texas Red, the mentality has always been ‘I’ve got nothing to lose.’

All of that changed in the alleyway. You had actual regrets, and things you’d wished to do. Things that you’d always been afraid to say because of how bad it may end up. Now you had everything to lose, and you’d been afraid you would. You’d already lost so much in that moment of time.

“They stole my gun, yknow?” You told him, curling in closer to yourself when you spoke. “I watched them take it and run.”

You hated how much you were having to talk to fill the void of silence, but Arthur refused to speak, and didn’t look at you except once every so often. You wanted him to be here. You needed him to be present with you, to tell you that what happened wasn’t the end of the world and that you were going to be okay.

You didn’t know what else to say to him. He was listening, that much you could tell… but you wanted him to say something, anything.

You were already in a fragile state, but seeing him react like this was making it worse. You teared back up again, reaching your hand out. He gladly took it in his, wrapping his other hand overtop. You started crying more, and then in the silence, Arthur moved over, and wrapped you up in a cocoon of his embrace. It was so secure that you felt nothing could ever reach you. The only problem was, it already had. You’d already been through hell in the span of an afternoon. Your sobs fell on the ears of the only person who could hear them to their fullest. He knows the depth and heaviness of each strained sound, because unlike the others, he knows what you lost.

Knowing that you were in his arms, and under his gentle touch, the thought came to your mind, the one that you’d been holding onto since it happened.

“It was supposed to be you…”

If Arthur hadn’t been sitting already, he would have sunk to his knees on the ground. He had known that already, but hearing you say it now made him feel lost somehow. He’d remembered your conversation from before everyone even came to El Paso.

“I think I’m still gonna wait until I can give it to someone I love.”

He dipped his head. He definitely understood, and only wished he’d been wise enough to do the same. There was a time in his life before where he wishes he’d waited for a certain girl… but that was ages ago, and he knows his count is higher than it should be.

“Do you think you’re close to findin’ that someone?” his voice was just above a whisper, now, and he knows that the question he’s asked is risky. He doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer, but without thinking, you give it to him.

“Real close,” you told him, looking down at your hands when his dim-lit stare became too much.

He comes out of his memory and back to the torturesome present, his hands trembling the slightest bit from his internalized anger. It’ll never be shown to you, of course, but the rage he still feels having known this wasn’t over yet was stirring. He hates it all. He hates the men, he hates himself for not being there to protect you, but moreover, he hates that you hadn’t been Texas Red, the one time it mattered.

He just wants to set it all right. It would be an impossible task, but he would try, starting with this moment. Keeping you in his arms for as long as you need, and heeding your every request when it is spoken.

“I’ll never be able to tell you how sorry I am, sweet girl.”

You sniffled, pulling away from the crook of his neck for a moment to look at him.

“If I had died today… and I never got to tell you…” Your words were still weak as you trailed off, so you took a deep breath to try and steady them.

“Tell me what?”

You raised a hand to the side of his face, more tears coming to your eyes when you finally spoke the words of sincerity that you’d been holding back for so long now. Nearly since the day you met him.

“I love you, Arthur,” you let out with a shaky breath. “I only wish I’d said so before.”

Guilt washed over him almost immediately, and for a second time, he’s absolutely taken aback by your words. He’s filled with the shame of knowing that those words had been uttered before in a different circumstance, and he never responded with the same sentiment. He’s angry now, because he had every chance to.

“You-“ He cuts himself short, shaking his head before dropping it. “You did…”

Your confusion and curiosity outweighs your sadness for only a moment, and Arthur can see in your eyes that you’re searching for the moment it happened, but your mind turns up blank.

“That night in the saloon,” he explained, his hands becoming looser on you. He recalls his mistakes, and feels unworthy to be holding you this tightly. “You were drunk as I've ever seen you, but you told me then… and I didn’t say it back to ya.”

His voice broke on his last words, and he took a sharp inhale afterwards to hold himself together.

“Arthur…”

You don’t even know how to feel about it at first, but he doesn’t give you enough time to think about it. He wants to rectify everything. He looks you straight in the eye, with all the certainty he has.

“I do love you, Red. More than anything in this whole damn world, I love ya… and all this? It’s my fault,” he reflected, the dip in his tone echoing his guilt. She hated that sound, and would do anything to be rid of it. She’s already emotional over what happened, and she doesn’t want to hear him say things that aren’t true.

“No, Arthur, it’s not… I can’t let you believe that.”

He furrows his brows and averts his eyes from yours again.

“I might not be the reason it happened, but I should’ve been there with you. I’ve spent so long tryin’ to protect you, and I let it go to shit.”

You didn’t argue with him. Arthur was like an oak tree. He was strong, able to withstand any storm that blew his way… but he was also stubborn and unmoving, deeply rooted in the ground and needing the strongest of winds to even sway in the slightest. You weren’t going to change his mind, but in the future, you would try and sway him. Right now, though, you just rested in his presence, against the sturdy oak that kept you upright.

It’s quiet again, and you can hear his heart beating. It’s a welcome distraction, though it doesn’t keep your mind occupied long enough to forget about why you’re here in the first place. Earl Hayes. A man who’s voice will ring in your ears for the rest of your life. The one who took your innocence when it was meant for someone else. A gift that you can never get back.

“Arthur, I wanna find the man that did this…” Your voice sounded, a bit muffled against his chest. “I want him to die.”

“He will, I promise. I’ll kill him, and I’ll find your gun,” He swore, with no hesitation whatsoever. That had already been decided in his mind, so it didn’t hurt to agree with you.

“I wanna help you.”

“I can’t let you near him,” he said sternly, but not necessarily in regard to you. Just the proposal as a whole. He didn’t like the idea of the man even getting to lay eyes on you again. He just wants to tear him limb from limb and leave nothing left.

“You have to let me…” You argued, pushing away at arm’s length again to look him in the eyes. The glimmer has still not been restored to them, and he knows it’ll be a long road to get it back. You know it, too. It’s why you stay persistent. “I need this.”

He goes silent for a moment, considering it all. You have every right to be there when your abuser is dismembered. You’ve never been a bloodlusting outlaw, but you do have a knack for revenge, and he knows that watching the man who hurt you being tortured to death might bring some sort of peace. Knowing that he’d paid the price for what he did.

“Alright…” he nods, his hand sweeping a strand of hair away from your face. “I understand.”

He leaned forward, kissing the crown of your head and laying his hand ever so delicately at the side of your face before taking a deep breath. When he woke up this morning he had no idea that hours later he’d be here, tending to the girl he loves after a tragic event.

“I need you to know,” he began, his eyes fogging up slightly from the emotion he felt. “from this day forward… I belong to you, ya hear? Anything you ever need of me, it’s done. I’ma take care of you, and be there when you need me.”

You had a new round of tears springing about now, but for a better reason than the others came to be. He wiped them away before they could even really fall, catching them on your cheeks with the gentle touch that he reserved only for you.

He helps to settle you back against the soft down pillows, feeling your body become tired against his own. He kisses your head once more, lingering a little longer this time, before standing up to return outside. He knows the others are probably waiting to hear something other than what Karen said.

“Arthur?” You ask gently, raising your head off the pillows.

“Yeah?” He turned around immediately, ready to stay planted like a tree until you’ve spoken what you needed.

“I don’t want everyone back at camp to know about this…” you shook your head, trying to keep your tears at bay.

He completely understood. You’d had a rough go of it with a lot of the camp members, and for better or worse, they always managed to be far too involved.

“Then they won’t,” he nodded, “I’ll have a talk with the others, make sure they know.”

Before he was able to get out the door, you spoke one more time.

“Thank you,” you muttered quietly.

“Don’t thank me.”

He didn’t want gratitude from you in any front. He’s going to have to work hard and long just to earn those two words from you.

He left without another word, going to the hallway where Karen and Javier were still waiting. The group would be given specific instructions on what to do and say, and they would hold good on those instructions for Arthur’s sake and yours.

The return to camp is slightly awkward for those who actually came back. They witnessed something terrible in the daytime that they have to keep shut up about. No one else gets to know. Arthur’s orders.

When Dutch sees the cavalcade riding in, missing two members, he immediately has suspicions. Not because two of them haven’t returned yet, but because of the specific two. He’s caught wind of something he dare not deny, and it almost irks him to have to ask.

“Where’s Arthur and Brooks?”

John looked to the others, trying to act natural and fill in the blanks. They had already been given a story to cover up any questions, yet somehow the others felt caught, and couldn’t answer.

“They’re hidin’ out,” he began, pulling the piece of rolled up paper from his satchel, handing it over to Dutch. “I got this floor plan drawn up by the guy behind the desk. Told him I was scouting out a nice place for my boss to stay a couple days. He seemed to believe me well enough.”

“This is excellent. All entry points were looked at, I’m assumin’?”

“Yes sir,” John nodded, crossing his arms and trying to conduct himself in a nonchalant way. “Arthur and Charlie got eyes on the main entrance right now. We got a room on the bottom floor of the place, and we can watch everyone that goes in or out.”

“And the security measures?” Dutch asked with a narrow stare.

“One man stationed at the door.” John is calm and collected over this ordeal, while the others stay silent. The job is in the back of their minds and yet they have to stand here and act like nothing happened.

“I believe we’ve got ourselves an ideal job here, boys,” Dutch replied, his intuition not picking up on the stiffness coming from the other three outlaws standing by. “As soon as that Marquis leaves his room for the mountains, we’ll strike.”

When everyone was dispersed, Hosea was the first to notice something was wrong. He sensed that John was the head of the cover up, whatever it was, and knew that he wasn’t a viable option for approach.

He went for Javier instead, which was just as bad of an idea, only he didn’t know it.

“Arthur and Brooks are still in town?” Hosea came up beside him, accidentally spooking him slightly.

“Yes, that’s right,” Javier breathed out, but he was tense, more than the others.

“Arthur always reports back to Dutch before a job…” the older man trailed off, brows furrowing over the matter.

Arthur was a loyal dog. He clung to the gang and his position within it. Any stray from tradition would indicate something more important coming to pass, and Hosea was dying to know what it was.

“He thought it would be best to keep an eye on the building.”

Javier tried to busy himself after his reply, but it wasn’t enough to keep Hosea from coming to his own conclusions.

“Something happened, didn’t it?” He asked solemnly. His hope was that the two outlaws left in town were alright. He knows they’re alive, otherwise the group that returned home would have panicked. Instead they were very calm, and secretive. They were hiding something.

Javier looks over his shoulder to Hosea, a sigh on his lips.

“I can’t tell you,” he whispered just loud enough for Hosea to hear. “He made it very clear…”

Javier is still reliving that moment in the alley over and over again. He was the only one who actually saw what those men did, and it’s a sight he wishes would leave him. The force of strength against a young girl, the blood on her legs and on the man who took advantage of her. The screams for help that never passed the dirty hands of a disgusting man.

“I understand.” With a scratch to the bottom of his chin, the older man had to take a moment to gather his thoughts.

Something happened to Brooks, he thinks.

Hosea has been witnessing it for some time now, the slow yet steady growth of affection between two outlaws in camp. One being the stoic brute with a soft side, and the other being the red haired firecracker with anger issues.

Arthur is protecting her, somehow, some way. That’s why they’re still in town.

He didn’t press any further, but he knew that whatever happened was still going on to some degree. There wouldn’t be any reason to lie about it otherwise.

You got past the job. Sort of.

Arthur insisted that you and him be the ‘lookout’ on the bottom floor for the entirety of the time, and nobody bat an eye… but you didn’t do anything. You stayed in the room you’d been in all day, letting the others raid the Marquis’ room through the window of the suite. You’d been able to pass along the information about the ledge and the terrace. It hadn’t been worth it at this point, but Bill and Sean were grateful for it, given that they had actually searched the room.

The job turned up around three thousand dollars in the end. Enough money for the gang to support its backend for a while. The Marquis never even knew what he lost until after he was gone from the town later that afternoon. No one was the wiser about the Van Der Linde’s being responsible, either.

It was overall a clean break, minus one steep price, which was yours to pay. No one knew, no one needed to know.

‘Act like you’ve forgotten about it’ Arthur had told those who were present, and they listened. You’d get the odd glance from Karen and John, looks of sympathy from Javier… but no one noticed and no one cared. It was back to business as usual, and you did your best to play the part.

It felt weird, being in the camp afterwards. You stopped sitting around the fire for a drink at night, and you stopped socializing in the daytime with the other girls between work. You barely spoke to anyone who wasn’t Arthur, and that was because he always approached you first. The others tried to from time to time, but you didn’t give much effort to keep up the conversations.

They all assumed you were just moody from the summer months setting in closer.

Truth be told, it did have its effects. You’d find yourself overheated and overwhelmed several days, having to step back from camp with a wet rag and breath a little.

The worst were the nights. Nothing to distract you, no work for your hands or distant chatter to eavesdrop on. Just silence, and a small closed off space in your tent on the edge of camp. You’d always been set up by Arthur’s wagon, just a few feet away. Since you were just Texas Red, he’s always been within arm’s reach.

Sitting alone in your tent every night, he feels the furthest away he’s ever been. And it hurts you to feel that way. He’s given you an undying declaration of his devotion to you, and yet you feel distant from him. It’s a sad and guilty feeling, because you know you’re the reason for the distance. You could just ask for him and he’d be by your side, but you feel embarrassed every time you think about it. You’re tougher than this, tougher than needing to be coddled. So many women experience this same thing, and you know it, and you know that they’re probably stronger and more resilient than you. Arthur wouldn’t think any less of you, and you know that, but just the thought of groveling from what happened makes your skin crawl.

You curl into yourself on your cot, sitting up straight and bitting your thumb to keep the sounds at bay when the tears start rolling. There’s still a few stragglers by the camp fire, and you know if you don’t keep quiet, someone will come looking… but when the fire goes out…

You let it loose, still small enough that the camp won’t be bothered, but just loud enough that the camp enforcer catches the tail end of a sniffle when he walks by behind the tented cloth.

He ducks his head in immediately, face falling into a dim frown when he sees you curled against yourself like that.

You don’t say anything to him, just turn your head away to try and save face before he rushes in. It’s his job, though. He’s already committed to it, and told you as much. He wants to be there, for all of it. He knows the reason for your tears, and he wants to hold you until you can feel the weight shift from your shoulders to his.

“I’ve got you, sweet girl,” he rushed to your side, laying beside you and making sure you were tucked closely between his arms. “You’re alright now. Ain’t never gonna let it happen again.”

Your body was shaking, which was a new occurrence. You didn’t used to tremble like this when you cried, and it pulled at his heart to see the effects you went through.

“He stole it from me, Arthur…” you trailed, the quiet and hidden sobs breaking apart your words. “The one thing I had to give, and he stole it.”

He didn’t want to be angry at you, because it wasn’t your fault, but he hated that you thought of yourself that way.

“Red, you gotta know you’re worth more than that.”

“I saved it all that time,” you shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut to try and dispel some of the tears. “all for nothin’, now…”

He could admit, he understood your anger. Having waited on something for so long without any profit or satisfaction of payoff is difficult, especially something of such a high caliber. He’d do anything to return it to you, if it were even possible. This road you were walking was something he could probably never understand.

“I know,” he told you, “but he’s gonna die. Slowly.”

“I just want it back. I want what he took from me,” you cried, clinging to him like he was your only vice. “And I want my gun. He took that away, too.”

Arthur nodded, trying to soothe you as best he can. He’s never been good at this sort of thing. He would always turn heel at the first sign of tears in camp, knowing he wasn’t much of a consolation… but he’s trying his best for you. He is the only one who knows how severe the situation is, even among those who witnessed it in real time. He knows the aftermath of what happened has to fall on him.

“I don’t know who I am without that gun.” Your voice sounded hollow almost, and it scared him.

“You’re still you,” he immediately told you, his grasp becoming the slightest bit tighter.

“No,” you looked up at him through tear filled lashes. “You don’t understand. Without that gun, I’m not Texas Red, and I’m not Charlie Brooks, either. I’m just a scared kid that doesn’t know where to go or what to do. It’s what I was before I ever found it… and it’s what I am now.”

He doesn’t know what to say or do for a moment. He’s so taken aback by your admission that he really has to think about how to respond.

You’ve always been Texas Red to him. Always been cocky, somewhat arrogant, and full of the confidence that only comes from a gunslinger of your skill. He’s never known you without your gun, but he knows for a fact it isn’t some magical object that gives you the abilities you’ve been blessed with. Before you had it though? Well, he didn’t know you back then.

“It’s just a gun, Red. It’s not what makes you special…” he trails. He believes it wholeheartedly, but he knows in this fragile moment that you don’t. You shake your head to brush off his words but he isn’t finished.

He reaches for his own gun, sliding it from the holster and into your hands. You barely grasp it at first until he wraps your fingers around the handle like it was meant to be there.

“If I put this in your hands, you’re still just as fast,” he says confidently, not a doubt in his mind. “If I give you a can to shoot and I fire off a round myself, your bullet still hits first.” He knew it was a while ago, but he thinks about that first moment a lot. The first time he’d been genuinely intimidated by another gunslinger. “You remember that?”

You sniffled, smiling with a nod. If anyone else had tried to make you see things differently, you doubt it would have happened. Arthur gave a perspective that no one else ever could. He knew you inside and out by now.

“I remember… it was the first time I’d been scared of someone in a long while.”

He chuckled under his breath at your response, holding you close to him again and kissing the top of your head gently.

“If I’m scary, that makes you terrifying,” he let out. His hands never stopped caressing the skin they had access to, drawing invisible lines of light touch. His fingertips even held a great reverence for you.

He seemed tired, the longer he sat here in silence, and even though you wanted him to rest, you didn’t want to be without him. You knew that the second he was gone it would all unravel again, and the lonesomeness would feed your mind’s sadness.

“Arthur, stay with me?” You asked, clinging tighter to him in an attempt to show your need of him.

“Of course I will.”

Some days pass, and slowly but surely, Arthur starts moving pieces of your camp to his. It’s only four days total until your cot is pushed up next to his, and your tent cloth is used to wrap around the perimeter of his living space, closing it in from the rest of the area.

Rumors are big with the Van Der Linde’s, something you learned early on, but they don’t really have much to go off of when Arthur starts acting so… domestic. In their minds, the only explanation of him being so protective and acting in servitude is that he’s doing so for reason of family. Meaning, they think Arthur knocked you up.

Abigail, who hadn’t really thought about it much until the rumors, was all too happy to approach you. She’s the only one with a right to do so, knowing how it had been when she was carrying Jack.

When you’re by yourself after breakfast, she takes it upon herself to be outright, and confronts you with the question that made the most sense to start with.

“When’s the last time you bled?” She corners you, checking left and right to make sure no one else can hear.

It takes you a minute to fully understand the weight of what she’s asking. You haven’t exactly been focused on it, but you know that if you count back to the last cycle you had, you were probably late.

“I don’t… I don’t remember-“ your eyes widened, and your breath shuddered out. This wasn’t something you needed right now, on top of everything else.

“I knew it. I told Tilly just last week that I didn’t think Arthur was bein’ careful,” she shakes her head, placing her hands in her hips.

She doesn’t know, and you can’t bring yourself to tell her about what happened, but now you have another heaviness on your shoulders to bear. You can’t be pregnant, you can’t be pregnant, you can’t be pregnant.

“Do you really think that’s what it is?” You ask, trying to prevent yourself from having a panic attack in the middle of camp.

She shrugs, running a hand over her hair, trying to rid herself of some of the sweat gathered there.

“We’ll know this time next month for sure,” she huffs, raising her brows and shaking her head again. She thinks it’s simply just a case of Arthur being irresponsible, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

You nod to her, excusing yourself and walking speedily away from the camp. You know that if you encounter anyone else right now you’ll just fall apart.

It wouldn’t be so bad if you had this kind of a scare with Arthur. You want everything with him. You want a life, a family… but one man with a need for vengeance has ruined all of that. He has ruined you.

Arthur finds you behind one of the shady desert trees not long after you get to it. You assume he probably saw you leave in a hasty manner, and came as soon as he could. You hate to worry him, but it’s nice to know that he does.

“Y’alright, sweet girl?” He comes up beside you, seeing as you were in a fragile state. Your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you leaned against a tree, head down to hide the fact that you were crying at all.

When you shook your head, unable to look at him, he did the one thing he does best. Protect you.

He stood in front of you, arms on each side of your shoulders on the tree to make sure if anyone came by, they wouldn’t see you falling apart. He didn’t try to touch you or make any bold moves just yet. He just let you get it out, and let you be.

You probably wanted to be by yourself, having come a bit away from camp… but he wasn’t gonna let you cry alone. He’d just stand here and make sure you had some privacy from those who didn’t understand, and be here when you were ready to talk, or touch, or whatever else you needed of him.

You lifted your eyes to meet his, the tears having come to a slight halt. You sniffed and let out a breath, trying to focus on his features. They have always calmed you before, and you see no reason that now should be any different.

“Arthur, I’m scared,” you let out, hands trembling as you pull them tighter around your arms. “Abigail thinks I might be pregnant.”

His face falls, but he tries to keep a calm about himself for your sake. He doesn’t know what to say or do. All he can think about is how his rage and thirst for revenge has not quenched in the slightest. Earl Hayes is the devil, and with or without God’s help, Arthur knows he’s going to send him straight back to hell where he came from.

“Do you…?” He trails off, wiping a hand over his face to try and pull himself together. His other hand clenched into a fist on the tree. “Do you think she’s right?”

You shrug your shoulders, furrowing your eyebrows as you shake your head in thought. “I don’t know… I’m not really sure what other signs I need to look for other than the normal.”

“The normal?” He asks, slightly confused. He knows well enough how a woman works, but all the little specifics, and whatever is deemed ‘normal’ is usually lost on him.

You find his eyes again before dropping them to your feet. Suddenly your boots are very interesting to look at.

“I ain’t bled for a while,” you explained, the thought of Abigail being right somehow starting to solidify within you. It makes your stomach turn, but then again, that could just be another sign.

“Shit…” he says under his breath.

No matter what happens, he’s here. He’s always gonna be by your side, and he’s made clear of that fact several times. He just hopes that whatever happens, you’ll let him help. You won’t push him away or keep him at arm’s length. He longs to do nothing but serve you in the ways he’s always served the gang. A loyal dog, and a valiant soldier, Arthur Morgan is the most valuable person in camp. You know you’re lucky to have him.

He’s the best of the men, you remember one of the girls saying.

“I don’t want it to be true,” you shake your head, tears coming back to the surface as you tuck your head again.

He can’t stand by another second without holding you. He knows you feel comfort by him, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do the utmost to make you feel comforted in times of trouble.

He thinks about the future for a moment, trying to put it all into perspective.

In theory, if you are pregnant, he’s prepared to raise a kid that ain’t his if you tell him to. And even though he hates the bastard that did this, he knows he’d love the kid as his own because it would belong to you.

On the other side of the fence, he thinks about the possibility of Abigail being wrong. If you’re not pregnant, then you both have years ahead of you to decide whether or not it’s a road you wanna go down.

“You’re gonna be alright, ya hear?” He whispered against your hair, hand combing through the windblown strands. “I’m right with you. It’s gonna be alright.”

You didn’t mean for anyone but the few people who were sworn to secrecy to find out what happened that day, but Hosea had been rolling over his suspicions for weeks, now.

Since the heist, you’ve been on zero jobs. You’ve refused to go into town unless Arthur specifically asked you to accompany him. You’ve been very quiet and timid, and he just knows it isn’t like you. Even after the Texas Red facade wore off within the confines of camp, you were rowdy. You were rowdy and you were loud. Pearson’s description of you was one of the easiest ways a person could get the jist of your personality in seconds. ‘The carrot top that keeps heads spinning.’

He knows that whatever happened on the day before the heist, it couldn’t have been good. It affected you even to this day. And he noticed it when the others didn’t.

He knows he can’t go looking for answers in the few that were by your side that day, so he cuts the corner completely and just goes to you.

You’re doing your weekly routine of cleaning the rifles and sharpening the hunting knives when he finds you, sat quietly in the corner of camp, focused on the task at hand.

Even the way you attend to your chores looks different.

“Afternoon, Miss Brooks,” he settles himself down a few feet beside you, a book in his hand that he’d been reading before his thoughts brought him here.

“Hosea,” you nod with a smile, setting down the rifle to listen to whatever he has to say. He doesn’t often come and sit by you unless he really wants to talk. Usually, you aren’t the quiet type that just sits for company.

“It’s been a hot one today, but it’s nice n’ shady here,” he says, giving a justification as to his reasons for sitting beside you, though you don’t need them. You love Hosea’s gentle presence whenever it appears.

“It’s not so bad as last week,” you shrug, continuing on the rifle, but doing so in a slow and somewhat half-assed manner. Mostly just to look like you’re doing something so Miss Grimshaw doesn’t bite you in the ass for slacking.

“Perhaps not,” he sighed, preparing the opening he’d thought of on the way over. “Still too hot for the fires at night.”

“I haven’t been out for em’ lately,” you responded, unknowingly giving him the chance to ask a question.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you why you haven’t,” he paused, turning to you and giving a little smirk, “I miss your little shots at Bill when he’s misbehavin’.”

“I guess I’ve been gettin’ tired easy… used to be able to stay up till sunrise, but now,” you shrugged yet again, and didn’t really finish your train of thought.

You think that maybe he’s just being kind, asking after you when you haven’t been around, or rather, haven’t been interacting… but then he surprises you.

“I think it’s got something to do with what happened in town,” he suggests, although he doesn’t elaborate, and you desperately wish he would.

Your eyes are stuck to his, and your face is frozen. You don’t blink or move or even breath for a second, trying to figure out what he knows, and how.

“I don’t-“ you stutter, words failing at the worst of times. “What do you-?”

“I don’t know what happened, but I know something did,” he assure you, but it does little to settle your nerves. “When the others returned from recon, they were all… bothered, in some way. They wouldn’t speak of it, and tried to convince me that all was well.”

“But?” You asked, knowing there was always a negation.

“But,” he nodded, his fingers lacing together after he dropped his book to the dirt. “You n’ Arthur were the only ones who didn’t come back… and Arthur always comes back.”

Oh.

Yes, he does always come back, because he’s loyal, he’s thoughtful of those who need him, and he’s personal about delivering information to Dutch. It made no sense for him to stay in town, unless something had been wrong. Dutch may not have picked up on it, but Hosea was always Arthur’s closer mentor and father figure. He would have detected even the slightest stray from character a mile away.

“You expectin’ me to tell ya?” You asked softly, hopeful that he would say no and you could just let him wonder, but Hosea was never so impersonal with the camp members. He liked to talk with everyone, and know them by their stories. He was good to you, and had been there in the rocky times when the other camp members were cold or a bit mean to you. Past Arthur and Abigail, he’s the closest thing to a family member you’ve got.

“I don’t expect anything, but I’m here to listen to whatever you care to tell me,” he admitted.

It crossed your mind to pick up the rifle in your hands and keep washing it clean, to tell him that you really had work to do and maybe he could come back and chat another time… but you’ve been holding it in for so long, and the only person you’ve discussed it with is Arthur. The others who were present that day are too uncomfortable to bring it up to you, and for good reason.

You heave a deep breath before turning to him.

“I was… violated by a man n’ his friends that day,” you shared, a cringe on your face when the words came to out. “I guess I killed his buddy, and he recognized me.”

Hosea’s face drops, and it all comes together. You’re Arthur’s girl, and something like that happening to you meant he’d be by your side, not the camp’s.

He knows that most of the speculation about yours and Arthur’s relationship until now had been just that. Speculation and camp rumors. He understands, though, that this terrible situation was a wake up call for Arthur. No more playing around. No more games that involved you tip toeing around each other without getting serious.

He looks at you and sighs. If only it didn’t have to take something so drastic for you both to come together. He knows you’re not the same because of what happened, and it saddens him to finally know the reason.

“I’m very sorry, darlin’,” he muttered, thinking about what else he could possibly say. Maybe just check on the care you’ve been getting… “has Arthur been takin’ good care of ya after-?”

You nod rapidly, a small and faint smile across your face when you think about him. Your life was changed that day, but if one good thing came out of it, you know it was Arthur’s devotion. He’d shown it to you in some way or another since the beginning, but now it was clear and evident.

“He’s always taken good care of me… now I’m just with ‘im,” you explained, eyes dropping back to the dirty rifle.

Hosea smiled, nodding his head in understanding. “I’ll let you get back to those guns… but, miss Brooks?”

You watched him stand, looking to his eyes. “Yes?”

“If you need to talk, about anything at all…”

“I know where to find you,” you said with a little chuckle, pausing before bringing your words to a finish. “Hosea, do you think we could just keep this between us? I already asked the others not to say anything…”

“Of course.”

Javier found the second man. Or at least he thinks he has…

“She’ll have to go with you to make sure,” he explained, unpacking his saddlebag and hastily putting everything down. “But he’s there. Drinking in the saloon.”

Arthur nods to him, thoughts running through his head a million miles an hour, but he understands this opportunity is fleeting, so he seeks you out.

The reaction is immediate, the way you drop everything you were doing and run for your hat. You refuse to leave camp without the Texas Red facade, now. Obviously for good reason.

When you saddle up your horse, you practically cut yourself on the sharp edge of the buckle for how fast you were going. Town awaits, and you have every intention of coming back with a form of revenge. However small it may be.

Arthur is the first to set foot in the saloon, with you in tow behind him, just barely protected from the saloon’s population. A quick scan of the bar reveals exactly the man you’re looking for. He’s borderline drunk, rambling on to the bartender about God knows what. His beard is covered in drool, and droplets of whatever alcohol has put him in this condition. He’s about to sober up real fast.

“That’s him,” you nod to the man at the counter, his hands and arms in full display were showing he was currently unarmed.

“You sure?” He tipped his head down to you, knowing that once he got his hands on this man, his death warrant was signed.

“Positive… I recognize his tattoo.”

It was just a small crest, likely of family heritage. But the smudgy black ink and the poorly drawn lines made it easy to pick out of a lineup. You remember that tattoo right in front of your face not too long ago.

Arthur came up with the quickest route possible, inviting the man outside for a chat. Being as drunk as he was, the man immediately complies. It was almost too easy, and you say a thankful prayer under your breath that no one has to put up a fight.

You can tell he’s dazed completely when he walks passed you, not even glancing in your direction. He has no idea who he just encountered, and that much is clear.

You turn heel and follow them out the door when there’s enough distance, going into the alley on the side of the building. It’s dark, and it’s hidden. But Arthur told you to stand guard of the alley, and not to let anyone cross the threshold of the quiet corner. It was best that nobody saw this man get brutalized.

“You best tell me where your buddy’s hidin’ or I’m gonna beat you till your head falls off, understand me?” He threw punch after punch, keeping a certain rhythm that made the man dizzy with pain.

“I’m just a farmer, I ain’t know nothin’,” he cried, but Arthur didn’t let up. He’d never let up for what these men did to you.

Every time he throws his fist, he remembers how he found you, curled into yourself on the ground, blood down your thighs, dirt on your back. The tears in your eyes would have been enough for him to bring the world to its knees, but the sight of your bloomers around your ankle had been the thing that drove him to the edge. They’d been torn, and there was nothing you could have done to prevent it.

You tried to keep watch, your back turned to the scene, but every punch was like a jolt of satisfaction, and you wanted to turn around and see. You craved knowing just how much pain this man was in. He held you down, and he watched his buddy hurt you worse than anyone ever has. You want him to feel that pain, and Arthur is all too happy to help.

“I don’t care what you are,” he finally responded, blood dripping over his knuckles, but not his own. “Where is Earl Hayes?”

Silence follows, and Arthur knows that it’s just a terrible man’s last attempt at trying to show he’s not a coward. Now he doesn’t hold back, using his bare hands to break bone under the man’s skin, and bring forth new places of pain the likes this man can’t handle. They most often never can.

“Fine! Fine, I’ll tell you,” he cries out, his weak hand coming up to defend what’s left of himself. He’s a deadman walking anyway, but the pain is indescribable, and he knows that the brute in front of him won’t let up until he speaks.

“Where?” Arthur holds his fist where the man can see it, and shows no signs of bluffing.

“He’s hidin’ out on beggar’s mountain. There’s a cabin up there that his family owns… he’s by ‘imself,” he rambles on, his voice shaky and his breathing ragged. You imagine his lungs are probably trying to inhale beneath broken ribs, and it can’t be easy.

“You swear?” Arthur looks him in the eye for the first time. He’s not always good at judging character, but he can tell when someone’s lying to him.

“I do, I swear!”

The pitiful sound was music to your ears. You’d cried like in front of him, and now the favor has been returned. Arthur takes a step back, knowing that the man can’t run anywhere in his condition.

“Alright… Red, you believe him?” He asks, finally letting you turn around. You both got what you came for, and you wanted to go home.

“Yeah, I believe him.”

And then without any sort of warning, Arthur pulls his gun out and shoots him straight in the face. He didn’t even have a moment to beg for his life before it was gone.

It’s now when you look at Arthur that you can see him covered in blood, none of it being his own. He’ll have to make a run for his horse to avoid suspicion from the folk around town. Even though El Paso hasn’t had a significant amount of law folk, the crimes committed are still punishable, and it’s best to stay out of the town jail.

Arthur doesn’t speak on the ride back to camp, and neither do you. Everyone is nearly asleep when you arrive anyway, with only a few exceptions. Javier is still strumming his guitar by the fire, and Pearson is still cleaning up from the day’s work. Uncle is passed out against a tree again, an empty mug in hand.

It was peaceful, and quiet. It was serene, and comfortable. The camp was a safe space for you, but it didn’t ever feel quite right unless Arthur was there. He brought a presence to the group that was more than just protection. He could make you smile at the drop of a hat, and laugh even easier. He could be the most angry man in camp on any given day, and still somehow show more joy than the others. He loved this camp, this gang… this family. And moreover, he loved you. He showed you every day just how much.

You’d gotten settled into your tent, much bigger now that it was combined with Arthur’s.

When he heaved a heavy sigh, sitting back into the cot, you looked him over. He was too tired to go and wash himself up, but the blood would dry over and become unbearable if it didn’t get cleaned from his skin.

You knelt down in front of him, examining everywhere the blood had landed. He looked at you all sleepy like, but smiled all the same when you ran a hand through his hair, a little bit of sweat lingering on his hairline and forehead.

You stood up quickly, going for one of the available wash basins before returning to where you’d knelt before him.

“You don’t gotta…” he trailed, not having a real moment to really protest before you shut him up.

“Let me,” you said firmly. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a command.

You started on his face, wiping the small splatters with a now dampened rag. You were gentle in each stroke, making sure you got every little drop before moving on to his neck, where only a little bit remained. Most of the blood had been centered on his hands and forearms, which were the closest to the man’s body as he practically disassembled it.

It should scare you, how strong he is. It should terrify you that with the smallest flick of his wrist, a grown man can die. It’s something that is unspoken by the members of camp, but they all hold a certain reverence to Arthur that you don’t feel the need to. He could bring down ten men single handedly, maybe more… but you’re not afraid of him. You don’t even feel the slightest aversion towards his strength and power.

He has already proven in many ways that you control that power. Everything he does, he does for you, and you have come to understand that fully. His gentleness and kindness is reserved for you, but likewise, his anger and brutality is reserved for you, in any way you deem it necessary to be used. The man you’re hunting is not safe. His days are numbered and Arthur is at the end of them. You feel peace knowing that he’s going to make the ground even again.

“I don’t think I beat him hard enough,” he spoke, taking you out of your thoughts. You’d been carefully scrubbing the skin of his forearm, dipping the rag back in when it became too red.

“You beat him within an inch of his life, and then you took it,” you recalled, trying not to think of it fondly for how violent it was. “S’as good as it was gonna get, I reckon.”

You smile, moving to his hands to wipe his knuckles off. When they were clean, you kissed each one, and he pulled one out of your grasp, touching your bottom lip. The heat of the moment has you leaning into that touch, but not going past it. He’s so close, you can feel the warmth from his face radiating off his skin. Arthur always ran hot, and you could pick that warmth out of a lineup.

“Arthur,” you breathed out.

You awaited the day he would kiss you for the first time. After every line that’s already been crossed, it’s something you crave, but you know why he doesn’t do it, and you try to respect him for it.

“I know…” he let his finger drop, his hand holding the side of your face when you lean into it. “I know, sweet girl.”

He doesn’t feel worthy enough. He knows he won’t until he’s avenged your virtue. It would have never mattered to him had you taken other lovers in your past, but knowing that you’d been violated before you could even experience that kind of pleasure pained him. He wanted to avenge you in every sense of the word. He wanted to avenge the person you were before it happened. He wanted to bring her back. Then he’d be worthy, and then he could kiss you. Gently, delicately, and with all the love that you deserved in the first place.

After sitting there and realizing he still wasn’t going to budge, you kissed his palm, standing up to put everything away. After that came the mundane task of getting ready for bed. Arthur still turns away when you change your clothes, only helping here and there if you absolutely need it… but having been Texas Red for the day, you’re able to do it all on your own.

Once back in a chemise and bloomers you lay down on your side of the conjoined cot, curling up and waiting for your bed partner to join you. You knew if it was up to him, he wouldn’t sleep beside you… but you’ve made it clear that you need him to be able to go through the night without waking, so he does it on that account. He takes his turn, undressing down to his union suit before taking his side. He’s so much bigger than you in all aspects, looking like a strong mountain when he lays down to rest.

You turn over to face him when he finally settles. He takes a strand of hair in his fingers and pulls it away from your face, laying it back with the rest of the unruly stands. You know that if you want to keep up the Texas Red act, you probably need to cut it again soon.

He lays silently across from you, but lets his eyes wander over every part of your face whilst he does so. It relaxes him to see you in such a peaceful state. It relaxes him knowing that you’re safe with him, and not somewhere else.

“I haven’t thanked you, for everything you’ve done for me lately,” you whispered, tucking your head against his chest and wrapping your arms around his midsection.

“Because you don’t have to. You know I’d do it anyway.”

You did know that, and he’s made himself abundantly clear on several occasions.

“But I am grateful, Arthur… you have no idea,” you continued, breathing him in as deeply as you could.

He pulled you back just enough that he could see your eyes, sleepy and full of the day behind you, but slowly regaining the glint that had been gone since the incident.

“All of this is of no inconvenience to me. I can’t rest at night unless I know you’re taken care of… and as for Mr. Hayes, devil that he is,” his voice dropped lower when he mentioned the name of the man who wronged you, the taste of it feeling like acid in his mouth. “When we find ‘im, I’m gonna rip him apart. He’ll never touch you again.”

And you know he means it. It’s these few words every night, the smell and seemingly insignificant promises that make you feel safe enough to fall asleep.

The sun rises, and then it’s time for a man to die.

He doesn’t know it yet. He’s comfortably settled in the side of a mountain range in a small cabin. He’s probably sitting and watching the same sunrise, drinking from a flask and thinking that nothing could ever harm him.

It’s good that he has that security. It’s good that he thinks he’s safe. It means he won’t run until the last second.

You didn’t speak a word to Arthur, yet. Your mind is focused, and you can’t be bothered to interact with more than a nod or a shake of the head. He knows, you have endless thoughts running around.

This man has ruined everything. You are not the same person you used to be. You can’t smile without it aching, and you can’t think about certain things without traumatic memories slipping through. You can’t even go to sleep at night without Arthur, because if you do, you wake up crying. All these are just motivation now. You’ll deal with them again when you return, but right now you’re clinging to the feeling associated with them to help you feel stronger. More angry and determined.

Arthur stays quiet, only speaking when necessary, and letting you keep your own space. He gives the occasional hum to alert you if he holds something out for you to take, or he gives you a small nudge. Otherwise the environment feels very calm and singular.

By the time you leave your tent, you almost jump in surprise of who is there to immediately greet you.

“John,” Arthur nods, trying to step past him, but the younger man keeps in step.

“Wait,” he hold a hand up, stopping you both from leaving. “I know where you’re going. I wanna come, too.”

Arthur shook his head, “No.”

“Arthur,” John pleaded, his eyes searching his friend’s for a sense of emotion he could latch onto. “I was gone a long time, and when I was, you took care of Abigail and Jack. I wanna pay it forward.”

It would take a lot more than this to make up for that lost time, but he thinks this is a start, and you understand why he wants it so bad.

“It ain’t up to me,” Arthur let out with a sigh, turning to you.

His expression tells you he’ll do whatever you want, but you already knew that. You don’t even give it another thought. You could use the help if this Earl Hayes is half as agonizing to deal with as he was the first time.

You nod to Arthur, and from there it’s all set into motion.

Two horses are saddled. You’re riding with Arthur.

The open plains leading up to the mountain side are completely empty and covered in dirt and half dead plants. El Paso is among the uglier places you’ve been to, but it feels symbolic somehow. Bad things happened in this town, so it almost feels right that everywhere you look is a barren wasteland. An outward show of an inward feeling.

The mountainside is more picturesque, with trees and a small stream running through. The sun getting higher in the sky reflects off the rippling current. It’s almost enough to distract you until you come into view of the cabin.

The second you see it your stomach drops. You can’t explain how or why, but suddenly you wish you weren’t here. You wish you were back in your cot with Arthur, lazily keeping track of the morning hours while he plays with your hair.

You feel extremely frightened just by the the four walls of that cabin. He’s within them, and you’re about to encounter him for the second time.

Arthur dismounts the horse, and John does the same, but they both lock eyes on you when they notice you haven’t moved.

“Red?” Arthur asks gently, his hand settling on your knee where it still straddles the back of his horse.

You look in his direction, tears backing your eyes and a grim expression on the rest of your face. He asks a million questions at once with one gaze, but you answer only the most important one with a simple nod. Are you alright?

You get off the horse and follow behind them.

You’re going along with them but you’re not really paying attention to anything they say. You miss the making of the plan, and Arthur knows that your head is somewhere completely different. He doesn’t say anything to check you on it. It’s not his place to do such a thing. He’s here for you, and if you need space during this, that’s okay. He’s going to carry out the plan, and you can be a part of it in any way you see fit. This is for you, and you get to decide what your actions are.

You stand off to the side of the entrance when they first enter, and wait for them to bring the perpetrator outside his small confinement.

Your ears are nearly numb to the shouts. Earl Hayes is much louder than you assumed he would be. You almost don’t believe it’s him, until they drag him out and throw him to the ground, guns out and pointed at his head. You freeze again, catching eyes with the man that started it all. You should feel power by looking down on him. You should feel an immense sense of calm knowing that you have two strong and capable outlaws who are willing to tear this man apart for you. But you don’t.

“You,” he snarled, face contorting into a deep grimace. He was even uglier than the lands of El Paso. “I knew I should’ve killed you when I had the chance.”

“Shut the hell up,” John said, gun still pointed at his head, while Arthur holstered his and knelt down to grab him by the shirt.

“You know why we’re here?” He asked rhetorically, almost a statement of fact more than a question. Of course he does. “And I reckon you know what’s about to happen.”

Earl lifted his chin high in the air, the arrogance and pride he still wore was astounding for someone who was about to be dismantled like a dead animal while he was still breathing.

“She killed my best friend,” he sneered, trying to justify himself as if it would make a difference.

Arthur had to keep his cool in this moment. He knew that if he started just beating the man senseless, he’d die too fast, just like the man in the alleyway from last night. Of course, the bullet got him in the end.

“Red?” Arthur threw a glance over his shoulder, first to check on you, and secondly to ask you, “which hand he touch you with first?”

You were timid in your answer, and you shouldn’t be, but you couldn’t help it. Your voice got caught in your throat before you stepped forward and answered with a point of your finger.

“The right one.”

Arthur nodded, turning back to Earl and shoving him onto his back. John came and stepped a foot on his chest to keep him from moving while Arthur pulled his hunting knife.

You had a front row seat to watch as Arthur made quick work of cutting his hand off, severing everything he could in the man’s forearm to make him feel it worse. The screams that erupted were haunting. You want to remember the sound of those screams for the rest of your life, knowing they were caused on your behalf… but for some reason the thought of it turns your stomach.

“You fuckin’ bitch!” Earl’s voice echoed, his head turning to you.

Arthur punched him as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Think we oughta shut him up proper,” John suggested, his foot on the man’s chest digging in as he took a knee.

This time it was Arthur’s turn to hold him down while John cut out his tongue. No more words for the man spewing bullshit.

Cuts and slashes were made all over the man as he wriggled around in the dirt, but the next big check off the list of dismemberment was the part of him that violated you. Arthur wouldn’t be happy with his work until he’d separated it from his body completely. John assisted him in getting access to his manhood, throwing the occasional punch to stop the screaming that came from a tongueless mouth. With one swift chop of a hunting knife, Earl Hayes lost the right to call himself a man.

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to take yourself out of the moment. Everything was happening too fast. Too much too fast, all at once.

The second you saw the back of your eyelids, it started replaying in your head. That day in the alley, against the brick walls covered in dirt. A dirty, sweat salty hand over your mouth, and a burn between your legs that made you want to vomit.

Your eyes opened wide, and you tried to come back to reality. This man can’t hurt you anymore, he’s about to die… Arthur is about to kill him.

You came closer, thinking that seeing this would bring you satisfaction and stop the visions of what he did, but it didn’t. You weren’t gaining anything. You were just standing there. Your hand didn’t take part in it, so it wasn’t your satisfaction to have. You want him to die, but by your own hand.

Arthur made it clear that you wouldn’t touch him, nor him you, but there was still another variable he didn’t consider.

You disappeared behind the two of them, and into the cabin, but they never stopped their work of torturing the man. Earl was still screaming, and Arthur wanted to shut him up for good. He put away his knife and started beating him the only way he knew how. Mercilessly.

John held him down, but within the blink of an eye, Earl’s survival instincts kicked in, and he scrambled beneath the men to get up, swinging a leg to trip Arthur.

Arthur stumbled back but didn’t fall, reaching for the man who was now standing, regardless of his injuries that had already been caused.

“You think you can run?” Arthur yelled out the question with furrowed brows, practically screaming in the face of the man. “You hurt the girl I love… there’s nowhere in this world or in hell that you could hide from me.”

John came around to the back of Earl, holding his hands steady behind his back, even as he tried to break free from them both.

Arthur was about to start swinging again, his emotions taking over as he thought about why he was doing this. His girl, his sweet girl. His Red. A firecracker that’s lost her spark.

He winds up his arm, but the quick sound of gunfire and Earl Hayes head exploding into a a mass of blood and bone stops him.

He’s shocked at first, watching the body fall limp to the ground, but when he turns and sees what he knew was waiting, he realizes that this is how it was supposed to end.

You’re standing still, gun still raised, and looking at the dead man’s body. You lower your arm, reholstering your gun and finally releasing the breath you’d been holding.

Fourty-Seven.

It doesn’t feel like any other person you’ve shot before. The guilt you’ve always felt after a duel, your gun becoming heavier… you don’t feel it now. If anything, your gun feels lighter than ever. It weighs practically nothing as it sits on your hip.

The pit in your stomach suddenly feels filled, the feeling that replaced it is like a relaxed muscle after being tense.

“You found it…” Arthur trails, the meaning of his words covering many bases when he speaks them.

Arthur stares at you for a moment, and so does John. They look like they’re awaiting instructions, seeing as with only one pull of the trigger, you’ve started calling the shots.

You don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, you just shake out your shooting hand, and start back towards the horses.

They follow you wordlessly, and watch as you pull your own knife out of the saddlebag, making a giant notch on the handle of your pistol. It spans the entire length of the handle, and crosses over every other notch you’ve ever made. Fourty-six plus one.

When you settle the knife back into the saddle bag, you twirl your gun over your finger, getting used to the feeling of it being back in your most capable hands. Then you turn to Arthur, and he’s at a loss for what you do.

You smile at him. Genuinely, without the forced nature of it, or the immediate retrieval of the expression upon knowing you’re wearing it. It’s your smile. The real one.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you let out in a breath, the relief that fills the tone is unmatched. “And you, John.”

The latter nods his head, mumbling something along the lines of ‘don’t need thanks.’

Arthur doesn’t respond, too caught up in staring at you. He tosses it over in his head once before making the move to wrap you in his arms. He’s covered in blood, and now you are too, but neither of you seem to care. His arms always feel like home, and you can’t reject that feeling in a time like this.

He is the keeper of your peace, and you realize now that you finally feel it again. Peace.

“Let’s go,” you whispered to him. The morning is still young, perhaps there’s still time to be lazy and irresponsible back at camp.

You finally get your period, and it’s the biggest relief you’ve ever felt.

You’re not pregnant, and the last of your worries over Earl Hayes has finally disappeared.

Abigail is just as relieved when she finds out. She makes a comment about ‘two screaming babies in the camp’ being a disaster.

You only laugh it off, now. She doesn’t know the half of it, but you know she means well in everything she tells you. Someday you know you’ll have the option to go down that road, but it won’t be forced upon you, and it won’t be by a man who you hate and resent with all your heart. He’s dead now, and the ground has been evened out. He died quickly, which hadn’t been the plan, but it turned out to be the right course of action. Every man you’ve ever killed has been by a quick hand, the fastest there ever was. He was no different from them, you could see that, now. He was just a man, and he doesn’t have anything over you.

You begin settling into camp with more ease again, and several people take notice. Hosea even mentions that he’s glad to see you back at the campfire nights, sharing a laugh. Him knowing what happened makes him a pretty good judge of the fact that these are your first signs of normalcy since it happened. He’s happy beyond belief for you, that you’ve been able to overcome something so harsh and unforgettable.

Arthur notices the change in you the most. He obviously pays more attention than the rest, but even if he didn’t, it’s so easily evident to anyone that cares to look at all. You’re happy again. Not quiet, not secluded, and not timid. You’re loud again, and rambunctious. Your laugh echoes off the dirt and desert trees when someone makes a bad joke.

You’re asking to go on jobs again, and poking fun at those who tease you first. It’s like a complete reset has happened for you, and you’ve come back to being the person that you once were.

Arthur invites you to go on a hunting trip with him, having been tasked with stocking up by Dutch.

He knows it’ll be a half days ride to the place he wants to hunt, but he’s willing to put in the hours, and so are you. You’re not afraid to leave camp, and you’ve been damn near everywhere in the last week or so.

He reckons that some alone time, away from the camp might be beneficial. It’ll give you a chance to talk to him openly, without having to censor any details that you would otherwise have to around the others.

The ride is long, but your horses seem to enjoy being in a more beautiful spot than they’ve had the pleasure of residing in lately. El Paso is ugly…. But wherever you’ve found yourself is not.

There’s a mountain in the distance, but for miles all you see is trees and sky. It’s stunning to look at, almost resembling a painting you saw once in a small hotel.

Arthur takes to hunting almost the second you arrive to the area, jumping into his element and enjoying his time.

You were never much a hunter. Not that you couldn’t learn how… but it didn’t really appeal to you. You’d much rather watch Arthur, his slow and calculated movements, each one drawn out with a deep breath.

After he’d caught something, watching him take the time to skin the animal and wrap up what he needed to. His muscles contracting when he’d throw a deer over his shoulder like it weighed nothing at all.

You watched from a small grass patch under a tree as he worked away at his recent catch, wiping the sweat off his brow. His shirt had been unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest, and you were barely keeping it together. His skin being on display was something you’d become accustomed to, and you enjoyed it whenever it happened.

Arthur is a beautiful man. He doesn’t know it, and thinks poorly of himself, but if he could see himself through your eyes, he’d be the most prideful and boastful man that ever lived. His strong frame that could labor any task that was thrown at him, and his face that seemed to be carved out of some precious stone. When God created Arthur, he took time and care to make one of the most bewitching men on the earth. He allured you in every sense of the word.

You start to think about that attraction, and what it means to you. You’ve found him to be striking since the day you saw him. The first moment he glanced up from under his hat at you, a spell had seemingly fallen on your shoulders. Even when he teased you, you still found him irresistible.

No one else gets to call you Red but Arthur, even to this day. You used to hate it more than anything, but hearing it from his lips is the most endearing sentiment.

You fall into another slew of thoughts, ranging from yourself, to Arthur, to your gun, and to the events and past happenings of late. You’ve been thinking on them very carefully, but for good reason. There had been a decision made by you only a day or two before, that could help attribute to your good mood within the camp. It had been in your head for the last weeks, but it had only just been solidified. You wanted to share the conclusion with the only person it concerned.

“Arthur?” You ask, sitting up from the tree root and laying on your elbows.

“Yeah?” He throws a look over his shoulder, tentatively letting you know he was listening despite his task at hand.

“I think I’ve decided something…” you began, words coming slower because you wanted them to sound right. “Hayes is dead… and I’m not pregnant.”

He nodded on for you to continue, setting the pelt aside and turning to face you from where he was kneeling. He assumed that this required his full attention.

“What he did to me… it didn’t ruin me, and he’s the one that paid the price…” you settled on that phrasing specifically because of some of your past conversations. You wanted him to know that you felt differently. “but he didn’t have any right to take what he did.”

Arthur agreed, a dip of his head to go along.

“No, he didn’t. Sent ‘im straight to hell for it…”

“I’m not finished…” you trailed, eyebrows furrowing to contemplate the next bit. It was a hard concept to explain, especially since you were just now grasping it yourself. “what if when I killed him i got it back? Like my gun.”

“I don’t understand,” he stood up, walking over to you. He sat down in the grass beside you, leaning on one arm as he stared at your face. Your features were deep in concentration, trying to string together your thoughts. He didn’t rush you, just let you take your time to find the words.

You pushed yourself to a sitting position, leaning on one arm to be closer to him.

“He never had the right to take something from me that needs to be given. I’ve decided that now that he’s dead, it didn’t count.” Your tone was firm and unwavering on the subject for the first time since it happened. You’d barely been able to speak on the matter so plainly, but now it was as easy as the breath you just took. “My virtue still belongs to me… and I’m the one that gets to choose who keeps it, not him.”

The smile that lights up his face isn’t missed by you, even though he ducks his head in a steep nod to try and hide it. He can’t help but beam under the soft sunlight, coming down through the trees in pretty streaks.

He can finally see it again. That gleam in your eyes that was missing from the day of the incident. He was completely filled with joy to know that after the hard road, you’d come back. You were back. Your red hot flame had been reignited, and you were finally there, completely present, and just like your old self.

“I see,” he said plainly, trying to act like he wasn’t on the verge of being downright giddy. “I’m happy you feel that way.”

You sit up closer, nearly right in front of him, and wrap your arms over his neck and shoulders, holding him like nothing bad had ever happened.

“I think you might be happier about the next part,” you spoke softer, playing with the strands at the back of his neck, a bit sweaty from the work he’d accomplished.

“Yeah?” He mused, arms going around your waist and pulling your body in. His hands always felt so natural there, like the size of his hands was meant to fit just above your hips.

You nodded sweetly, putting your face right by his and whispering in his ear. There’s no one around, but even the animals can’t hear your confession.

“I want you to keep it.”

He already knew that, and had known it for some time… but hearing it now was enough that he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Smile is too small a word, because the expression more fits the description of a wide grin. He even lets out a breathy laugh, his eyes squinting in the corners.

“It’d be the highest honor of my life,” he lets out, hugging you into his body. You loved the feeling of it, and you’re not sure you’ll ever truly grow used to it. His broadness against you, reminding you every day just how big and strong and powerful he is, but he bends to you, covering you and protecting you from everything he can.

He pulled you back at arm’s length for a moment, a thought coming to him that he’d long since forgotten. Now was a perfect time to bestow upon you a gift he’d been saving.

He held a hand up in pause, maneuvering to stand back to his feet as to grab his satchel, still perched on the log by his knife.

When he comes back, you can’t tell what he’s holding, fingers tucked tightly around the item like it’s some precious thing. To him, it is, because it was meant for you.

“I’ve got something for you… been holding onto it.” He hesitated to explain the reasoning for his delay, but figured you showed him just how little it bothered you now. “I got it that day, and it never felt right to give it to you until now.”

He got close again, reaching for your hand before he held up the ring. It’s been in his possession a long time now, and every so often, he’d look at it in the hopes of this moment. He’d cleaned it up real nice, it had a shine to the silver that the shop keeper had probably never seen. The turquoise was polished up, too.

You felt your chest tighten with a feeling of adoration. He’d gotten this for you way back then. He’s been holding onto it. You reckon it had been in his possession before any of the confessions you made were exchanged. He just loved you that much.

“Arthur, it’s beautiful… I love it,” you said, damn near tearing up over the small piece of jewelry. You take it in your hand and slide it over the finger you think it’ll fit best, your pointer, before holding your hand out to see how it looks.

Arthur says nothing in the moment, but he thinks he’d rather see it on a different finger, in a different context.

You wrap him into another hug, feeling him tug you closer again with those strong, bear wrestling arms. He turns his head to kiss the side of yours, his lips staying by your ear when he speaks.

“It’s only a place holder until I find something nicer…” he trails, not even thinking about the words he just said.

In his head he wants to ask you, but the question itself is terrifying. Maybe he can just let you guess what he wants to say by the hints he can drop you.

“A place holder for what?” You ask, leaning back to search his features. He’d sounded like there was more to say.

Suddenly his nerves get the better of him, and he decides now ain’t the time. What a chicken…

“I uh-“ he shakes his head slightly, giving the best excuse he can think of. “Well, it’s just not as nice is all…”

You furrow your brows and take another look at the ring, the way it fits you, and just how good it looks. It’s not fancy, but it’s not supposed to be. It’s supposed to be for you, and you think it matches up exactly.

“It’s perfect… I don’t need anything else.”

You caress the side of his face to pair with your assuring words, even though he didn’t really need assuring, and just used that excuse as a cop out for what he really wanted to ask. He nods in agreement, leaning into your touch.

“Alright…”

Sitting here on the grass, the soft sunlight gleaming down through the trees, and the wind blowing gently, the ambience is damn near the best you’ve ever seen. You start to fall back, a grin on your face as he realizes he’s being pulled along with you. You land back on your elbows, his hand still splayed across your mid back, and the distance between you closing in.

Arthur has gone through hell and high water for you, and served at your beck and call whenever you needed. He has killed for you, and you know if it came down to it, he’d die for you. He has shown the utmost respect, love, and loyalty to you that any man possibly could… but he’s never kissed you before. You’ve waited ages for him to just get close enough.

You understood why he didn’t want to after the incident, though in your mind you didn’t agree… but now there were no boundaries left. He didn’t have to feel unworthy. He’d restored the light in your eyes, and the fiery spark that had gone dim. He was practically the only person worthy enough to kiss you anymore.

Even after waiting for so long, he didn’t just dive in. He still savored every moment, each second that passed was of no inconvenience to him. He took his time, forehead pressing against yours. His other hand came up to tuck your hair behind your ear, gently tracing your jaw, before his thumb ever so slightly parted your bottom lip from the top.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and your eyes fluttered shut, your hand traveling behind his neck again to ground yourself on his skin.

It was so delicate, the way his lips swiftly brushed yours to test the waters. Everything in your was screaming to just kiss him already, but there was so much intimacy in this moment that you couldn’t dare skip over.

The first time he actually slotted his lips against yours was like the softness of a lucid dream. It feels real, but there’s a cloudiness around it that makes it feel ethereal.

You can’t even describe the sensation in your stomach when he kisses you. It’s a warm and soothing experience that creeps up into your body, onto your skin and down your spine.

It’s over too soon, even though you’re taking sharper inhales of breath to compensate.

His forehead rests on yours again, and you can practically feel his smile an inch from yours.

“I think I’m a goner,” he says quietly, nuzzling your nose against his.

“Get in line.”

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howlett-n-morgan · 13 days ago