#arthur and john ain't about to allow that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

strwbite · 1 year

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i can already tell this is about to be my new fav blog… can i request something about john and arthur (separately?? whatever is easiest) falling for a fem gunslinger who’s new to the gang?? :)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ A/N; how sweet of you to say, anon!! thank you so much! :D <333 and yes, of course you can! gonna be so honest here, i got SUPER into writing arthur's part and made it way too long, so this post is condensed to just arthur's perspective. i'm currently writing up john's, but i think it'd make the post a bit too long if i included both, so i decided to go ahead and post this one tonight! i hope to have john's up some time tomorrow—in a separate post so nothing is too long! i hope you understand and i am so excited! i had a lot of fun writing this for you!:D i hope it's in character for arthur, i tried my best!:) anyways, enough rambling, let's get into it!

♡ ; WARNINGS; fluff, some angsty themes, descriptions of a wound, hurt/comfort ♡ ; SUMMARY; you tend to arthur's wounds and he realizes just how much he cares for you ♡ ; RATING; sfw ♡ ; CHARACTERS; arthur morgan ♡ ; DETAILS; 3.5k words, part one - find john's part here (wip)

“Arthur Morgan!”

Your voice was hushed in your throat as you whisper-shouted his name through the air of Horseshoe Overlook, your words sounding more like a scold than a greeting. Said scolding hung heavy over Arthur and he tipped his head down in embarrassment, the black leather of his hat covering what little you could see of his face. He sat in his horse's saddle, one hand holding the reins as he led her to the post. The other hand held a white-knuckled grip on the opposing shoulder, his body slouched over as he guarded it. Taking a step closer, you noticed the crimson stain seeping into button-up that lay beneath his equally bloody hand, ichor oozing out of what you could only chalk up to some sort of wound.

It was around four in the morning and most everyone at the camp was fast asleep, save for some of the camp’s night owls, who wandered around, aimlessly. You had finished your chores around camp and decided to spend some time picking up the slack where other members had failed to keep up with their responsibilities; a selfless attempt to avoid any conflict between Grimshaw and aforementioned slackers. You had been wiping down a dirtied table that sat across from the hitching posts when you were interrupted by the sound of hooves clobbering against the dew-covered grown. The hoofbeats were met with a sleep-deprived Lenny who called out, ‘Who goes there?’, which was met with Arthur’s half-hearted, ‘S’just me, Lenny.’, before he rode up to the hitching post.

“Christ, what happened to you?” You chided, rushing to his side as you took a closer look at the blood-stained hand he held over the presumed lesion. There was more blood than you had originally noticed, some of which was a deep brown that dried and seeped into the cotton of his sleeve, speaking note to just how long it had been bleeding. You reached up, gesturing for him to move his hand, but he only nursed it closer to his side, causing a grimace to spread across his face at the movement.

He was in pain, that you knew for sure—despite what you’ve learned of his durable reputation, seeing him like this worried you. You and Arthur had grown somewhat close after your arrival. At first, you had a hard time accumulating to the hectic nature of the gang, but he aided you in your transition into the Van der Linde lifestyle. He checked up on you daily, offering you food, errands—just about anything you could think of. Arthur also held conversations about your life before, allowing you to ramble on about who you are and where you came from; how different things are now—and he'd validate everything you had to say about the Gang's way of life and your upheaval. After some time, he even took to bringing you small gifts and trinkets he found when he'd run off somewhere, each time saying something along the lines of, ‘I know you ain't got none of your old stuff with you, so here, saw this and thought of you.”.

Needless to say, you had developed a strong affinity for the cowboy. So when he disappeared, seemingly without a trace, it troubled you.

You hadn’t seen or heard from him in days—in fact, no one around the camp had. Days without Arthur turned into a full week without Arthur and you couldn’t hide the concern that stirred inside of you. Despite your new position in the gang, you know this wasn’t unheard of, per se—Arthur had a habit of disappearing for days at a time, only to return with various trophies and animal pelts from his adventures. But something felt off to you, this was different. That feeling only served to be solidified when you overheard Charles muttering something along the lines of, ‘Didn’t find him when I went lookin’ earlier.’, in a passing conversation with Javier.

And yet, here he was—the cat dragged him in, albeit not without a few scratches and bruises. He slung his leg over the saddle and to the other side of his horse, a hiss slipping through his gritted teeth at the pain that seared through his shoulder at the movement. You offered him a hand and helped him down, supporting his weight to the best of your ability. After he was on the ground, you slung his non-injured arm across your shoulder, ignoring his stubborn insistence of, ‘I can walk on my own, ‘m fine.’, as you urged him to use you as support. Arthur accepted his fate and hooked his arm around your shoulders—the blood leaking from the injury at the loss of pressure—and allowed you to help him to his tent.

“Can’t believe you’d run off on us like that, Morgan—you do this a lot?” You griped at him, but concern tinged your every word. “Had everyone worried half to death—‘m glad you’re back, even though I hate seein’ you like this.”

“Ain’t nothin’ for you to make a fuss over, best you quit that bellyachin’. Don’t wanna make yourself sick worryin’ about me.” He remarked.

“Oh, Arthur, I’m always worryin’ about you.”

Arthur could hear the genuinity in your tone, so palpable and honest, and it sent a fire of guilt burning through him, his head drooping low once more in avoidance. He never meant to worry you. The last thing he ever wanted to do was keep you up at night, wondering if he was okay or if you'd ever see him again. He was adamant that a newcomer like you shouldn’t have to worry about that sort of thing in the first place—you were just getting your land legs within the gang, you shouldn’t have to concern yourself with the likes of him. Despite the remorse pooling in his stomach, it was hard to ignore the way his heart sputtered against his chest at your expressed concern. Arthur wasn’t the most in-tune with his emotions and when he was, it was scarcely pleasant. His feelings were deprecative at best, most of them leading him to believe he was undeserving of care; that everything he'd ever accomplished had been nothing but evil, hateful deeds—that he deserved all the bad things that happened to him—that would happen to him. He had it coming, of course. The thought of a lady like you caring for a wicked man like him profoundly confused him and sent his brain wracking. But even he had to admit, the way you spoke to him with such consideration piqued his interest. On one hand, he felt he wasn’t worthy of such a sweet, caring person in his life—on the other, he wondered what it would be like to be to get to know you. To open up to you. To let you in.

“I ain’t worth the fuss.” He remarked, disregarding the way his heart heaved heavy in his ears at the thought of something more tangible between the two of you. He averted his attention back to the wound he nursed on his shoulder, taking notice of the grime and debris that surrounded the gash. He assumed that all the poking and prodding at it with less-than-clean hands egged on the infection that dared to fester. His adrenaline had worn off at this point. His shoulder ached and throbbed.

“Just got myself a souvenir from an O’Driscoll, s’all—graze at that, mind you. Ain’t nothin’ to write home about—why’re you so concerned anyways, Miss?”

“Oh sure, just a graze,” you scoffed and rolled your eyes, your tone dripping with sarcasm. Despite his aloof demeanor, you continued guiding him to his tent with slow, tentative steps as you supported his weight with your own. “‘Cause, Arthur, that could get nasty real quick and I ain’t too keen on lettin’ you up and die by the hands of an O’Driscoll. Graze or not, you’re lettin’ me doctor you up—and I mean proper.”

Arthur opened his mouth to argue—to insist that he would be fine, that he didn’t need a lady such as yourself to waste precious time on a man like him, but the words fell short when he turned to look down at you. Your gaze met his own, your demeanor softened with worry and care, and it sent a flight of butterflies he didn’t quite know he had fluttering in his stomach. How could he say no to you? With a long-winded exhale, Arthur nodded his head in response, his eyes darting around the camp to avoid your stare.

“Sure.”

When the two of you reached his modest tent, you eased him into a seated position on the cot before taking a step back. With an insignificant gesture that said ‘one second’, you scurried off to grab the much-needed supplies, leaving the cowboy to sit and fester in his stirring emotions and searing pain. You weren’t gone too long, though, and you returned with a bottle of whiskey in one hand. The other held a strip of flannel and a roll of gauze.

“Now, this ain’t gonna feel good by any means,” you murmured as you lowered yourself to the cot, taking a seat next to him.

Arthur had been through this process many times—several of those times were unfortunately at the mercy of less-than-careful hands. Needless to say, he knew the pain and he knew it well. His painstaking fate mattered little to him at the moment, though, as all he could focus on was how close you sat to him. He’d sat next to you before, sure—but not like this. You sat with pure intentions, leg brushing up against his own as you leaned in to examine the wound with such care. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around it—you knew of the things he had done, his reputation certainly preceded him. You knew exactly the type of man he was, tied up in his wrongdoings and sins, and yet, you didn’t question a single thing. Instead, you gave him a brief scolding and treated him with a gentle kindness he’d never quite received. You took care of him. The moment felt tender like never before, filled with consideration and attentiveness—Arthur couldn’t recall a time he had been so vulnerable with someone, save for Mary Linton, which was long over and done with.

“Don’t I know it.” He grumbled.

Arthur shifted his position on the cot, leaning forward to give you a better view of the supposed ‘graze’. What you could make of the surrounding flesh beneath his shirt’s fabric was red and inflamed, a testament to the trauma it bore. The wound itself pulsated as blood trickled down, matting the ripped fabric of the shirt to his skin. Your feeble fingers grazed around the edges as you struggled to get a closer look through squinted eyes. Some of the view was obstructed by clotting blood and torn fabric—Arthur grimaced at the sensation of your touch against the inflamed skin.

“How long I got, doc?” He queried, voice hitching in his throat in pain while he attempted to make light of the situation. You had to admit, it was a nasty wound—a bullet to the shoulder was rarely a welcomed invitation, especially to those who didn’t receive care from a proper medic, but you had seen worse.

“Well, Mister Morgan,” you spoke as your hands worked the cap of the whiskey bottle, a loud ‘pop!’ signaling that it was open. You lifted the flannel to the top of the bottle and flipped it over, soaking the material as the stench of alcohol flooded your nose. “You’ll live. Probably. Y’know you’re lucky you found yourself at the hands of a medic such as myself.”

The two of you shared a laugh at your jest—in all actuality, you had little to no idea what you were doing when it came to anything medicinal. The best you knew was to clean it with whiskey, drink the aforementioned whiskey to help with the pain, wrap it up, and pray it doesn't get infected. But you would be damned if you didn’t at least try to assist the poor man; you didn’t know Arthur to ask for help. The little time you had spent with the man proved him to be self-reliant, sometimes to a fault. The fact that he accepted your aid, albeit begrudgingly, was a surefire sign that something was wrong.

Your gesture didn’t go over his head, either, as he watched you work the bottle and cloth with attentive hands. He shook his head and a nervous-lipped grin twitched at his lips as he looked down at the liquid courage in your hands.

“S’pose you’re right. Dunno what I’d do with myself if it weren’t for you.”

“You’d do nothin’, I imagine it’d be a lonesome life, Mister Morgan. ‘Sides, who else ‘round here would fix up your,” You paused, as if searching for the right words, “Graze wounds, if you hadn’t met me?”

And with that, you raised the alcohol-soaked strip to the wound and gingerly pressed it against the laceration, dabbing it in repetition to remove any excess blood or dirt. Arthur flinched in response to the cloth brushing against the inflammation, followed by a small hiss slipping through gritted teeth as the raw sting of whiskey sept into the gash. You worked with vigilance and the most delicate touch you could manage, and he sat still for you, knowing it was for the better. The consequences posed if you didn’t flush it out served enough for him to bite his tongue and suffer through the pain.

When you finished the final touches of your doctoring, you pulled the flannel away and discarded it to the cot beside you. You replaced it with the roll of gauze and worked it around his arm, covering the scrape and securing it to itself. After finishing, your hand lingered on the unbothered skin below, your thumb rubbing circles against the skin to soothe him.

“It ain't perfect by any means, but that should do it.” You assured him with a gentle smile.

At this point, you sat so close to him. You enveloped Arthur’s every sense, from the wavering heat of your hand against his arm to the smell of gunpowder and wildflowers wafting off of you—the sight of you peering up at him with such fondness sent his heart racing once again. His hands fidgeted, nervous and awkward, as he stared at you for just a moment longer than necessary, before breaking away. The grip you had on Arthur grew tighter and tighter with every moment he spent in your presence. He wasn’t the best with these sorts of things, finding it all too complicated and confusing to put into words; he even rambled about it in his journal, writing, ‘I am not sure why I find myself so drawn to her; how do I explain this to her if I can’t even explain it to myself?’. From the way you carried yourself across the camp with such poise, to the way you gawked at him from across the campfire sent sparks flying in Arthur’s mind. Not to mention the eager way you rushed up to speak with him every time he came home—he was enamored with you, as nervous as he was to admit it.

“Thank you,” Arthur murmured as his eyes darted from yours to the thumb tracing circles on his bicep. He prayed you wouldn’t notice the flush that crept across his cheeks, starting from his nose, traveling all the way to his ears and neck.

Despite his wishful thinking, you noticed it, but you found it endearing. You had never seen Arthur this flustered—tongue-tied, sure, but never quite like this.

“I sure do appreciate it.”

You gave him a soft smile, eyes trailing along the heat that crept across his sun-kissed cheeks. You started to stand from the cot, keeping your eyes set on him as you rose to your feet. “‘Course, Arthur. Now, you just go ahead and rest up, all right?”

He nodded along as you spoke, avoiding looking into your eyes with a sense of embarrassment. It was never his intention to worry you, and he knew he'd be beating himself up for weeks over this entire endeavor. “Thank you for takin’ care of me—didn’t think you’d much care ‘bout it, 'bout me. ‘M sorry for bein’ gone so long.”

“Pfft,” You stifled a small laugh from within your throat as you placed a flattened palm against his non-injured shoulder, urging him to look up at you. “Don’t mention it. And ‘course I care ‘bout it. I care ‘bout you, Arthur—we all do.”

You offered him, yet another, sweet smile and used your thumb to rub the same circles against his shoulder. If you’d let him, Arthur was certain he'd stay like this for hours—under the comfort of your touch as the soft glow from oil lamps and moonlight shone over you. Your time spent with him was short-lived, sure, but there was no denying the way he gravitated to you. You were a fresh face, so kind and sweet to everyone you met, despite your reticence, and he found himself wanting to spend time with you. He'd ask you to accompany him into town, even if it were just to drop off some mail or pick up something on behalf of Dutch. He even took to bringing you along while hunting or going on scouting missions, despite initial hesitance. He was reluctant to put your in harm's way, but with some convincing on your end and a showcase of your way around a gun, he obliged you and found himself enjoying the company.

The world made sense when you were around, not so much when you weren’t.

“I care 'bout you, too. I'd even say I enjoy havin' you around, 'specially when you're fixin' me up." Arthur blurted out after a moment's silence, hands fidgeting as the boldness of his words sat heavy on his shoulders. Nerves soon sat in and his stomach twisted into a bundle of anxiety, sweat beading at his hands and forehead—did he say the wrong thing?

"Pardon, I, uh, not that I don't always enjoy your company, ‘cause I sure do-you're, uh, a real pleasure to be around, s'just—am I talkin' too much? Feels like ‘m talkin’ too much.”

He blabbered on, stammering over his words as he struggled to form a coherent sentence and you couldn’t conceal the laugh that slipped from your lips. It wasn’t one of malice or mockery; it was pure admiration.

“Oh, Arthur,” you sighed, your voice filled with warmth and affection that sent a fire of nerves burning through him. With a mix of nervousness and longing, you leaned in closer, bridging the gap between the two of you. Your eyes locked, and you could sense the anticipation in the cool air surrounding you. At that moment, time seemed to falter and come to a standstill. One of your hands caressed his hair, running your fingers through the long locks just before your lips met his in a tender, heartfelt kiss. It was soft, sweet, and everything he had ever wanted. His entire body tensed up as he felt your touch against him—it was supple and delicate, a tenderness he had seldom been gifted before, such a contrast to the pain that scorched through his shoulder and his very being. As if he needed any more confirmation, the feeling of your gentle affection laid upon him solidified everything—you made sense. He wanted to know you. He needed to know you.

With that, you pulled back, just after trailing another light touch through his hair, before you stood back to your upright position. He said nothing. You didn’t either. No words were needed when your sentiment spoke a thousand things more than he could ever dream of saying. The two of you lingered for a moment, taking in the moment as you stroked a delicate thumb against his stubble-covered cheek, tracing his time-weathered features. He leaned into your touch, ever-so-slightly.

Finally, you broke the spell of silence, your voice inching just above a whisper, “Get some rest, Arthur. You need it.”

With a final graze across his cheek, you retracted your hand and headed out of his tent, returning to the tables you were tending to, but his image stayed etched deep in your mind.

Arthur watched you retreat, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to shake the warmth that pooled in him at your kiss. His mind swirled with emotions he couldn’t quite put into words. He hadn’t felt like that in a long time; it was a feeling he thought he had lost forever, and he still questioned if he truly deserved it, even now. He replayed the fleeting moment in his mind, committing every detail to memory—the touch of your hand, the softness of your lips, the tenderness in your eyes.

With deliberate movements, mindful not to aggravate his injured shoulder, he settled flat on his back, lying down on the cot. His gaze fixed on the canvas ceiling above and his thoughts raced, consumed by you and what could be.

Gradually, sleep beckoned Arthur, tempting him with heavy eyelids and the gentle chorus of crickets chirping in the nearby woods. As the night wore on, the camp embraced a stillness that only the wilderness could offer, coaxing him into a deep sleep. In that stillness, your presence lingered, a gentle reminder that Arthur wasn’t alone; that you cared for him.

Just as he cared for you.

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cowboydisaster · 1 year

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The Fire In Your Eyes

part VII: horshoe overlook iii

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 15.2k

summary: You and Arthur take Lenny to drown his anxieties at the saloon, and it ends up bring more trouble than you would have imagined. The gang finally deals with that O'driscoll, and Arthur opens up more about his past when Abigail asks you both to take Jack out. You meet a couple of threatening strangers.

a/n: highly recommended playing 'a quiet time soundtrack' when you get to the bar scene. This chapter was so fun to write omg. Lots of set up in this chapter, along with plenty of fluff, angst and more talking about our feelings. You're still in denial, Arthur is opening up, its a whole thing. P.S. if you aren't sure who Nils is, just google him on yt. Please please check the warnings before you read! beta read by @margowritesthings <3

warnings: Violence, gore, blood, attempted/implied mention of SA, its very brief and we kill him hehe, wanted to add the tag just in case)

hotlinks: TFIYE on AO3 & official series playlist

SERIES MASTERPOST

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow

series taglist: @catnotbread @chxosangxl @globetrotter28 @justalittlerayofpitchblack @fruittiest-of-loops @randomidk-123 @heyworld-whatsup @btsiguess-kpop

“Okay, pick a color. We have pink, red, orange or white.” Marybeth asks, excitedly weaving her fingers through your hair, neatly braiding it. You smile, glancing over to her basket of wildflowers.

“How about white?” You suggest, looking at the assortment of flowers in her basket, eyes honing in on the pale white jasmines and baby’s breath.

It's a warm evening, with golden light peeking over the mountains as the sun begins to set. You had ventured down the hill towards the Dakota River with Marybeth earlier, and she had picked from a patch of wildflowers, bringing home only the most beautiful specimen. Tilly and Karen sit around on the ground next to you, and you chuckle as the three girls giggle and gossip.

“Marybeth, you oughta do me next. I can’t be goin’ out on the town with hair like this.” Karen jokes, and Marybeth lights up, excited to share the time with you girls.

You bite into an apple, crunching and savoring the sweet flavor as Marybeth braids your hair down your back. You glance into the mirror, the one Marybeth stole from Arthur’s shaving station, noticing how much your hair has grown since you’ve joined the Van der Lindes. She ties the bottom of the braid with a little white knot, smiling as she plucks some white flowers from her basket.

“You’re gonna love it.” Marybeth sighs, eyes sparkling as she begins to tuck the stems into the creases of your braid, leaving little white flowers embedded in your hair. She’s missed a few tiny pieces around your face, and they fall down, framing your cheekbones. From across camp, sitting outside his tent like an overseer, Dutch keeps his eyes on you. You ignore it, purposefully refusing to meet his glance.

You glance around, people watching as Marybeth finishes up her work. On the other side of camp, Uncle is wasted, Strauss is scribbling away in a journal, and Abigail is having a hushed argument with John. It's all so normal.

"I heard Abigail and John yellin' again this morning." Tilly tsks, shaking her head with a sigh, glancing to their tent.

"What about?" You ask, eyebrows pulled together. Marybeth releases your braid for a moment, allowing you to turn towards the girls.

"The usual." Karen bites, irritated by their bickering, and Tilly elaborates.

"Well John ain't exactly been… a great father to Jack."

"John's an ass. Jack only wants his daddy, but he knows his daddy wants nothin' to do with him." Karen explains, scowling in the scar-faced outlaw across camp.

"Poor Jack…" You frown, familiar with the feeling of being unwanted.

"How does Abigail do it all?" Marybeth asks, pulling and perfecting your braid and the flowers lined in it.

"No idea." Tilly mumbles. It grows quiet for a while as you all get lost in thought. You think about what Arthur had said, just a few weeks ago, about his son, and you sigh.

"Done!" Marybeth chimes and you smile at her as she holds Arthur's mirror up, letting you see. She's done a beautiful job, leaving the braid tight enough so it won't fall out, but loose enough for it to be beautifully messy and comfortable. The little white flowers are an intricate touch, just enough of them to add dimension to your hair without overpowering it.

"Marybeth, it's beautiful!" You say, smiling sweetly at her before reaching into your satchel.

"For your troubles." You whisper, winking as you slide her a candy bar. Marybeth's eyebrows pop up in surprise as she takes the little sweet, tucking it into her skirt.

"Thank you, Marybeth." You say, standing up and stretching your knees. You address the other girls then, nodding to them.

"I'll return this to Mr. Morgan, thank you for your good company." You say, taking his stand mirror from the ground and walking away from their wagon. Arthur's tent isn't far, and within a few moments you stand outside his covered wagon, placing his mirror back down on his designated shaving barrel with a hum.

A throat clears behind you, startling you as you whip around to find the source.

"Stole my mirror, huh?" Arthur jokes. He's standing in front of his wardrobe, wearing only a pair of jeans as he digs through the clothes in search of a shirt. He's looking down in the chest, and you swallow thickly, watching the muscles flex as you blush.

"Yeah uh, well Marybeth took it to do my hair. I'm just bringin' it back." You mumble, running your finger along the barrel lid to distract yourself.

At the mention of your hair, Arthur looks over at you. His eyes wrinkle with crows feet as he smiles, a little warm grin. The white flowers frame your face, and you look up at him with those eyes. He's sure you've fallen from heaven, looking as innocent as a lamb. How deceiving, because your temper is anything but.

He comes toward you, still shirtless, though he holds a deep blue patterned shirt in his hand.

"You uh," Arthur nods to the white flowers that crown your hair like a halo. "Your hair looks real pretty." Arthur says, pulling the shirt over his arms before buttoning it up.

You huff, pulling one of the flowers out and dropping it to the ground.

"Marybeth." You explain, just as hooves sound out like war drums from the outskirts of camp. Without a second thought, your hand rests on your holster, prepared for the worst. You jog towards the camp entrance with Arthur just as Lenny gallops through the trees on Maggie, both out of breath. Lenny practically throws himself out of the saddle in a panic, and Maggie rears up.

“They-! They got Micah!” Lenny hollers, running towards the two of you.

“Arthur! Star, Dutch! They got Micah, they got him in Strawberry. They nearly lynched me!” Lenny yells, hands resting on his knees.

You rest your hand on his shoulder, making sure he's okay, as you all try to catch up.

“What is going on?” Dutch asks, striding out of his tent and straight up to the three of you. Your braid flips over your shoulder as you make sure Lenny is steady before letting him go. He takes a breath, calming down before continuing as Dutch joins.

“It’s okay, son, breathe.” Dutch pats the younger man on the back.

“They got Micah at the sheriff’s in Strawberry, and there’s talk of hangin’ him.” Lenny explains, and you raise an eyebrow, unsure of what the problem is then. Arthur seems to be sharing a similar train of thought as he mumbles under his breath.

“Here’s hoping.” Arthur bites, and Dutch looks at him with a comically shocked face.

“Arthur.” He scolds, as if disciplining a dog, and you snort.

“Micah deserves to sit in that jail for a while. Let him get nervous, let him rot a little more, it’ll do him good.” You point out, leaning down to strike a match of the bottom of your boot.

“She’s right. You know my feelings’ bout him Dutch.” Arthur warns, voice low and you nod, lighting a cigarette.

“He is a fine man. But she’s right. He’s brought this on himself. Go get him in a few weeks, Me and the lady’s faces are plastered all over Blackwater, it’ll have to be you, Arthur.” Dutch explains, and Arthur groans with a sigh. They continue their bickering, and you leave them to it, walking over to where Lenny sits at the wooden table.

“You okay?” You ask, sitting on the table, placing your boots onto the seat of the chair next to Lenny.

“Yeah, just shaken up. I hate ridin’ with Micah, it’s like he loses his mind.” Lenny whispers, eyes far away as he shakes his head.

“Yeah… I seen it too.” You mumble, scowling. Arthur and Dutch wrap up their conversation, and then Dutch walks over to the two of you.

“C’mon kid. We’re gettin’ a drink, Dutch’s orders.” Arthur chuckles, and you slide down from the table, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I’m comin’ too.” You chime, following the two boys to the hitching posts.

“Maybe just one or two will calm my nerves.” Lenny sighs, climbing back up into Maggie’s saddle.

You pet Athena, giving her a mint as a peace offering for taking her from the hay before mounting up.

“We even allowed to go in the saloon after all that ruckus you caused?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at Arthur. Lenny turns in his saddle to look at you for a moment before spurring Maggie further into the evening.

“What trouble have you boys been causing now?” Lenny directs at Arthur, hollering over the sound of cantering hooves.

“Nothin’ much just some good n fair bar fightin.” Arthur says, downplaying the situation.

“Ha! Yeah, Arthur, just some friendly punches. How much you wanna bet that the windows’ still broken from your ass flyin through it?” You holler, and Arthur laughs, crossing over the railroad tracks into town.

“It’s all done with now, and at least nobody died.” Arthur points out to which you nod. Good point.

You trot up the main road, pulling your horses in front of the new Blacksmith building. Typically you would just hitch in front of the saloon, but the bar must be packed tonight because horses line the street in front of Smithfields. You jump down from Athena, petting her neck while looking at the new building in front of you. There's some light inside, a candle or two, and an ‘open’ sign on the front door. Outside two men talk, one wasted.

“Y-You open mis-” he hiccups, “Mister?” The one man asks, a plain looking feller. But the man he is talking to, presumably the shop owner, is a small man with small features and a big white beard. He wears a red beanie hat on his head, and his face is bright red.

“Okay…” The peculiar man says with a strong accent. Your eyebrows draw together, and you chuckle. Maybe he doesn’t speak english.

“I need a hammer… you see I'm building’ a house, buildin’ a house down the road..” The drunk man slurs, barely able to keep steady as the smaller, foreign man grabs the drunkard's arm, pushing him inside the shop.

“Okay!” The small man says, and you laugh at his oddity. You remember Hosea telling you about this shop owner, and the strange little things he sells in his shop.

“Star? You comin’?” Arthur asks, and you turn around, realizing you’d been eavesdropping on the strangers. You turn back to the shop for a moment, eyeing its peculiarity before sheepishly turning back to Arthur.

“I'm gonna go check this place out for a minute. I’ll be over shortly.” You smile, looking towards the shop excitedly, remembering that you have a little cash from your box on you. Lenny rests against a beam under the porch of the general store, out of earshot from you and Arthur’s conversation. He only knows that you’re both doing a whole lot of talking and not a lot of drinking.

“You two comin, or what?” Lenny hollers, and Arthur gestures towards you.

“We’ll catch up, just give us a minute.” Arthur yells back, following after you towards the shop entrance.

“I’ll start a tab.” Lenny chuckles, walking up the sidewalk towards the bar.

“You need somethin’ from the blacksmith?” Arthur asks, holding the door open for you as you step inside.

“No, just wanted to look is all. Hosea said there was some more stuff in here than tools, the man likes to work metal into all kinds of things.” You say at a volume so that only Arthur can hear you. He nods, and you take in the shop. The little building is split into two sections. On the right, the bigger section, all sorts of home made tools hang from nails in the wall, for sale. There's hammers, screwdrivers, bits, and all sorts of other things that you don’t care about. You glance to the left side of the shop, and your eyes light up. Shelves line the wall, and the little foreign shop owner sits on the checkout counter beside them, swinging his legs. The shelves are lined with hand crafted metal cups, decorations and jewelry, anything one can think of. He has little metal spoons, crafted and twisted beautifully. There are necklaces, belt buckles and rings, none of them resembling another, all unique. Your eyes light up, and Arthur watches you with a sweet smile as you run your hand down the expanse of one of the shelves, taking everything in. A few other people mill around, looking as well.

“Arthur, look at all this.” You gasp, bewildered by the handcrafted, intricate things that this odd man has made. Arthur walks with you, falling into pace as his spurs click against the floor. He’s mesmerized, alright. But the trinkets on the shelf have little to do with it. The flowers in your hair, the excitement on your face from such a small pleasure, the stars in your eyes that shine brighter than any night he’s ever seen.

Arthur steps away, walking towards the other side of the shop as you come up to the accessory section. Particularly what catches your attention is the hat accessories, and you pick a few up, wondering what they might look like on your own hat, back at camp. Then it catches your eye. A smaller hat accessory rests closer to the back of the shelf, and with your eyebrows pulled together in concentration, you pick it up. It's a piece to be added on the side of a hat, a small bundle of feathers, bound with twine and wrapped in beautiful, coiled metal. But what catches your eye is the teal agate, embedded into the metal that wraps around the bundle. It’s a color you've seen time and again. A throat clears behind you, and you turn, meeting eyes of the same teal.

“Ready?” Arthur asks, not noticing the little gift that you’re hiding behind your back. You nod, glancing at the older shop owner for a moment.

“Yeah I’ll be right over, but first could you… could you give me a minute?” You ask, and Arthur nods, looking a little confused or worried.

“Sure. Everythin’ alright?” Arthur asks, and you nod. He steps back, tipping his hat to you lightly before walking out of the shop. With a breath, you pull the accessory back in front of you.

The agate is the same color as Arthur’s eyes, and you look over the gift with great fondness. No because of the accessory itself per se, but because of the man you’re going to gift it to. Holding the feathered accessory up to the light, you gasp, seeing almost unnoticeable stars stamped into the fine metal. You want to give Arthur something new for his hat, something that he can use to make it his own. Damn his father, and the fear that Arthur feels every day, wondering if he’s turning into the bastard. You want Arthur’s hat to be his, something he can pass down to his children or whomever one day with good memories, not bad ones.

With your mind made, you walk up to the shopkeeper.

“How much for this?” You ask, placing it on the counter where the man sits. He hops down, not saying a word as he walks around the other side of the counter. He takes a piece of paper from under the register, writing some things down in a language you can't understand. Then, he opens the cash register and looks up to you.

“Ja, Okay.” He says, holding his hand out for you to place cash into and you chuckle, sighing.

“You?- Alright mister.” You chuckle, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a five dollar bill. A man, leaning against the wall laughs, filling you in.

“Yeah, that there is Nils. He don’t really talk much, he understands though. A Norwegian fella, not even sure he speaks English, but he’s a damn good smith.” The man says, picking up a belt buckle and looking it over.

“That he is.” You hum as Nils hands you back a few odd cents.

“Names’ David Geddes.” The informant smiles, reaching to shake your hand. “I work with Nils here. He’s helpin’ me to build a ranch up in West Elizabeth.” Mr. Geddes says, releasing your hand. You smile, hearing that northern West Elizbeth is beautiful territory.

“If you’re ever in the market for tools or land, you know where to find us.” Mr. Geddes smiles, and you nod, knowing that you’re never going to need either of those things. You keep it in mind, though.

“Thank you Mr. Geddes, pleasure to meet you. You as well, Mr. Nils!” You smile at both men, giggling as Nils says ‘okay!’ when you walk out the door. Proudly, you place the little gift in your satchel. You want to wait until the perfect time to give it to him. Smiling, you walk past the few shops towards the saloon. You can hear the music from outside, a pianist enjoying himself on the keys, probably drunk as a skunk. You were right earlier, the window is still smashed out from Arthur being thrown out of it.

You push the saloon doors open, walking in just as a man was walking out. Your shoulders hit off each other, and you scowl deeply at him before moving towards the bar. A loud game of poker is being played at the table, with drunk, laughing players. Working women linger about, draped over chairs and men, waiting to be taken upstairs for the night. You squeeze past the people, slipping onto the bar beside Arthur and Lenny, with Arthur in the middle.

“Boys.” You greet, waving down the bartender. The saloon is loud, and you have to yell over the music to hear each other, even with the close proximity.

“Now just one or two. Right, Arthur?” Lenny asks as he clinks his bottle against Arthur’s.

“Course, just a drink.” Arthur responds, tapping his glass against the counter before taking a long swig.

“Hey!” You yell to the bartender, irritated. He doesn’t pay you any mind, and you huff.

Jumping up onto the bar so that your stomach is on the counter, you grab a bottle of whiskey from behind the counter. It’s nearly empty, and you groan. Arthur shakes his head as you slide back down to the ground.

“I don’t plan on staying too long.” Lenny reiterates, and you nod, tapping your fingers against the bottle to the rhythm of the funk music.

“Me neither.” You say, swallowing the little bit of drink left over before tossing it over the counter.

Another man slides onto the open space of the bar beside you. He’s already been done in by the drink, eyes glazed over with red cheeks. Arthur keeps an eye on him, not too comfortable with the way this man is looking at you.

“Hey- Hey miss?” He asks, and you turn to him. Arthur watches it unfold as you bat your eyelashes, and at first he’s confused as you look up to the sleazebag with doe-like eyes.

“Yes, mister?” You ask, twirling your finger around your hair.

“Can I buy you a beer?” He asks, smiling like an idiot. You smile, resting your hand on the man’s chest. Ah, a pocket watch,right in his vest pocket. You feel the outline of the fine metal through his shirt, and you smirk.

“She likes whiskey.” Arthur bites, not seeing your scheme playing out. You elbow him lightly, and his eyebrows pull together.

“Hey, Hey a beer for this fine woman!” The drunk man calls out, and as he leans over the bar to pay the tender, you sneak your fingers between him and the bar, gently pulling the chain until the pocket watch emerges from his pocket. Very content, you slide it into your pocket, smirking up at Arthur. He looks bewildered, amazed, as he laughs, elbowing Lenny and filling him in.

“For you, m- m’lady.” The drunkard says, handing you a beer. You take it, no trace of a smile on your lips as you slide it down the bar to Lenny. The drunk man scowls angrily, slamming his fist down on the counter.

“What the hell?” He asks, face turning red with anger. You smile, leaning against the bar, acting as if he doesn't exist.

“This what a feller gets for bein’ nice?” He huffs, and you bite your tongue, slipping your eyes closed to quell your rage. Arthur orders a whiskey, and places the glass in front of you.

“Tried to tell you partner, this lady likes her liquor.” Arthur chuckles, toasting another glass with Lenny. You swirl the glass in your hand, sipping from it while putting all your attention into not killing this man.

“You owe me!” He yells, spittle flying. Even Arthur tenses at your side, pointing a threatening finger to the drunk.

“Shut your mouth, buddy.” Arthur warns, and the music grows louder, more intense, as does your grip on your drink.

“Or what?” The man laughs maniacally, sizing you up and down and concluding that you wouldn't hurt a fly.

“Leave this idiot alone, he ain’t worth it.” Lenny interjects, always the voice of reason. The man laughs at that, turning to you three like he's an old friend.

“Leave me alone? Well people been leavin me alone for nearly ten years! I say that's their loss, I’m a great guy, bought this bitch a drink-” The man rambles on, and your shoulders set, eyes glazing over as a rage fills you. You slam your drink against the counter, spilling most of it before grabbing that damn idiot by the back of his collar. You slam his head down onto the bar in one swift motion, and it cracks. Sparing him no time to recuperate, you tear him away from the bar, dragging him towards the door where you literally kick him through the saloon doors.

Lenny whistles under his breath as you come back, wiping your hands on your jeans before picking your glass back up.

“Where were we, boys?” You ask, turning to the men.

— AN HOUR (OR TWO?) LATER —

‘Clink, clink, clink’ is all you hear as bottles and glasses continuously toast against each other. You’ve lost count of the amount of drinks you've been handed, or stolen off the bar. Arthur laughs loudly over the music, a contagious sound that has you and Lenny giggling like fools. You feel good and warm, a buzz running through your veins and filling your head with a fuzzy cloud.

“You want another one, Arthur? Star?” Lenny asks, laughter dying down as he waves to the bartender.

“Sure, we’re already here!” Arthur hollers, words slurred as you nod your head.

“Yeah but first, I- I gotta go play that piano!” You holler, picking up your glass and dancing your way down to the pianist.

— A WHILE LAETR—

You sit up on top of the bar, laughing so hard that you can barely breath. You don’t remember what was so funny, but it sure was. You slap your knee, cackling at something with Arthur. Lenny’s laughing too, leaning down against the bar to stop from falling over.

“You! You are a hilarious feller, Arthur Morgan!” You snort, taking a big long swig from your bottle. You think it's whiskey, but you're not sure. It doesn’t even burn anymore, just going straight down.

“Arthur!” You call, grabbing his biceps to shake his attention. He jumps, startled, and then laughs. Being on the bar has you sitting a little taller than him, and he looks up at you with a dumb expression.

“You ever-” You hiccup, “-had a dog?” You ask. It's a very serious inquiry, and you need to know. Arthur’s brows pull together as he thinks, and it looks kind of painful.

“One time… bout a million years ago.” Arthur squints, dead serious, staring at the wall behind you. You erupt into a fit of laughter, smacking the outlaw on the shoulder.

“What the hell is a million years?” You ask in between chuckles. The music is loud, the mood is good. The sun has set, and more patrons have joined the saloon.

“I don’t know, but I bet it's at least a thousand.”

You nod, concluding that he’s probably correct on that account. You turn to your right, right where Lenny was sitting, to ask him his opinions on the matter.

“What about you Lenny? You ever-” You stop, dumbfounded when you realize he’s not there. Surely he was just a second ago.

“Lenny?” You ask, turning your head around to find him.

“Oh no.” Arthur mumbles, looking around as well.

“Arthur, he's disappeared!” You yell, panicked, but Arthur grabs your waist, pulling you down to the ground. Once you're down from the bar, Arthur keeps grip on your hips for just a moment longer.

“We’ll find him, don't you worry. If anybody can come back from disappearin’ it's Lenny.” Arthur explains, and you nod. That makes sense.

“Should we split up?” You ask as Arthur leads you to the center of the saloon. Arthur nods, stumbling lightly as he pulls you through the crowd.

“Yeah, youse smart. We can cover-” Arthur burps, chuckling deeply for a moment, “We can cover more ground if we split up. I’ll go upstairs.” Arthur explains, and you nod, pushing past people.

“Smart thinkin. I’ll go upstairs too.” You say, following him up.

“Good plan.” Arthur approves, stumbling up the staircase while pulling you behind him.

“LENNY!!?” Arthur yells, looking around for your lost friend. You see lots of people, but you don’t see Lenny, least you don't think you do.

“Lenny!?” You mimic Arthur, chuckling as he pulls you around the fenced in overhand that overlooks the bar downstairs.

“There you is!” Arthur calls, and you look around until you see him. Lenny is leaning on the little fence, trying to balance a glass on his nose.

“Whatcha doing?” You ask, both confused and amazed. Lenny laughs, swaying so as to not drop it from his nose.

“I- I don’t know!”

The glass falls, and Lenny tries to catch it but his delayed reflexes do him in and the glass falls down the overlook, shattering onto the saloon floor downstairs. You all laugh like it’s the funniest thing in the world, doubling over as you try to breathe from cackling.

Then somehow you all have more drinks in your hand, and you’re toasting them together, cheering loudly. You don’t even know what you’re drinking, but it sure goes down nice. Lenny hooks his arm under yours, and you do-si-do, tripping and stumbling and laughing like you’ve never laughed before. Arthur switches spots with Lenny then, hooking his arm under yours and dancing around. But Arthur lacks Lenny’s grace, or maybe he’s just more drunk, and halfway around the circle he accidentally trips you, sending you straight to the floor. Your drink smashes against the ground, and you lay on the floor for a while, arms and legs spread out as you chuckle.

Arthur pulls you up, nearly falling over himself, and then you all lean against the railing with more drinks.

“Arthur why ain’t you never married?” Lenny asks, and Arthur’s mouth hangs open as he thinks.

“No one would have me.” Arthur sighs, a pathetic, sad little noise. You slap him on the back, trying to encourage him.

“Whaddya mean no one would have you, Arthur everyone wants you! Hell I’m sure you had ladies lined up round the block back in the day.” You say, and he nods, thinking it over.

“Well maybe, but I did not see them!” He responds, toasting his drink to yours.

— LAETR?—

Arthur jumps up and down, stomping against the floor with his arms flailing.

“I’m doin’ it!” He screams, earning multiple annoyed glances from other patrons.

“You sure are! I- I don’t know what you’re doin’ but it’s somethin!” You yell back, laughing.

Then suddenly you’re sitting on the poker table, legs swinging over the side. You’re not even sure how you’ve gotten here, but your head is so fuzzy and relaxed you don’t care. Arthur stands on the ground, in between your knees looking up at you.

“Why ain’t you never sweet on no one?” You ask, fingers tracing stars on his right shoulder. Arthur’s hand rests on your thigh, and he looks up at you, confused.

“Huh?”

“Karen said you- you didn't like girls. I mean- Karen said you didn't like any of the girls in camp. They're all beautiful, young n kind, why haven't you gone sweet on em?" You ask, drunkenness loosening your lips and releasing some of the questions you've been holding back for ages.

"Well I am sweet on someone, dumbass." He says, laughing and you slap his shoulder lightly.

"Who?!" You holler, eyebrows pulled together in confusion. He's not sweet on anyone that you can think of, but you can't really think right now. Arthur's hand gently squeezes your leg before he backs away, downing the last of his beer.

"You're funny, y'know. Askin all kinds of questions, but I can't even think right now." Arthur's lips form a little confused pout, "least I don't think I can…"

"Yeah, you're right that's a lot of thinkin'." You say, nodding your head. Arthur comes back forward, placing his hands on the table on either side of your legs.

"It's easy thinkin' bout you though. That's somethin' that don't make my head hurt." Arthur whispers, fuzzy eyes transfixed on the pout of your lips before they trail up to your sparkling eyes. A blush creeps over your cheeks, and you slide down from the table, sneaking under his arm towards the bar.

"Buy me another drink Mr. Morgan!"

— LNENY?—

You cackle, leaning over the bar sometime later. The sun has long since set, but you have no idea what time it is. Arthur's on one side of you, and you look over to where Lenny-

You look over to where Lenny used to be.

"Wait, where'd Lenny go?!" You slur your words as the room spins, flashing all sorts of different colors.

"DAMMIT LENNY WHERE YOU AT BOYYY-" Arthur yells, slamming his drink down on the counter.

"We gotta find him, he's probably lost." You conclude, looking around the room.

"Yeah or maybe he's stuck someplace."

You wander around, losing Arthur as you yell for Lenny at the top of your lungs. You can hear Arthur yelling too, and you giggle. Lennt must have vanished, like those magic shows in the city.

"Leave the kid alone, you goddamn animals." Arthur growls, and you turn to see him walking down the stairs. Lenny is standing up on the bar, yelling at a group of men in front of the bar. The man in front of the bar, who Arthur was yelling at, turns towards Arthur.

"And who might you be?" The man hisses, growing irritated with you all. Arthur looks mighty confused for a moment, and you stumble towards the scene playing out.

"They call me Arthur, n' people who don't call me Arthur? Well I guess they do not know my name." Arthur whispers, chuckling.

"What-?" The other man asks, and you stride right up to him, punching him straight in the nose.

—SUME TYME LTAER—

You line kick, arms intertwined with Arthur's and Lenny's, hoisting your legs up in the air with a bunch of other people, you laugh carelessly, dancing away.

Then you're not dancing- you're laying on the staircase next to Lenny and Arthur, drinks in hand.

"I gotta piss." Arthur says, tapping your knee before standing up.

"You should probably do that. You can't drink more if you ain't peed." You explain, and Arthur frowns, thinking.

"Really?" He asks, and you nod.

"It's true Arthur! I read that once. I- I think I did anyhow." Lenny chimes in, and Arthur runs outside.

You sit with lenny for a while, feeling light as ever, drinking your fill and then some.

— ??? —

"I got a quesstionn…" You say, pressed up against the wall by Arthur's hands.

"Hmm?" Arthur asks, eyes heavy as he tries not to fall over, arms bracing themselves on either side of your head against the saloon wall. You're outside, and the walls buzz from music and banter.

"I probably don't know an answer but… but I'll try." Arthur says.

"Back in Colter, in Horseshoe durin' that storm, up in the hills in your tent… why’d you do all that?" You ask, a sense of clarity overcoming you even though you're drunk beyond help. Arthurs' trying to think back, but his head hurts.

"Huh?"

"You- you laid with me, held my hand till I fell asleep. Why'd you do that?" You ask as Arthur's hands slide away from the wall, down to his belt. It hits Arthur then, all the things he'd done, things he knows he shouldn't have done, but couldn't stop himself from doing.

"I- I don't know. Guess… you was sad. I wanted to make you feel better." Arthur mumbles, eyes downcast. You smile, buzzing.

"Did it work? Do I make you feel better?" Arthur whispers. His voice is low and deep, that familiar, gravelly tone. You smile up at him as one of his hands comes back up to the wall beside your head, trapping you in.

"You make me feel great, Arthur. Real great." You breathe out, veins pumping with adrenaline as Arthur leans closer in towards your face. His eyes are dark, pupils blown and you can smell the whiskey on his breath with the proximity.

"I bet I could make you feel even better, Star. I could make you feel lots a' things." He growls, eyes trailing from each of your eyes to your lips. You laugh, pushing him away from you lightly.

"Well maybe! But you can’t beat me at poker for shit!" You laugh, pushing the saloon doors open and walking back inside. Arthur follows behind you, laughing all the same.

"You seen Lenny?" He asks, looking around.

"Dammit!" You curse, pushing through the patrons of the saloon towards the steps. You grab onto Arthur's hand, dragging him along with you.

You see a few doors there, and thinking Lenny might be hiding in a room, you push one open. You gasp, laughing loudly as you open the door on a man and a woman having intimate relations. You laugh, apologizing as you swing the door shut, but Arthur screams.

You turn to him, chuckling and confused.

"You n-never saw a naked woman before, Arthur?" You ask. He looks like he's just seen something traumatic as he points a finger towards the door, rubbing his eyes with his other hand.

"That weren't a woman." Arthur bites, the image of Lenny riding Lenny burned into his mind forever. But you're clueless as to what he's just seen.

— …..?—

You laugh uncontrollably as Arthur pushes that man from earlier into the pig's water trough. He dunks the man's head under one more time before tossing him to the ground. You leave the pig pen, oinking and wheezing with laughter.

"I'm a- a police!" Arthur laughs, slipping in the mud as he jogs after you, down the main street.

"I'm gonnaa get'cha!" He yells as you run down the road, sliding and laughing.

"YOU CAN'T! You can't get me, HA-" You scream, running towards the stables, jumping over a fence, tripping and falling into the mud.

"Fuck!" You yell, unusually colorful language for you as the sheriff and a deputy approach you from the road.

"Hey! You two, come here!" Sheriff Malloy hollers, jogging after you. Arthur picks you up from the mud and slings you over his shoulder.

"Arthur! They're- they're gonna get us, we gotta run!" You yell from his shoulder as he bolts, slipping and sliding.

"WE'RE AMERICANS! YOU'LL NEVER CATCH US ALIVE!" Arthur screams into the night, approaching a mighty high fence.

"Yeah, we got RIGHTS!" You yell.

Arthur tries to jump the fence, but he's so drunk, and with you on his shoulder he doesn't even come close to clearing it. The fence breaks as Arthur lands down on it awkwardly, and you both land in the mud.

— — — —

The light hurts your eyes as they flutter open, and you squint, head throbbing. Everything hurts, your head feels like it's been filled with lead and if you move too quickly you know you'll throw up. You finally come to, and realize you're laying on a wooden bench. Arthur is laying on the floor next to the bench, awake but not moving. Then you realize where you are.

You spot the unmistakable metal bars, and you groan.

"Arthur, what did we do?" You ask, not remembering an ounce of the previous night. From outside of your shared cell, Sheriff Malloy stands up, grabbing a cup of coffee from a percolator.

"Well the typical stuff for folks such as yourselves: harassin people, causin trouble, bein loud and breaking shit. But you also waterboarded a fella within an inch of his life, and stole a pig, this man here carried it around half the town oinkin and causing a ruckus. Although it sure was something to see, I don't appreciate being pulled outta bed with the wife at five in the damn morning." He says, taking a sip from his coffee before sitting down in his seat, propping his feet up on his desk. You look around, wincing from the movement.

"Well where's Lenny?" You ask as Arthur groans loudly, holding his stomach as he sits up on the bench beside you.

"Only brought in the pair of ya." The sheriff shakes his head.

“However you two managed to drink that much without passin’ out or dyin’ is beyond me.” Sheriff Malloy whistles, shaking his head.

Arthur stands up, slowly walking over towards the front of the cell. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a bill fold before handing it through the bars.

“Should be enough to cover our bounties, and some extra for your troubles.”

Sheriff Malloy takes the cash and stuffs it into his pocket, silently grabbing the keys off of his desk.

“Go on. Get. And how about layin’ off the hooch for a while?” The sheriff asks, and you nod. He doesn’t need to tell you twice. You and Arthur walk out of the jail scot free. As soon as you’re out of the building, you lean against the wooden support beam, heaving.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Arthur winces, pulling your now very messy braid behind your shoulder as you throw up. You cough, wishing you were dead as the sunlight burns your eyes, killing your already throbbing head.

“Here.” Arthur hands a rag from his satchel down to you, leaning on your knees as you clean yourself up.

“Just one or two, huh? Jesus-” You take slow, deep breaths, trying not to puke again.

“You even remember what the hell we did last night?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“Nothin. I remember nothin.” You admit, standing up from the beam. Arthur hums, he remembers it all.

“Come on, let's get you home, you need a lie down.” Arthur groans, feeling like shit as he whistles. Luckily somehow, the horses stuck around and they trot up the main street.

The ride back to camp is very quiet, and very slow. Neither of you push your horses past a walk, not wanting to sicken yourselves even more. The silence is comfortable, a mutual understanding that opening your mouth to speak right now would be too much, and you just need to lie down and feel sorry for yourselves. Upon arriving at camp, you find Lenny is there, passed out in the grass next to his bedroll. You dismount Athena, groaning as your feet touch the ground.

“Here, take this. It’ll make you feel better. I’ll go make sure Grimshaw doesn’t give you any trouble.” Arthur mumbles, handing you a glass bottle of tonic.

You take it, quietly thanking him before dragging your heels to your tent. You’ve never been this hungover in your life, you’ve never had reason to drink so much. After closing the tent flap to prevent any extra light from coming in, you drink the whole tonic and flop down in your bed, groaning.

— — — —

You wake up, about twelve hours later, to the sounds of maniacal laughing and screaming. You groan, sighing and covering your ear with your pillow to drown out the noise. It proves futile as the screaming and crying continue, and you figure you should probably go check it out. You get up from bed, mood sour as ever, but you’re feeling a little better. Pushing the flaps open to your tent, you’re met with the pros and cons of living with twenty people.

“Mornin” Arthur chuckles, eyebrows raised at the state of your hair. Your braid is half fallen out, and the few flowers that have managed to stay in your hair are wilted. You groan, rolling your eyes before pulling the band out from the bottom of your braid and finger brushing the flowers out.

“What's got you so sour?” Arthur asks, looking fresh and cleaned up. He's washed up, taken a bath and trimmed his beard. He looks good, and you look like you just barely escaped a natural disaster.

"How the hell are you even awake right now, let alone bathed and cleaned up? I'm pretty sure I still got puke on my shirt." You sigh, re-braiding your hair neatly, but loosely. Arthur takes a sip of his coffee.

"I can actually handle my whiskey." Arthur jokes, "Go back to Valentine, buy a bath."

"Firstly, I don't think you can, considerin' what happened last night. And on account of the bath, I can't. I don't have enough cash." You sigh.

"A bath is only a dollar, thought you had some cash on you?" Arthur raises an eyebrow as you roll back on your heels.

"I did. I spent it."

"On what?" Arthur asks, sure that he'd paid for the drinks last night, except for the ones you stole.

"Just a little present, it ain't much." You smile, sighing and gripping his hand to pull him into your tent. You lead him through the tent flap, pulling him along by his hand.

"What're you doin, woman?" Arthur chuckles as you pluck his hat from his head.

"Don't make fun of me. I saw this yesterday, n' it reminded me of you." You whisper, pulling out the hat ornament and attaching it to the rope band on his hat, on the left side.

Arthur watches on fondly as you attach the little accessory. A warm feeling spreads through his chest, knowing that you'd thought of him. After you've finished, you hold his hat back out to him. He takes the hat back with a shocked expression on his face, and you're worried he doesn't like it, so you rush to reassure him.

"If you don't like it, or think it's dumb- maybe this was stupid I just, it reminded me of you, and-" You ramble, stopping to prevent further embarrassing yourself.

"It's perfect." Arthur smiles, looking down to the agate, feathered ornament, dappled with little stars that remind him of you. He means it. The little decoration is perfect. The teal agate matches his eyes, the imprinted metal ensures that you're with him all the time, as if you don't already linger in his mind 24/7. He couldn't have picked out something more perfect if he tried. The accessory is fashionable, a fancy and intricate piece to add to his hat, and he's excited to wear it.

You blush, smiling happily as Arthur fondly runs his finger over the accessory before placing his hat back on his head. You lean up, adjusting it correctly while on your tiptoes.

"You carry a lot of bad memories with this hat," You whisper, thinking of Arthur's father, "Figure it's about time you make it yours, start makin' some good memories with it." You explain.

"It's perfect, Star." Arthur all but whispers, and you sheepishly nod, blushing. You’re proud of the little gift, and Arthur is shocked by the thought you’d put into it.

“Looks real nice. You needed somethin’ to match those eyes.” You nod up to his hat as he leads you out of your tent. He opens his mouth to speak, but much to your growing annoyance, he is cut off by another yelp from across camp.

“Goddamnit, what is happening?” You groan, nodding for Arthur to follow you to the source. You’re ready to beat the hell out of someone, irritated and hungover. You stomp towards the scout fire where the screaming and yelping comes from, with Arthur following behind you.

The scene in front of you is nothing short of insane. That O’Driscoll from Colter is tied up to a tree. His pants have been pulled down to his knees and you make a point to avert your eyes from his… nether region. His bare quads scrape painfully across the treebark as he fights to get away from Dutch. Your eyes boggle when you see Bill come around the corner of Dutch’s tent with a steaming red pair of gelding tongs.

“What are you idiots doin’ to this poor feller?” You gesture to the O’Driscoll, wincing at the way he shoves himself further into the tree to avoid Bill’s eager tongs.

“We’re takin’ his balls!” Bill laughs maniacally, looking all too pleased at the idea. He snaps the tongs a few times for good measure. Your jaw drops a little, and your eyebrows draw together in a mixture of shock and confusion.

“They’re only balls, boy! You probably weren't using them anyway!” Dutch chuckles, slapping Bill on the back.

“You’re- You’re ‘taking his balls’? Really, Bill? What the hell is this, a farm? Get out of my way. Someone please pull his goddamn pants up.” You sigh, ordering the men around. Bill just looks at you for a moment, but you glare at him, and remembering how hard you can hit, he obliges. You sigh, bracing your hand against your nose as Bill drops the tongs and fixes Kieran’s jeans. Then you push past Bill, shoving him out of the way to take his spot in front of Kieran. The O’driscoll is terrified, shaking like a leaf on the tree as if you’re about to torture him. You eye him over curiously before turning on your heels and looking at the men before you.

“What exactly do y'all want outta this feller?” You question, making a plan to get some answers that doesn’t involve castration. Your hands rest on your gun belt, tapping the grip of your revolver in thought. Dutch’s eyes grow dark as he spits something onto the grass.

“We want Colm.”

Turning back to Kieran, you eye the boy up and down.. He’s a weaker looking fella, the kind you would have stolen off of back in Tumbleweed. He’s terrified, and you know he’ll do anything to avoid a beating, including giving up his old pal, Colm. He’s surely hungry and thirsty. They’ve only been giving him enough water to stay alive, and you don’t know if he’s eaten.

“You hungry mister? Thirsty?” You ask, watching as tears fall down the O’driscolls mud-caked face. He frantically nods his head up and down.

“Oh yes! Yes please, please. I'm so hungry, I- I’m so thirsty, miss.” Kieran whimpers, and you nod. Without another word you push past Arthur, Dutch and Bill, straight to Pearson’s wagon. Arthur looks at Dutch, tossing his hands up lightly before following you. He comes up to your side, watching as you dip a metal cup into the barrel of water. Arthur lightly grabs your elbow to get your attention.

“You sure about this? He could be playin’ you.” Arthur warns.

“Yes, I'm sure. You wanna help? Get me your map.” You say, leaning over the table to grab a piece of salted venison from the table. Arthur isn’t sure about this plan, but he trusts you. He nods, taking his map out of his satchel before following you back to the tree.

“You.” You nod to the O’Driscoll, and he nods frantically, terrified of you, but glad that you’re not approaching him with some torture device.

“Y-yes ma'am?” Kieran whimpers, and you hold the deer and water up.

“You want this?”

Kieran nods, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Good. Point me to Colm n’ you can have it.” You give him an ultimatum, knowing that he would rather deal with you than the boys any day. Kieran nods, flinching as you pull your knife from its sheath. You hold it up in front of him for him to see.

“Try anything, and this’ll be lodged in you, okay?” You warn, moving behind him before cutting him free from the tree. Kieran winces, rubbing at his wrists once he’s free. Dutch and Bill look irritated with you, but you pay them no mind as they file away. Arthur has laid his map out on Pearson’s table, just as you’d asked him to, and Kieran rushes towards it. The O’Driscoll eagerly leans over the map, following the roads with the tip of Arthur’s pencil before stopping and circling a small area north of Valentine.

“They’re holed up here. It- It's called Six Point Cabin, and Colm will be there. It should be easy, they’ll all be drunk and asleep if you go now.” Kieran offers, looking past the horizon where the sun is starting to set. You look at the circle on the map, then up to Kieran. He has many reasons to lie, but you dont think he's loyal to Colm. You don’t think he’s dumb enough to lie to you either. But… just for good measure, you grip onto the collar of his shirt, threateningly.

“If this is a lie, or you’re leading me into a trap, I will let this sick bastard take your manhood. You hear me? All. of. It.” You threaten, pointing to Bill behind you. The O’Driscoll frantically nods his head, audibly gulping at your promise. Quickly, you release him from your grip, dusting his shirt off a little from where your iron grip has left wrinkles.Once he’s been thoroughly threatened, you turn to Arthur, trying to ignore the sickness in your stomach as you hear the starved man gulp down all of the water, and tear into the venison..

“Good! Now that that's settled, John, Arthur, you’re with me. The three of us should be able to get this done quickly.” You tell the men, who are standing in a crowd behind you. John is wide eyed, shocked, but of course, Arthur isn’t. With a smirk, you pace through the wet grass towards Athena. Everyone mounts up and rides out pretty quickly, not wanting to waste another ounce of the limited daylight.

“When we get here, we should do it quietly. Arrows, knives. There’s no reason to start shooting if we can take them out quietly, one at a time.” Arthur yells over the pounding of Balius’ hooves. He’s right, doing this quietly will give you the best chance of getting to Colm before he can run.

“I agree. John, you know how to use a bow?” You ask.

“Ha! Little Johnny Marston over here can’t shoot a bow. Not that I should be surprised, he can’t do much of anything. Can’t even swim.” Arthur pokes, chuckling in his saddle at his own stab.

“Oh shut the hell up you big bastard.” John counters, irritated as usual. It's quiet for a bit as the three of you enter Cumberland Forest, moving into a single file line to fit on the narrow trails.

“How’s your leg holdin’ up?” John yells up to you. Instinctually you trace the scar that's hidden under your jeans.

“It’s fine now, healed up nice for the most part.” You chuckle, hollering back, “How’s your face?”

“Ugly as always.” John chuckles.

“Hey, quiet, I think we’re close.” Arthur says back to you both, slowing Balius down to a trot. You all grow quiet, trotting the horses into the woods and hitching them off of the trail a ways. After dismounting, you offer Athena an oatcake for her work. The boys wait as she finishes it, and then you grab your bow from her saddle. Arthur and John crouch behind a fallen log, and you get down, coming between them.

“That bastard weren’t lyin’.” Arthur whispers to himself, shocked.

The camp has one large cabin surrounded by various tents and wagons. Campfires scatter the place alongside a decent number of drunken idiots. Most of the O’Driscolls have retired for the night, snuffed out their lanterns and hit the hay. Some of them voluntarily went to bed, others passed out, completely wasted. A few O’driscolls with greasy hair and green bandanas sit around a campfire, not far from where you’re all perched.

“Arthur?” You ask, waiting for some instruction. You and John both look to him as he formulates a plan, getting a headcount of the O’Driscolls and peeking around for other vantage points.

“Okay we take out the ones at the fire from here. I count four. I'm good with knives, so I'll take two and you each take one.” Arthur grumbles, pulling out two throwing knives from his satchel. You’re curious if he has the skill to take down two so in such quick succession. If he’s just a split second late, the O’Driscoll will alert others. Glad that your job is easy, you grab your bow from your shoulder, steadying it in your hand as you squint to aim for one of the awake O’Driscolls. You exhale, releasing your hand just before the arrow lodges into the man’s chest. Within two seconds the other three men fall, thanks to John and Arthur.

“Good job with the bow.” Arthur whispers, and your breath hitches in your throat when his hand squeezes your elbow with a small, proud smile. He doesn’t miss the hitch of your breath, and unbeknownst to you, he blushes, removing his hand from you and shaking his head. John looks over to Arthur with a raised eyebrow and a chuckle. Oh, he's gonna chastise Arthur for that later. Rolling your eyes, you glare back at the boys.

“Stop foolin’ around,” You hiss, “We sneak in and look for Colm. I'll take the cabin. John, go see what's worth stealin’ from their tents, but don’t wake anyone up. Arthur, cover me if I need it, please.”

With that you stay crouched, jogging off in the direction of the cabin. You have to step over the sleeping men, and be extra careful not to wake them as you go. Colm better be here. If he’s not, you'll hand that O’Driscoll straight over to Bill tied with a ribbon. You gave him a second chance, and by god, he’d be a fool not to take it.

Approaching the cabin, you take a quick glance through the windows. The glass is very dirty, and even squinting through the dirty glass, you can't see much. There's no light emitting from the cabin, so you assume its empty or everyone is asleep.

You quietly step around to the front porch, hoping that this isn’t one big waste of time. Your spurs click ever so quietly with every step as you approach the front door. You lean down a little, readying your bow in case someone jumps out. Just as you reach out for the door handle, you hear a sharp, quiet whistle, one that you’d recognize anywhere. Your head snaps around and you spot Arthur down a ways in the middle of the camp. He leans his head down a little, warning you to be safe before he gestures to your bow and then to his knife. Despite the fact that hes signaling you without speaking, you know exactly what he’s saying.

He's telling you to put your bow away and pull out your knife instead, you curse yourself, realizing that you’d neglected to use your head. You need two hands to pull the bow, and opening the door leaves you vulnerable. The knife is a better option. You nod to Arthur in thanks, and swing your bow back over your shoulder before grabbing your hunting knife. You pull it out of its sheath, readying it as you grip the door handle. You hear a loud grunt from the camp, and as you snap your head over you see that one of the O’Driscolls had woken up, and Arthur knocked him out. You need to hurry.

With one hand gripping your blade, the other turns the door knob. You push it open quickly, holding up your knife in defense. It's pitch dark inside the cabin, and it takes a few moments for your eyes to adjust as you step inside. The cabin is pretty standard, across from you is a fireplace, a large table and some bedrolls laid out. You step further into the cabin and find two half-empty bowls on the table. They’re filled with some sort of mushy, brown looking stew, and they’re still steaming…

You connect the dots too late. By the time you whip around, the men who were hiding in the shadows of the cabin slam the door shut so you can’t escape. Your eyes grow dark, and you back up as they step towards you until your back hits the far wooden wall. The two O’Driscolls are tall. They could be twins, black hair hidden away by bowler’s hats, green scarves around their thick necks. They repulse you.

“Get back you bastards, ‘less you wanna end up like your sorry friends.” You threaten, holding your knife up in warning. The bigger one chuckles while the smaller one slides a chair under the handle of the door.

“Oh, Gabe, she’s a fiery little thing.” He says with a sickening, greedy grin on his lips. You hear Arthur try the door knob, cursing that it’s locked.

“Anyone touches a hair on her goddamn head I’ll kill the whole lot of ya!” Arthur yells from behind the door. You can hear him dropping his weapons, and you know he’s going to try to kick the door down, but he won't be able to with the chair. You’re on your own.

“She’s a little one. She’ll be easy to handle,” The other man says before directing his attention to you, bringing up his knife and running it along the jut of your cheekbone. Your knife is in your hand, hidden behind your back as you come up with a plan to take them both down. You know his threat isn’t empty. You know what the O’driscolls have done to women, proudly, with no shame. You’ll be damned if you go down without a fight.

“Hey, sweet thing, is that your man out there? Cause I want him to hear what we're gonna do to y-” You take a deep breath before plunging your knife into the man’s throat with a roar. Blood shoots out from his jugular, spraying all over you. Just as quickly as you had inserted it, you tear it out, and he falls to the floor, clinging to his neck. The sound of flesh tearing sounds through the room as you aim for the second man. Just as you bring the knife down towards his chest he catches your hands. You can hear the loud, angry thumps and screams of Arthur trying to beat the door down, along with his string of threats and curses towards the O’Driscolls. Shots ring out from around you, presumably you’ve woken up the entire O’Driscoll camp and now John is dealing with them. You struggle against the man for a while, as you try to push the knife down into him, and he tries to turn it around. Arthur gives up on the door, instead running around the side of the building to smash in one of the windows. He doesn’t know what's happening, he can't see who’s winning this fight, or what's happening to you, all he knows is that you’re struggling and yelling. As the glass shatters, you hesitate, letting your guard down. A painful sting slices along your abdomen, and you glance down to see that the man has cut your stomach through your shirt. It’s not very deep, but it could have been.

“You goddamn bastard!” You hiss as the O’Driscoll backs away. He smirks, watching you struggle. Arthur wastes no time jumping through the shattered window before running and tackling the O’Driscoll to the ground. Arthur starts beating the O’Driscoll, knocking chairs and items down, and after he gets a few punches in, Arthur smashes the mans head against the wall, killing or knocking him out.

“Colm aint even here!” You seethe, holding a hand against your stomach to ease the sting. Arthur looks up, seeing you covered in a spatter of blood. Immediately, he rushes over to you.

“How much of this blood is yours?” He asks, running his eyes down your shirt until he sees the tear in it.

“Not much of it, I’m fine Arthur, just a scratch.” You sigh, looking down at your destroyed shirt, “Shit.”

It was a good shirt, and now it’ll be joining the burn pile when you get back to camp. You groan, realizing you’ll have to ride back to camp like this.

“Is John okay? And where the hell is Colm?” You ask, pulling up your shirt a bit to look over the cut. It’s just over the lip of your jeans, not deep, but a few inches wide. You won’t need stitches, thankfully.

“Johns fine, lootin the camp now, and who knows where the hell Colm is.” Arthur says, eyes fixated on the bleeding patch of skin in between your jeans and shirt.

“You think that boy Kieran set us up?” Arthur asks, making a mental note to buy you some poultice, considering how much you use it.

“No. He’s not that stupid, or that brave. Don’t think he wants to lose his balls just yet.” Arthur chuckles. He motions for you to follow him out, but you raise your finger up signaling him to wait.

“All this, and we ain’t gonna rob the place?” You ask, and Arthur watches as you climb over the scattered items and corpses. As if you knew exactly where it was going to be, you walk up to the chimney, reach into it and pull out a wad of cash. Quickly, you run your fingers through the folds, counting six hundred dollars. Arthur huffs, forever amused by you, especially as you walk towards him and then stop. You turn on your heels, looking up to the double barrelled shotgun resting on the mantle, and with a satisfied hum, you strut right over and pluck it from the wall.

“Okay now we can go.” You say, walking past Arthur with a smile, soaked in blood.

“Whatever you say, boss.” Arthur mumbles, whispering the last part before you glare at him .

— — — —

You’d stopped in Valentine on the way back, breaking off from Arthur and John to take a bath at the hotel. You’d taken your time, using almost every bath soap and oil just to try them out. Each one smelled so good, it was well into the night before you’d finished. It was a refresher that you needed, and deserved. With a new hundred dollar bill in your pocket from the job, you’d rented a room for the rest of the night, and then bought yourself some new clothes in the morning. You picked out a nicer outfit than usual, a dark burgundy shirt, over the shoulder styled with ruffles on your arms. It’s beautiful, and fancy, something you’re not used to. You tucked the shirt into a new pair of black jeans, and smiled contentedly in the mirror before braiding your hair down your back and heading back to camp.

Much to your surprise, Arthur convinced the boys to let Kieran live, and to keep his manhood. Now as you peel potatoes next to Sadie at Pearson’s table, you watch him talk to and pet Athena with a small smile. Sadie follows your gaze, scoffing.

“You should have just killed him. Can’t trust any of those damn O’Driscolls.” She hisses, garing daggers at the man, causing him to tremble lightly as he feeds Athena a mint.

“He ain’t hurtin’ nothing. Sides, same thing could be said about us.” You point out, and Sadie doesn’t argue back, but she shakes her head in disapproval. You haven’t seen much of her since meeting in Colter. She’s kept to herself, hid amongst the shadows and cried herself to sleep most nights. You can see her bottling up, hardening. She’s turning into you

“Star?”

You look up, drawn out of your thoughts to see Abigail smiling down at you. There is a subtle redness to her eyes that indicates she’s been crying, and your eyebrows draw together in worry.

“Everything okay?” You ask, standing from your seat and dropping your knife to the table.

“Could we talk for a minute?” She asks, a hand sheepishly toying with a piece of her hair.

“Course… What’s goin’ on?” You ask, smiling back to Sadie in an apology before following Abigail towards her tent.

“Well, it's the boy.” Abigail says, biting on her nails as she leads you into her A-frame. Before the flap falls closed, you glance out of the tent to see Jack playing with a toy horse. He seems fine, just playing as children his age do. You look at her, confused, as she sits down on the corner of his tent.

“He’s real sad, Star.” Abigail exhales, tears forming in her eyes that she pushes back, “John don’t- John don’t really care about him like a father should.” Abigail sighs, and you move to sit on the open space beside her.

“Arthur’s always been there for Jack, even when John left…” Abigail says, and you make a note to ask Arthur about it, you don’t recall hearing of John leaving.

“I'm sorry to ask, and I know it’s unfair to, but could you or Arthur take him somewhere, or do somethin’ with him? He looks up to you both so much.” Abigail explains, and you place your hand over hers, nodding. You can’t imagine how she does it all. This life is an unkind one, and raising a child amidst it? You’re sure it's tough. Your heart aches for Jack, and you understand the pain of wanting to be loved by a father that chooses his life over his kids.

“Of course, Abigail, I’d be happy to. I miss Jack, haven’t gotten to chat with him in a while.” You explain, and Abigail smiles bittersweet.

“Thank you so much, I’ll owe you.”

“Nonsense, you don't owe me nothin, this’ll be fun. Let me find Arthur, we still have some time before dark.” You respond, pushing the tent flaps open before walking out. The sun is just beginning to set over the mountains, and you reckon that you have a few hours yet. You manage to find Arthur carrying a bale of hay across the camp, and he drops it to the ground in front of the horses.

“Ride with me?” You call to him, and he looks over at you, pausing for a moment to take in your new shirt, and the neat braid running down your back.

“Course, always.”Arthur says, entranced by the way you look in the dark red blouse. He debates telling you that you look beautiful, but decides that it would sound odd, so he coughs awkwardly and follows you.

“Where we goin’?” He asks, dusting some hay splinters off of his hands.

“That's up to you, mister. We’re takin’ Jack out.” You say excitedly, leading him towards the boulder where the boy sits. Arthur watches as you sort of skip along, smiling to himself.

“How about fishin’?” Arthur asks, and you stop dead in your tracks, turning around to squint at him.

“You gotta take a lady and a child out for fun and you wanna fish?” You ask, lost on his decision. But Arthur looks pretty excited, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Well sure, fishin’ is fun.” Arthur defends, covering his heart in mock pain.

“Yeah and so is dysentery, are you serious?” You huff, chuckling with a shocked expression. Arthur looks at you like he can’t fathom why anybody would think fishing to be boring.

“Fine, we’ll go fishing, but you gotta do something that's actually fun with me later.” You chuckle, approaching Jack. He’s playing with a wooden horse, a sad little frown on his face.

“Hey buddy, do you like fishin’?” You ask him immediately, kneeling down to his level. He looks up to you almost offended.

“Aunt Star, fish are smelly! I hate fishing!” He says, looking up to you with drawn together eyebrows.

“Well we’re goin’ fishin, so go get your pole off of Uncle Hosea.” Arthur says, and Jack sighs, stomping off towards Hosea’s tent.

“Arthur Morgan.” You chastise, looking at him with an open jaw.

“What? It’ll be good for him, he’s practically the man of the house now, considerin’ John’s contributions-” Arthur starts, sarcastically and you swat his chest to shut him up.

“Go get on your horse with your damn pole, I’ll meet you over there.” You sigh, waiting for Jack to come back with his little pole. You smile sweetly at him as he jogs back towards you, a grumpy little frown on his face.

“I don’t even know how to fish that good, but at least I get to stay up past my bedtime!” Jack says, handing his pole out to you, “Can I ride with you? Uncle Arthur’s horse looks scary…” Jack mumbles, looking at the huge black stallion with trepidation. You chuckle, thinking that Athena is definitely more of a force to be reckoned with, but you trust her.

“Sure buddy, c’mon.” You nudge him towards the horses with your hand. Arthur has the horses all tacked up, and is tightening the last cinch on Athena’s saddle when you approach him. You climb up into the saddle first, sliding back as far as you can against the seat, and then Arthur lifts Jack up with a groan, placing him down right in front of you.

“You got a spot picked out?” You ask, turning Athena towards the trail out of camp while Arthur mounts up.

“Yeah, head down to the Dakota, there's a nice spot down by the bank.”

Per Jack’s request, you lope down the slope towards the river. You make sure to keep Athena at a very slow, steady pace so that Jack doesn’t lose his balance. Athena seems to be aware of the fragile life on her back, and takes extra soft steps. Jack giggles the whole time, a belly aching laughter as he hangs on to the horn in front of you for dear life. He’s upset when you have to slow down, but grateful for the fun that it was.

“Here should do.” Arthur says, pulling Balius off the road. He’s chosen a spot in the river with a deep pool off the bank, a nice spot. The grass comes down almost to the water, and wildflowers and big rocks scatter around the area, creating a perfectly peaceful resting spot. It’s a perfect place to read or chat, but of course you’re here to catch fish. Arthur dismounts, coming over and lifting Jack down from the saddle onto the grass. You follow, and both of the horses step aside to munch on the sweet grass.

“Either of you know how to fish?” Arthur asks, hands resting on his gun belt. You and Jack both shake your heads and Arthur nods, moving firstly to Jack. You stay quiet, watching on as Arthur adds a worm to Jack’s hook. He shows Jack how to do it, and then gets him cast out into the water. Despite his predisposition to fishing, Jack seems rather proud of himself

“Real good, Jack!” Arthur smiles, patting Jack on the shoulder. You conclude that he must have been an incredible father, it all comes so naturally to him. Jack looks up to Arthur, so proud of himself, and your heart aches for the whole situation.

“Now, when you got a bite, let me know. We can reel it in together.” Arthur says, nodding to Jack before coming towards you.

“I think I’m gonna sit this one out, Arthur” You chuckle, and Arthur nods.

“Fair enough.”

Jack waits for a long while next to Arthur, and both have their backs faced to you as you sit in the grass behind them. You pluck some pieces of grass from the dirt, and then bored, you grab your little journal. Arthur and Jack talk about nothing and everything at the same time, waiting for something to bite. Eventually, Arthur gets a catch, and he shows Jack how to gut and store it, and then they’re back to waiting. The whole process is a bit mind numbing for you, and your attention is focused solely on the pages of your journal as you update it.

New horses, new blacksmith, and a newfound sobriety after the other night. Lots of things are changing, and yet lots remain the same. It's a confusing thing, and I find myself so caught up in between what I should do and what I want that I fear it’s breaking me in two. Honestly, its getting harder to tell the two apart any-

Your pen stills, as you look up to where Arthur and Jack stand. You’re sure you heard what he’s just said, but still you find yourself analyszing it.

“Y’know I taught another boy to fish once.” Arthur says quietly, head turning towards Jack. Jack looks up at Arthur with his eyebrows drawn together, mirroring exactly your expression.

“Lenny?” The boy asks, and Arthur chuckles, recasting his line.

“No, not Lenny. This was long before I even met Lenny. Hell, before you was born too.” Arthur sighs, recounting just how many years it's been. Sometimes he’s grateful that his life doesn’t require the modern calendar. The passing of time would be far too painful if he was more aware of it. Jack’s confusion turns to excitement, as he once again misinterprets Arthur’s words.

“Oh! What is his name? Could I meet him? I’d like to have a friend…” Jack says, not quite old enough to understand the passing of time, and the growth of children to adults. He’s never been around other children before, and you can’t blame him for his naivete. Arthur’s head dips down, and a bittersweet smile tugs at his lips. You watch on, connecting the dots with an ache in your heart.

“Nah, don’t think you’ll be able to meet him, buddy. He woulda liked you though, was only a few years older than you.” Arthur whispers, swallowing thickly as a fish tugs on his line. He doesn’t even bother to reel it, staring blankly across the river, lost in thought.

“Oh. What happened to him, Uncle Arthur?” Jack asks innocently, pulling on his rod too quickly while trying to attract a fish.

“He passed away.” Arthur mumbles, and the night grows silent save for the buzzing of frogs and the quiet splashes of water. Arthur gives Jack a few more pointers, but after a bit, Jack is tired of fishing, and he sets his pole down, yawning as he walks over towards you.

“I’m bored now.” Jack states, sitting beside you while plucking a few wildflowers from the grass, “Maybe I’ll make a flower necklace for momma.”

Smiling at the kid, soothed by the sounds of Arthur’s pole splashing in the river, you lean back against a boulder, looking up at the night sky. It’s still early, and streaks of orange and red paint the sky alongside dark blue. It’s a beautiful night, and even though its early, you can still point out a few weak constellations.

“What are you looking at, Aunt Star?” Jack asks, curiously tiptoeing towards you with a bundle of flowers in his hand. He plops down right beside you, sitting against your waist as he starts to weave the flower stems together. Now Arthur is the one eavesdropping, pole dipping into the water as he listens to you and Jack’s conversation.

“Oh, the stars, I guess.” You chuckle, thinking that you find yourself answering that question with the same answer frequently. But you just can’t help but eye them, they’re so beautiful, so free. Jack yawns, leaning his head against you as his fingers slow down on his little project.

“You like looking at stars, don't you?” Jack asks, eyes never leaving his flower necklace. Arthur chuckles, asking you the same question in his head. They seem to follow you like a trail, leaving star-shaped kisses on your heart.

“Yeah, I do. I think they’re fun to watch. Aren’t they just beautiful?” You ask, watching as the whole sky twinkles and flickers. Jack nods, yawning again.

“They sure are.”

You watch them for a while, occasionally glancing ahead to watch the slopes of Arthur’s back as he packs up his fishing pole, retiring for the night. After everything is all packed, he starts to make his way towards the two of you. Jack snores lightly against you, and surprised, you look down to find him asleep. Arthur smiles at this before sitting down against the rock at your side with a groan. He rests against your side opposite of Jack, and as he takes his hat off, dropping it to the ground, your hand reaches out to rest over his knee.

“Y’okay?” You ask, turning your head to gauge his eyes. Arthur’s eyebrows draw together, and he nods.

“Sure, why?”

“That must have been hard to talk about.” You nod towards the bank, recalling Arthur’s memory to the conversation about Isaac. Arthur sighs deeply, removing the weight of the world off his shoulders as his hand covers your own on his knee.

“It’s gettin’ easier.” He admits, but his eyes are far away, lost somewhere decades ago.

“Tell me about him.” You invite, leaving the decision up to him. You won’t be upset if he chooses not to talk about it, you understand isolation better than most. But if he chooses to open up, you’ll be there. A supporter, a friend, an ear, whatever he needs.

“There’s a lot to tell…” Arthur huffs, squeezing your hand lightly.

“We got time, if you’re comfortable.” You whisper, hand instinctively running up and down Jack’s sleeping back. Arthur nods, tongue darting out over his lips for a moment. He’s never told anyone the full story before, but as he looks into your warm, familiar eyes, he knows he can trust you.

“About fifteen years ago we was stayin’ in this town, we were there for a while,” Arthur toys with your hands, avoiding your eyes, “Got to know this waitress, god- she was just a kid, only eighteen at the time… Eliza was her name. We had- well it was nothin’ special, just someone to spend the night with. First time it happened we were both drunk, both hurtin’. Then everytime I was in town I’d stop by her place.” Arthur shakes his head, disappointed in his actions, “It was wrong, but we were young and stupid and lookin’ to feel somethin’ other than hurt I guess.” Arthur whispers, a crease in his forehead from the way his eyebrows are drawing together in pain. You squeeze his hand gently, letting him know you’re still present and listening before he continues.

“One day, after we’ve been doin’ this a while, I rode up and I just knew somethin’ was wrong… Said she was pregnant, said it was mine.” Arthur brings his knee up, resting his arm on it as he recalls memories that he has spent years shoving down, “I knew it was. I didn’t know what to do, I was so lost, Star. I knew I wanted to do right by her, so I made sure she had enough money so she wouldn’t have to work no more…”

You lean your head against Arthur’s shoulder as he runs his thumb over your knuckles. You’re terrified of the end of this story, and you wish there were something you could do to ease his pain.

“I wasn’t ready to be a dad- not in the least. I had no role model worth a damn, and I was so afraid of turnin’ into my daddy…” He whispers, and your eyes glance to his hat on the ground, and the new accessory adorning it.

“But then he was born.” Arthur chuckles, a little huff at some good memory in his head, “He looked just like me, and he was growin’ so fast.” Arthur has a joyful smile on his lips, but it dies out the longer he stays silent, thinking about the next chapter to Isaac’s life.

“I stopped by when I could, always brought him somethin’ from my travels… He’d get so excited when I rode up, Eliza was always hollerin’ after him for runnin’ out the house.” Arthur whispers, an ache in his red eyes.

“I taught him how to write, how to draw, even how to fish and ride. My lord, did that kid love horses.” Arthur huffs a chuckle, “Boadicea especially, she was just under saddle then, a handful of years… He named her- named her after a queen from one of the books I read him. He liked history too. He was such a good kid, Isaac. Smart like his momma and stubborn as all hell like his daddy.”

The smile from fond memories fade away, and are replaced by an old pain. One so deep that you know you could never attempt to reach the bottom. His hand shakes lightly, encased over your own, and he swallows thickly, looking down at his lap.

“One day I was goin’ back like always, but this time I had a real big surprise for him. Saved up for a long while n’ got him his first pony, a chestnut like Bo, his favorite… I rode up the trail, it had been about a month, soon as I got up the path I saw two crosses out front and I just knew.”

Tears trail down your cheeks, and you squeeze Arthur’s hand. It’s all you can do to let him know you're here, feeling this with him. He knows. You’re here, and that's more than enough. Jack is still blissfully asleep in your arms as Arthur finds the strength to continue, unshed tears in his eyes that he won’t allow to fall.

“Found her daddy, he said some gang had come through. Robbed n’ killed them for ten goddamn dollars,” Arthur inhales deeply, and that tear finally falls as he whispers, “And Star- his grave plot was so small. He was there and then he wasn’t, and poor Eliza. She deserved so much better than that, than what I provided, they both did…” Arthur regains his composure, hiding his face from you as he sniffs and wipes the tear away.

“I fell hard into the bottle after that, didn’t come back up for a long while.”

Arthur looks over at you then, and at the sleeping boy in the crook of your arm. You’re shocked, speechless, and hurting for a loss that you never had to grieve. The trauma that Arthur’s gone through, the loss, and he still gives so much, he has such a big heart and yours aches for his.

“Arthur I- I’m so sorry.” You breathe out, tear tracks running down your cheeks, “I’m so sorry you’ve had to carry that alone.”

Sitting in silence for a few moments, offering eachother little glances and touches of support, a question pops into your head.

“You a religious man, Arthur?” You ask, looking up to him from against his shoulder. His eyebrows pull together, not expecting this question as he shakes his head.

“I don’t know, not really.” He explains, having heard a lot about church and god, but never having actually listened, “Why, you believe in all that?” he asks.

“I believe that some way or another, we all get what we deserve in the end, whether that be redemption or mercy or suffering. And kids? They gotta be granted somethin’ good.” You mumble, thinking about it all. Arthur purses his lips, placing his hat back on his head as he looks down at you.

“N’ what about folks like us? What do we deserve?” Arthur asks, looking at your intertwined hands. You could have pulled away by now, but you haven’t. You sigh, contemplating his loaded question before coming up empty handed.

“I don’t know.”

Arthur nods, holding your hand up to exaggerate the fact that you’re holding his hand, pressed into his side.

“What are we doin’ here, Star?” Arthur finally asks, a question that has been on his lips for a while. You bite your lip nervously, looking at your intertwined hands before pulling yours back, and placing it over Jack’s sleeping form.

“It’s nothing, Arthur.” You say plainly, anxiety panging in your chest at his directness, and he sighs.

“Is it?”

“Arthur, stop.” You warn, wanting the conversation to be over. You don’t want to talk about this, not now, not here.

“Why do you keep closin’ up on me?” Arthur begs, having just poured his heart out to you, and you can’t manage to speak to him about anything. You don't speak, eyes purposely avoiding Arthur as your cheeks burn red. You want to cry, to scream, to tell him everything, but you can’t. You can’t because people you love get hurt, and people you love hurt you. Arthur sighs, watching as tears pool in your eyes. He’ll wait.

You’re about to wake up Jack, to take him back home. Just as you start to move, a pair of horses trots down the road, pulling off the bank where you sit. Arthur is up in a second, confronting the people riding up in the night. It happens so shockingly quickly that you don’t even have time to ask questions. Jack stirs awake, confused and sleepy as you shove him behind you.

“Good evening! I’m Agent Milton, this is Agent Ross.” A man calls out, climbing down from his branded chestnut morgan. His uniform is identical to his partner’s, stamped with a damning Pinkerton Detective Agency seal, and you gasp.

“Mr. Morgan, and you,” The bald man, Milton, looks to you then, scowling, “I hear they call you Star now, right? Though it’s not the name on the bounty poster, is it?” He chuckles, humorless. Then, he gestures to Jack hiding behind your legs.

“I’d ask if he’s the both of yours, but you ain’t been riding with these degenerates long enough.” The agent nods to you, as you fume.

“Tell me, Mr. Morgan. Did you coax this poor woman into joining you? Did you tell her all about your philosophy? Your code? Or was that all old Dutch?”

“What do you want?” You hiss, ready to kill these men. Your hand has flickered to your holster more than once, but you hesitate, not wanting Jack to see.

“We want Dutch. You give us him and we'll clear your names. You know what they say about a king-less monarchy, hmm?” Ross says. Arthur steps forward then, feigning innocence.

“We ain’t seen Dutch, not in a long while.” Arthur explains, but Milton chuckles, shaking his head.

“Yeah that’s what Mac Callander said too, before I shot him, it was really more of a mercy kill.” Milton hisses, and your jaw falls. Arthur is filled with rage, hands clenched tightly as he holds back for Jack’s sake.

“He didn’t talk though, don’t worry.” Ross chuckles, walking back towards his horse.

“You best think over our offer, you’re running out of time.” Ross hisses, climbing back onto his horse.

“Have a good night, kid. You don’t got many more of them.” Milton addresses Jack, and you shove the boy behind you as they gallop off.

“Arthur-” You exhale, shocked and terrified. The Pinkertons have caught up, and if they’ve chased you this far, you doubt they’ll ever stop.

“This ain’t good. We better get the boy home, talk with Dutch. He ain’t gonna be happy about this.” Arthur says, low with a dark edge. Nervously, you watch them ride off.

“You think we’re gonna have to move again? We just got here.” You exhale, emotional at the thought of leaving. This is one of the first places you’ve felt at home in a long time.

“I don’t know. C’mon, we’ll get Jack back and see.”

— — — —

Dutch isn’t worried about the Pinkertons. No, he's furious. He sees it as some personal stab at his ego. Your eyes roll, sitting beside Arthur outside of Dutch’s tent.

“I don’t think you understand, Dutch, they know where we are. They killed Mac.” Arthur growls, trying to get Dutch to see reason. But Dutch’s mind is clouded by delusions of grandeur. He believes he can win the fight against the agency, and you think he’s a fool.

“They’re testing us, son. They’re pushing us. They think they can herd us? Me? They’re wrong. We are NOT abiding by the rules to their twisted games. We are staying here!” Dutch yells, and Arthur sighs, begging Dutch to cut his loses, but the man is insistent. Arthur tries to speak, but Dutch cuts him off, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Son, in the morning I need you to go get Sean. We are not losing anyone else.” Dutch orders, then he moves towards the fire where John is. You and Arthur share a worried glance before following him.

“John! Gather what you need, we are HITTING THAT TRAIN!” Dutch calls out, smiling brightly as if his master plan is falling together, “Watch them try to control this crew. We’ll hit their bounty hunters, hit their train in the same goddamn day. This is going to be beautiful.”

Your stomach turns as you recall Dutch’s orders about needing your level head on the robbery. You have a bad feeling about this train, a real bad one. But as John and Arthur start packing to head in separate directions tomorrow, you realize that there’s no way out of it. You’re a van der Linde now, and you follow his orders.

#arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan angst #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic

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trans-pickles · 7 hours

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can't get the thought of a kierthur vdl!kieran au out of my head and i'm burdening you all with the forbidden knowledge now

the teeny-tiny gang, comprised only of dutch, hosea, susan, arthur, john, tilly, and uncle (oh, and copper of course) has no choice but to enter a tenuous but necessary truce with the far larger o'driscolls

the law is on both their tails and they're in for a cold, long winter

dutch used to run with colm when he was younger. he doesn't talk about it beyond strict warnings to tilly and his boys to know what kind of man colm is, truce or no truce

arthur, freshly nineteen, doesn't feel much like socializing with anyone

he thought it would be a grand romantic gesture, giving mary his mother's ring and asking to run away together

in the end it had been pathetic, just like their relationship (at least from his perspective. we up self hating.) him, throwing himself at her feet. her, overwhelmed by the intensity this carefree cowboy is suddenly showing, still bound to her family both by honor and love

he wants to hate her. it would be easy to hate her. but by god he can't, not with the way she pushed the ring back into his hands and wept and embraced him the last time

so without anything to hate but himself and dutch and hosea's bickering he continues through the blizzard to the dilapidated hunting lodge where colm and his boys are holed up

introductions are useless, of course to colm he's a disposable gun for hire. all he does is wave him off to his skittery, good-for-nothing stablehand.

for an o'driscoll, the boy's hands are gentle. he avoids eye contact with arthur but his nerves belie a deep understanding of horses

boadicea, just as headstrong as her rider, somehow allows him to undo her bridle. his actions are soft but firm.

enough tenderness to show he's not a threat, with the sureness to show he's ultimately the one in control

arthur watches him. maybe he isn't blown away, but he's pleasantly surprised not to have to yell at some blockhead o'driscoll for mishandling his horse, or worse yet have to stop boadicea from trampling him

when the boy finishes arthur realizes he wasn't even told a name. he has to pry it out of the boy - it's kieran. kieran duffy.

kieran's fine sleeping in the stables, he says. the horses keep him warm. arthur remembers dutch telling him that the o'driscolls "ain't like us, son" and awkwardly says that he's free to use boadicea's blanket if the cold gets to him

kieran smiles for the first time. he thanks arthur. tells him, a little nervously, that his horse is a "beautiful animal, mister"

arthur laughs, tells him not to call him "mister", why kieran must be barely even younger than he is

"okay then, mister arthur"

"well i guess this is good night, mister kieran"

kieran looks confused before realizing it's a joke. and not even one at his expense! he grins a big dopey sunny grin, arthur thinks of mary, of drunken rendezvous with other farmhands in bars across the states after heartbreaks like this tips his worn-out hat, and starts to make his bed in the hay

arthur's glad to see him grab the blanket before he turns around to leave for his own quarters

he might not be as hard up for company as he thought here

#eli.txt #kieran duffy #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #kierthur #uh oh arthur be careful about that rebound turning into the love of your life :3 #dutch van der linde #tilly jackson #susan grimshaw #john marston #colm o'driscoll #hosea matthews #uncle #uncle rdr2 #mary gillis

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pacifymebby · 4 months

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t r o u b l e / chapter thirty four

"uh..." it had been a long time since I'd stuttered over the sight of a boy, a long time since someone's smirking at me had stolen my tongue. But there I was, trapped between my brother's smirk and Bonnie's. Blushing, shy and struggling to think of something clever to say. So in the end all I did was smile and nod my head, shrug my shoulders as if to say "I suppose so."

I averted my gaze as quickly as I could, tried to hide my eyes from both of them by looking at the floor instead, pretending to focus on the spring in the wood. Pretending to be admiring the gym Tommy had designed for me and Sylvie.

"Did he really build this for us?" I asked looking around once more, turning in a small circle to take it all in.

When I looked at John he had this look about him, something between affection and amusement. Something nostalgic about the glow in his eyes when they rested on me. And yet still when he spoke he was laughing at me.

"Well he didn't build it for our Bonnie boy here did he lass..." He sniggered drawing my attention back to Bonnie who had turned away from us now and was focussed on warming up. He was skipping, his head tilted to the floor watching his feet as he jumped quickly, these short sharp bursts of energy followed by a brief reprise. I had thought John was watching him too but when I turned back to my brother I realised he'd been watching me. Realised he hadn't taken his eyes off me since that sentimental smirk had given him away.

"hope you're prepared..." winked John nodding to Bonnie who was now too focussed on his work to notice us talking about him, "I ain't about to go easy on him just cause you think he's got a pretty face..." he teased catching me speechless.

"John!" I hissed my eyes wide open in horror at his remark. I was only relieved to see that Bonnie hadn't heard my brother. That somehow I was going to get away with the blush that was burning on my cheeks. And as John turned away, pulling his own shirt over his head, tossing Bonnie a pair of gloves which had been strung up on the wall, I felt myself grow a little uneasy. Wondering whether Bonnie really was prize fighter enough to stand up against John. It was true they were both strong, but John looked stronger... He was bigger than Bonnie too and although I had laughed earlier when Bonnie had joked about beating him, now I didn't feel so amused.

I'd watched fights before, I was sure that at least once we'd been allowed to go and watch Arthur in a boxing match which he had won, but I couldn't remember all that much about it. I remember I was too small to see above the shoulders of whoever was in front of me, I remember I only really saw the ring at the end when Arthur was up by the barriers throwing his fists in the air and roaring with pride at his victory.

"Alright kidda let's see what you've got eh, give us your worst..." Grinned John, hitting his gloves together as the two men faced off and I stood on the perimeter watching.

At first I was watching John, his shit stirring grin which grew all the wider when Bonnie cracked a laugh but as the pair circled, fists raised to make their preliminary jabs, my attention was drawn to Bonnie.

The light in his eyes, something a little more dangerous than mischief. Something darker, a glint of trouble all swirled up with sudden focus. A determination unmatched by my brother.

And then when the first punch landed and I heard the crack of impact, saw John's glove sink into Bonnie's shoulder I flinched. A gasp escaping me, hand rushing to cover my mouth. It felt as if they should have stopped, as if Bonnie should have buckled and backed away, as if John should have stood down. But they didn't. Just as soon as the punch had landed had John gone in to throw another and though for a split second I'd feared he would succeed this time Bonnie caught it and pushed back, using the moment to land a few rapid blows of his own. Pushing my brother back across the ring, his teeth gritted, his eyes glinting with determination.

I couldn't take my eyes off them though I desperately wanted to look away. The smack of each blow leaving my nerves on edge, their grunts of exertion and pain sending adrenaline through my veins. Bonnie's muscles rippled as he fought back against John, and when his red glove cracked against John's jaw and I watched my brother spit blood, smearing pink drool across his cheek, well, I felt like I was going to be sick.

"Jesus Christ..." I whispered, eyes wide as I watched them sparring, neither of them seeming to tire despite the damage they were doing. Neither of them seeming ready to accept defeat though I desperately wished one of them would.

And then when Bonnie landed another blow to my brother I surprised myself, a whimper escaping me, my hand shooting down to rest over my womb as I closed my eyes. It was a revealing flinch. One I was glad seemed to go unnoticed by the two men as they fought. Both of them concentrating. One a little more determined than the other.

But as much as it might have escaped their notice it hadn't mine and I couldn't keep my mind from wandering back over her worries. Couldn't ignore how instinctive it had been, that sudden move to protect what I knew must be there, undeniable now. I'd flinched so protectively, felt a fear that fluttered dove-like in my heart but twisted deep in my gut and played on every nurturing instinct I hadn't known I harboured.

I swallowed the sick feeling down, tried to force myself to watch their fight knowing that once it was over I would have to see my aunt Pol, I'd have to admit she was right.

With every punch John threw Bonnie would try to outdo him, and with every successful attack launched by Bonnie, John would deliver yet another blow just as sharp as the last.

And in the end my wishes were answered by John who, rather than admit defeat simply dropped his fighting act, gave bonnie a playful shove and a pat on the back, the two of them dissolving into laughter as they fell away from eachother and dropped their gloves on the floor.

They were covered with sweat, Bonnie's swollen cheek glistening with a pinkish sheen which, from where I was standing, I couldn't tell if it was blood or just the flush of exhaustion.

"Well?" Asked Bonnie turning to me for the first time since putting his gloves on, his eyes no longer dark but instead gleaming with adrenaline, smiling and boyish, the way I recognised him to be. "Aren't you gonna tell us who won?" He asked with a cheeky grin when John cracked a laugh.

"You're havin a laugh the girl wasn't even watchin us!" He said, his teasing turned on me as he wiped his face with a towel and tossed it aside.

"I was too!" I said indignantly, trying to fix him with a glare despite knowing full well that he was right.

"Were you fuck you spent half that hiding with your hands over your eyes!" He cried back, sniggering when he carried on, "you were worse than our Katie watching Lord of the Rings!"

"I was not!" I cried growing exasperated, growing all too aware of the blush flushing my cheeks and the fond smirk on Bonnie's lips as he watched us bickering.

"Don't worry lass," chuckled Bonnie, "it's touching how worried for me you were..." He winked, his cheeky smile, the teasing way he let his eyes linger on me leaving me speechless for a moment as I wrapped my arms around myself and stuttered.

For a second I didn't know what to say, all too aware that my cheeks were bright red, that my brother was chuckling away, revelling in my awkward silence. That Bonnie was waiting for me to laugh.

"Right well," I said quietly, my voice a little higher than it should have been, shaking a little when I tried to spit the rest of my sentence out with my final shred of composure, "just for that I'm declaring John the winner..."

John cried out with a victorious laugh, keeling over with delight as he gloated at Bonnie who just shook his head. Not looking at John, his eyes lingering on me so that I got the impression that when he smiled, that too was only for me.

"Just you wait till you see the real thing..." He said, a playful warning tone as he pointed his index finger between my eyes. "I'll leave you with no doubt Miss Gray..."

"Not sure ringsides the place for our Fen," chuckled John and although I was sure now that he was right, that I couldn't stand to watch Bonnie, or anyone, fighting like that ever again, John's having said so made me cross my arms over my chest and shake my head.

"Is too."

I held his gaze as stubbornly as I could but no sooner did John see my sullen glare did he smirk and then grin and then lean into a knowing laugh. His hand in my hair ruffling my plaits loose. His arm around me pulling me into sweaty side.

"John!" I growled trying my best to push him away, unable to stop myself laughing at him when he tackled me, letting me lose my balance and fall only so that he could catch me. He was enjoying himself far too much, shit eating grin glowing.

"Have you missed me Fen?" He chuckled, only giggling more when I shot him an unforgiving withering look. One which left Bonnie smirking as he watched us from the floor where he was warming down.

"Oh!" I gasped suddenly when I saw John's lip was cut, it wasn't bleeding particularly badly but there was just enough, a trickle of crimson catching the light, darkening as it gathered in the curve of his chin.

When he realised what it was I had seen he chuckled, his smile opening the cut a little more. I tried to reach up and dab the blood with a tissue but he only swatted my hand away. He hadn't seen what I'd seen I suppose, but I was more than aware of the small shadow which had just crossed the threshold and was lingering in the doorway of the gym with a shyness I recognised to be much like my own.

"It's just a bit of blood Fen I'm fine," he smirked, his tone a little patronising but nothing I wasn't used to from my brothers, "see... You'd see much worse at a real fight..."

I rolled my eyes, thumping the tissue packet into his chest.

"I wasn't cleaning you up for my sake dinlow..." I shot back. And when I nodded my head in the direction of the door he realised, rolled his own eyes and closed his hand around the packet of tissues, understanding me then.

"Don't mean you've convinced me little sis, the rings no place for a delicate and sophisticated young lady such as yourself..." He sneered trying to retain the upper hand as he cleaned himself up.

"Nah," said Bonnie who had been watching us bickering like children with a smirk on his lips, "tougher than they look ballerinas, that's what I've heard..." And though he was talking to John he was looking at me and once again I felt myself prickled with a familiar feeling, that really every word was meant just for me. That my brother may as well have been in the other room.

Unfortunately for me that wasn't the case and when he heard Bonnie's remark he only laughed and shook his head.

"Nah, not our Fen, delicate little flower this one, ain't you Fen..."

"Mia's waiting for you dinlow.." I whispered fixing my big brother with a glare, forcing him to turn around and forget about teasing me.

And of course once he turned around he became "daddy" again, not the shit stirring older brother I knew but instead the soft touch father who was ready bundle his little one up and carry her back up the stairs with the gentlest "telling off" for having snuck into the gym. I couldn't help the sorrow I felt tug at my heart when I thought about the father of my child. Whether the baby growing inside me would ever know their dad, whether he would want to know them.

"And where do you think you're sneaking off to miss Mia?" He grinned running up to her and sweeping her of her feet, her shriek not echoing round the room the way I'd have expected it to. The way the sound seemed to be soaked up by the walls leaving me a little uncertain as I stood hesitant, waiting with my arms wrapped around myself for Bonnie to speak and lead us out of the gym.

I turned back to him, my hesitance flickering in my eyes. He offered me a smile, soft as anything, knowing perhaps the new nervousness which had sunken into me in those moments which followed my brother's departure. I wondered if he'd caught the watery look in my eyes, wondered if he could tell the true extent of the trouble I held in my heart.

"You want to visit Pol?" He asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper. Upon opening his mouth he'd reached out to me, something making him decide against taking my hand the moment it had left his side. It meant that his hand lingered in the space between us for a moment and left me shivery as I looked between his fingers and his eyes, unsure what to say or how to reach out and take it.

"Please..." I said, not meaning to whisper as quietly as I did. Feeling a blush creeping up when he smiled. He seemed as though he were being a little more careful. He'd always seemed gentle, more gentle than any blinder I'd known before, and yet somehow his hesitance surprised me. The soft way he looked at me, as though trying to read my mind, leaving a self conscious blush in my cheeks, a new restlessness in my heart.

After a moments hesitance I reached for his fingers, feeling shy the second mine brushed his. Feeling a rush of relief when his closed around mine and he dropped his towel down on the floor behind him as we left together.

"I mean it about your brother an me balls y'know " he whispered with a cheeky smile as he led me up the stairs and then through that damp little cobbled passage which took us out towards the lake.

We moved quickly and my heart beat quickly too, our nimble escape through the passage making me feel like some kind of renegade, or perhaps just a borrower slipping through the dark secret places of a home unseen.

I'd expected Bonnie to let go of my hand somewhere between the door and the lake and yet when we reached the silty shore at the waters edge his fingers remained entwined with mine, and though the lake was still and perfectly peaceful I felt a darkness creep up on me as our shadows wavered on the water.

He didn't say a word to me but every now and then he gave my hand a little squeeze or turned back to catch my gaze. The soft curve of his smirk and the little wink he'd shoot me soothing my nerves though I wasn't exactly sure just what it was I was nervous for.

Getting caught before I could see my aunt or what I thought she might say to me.

I hadn't realised that the forest at the edge of the estate belonged to us too but as Bonnie led me through the ferns and the ground became less hospitable with every step, I noticed dog tracks and realised that it must. That this seemingly lesser trodden path was frequented by someone in the family.

"Is it far?" I asked breaking the quiet. Until now we'd been soft enough that the afternoons birdsong, the breeze through the trees, had been enough to conceal our footsteps over the woodland floor. When I spoke however I felt the sudden tension of being caught.

"What's wrong? Not used to walking more than two minutes to the underground?" He turned over his shoulder with a cheeky grin and though I knew I was being teased I didn't laugh. Let my pout return, my brow furrowing as my voice grew sullen.

"No," I grumbled, "it's not that dinlow... It's just this fuckin mud and I keep catching myself on the bramble and stepping on twigs and they're really fuckin sharp through my shoes!"

"Aye well y'will cut about in ballet slippers.." he chuckled, shrugging my complaints off with another teasing line, "told you princess, we're not in Chelsea now..."

"I didn't even live in Chelsea!" I glowered, my sulky eyes apparently amusing him all the more as he let out a hushed laugh, one he muffled with his sleeve, not realising I'd stopped in my tracks. Arms folded across my chest.

But when he realised I'd dropped his hand he stopped. Turned to look at me over his shoulder, turning around completely when he realised I wasn't smiling or laughing along with him. When he realised that my eyes had filled with tears not even I was entirely sure were warranted.

"What's the matter?" He asked, a nervous smile tugging on his lips as he let his eyes flicker over my fragile stance. He could tell I was on the edge of tears and I could see how he squirmed. But there was nothing I could do to help him out of this one because I wasn't exactly sure what I was about to cry for myself.

"Stop fuckin laughing at me..." I said finally, my voice thick with a sullen emotion which left him struggling to do as I'd said.

"I'm not laughing at you sweetheart I promise," he said holding his hands up as if in surrender, the smirk he couldn't hide saying otherwise.

"Yes you are you're doing it right now!" I scowled, "it's fine I fuckin get it alright let's all laugh at the silly little rich girl isn't she soooo out of her depth, family of fuckin gangsters and she can't even stomach a boxing match, can't even walk through a forest without crying about something... Isn't she fuckin stupid!" I let the words tumble out of me my humiliation rising by the second, with every syllable I sobbed through. And bonnie just stood there watching me, his smirk the nervous kind as he chewed his cheek and waited for me to finish.

"Obviously I'm not like my fuckin siblings alright, I fucking know that! You don't need to keep pointing it out to me... And obviously I'm no fuckin gypsy either, I'm not stupid I know I'm a fuckin cliché posh London bitch, obviously I am..."

But at that he cut me off, his voice raised oh so slightly above mine. His tone enough to silence me in a second.

"Alright Miss Gray that's quite enough of that thank you..." He said curtly, his smirk gone, replaced with a frown of his own as he snatched my hand back. I stood trembling, I'd managed somehow amid my outburst to hold back my tears and they welled up in my eyes making it hard to see as I starred back at him in shock.

I half expected him to tug on my arm, tell me to hurry up, to stop wasting time. But he didn't.

Instead he stepped a little closer to me, closed the space between us and held my hand up between us, his fingers entwining with mine.

"I know you ain't stupid Miss Gray," he said, his voice soft and low, his eyes locked with mine. I felt silly standing there, looking up at him with such a rush of emotion swelled up in my eyes, but he didn't let me feel silly for long. "And I never said you were a bitch..." He said, "you shouldn't say that either..." He said, his frown so serious, more serious than I'd ever seen him before. "I was only teasing," he said it again, making me feel guilty because I'd known that all along. Because I couldn't explain why I'd taken it to heart when I'd known he hadn't meant it.

"I know..." I said chewing my cheek a little awkwardly, "sorry Bonnie," I said not sure whether I should try to make a joke or not, feeling the self deprecating remark slip from my tongue before I'd had a chance to stop it, "guess I can add uptight bitch to the list of descriptors too..." I said with a little smirk, one which Bonnie only mirrored for a moment as he chuckled and shook his head at me.

"Nah," he said shrugging his shoulders, "if I had all that on my mind I doubt Id be laughing either..." He said, the guilty look in his eyes making me wonder how much he knew. His next move making me certain he knew more than he was letting on.

He held his arms out to me then, made a joke I considered brave considering the moment we'd just shared.

"Alright, alright, you're right... Undergrowths hardly the sort of terrain fit for a Belgravian princess, let me carry you, it ain't far..."

"Oh... Bonnie no..." I started to protest, shaking my head as I tried to back away, feeling all kinds of mortified that he didn't think me capable of finishing what was more than likely only a short walk to his father's camp.

"Come on Sonya..." He said with a sigh, "you're right you ain't got the shoes for it and you look tired..."

"I'm not!" I tried to argue, growing more flustered by the second, my heart trembling at the thought he might be about to bundle me up against his chest.

My eyes were wide as I looked back at him, hoping he would back down, already knowing he wouldn't. Already knowing the line which was coming next.

"C'mon lass, cmere... Under strict instructions from your brother's I am, ain't about to fuck this up..." He said with a cheeky smile as he took my hand and tugged me closer to him.

In truth there were three things I feared then.

The first being that by giving in I was admitting I thought myself to good to trapse through the forest with him. That I was admitting to being that stuck bitch from London I was sure he thought of me as despite his protest.

The second was simple. That he would realise I wasn't as light as he thought me. That he would drop me just as Jasper had done at school, that I would reveal my failings to yet another man.

And the third, perhaps the most delicate of all. That if I let him hold me like that, bundled up against his body as he carried me through the forest, I would find myself too comfortable. That my heart would race and my breath would falter and I would be forced to admit my betrayal of Freddie. That I'd be forced to acknowledge the truth, that there was something irresistible about Bonnie. Something I was already struggling to ignore.

"Come here sweetheart," he said again, his tone a little firmer than before, his eyes locking with mine, all but confirming that he knew what Polly knew. "Long walk like this ain't good for you..." He said, waiting for me to share in his understanding. "Wear you out more than you already are..."

I realised then that there was no denying it. That Bonnie was just as canny as Esme, as my Aunt Pol. That there was no point lying to him just like there was no point desperately trying to deny it to myself. So I just nodded my head, let him scoop me up in his arms, my head against his chest.

"Sorry..." I said a little awkwardly as he swept me up off my feet, took a second to recenter himself before he carried on walking.

"Enough Sonya," he said with a smirk, shrugging off my concerns just as easily as he'd scooped me up. Just as easily as he held me close to him as he walked. "Won't be long now eh, relax..."

I closed my eyes, my body tense in his arms as I tried to make myself as small as possible. Tried not to take up too much space, tried not to get in his way. I felt ridiculous, all too self conscious and certainly a little silly for letting him carry me through the woods like some damsel in distress.

But he had insisted and I was there now, all I could do was try to hold myself together until he set me back down on my feet. Try to do as he has said and relax... Ignore the effect he was having on me. Pretend it wasn't really quite so easy to set my heart stuttering and breath catching in my throat.

I tried my best to listen to the sound of the forest, to tune out of Bonnie's breathing, the beating of his heart beneath his chest, and tune into the sounds of twigs snapping, branches straining and shaking as a squirrel threw itself from one to another. Tried to tune into the babble of the river which was still hidden somewhere behind the ferns.

And when I opened my eyes I did my best to tip my head back so that I might concentrate on the sunlight dappled through the canopy. The shadows cast by entangled branches and clusters of seeds which were gathering, waiting to fall.

I tried to concentrate from keeping my fingers from wandering from where they scrunched the scruff of his t-shirt though the brush of his curls often tempted them.

But nothing could keep my mind from returning, nothing could slow my beating heart, steady my shy breaths. I couldn't ignore the burning sensation of his skin so close to mine. Couldn't ignore the hazy way my head spun every time I breathed in and tasted his grassy scent lingering in my lungs.

"Why are they staying so far?" I asked after a little while. The quiet between us had done little to settle my nerves though I felt perfectly safe in his arms. "Wouldn't she do better to stay near the house.. just in case y'know..." I trailed off not wanting to reference her supposed illness. Remembering what Bonnie had told me earlier about his thoughts on that.

"Nah," he said letting out a slow sigh as he spoke, "me da's got her best interests at heart, the woodlands are good for her, peaceful..."

"No Shelby's..." I said wryly, looking up at him in hopes of meeting him with a smile to show him I was only joking. But when he looked down his smile didn't quite meet his eyes.

"I wasn't gonna say that..."

"No Tommy Shelby?" I asked not realising quite how close to home I might have hit until he hesitated. Until he changed the subject.

"She'll be glad to see you."

"That's not what I meant..." I mumbled wondering if it was me letting us trail off into silence again or him.

I couldn't help but let my mind wander back to those scenes that morning over breakfast. How quickly Tommy had snapped, how he'd trapped her against the fireplace as he'd tried and failed to pacify her anguished outburst.

"It's good for her to be around people who understand her..." He said after a moment longer, his brows knitted as he chose each word carefully. He was being careful not to offend but when it came to this he couldn't possibly offend me.

"Don't worry," I said quietly, my fingers straying for a second before I could stop them, twirling one of the curls at the bottom of his neck idly as I spoke, "gypsy shit right? I get it..."

When Bonnie finally set me down it was at the edge of the river we'd been skirting for twenty minutes. I could hear the crackle of a fire before I could see it, could hear Aberama whistling as he worked at skinning a rabbit.

"Ahh, Bonnie my boy finally tired of the high life? Ain't gone soft up there in the big house have you?" He flashed his son a teasing grin, not dissimilar to the one I was growing used to on Bonnie. Bonnie who in that moment had smiled despite the soft blush on his cheeks as he let his hand linger on my lower back.

"Bought company da..." He said as if warning his dad to stop teasing the Shelby name in front of me... As if Bonnie hadn't been doing the very same all afternoon.

"And what lovely company she is," said Aberama, taking his flatcap off and bowing his head to me slightly, his eyes locking with mine as a warmer smile snook onto his face. "Will you be staying for tea Miss Gray?" He asked holding up the half skinned rabbit, chuckling when he caught me trying to hide my grimace, "I'm sure your Aunt would like the company..."

But he didn't need to tell me that and I'd already nodded my head before he'd finished his sentence.

"Thank you Mr Gold," I said quietly, feeling shy under his warm but attentive gaze.

"Thought I told you Sonya, you call me Aberama, or Abe perhaps, if you and my Bonnie are as close as you look from a distance..."

"Da quit teasin her," grinned Bonnie shaking his head, lowering his voice to remind me that I could ignore every word his father said. "She was asking after Pol, been worried about her..."

"Well you ain't got no reason to worry about your Aunt Pol," smiled Aberama gesturing to the fire as he spoke, "come sit, we'll have tea, she won't be long..." He said letting Bonnie shrug his jacket off and set it down over a worn out looking garden chair for me to sit on.

I smiled at him a little shyly, feeling silly he'd felt the need to put his coat down for me on a perfectly reasonable chair. Still I sat down, said thank you and kept my head down, waiting for my aunt as politely as I could. Feeling suddenly like I was intruding on something I shouldn't have been part of. It wasn't exactly a feeling I wasn't used to. Always too rough around the edges for my friends at boarding school, always too primp and proper for my family back in Birmingham. This was no different. Traveller enough to know I wasn't traveller enough to be sitting around that fire with them.

I held my hands in my lap until Aberama presented me with a little china cup to hold instead. I didn't realise that my hands were shaking until he poured my tea but when he did I suffered the indignity of having to watch the hot dark liquid tremble and splash at the sides, worse when he added milk.

Bonnie pulled up a chair beside me and sat down, his elbows resting on his knees as he leant in to talk with his father about news from the families. Families I knew had been sent out in search of my sister, my boyfriend and his family too.

I'd been trying to listen in until Aberama had let his gaze flit quickly to me, until he'd seem me watching him and changed his mind. Started speaking another language I didn't really recognise. Only knew enough of to know it wasn't Romani. So he was being particularly cautious.

I watched the two of them talking until my eyes met Bonnie's, his lit up by the fire and the strange faded afternoon sun which reflected off the muddle brook.

When he looked at me his eyes were furtive, and yet his dark eyes held an intensity which left me struggling to sip my tea. I hid behind the rim of my tea cup, held his gaze from under my eyelashes, but I couldn't read his expression and I couldn't tell if he understood the worry in mine.

And then I heard the snap of a twig underfoot and I forgot about the two men and their secret conversation. Thought only of Polly who was standing just outside the circle of chairs, her closed lip smile warm, eyes bright as she looked upon me.

"Fen."

She greeted me with a radiant affection, her tired eyes lit up despite the shadows beneath them. She looked emotional perhaps, a little tired maybe, but she didn't look ill. Didn't look frail the way my brothers had told me she was these days.

"Been worrying about you Polly," sighed Aberama nodding from me to her with a twinkle in his eyes, something like affection and mischief entwined.

"Bonnie Gold what did I tell you this morning!" She scolded the younger lad, "what did you promise me eh?" She asked shaking her head, one hand on her hip as she placed her basket of apples and other foraged things on the edge of the vardo steps. "Bloody men..." She met me with a conspiring smile, sitting down beside me and clasping my hands in hers. Her touch was cool from the hours spent in the shade of the woods, cool like the water babbling in the stream behind us. But she felt like home when she took my hands and when I met her gaze I felt understood. "Told him not to let you go worrying about me... There's nothing wrong with me love, no matter what your brother's tell you... You've enough sense in you to know that though..." She said quieter as she leant in to ask me how I was.

"Aye I tried my best Pol but if there's one thing your niece is good at..." Started Bonnie with a lingering grin, the kind which remained on his lips when he held my gaze and remained even after I'd torn my eyes away.

"Sounds like our Fen," said Polly softly, love threaded through every word, "always were a sensitive girl weren't you love..." She said before asking me again about myself. I wondered if she'd been worrying for me that way I had her all day, after all I must have seemed a little fragile too and I didn't have the track record Pol when it came to holding oneself together.

"I'm alright Pol, but.. how are you, you were so... Upset this morning... I... What did you mean about Michael?" I asked realising my mistake only after I'd allowed the questions to tumble from my lips without warning.

Her eyes darkened and she let go of my hands, placed them back in my lap and patted them softly. Something in her sad smirk told me I'd let her down.

"Is that why you came?" She asked, her voice low and heavy with trouble, "you believe your brothers?"

"No!" I said it a little too quickly, a little too sharply. Became acutely aware of the ebb in Bonnie and his father's conversation. "No," I lowered my voice, tried to speak as softly as I could, my cheeks burning as I tried to convey all the things I wanted to tell her with just the glow in my eyes. "No, I don't... I... What did you see when you saw him Pol? What did you see when you saw Sylvie?" I asked already knowing the answer I would receive, already understanding she couldn't possibly tell me.

"Will you come inside with me?" She asked looking over her shoulder at the vardo, her fingertips traced over the back of my hand lightly, turned my hand over in my lap and began tracing a long sloping line between my index and my wrist.

I nodded my head and stood. Glanced back at Bonnie and his father only briefly as I let her lead me inside the little vardo.

I recognised it then, the very same place I'd sheltered on that first morning at Arrow House. The way the vardo seemed to hold you as you sat down at the little table. There was a green tablecloth draped over it today, a cup of tea and my aunt's deck of tarot cards beside an unlit candle.

"I cannot tell you what I saw of your sister Fen," she sighed, "your brother has forbade it... Naturally..." She seemed to simmer on her smirk for a moment, I wondered if she was waiting for me to protest, or of she knew better than to expect that of this twin.

"Even if he hadn't..." I said quietly, knowing when she offered me her most sympathetic of smiles and shook her head what she meant.

Not in my state. It would be dangerous to worry me with visions and doomed feelings.

Of course that only left me feeling all the more fated and gloomy.

"Pol..." I started, the urgency in my voice drawing that sympathy from her more.

"Now don't you look at me like that my love," she said, her hands holding mine tightly, her own eyes just as teary as mine, "don't you look at me like that, there's nothing to fear my girl..."

"There is Pol!" I whispered, a fragility gripping me suddenly, a twist in my gut which left me shaking and struggling not to cry. "It's Freddie's..." I said, "if anyone finds out... If the Italians or... Tommy... He'll hate me!" I snatched my hand from Polly's to cover my mouth, clasping both hands over my jaw to muffle my sobbing. The tears flowed freely then, my body trembling with the despair I'd been holding back for days. But Polly didn't try to stop me or shut me up. She didn't try telling me again that there was nothing to fear.

Instead she wrapped her arms around me and cradled my head to her chest, her hands holding my hair as she rocked me gently. She leant back against the cushions, keeping me steady and safe, and waited it out. Waited until I was sniffling rather than sobbing, waited until I'd managed to get a grip on myself once more.

"Your brothers could never hate you Fen," she said firmly as I sat up and pulled away from her. She offered me a tissue to dry my eyes and I took it but used the sleeves of my cardigan instead. "And having a bairn inside you won't make any difference to your place on Zabinis hit list. We're all there side by fuckin side ain't we..."

It shouldn't have been a comfort and yet somehow it was. I dabbed at my eyes trying to catch my stray tears, nodded my head solemnly.

"Please don't tell them..." I said, "oh god Pol..." I whimpered, struggling to draw in a shaking breath as I gathered my thoughts.

"Do you want it?"

Her question hushed the whole room. Everything seemed a little quieter then, as if the soft furnishings, the bowls in the cupboard, the mess of clothes on the end of the bed, were all ruminating my decision. One I hadn't made. One I couldn't stand to consider for too long.

"I... I don't know..."

"Does Freddie know?" She asked her hand resting atop my womb as she rubbed in a slow circle. When I shook my head she raised her brow, "are you sure?"

"How could he? I didn't know until you told me..."

"Good," she said softly, almost as though she were talking to herself, "that's good... Then you've got plenty time to think about it haven't you, no one rushing you to make your mind up...and you don't need to worry about your brother's or anyone else, your family love you Fen, we'll look after you... Whatever you decide you want to do alright?"

I nodded my head again, fearful that if I tried to speak I'd cry. Sniffling as I held my hands over my mouth and shut my eyes. Feeling it all pushing down on me, the panic thudding in my chest, the nausea rising up. Because I'd been trying to ignore something I shouldn't have been ignoring for too long. And really the only person I wanted to talk to about it was so far away, somewhere in a gangsters den in London doing god knows what. Somewhere so very far from me.

"I don't know what to do..." I whispered, my head spinning with every little anxiety. "My fucking career," I sniffled, "and Freddie... Oh god..." I crumbled again, trying to hold myself together, trying my best to get a grip, knowing full well that had it been Ada in my position she wouldn't have been crying like this.

When I looked up at Pol through my tears she was looking at me with that same darkened sympathy, as of she'd been waiting for this day a long time. As of she'd always known the Shelby curse would touch each and every child eventually.

"Don't fret Fen," she said finally, "you might not know now but you will know what to do, you'll feel it here..." She said placing her hand over mine and guiding it to my heart, "and you'll know."

She held my gaze and the warmth in hers, the quiet confidence seemed to seep from her to me. From her heart to mine so that a little of my dread was pushed out. So that there was a little room for warmth, for hope.

A tap on the door had drawn us back outside to join the men by the fire. Bonnie and his dad had moved on from tea to cider and they sat in a content quiet watching the woodlands. Aberamas eyes were half closed, his aging features dappled with the late noon sun through the trees, his white shirt tainted with shades of green. Bonnie however was wide awake, his eyes following two magpies who were flitting from branch to branch within an oak tree above us.

They looked as though they were playing a game, chasing one another higher and higher only to go tumbling back through the branches together, their melodic chatter ricocheting through the trees.

I slipped back into my seat beside Bonnie, following his gaze because I had nothing else to hold onto. Nothing else to occupy myself with beside those two magpies. My conversation with Polly had left me feeling heavy, a little shellshocked, hollow and strange. I didn't much feel like talking, or smiling, or eating but I knew that in a moment I would have to do all three and the thought filled me with a quiet discomfort.

"Ahh ladies."

Polly had stirred Aberama with a kiss to his cheek and as he moved slowly back to life he greeted us both with a smile and open arms.

"There's tea in the pot and soup over the fire..." He said, "if you've time to stay that is Sonya?" He asked, looking first to me and then to Bonnie who simply shrugged his shoulders. He looked up at the trees, squinted into the sunlight and then nodded.

"We've time," he said, turning to me then, his eyes soft and questioning, "if you'd like to of course Miss Gray?"

I heard his father chuckle at that, heard Polly stifle a laugh too and I couldn't help but bite back my own smile and the formality.

"I'd love some thank you." I said quietly, offering aberama a grateful smile before shrinking back into my little garden chair. It was one of those camping chairs and the green fabric was tired and dirty, it smelt damp like summer evenings spent out in the garden too long. The kind of days that make you sleepy just for breathing fresh air.

"I'll get it," said Bonnie, holding his hand out to stop me from standing up.

"These newfound manners of yours eh Bon..." Chuckled his father, "always knew you had em hidden away somewhere."

"Give over," grinned Bonnie, his cheek bones blessed with that soft ruby flush as he concentrated on pouring a mug of soup for me. "It's rabbit..." He said hesitating to hand me the cup as if he thought I'd never eaten game before. I couldn't help but grin then, letting a little laugh escape me when his dad laughed at his shyness.

"Don't worry my boy, I'm sure they serve game in Chelsea," he chuckled, his smile meeting mine, a warm twinkle in his eyes reserved just for me so that I didn't feel it was me he was laughing at then, though it should have been.

"You leave the boy alone." Polly warned, resting her head on Aberamas shoulder as Bonnie handed my cup to me and turned back to the stove.

I watched Polly and Aberama from across the fire, how she settled into his side and lent on him, one hand held by his in his lap. How peaceful she looked.

I couldn't help but question my brothers decision to try and keep her hidden from me. Couldn't help but wonder what it was they were so scared I would see.

But perhaps it was just that, perhaps they hadn't seen her like this, so peaceful, warmhearted and glowing with those first scattered drops of love. Those early days when the affection you feel radiates from you and touches everything you do.

Because she looked so bright, so tranquil then. It was hard to remember the fear in her eyes that morning. Hard to imagine the shrill panicked tone with which she had called after my brothers.

But I didn't want to remember that morning, the fear which had chilled my own heart and bones. So I chose to focus instead on Polly now, in that warm, quiet moment beneath the trees, as the afternoon warmed us all through and the scent of pollen was thick, drowsy on the breeze.

As I raised my mug to my lips with both hands I was reminded of a past which seemed almost out of reach. Those days when me and Sylvie were only little girls, when we'd still lived on the road, before our mother had died, when we'd been allowed to wander the wilds dawn til dusk. Those days we'd run around earning ourselves nicknames like Fen.

The taste of soup infused with the smoke of the fire was nostalgic in a way I hadn't been expecting and I closed my eyes as I swallowed. Let the taste linger on my tongue and didn't worry about what was in it or whether I'd walked enough to warrant a meal.

And by the time it was time to leave their little camp by the river I found that I didn't really want to go. Found that when Bonnie came and joined me sitting in the grass with my feet in the stream, that my heart ached to stay out until long after the sun had gone down.

"Been gone from the house too long..." Said Bonnie softly. I could tell by his small smile he felt guilty for disturbing my peace, "we can come back tomorrow if you'd like but we'd better be off now, the weans won't keep John distracted all night," he added trying to draw a laugh from me, albeit halfhearted at best.

"Alright," I said putting my hand down in the dirt to push myself back up.

But before I could bare the weight myself Bonnie had slipped his arms beneath mine, helping me up and gathering me against him to steady my balance.

"Don't tell me you're gonna walk back now Miss," he said, "you're half asleep as it is..." And because I knew he was right, and because I was feeling that late in a summer day drowsy, I didn't bother trying to argue with him. Just smiled softly and let my shyness slip away as I leant against him, ear pressed to his chest, listening to the beating of his steady heart.

"Only if you don't mind?" I asked smiling when I felt the soft shake of his muted amusement.

"Aye sweetheart, course I don't mind..."

So he waited whilst I thanked his father for tea, and he stood back and watched the trees quietly, pretending not to notice the way I lingered when I said goodnight to Polly. Pretended not to notice how we held onto one another a moment too long, how her hands trailed my arms and then rested flat and gentle over my womb. How she got that misty loving look in her eyes when she held her palm to my cheek and told me to come back soon.

How I turned back to him with that misty look in my own eyes and told him I was ready to go.

And all the way back through the woods, across the manor grounds I wondered what else he was pretending he hadn't noticed. The way my heart raced beneath his touch, the way I struggled to breath for having my body held so firmly, so snug against his. The way that in my drowsy state, a little less self conscious than before, I nuzzled into him, gripped his t-shirt scruff a little tighter, let my fingers wander to curl the locks of his dark hair which tickled the bottom of his neck.

We didn't speak until we reached the patio outside the kitchen. Until he set me down on the bench beneath the window boxes filled with evening primrose. Some of whom were yet to burst open.

"Thank you," I said softly, smiling and mirroring his action when he raised his finger to his lips.

"You're very welcome Miss Gray..." He said quietly as he crouched down at my knees and looked up at me.

For a moment I wasn't sure what he was doing down there on the patio floor, down on one knee as his hands wandered from his pockets. But when he took the ribbons which tied my ballet slippers up and tugged them undone gently, my skin prickled with goosebumps. The self-concious flush returning to my cheeks as I looked down at him. For a fleeting moment I felt brave enough to meet his gaze as he slipped one shoe off and set it down on the stone floor. But just as soon as my bravery has gripped me had it shrunk away and when his fingers tugged the second ribbon loose I found myself looking stubbornly down into my lap. Teeth biting the tip of my tongue as a shyness gripped me.

Because he had no reason to be as sweet to me as he was. And I had no reason to let myself get away with the fluttering of my heart when Bonnie treated me with such kindness. But I couldn't help it. I didn't want to stop him. I liked his gentle ways and the gentle way he treated me.

"Thanks..." I said again, my voice so soft I was surprised he heard it.

"Like I said," he shrugged, offering me his hand as he stood up, helping me to stand too, "you're very welcome sweetheart."

And when my eyes met his again I felt something shift. Something I couldn't quite place. It was subtle enough that I might have missed it had I not looked up in that precise moment. It wasn't subtle enough that I couldn't feel it's lingering effect.

The way I felt drawn closer to him. The way I felt my heart swell to look at him. The way I felt a swirling guilt in my stomach as my hand hovered above my womb. Because my whole body recognised this feeling, this sudden change. There was no denying it.

And when he bid me goodnight, promised he wouldn't be long upstairs behind me, I felt disappointed he wasn't walking me to my door. Disappointed that I wouldn't be falling asleep to the sound of his slowed soft breaths.

But when I closed my bedroom door behind me and saw my phone lit up at the end of my bed, I realised that perhaps his absence was for the best.

I had three missed calls and a voice mail. All of them from a number I didn't recognise. The sight of which set my heart racing with a hopeful anxiety as I dialled 121 and waited for the voice I'd been missing.

"My heart," a sob rose in my throat with Freddie's first syllable, my hand clamping over my mouth as I held my breath and tried to listen to his rushed message, "I made it out, I can't tell you where I am but I'm safe... I love you, fuck... I heard about your brother closing ranks but.. fuck, my heart, we can be together, it's safe out here, where I am... We can be together here, I love you... Get back to London for me baby, let me steal you away..."

His message ended abruptly, his voice filling my senses and then suddenly so cruelly snatched away that for a moment I remained frozen at the end of my bed, clutching the phone to my ear just waiting for the message to replay after the tone so that I could let him fill up my senses all over again.

"fuck, my heart, we can be together, it's safe out here, where I am... We can be together here, I love you..."

I let my lips follow along with him on my third listen, making the shapes his mouth had made as he'd rushed out his message in that shivered whisper. Felt my heart aching to be close enough to him that I might trace those lips with my fingers instead.

And as I lay back on my bed, head resting on my pillow, listening to his final message for me on repeat, my hand strayed to rest over my womb and I began letting myself imagine a different future for us. One without his family. One without my brother's. Naive as it may seem, his words were a silk thin thread of hope and I was desperate.

"Get back to London for me baby, let me steal you away..."

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photo1030 · 2 years

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Leather and Lace - Chapter 6: The Gala

Summary: Dutch and Hosea take you out on your first job to a fancy gala. And Arthur isn’t too happy about it.

Warnings: None, other than this is a bit of a longer read, but not too bad.

*This image is gifted to me by @namesaretomainstream.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

The Van der Linde Gang has been in this new area of Silverton for a few weeks now, making sure to lay-low and take time to scout the surroundings. A few days ago, Hosea caught wind of a high-society gala taking place at which the county’s rich and elite will be in attendance. This made the old man's heart race with excitement. Here is a perfect opportunity to get in close with prime targets. But they would not going to rob, although that is so tempting. No, Hosea wants intel. He wants information on what is happening around the area, who is involved, and when its going down. Also, this is the perfect job for him. As Hosea has gotten older, he does not partake in the more "physical" jobs anymore, leaving that to the younger men. While he prefers to rest his older bones these days, the longing for the adrenaline-rush and exhilaration of "the job" sometimes leaves his heart heavy. He never, ever wanted to be seen as useless or a burden. But, "the con"...well, that is Hosea's specialty and one that he is still able to accomplish, despite his age, and to his credit, better than anyone else.

Hosea and Dutch sit outside of Dutch's tent with Arthur and John, discussing options and how they are going to orchestrate this plan of theirs. They have managed to secure an invitation to the gala that will be taking place in a few days, but need to decide what to do with it. They don't want to waste the opportunity to get this close to such high-profile marks. The suggestion is made that Dutch and Hosea will sell themselves as bankers, looking to hob-nob with the local businessmen and see if they can get anyone to free-up their tongues about their business dealings. Their aim is to find out who has money and what they are doing with it. 'Oh, but of course,' you think to yourself as you listen to them go on and on. 'Surely, Dutch and Hosea carry so much charisma that everyone in that room will just naturally fawn all over them and spill their standings and secrets just like that.' You roll your eyes at them. Such bravado, such self-assurance, you muse.

“You need a woman,” you shake your head at them as you approach the small group with two cups in your hand.

“What?” asks Dutch, looking up at you, confused by your suggestion.

”A woman," you repeat yourself as you hand Hosea one of the cups of coffee before sitting down next to him with your own. "If it’s secrets and dirt you want, you bring a woman to a gala. That’s what these men do," you explain with a nonchalant waive of your hand. "They stand about, drinking brandy and bragging amongst themselves, but it’s their wives and daughters who are conniving and whispering in the corners of the room where you get the real info you’re after. Always trying to tear each other apart and gossiping about everyone and anyone. The juicier the story, the farther it carries. If it’s information you want, gentlemen, then you get it from their women," you bring your coffee cup to your mouth. "Or, their help,” you add quickly with a wink before allowing yourself to sip the steaming liquid. You then lean forward on the table, propping your chin up in your hand, scanning the four faces that are staring back at you quietly.

Dutch studies you, thinking, as a devious smile slowly spreads across his handsome face as yet another idea formulates in his head. “You're right, Miss (Y/L/N). Alright then, you’re coming too.”

“Wait, what?! I didn’t mean me!” you back-peddle, bolting upright from the table suddenly. "You ain't serious, Dutch?" asks Arthur cautiously, agreeing with you.

“Why not?” Dutch asks with a devilish smirk.

“I don’t know how to run a con, Dutch!” you protest, your eyes wide in shock at the suggestion.

"Are you goin' crazy, Dutch?" chuckles John. "What the hell does she know about hustlin'"? He shakes his head with an eye-roll that would do Abigail proud.

“Actually,” interjects Hosea, “Dutch is right. You’d be perfect, (Y/N). I mean, this is what you came from before, isn’t it?”

“Well yeah, I guess…," you hesitate. "But why not Molly or Mary-Beth? Surely they'd be better for this?”

"Yeah, they would," agrees John under his breath.

"Dutch-,"starts Arthur, but he is quickly interrupted.

“No, it’ll be you”, says Dutch decisively, striking a match on the tabletop to light his cigar as he nods your way.

You sit there thinking over the predicament that you just got yourself into. Should've kept your mouth shut. You look at Arthur apologetically, as you can imagine that he's not happy about this idea. And you're right, he's not. You can tell by the furrowed brows and slow, exasperated sigh that he lets out. But then, you realize that Hosea is right. Out of everyone in camp, you probably are the best suited for a job like this, mingling with the local rich and high-society. And, it is probably time that you start to contribute more. Sure, you're the one who tends to the wounds and handles the other day-to-day, menial tasks, but why should everyone else put themselves at risk while you sit safely back at camp? So, you decide to go along with it. And why not? You're in a gang now, right?

“OK, fine," you agree, sitting up taller, finally making your voice more confident. "But if you’re insisting on using me for my experience, then let’s talk about this, gentlemen. A 'banker'? Really?” your eyebrows raise questioningly.

"I can’t pass for a banker?” Dutch scoffs, feigning offence.

"Bankers don’t have calloused hands and sun-tanned skin," you point-out with a smirk. "No, if these people are like the rich back East, and all rich are the same, mind you, these women are ruthless. They will tear you apart to try to find the defect." You inhale deeply as you look at Dutch, as his eyes arch expectantly at you while you consider your options. "No, you’ll be a mine owner. Worked in the mines your whole life until you could afford to buy one yourself. That will explain your…"ruggedness". You and Hosea are partners, looking for investors to cover running expenses in your newly acquired mine. These kinds of men will throw money at an investment like that, rather than try to understand how it works. Mines are a dusty and soiled venture, but can payout big. They won't question the specifics of it, so long as they get their money in return with interest without getting their own hands grimy.”

Hosea gets a big smile on his face as he listens to you spin your tale. “And what will your role be in all of this, my dear?”

“She’s my wife,” says Dutch with another grin on his face. This makes Arthur’s head snap to attention, yet he says nothing in protest. “Like you said, these men bring their wives, right?”

-----------------------------------------

"What is taking so long?" Dutch hollers irritably over to Tilly as she comes out of the tent where you are getting ready for the gala and makes her way over to the men. He paces a bit as he finishes fastening his cuff-links, the finishing touch on his black tuxedo. He is growing antsy to get this plan going and hates waiting, especially on something as trivial as a woman's appearance.

“You can’t rush a piece of art, Dutch" says Tilly with a grin. "And trust me, that’s what this is." She giggles a bit at the anticipation of your presentation to the group.

"Good Lord, how precious is this gonna get, I ask you?" huffs Dutch, rolling his eyes at Arthur, who just shrugs in response as he finishes his cigarette.

Suddenly the flaps of the girls' tent pulls back and you slowly step out. You walk out of the canvased area, fidgeting with the gown you've donned where it falls on your hips. All eyes are on you as a hush falls across the group standing there. Arthur looks up from where he's seated on a crate and slowly stands to his feet. He can’t take his widened eyes off of you. He blinks rapidly, adjusting his eyesight. He’s never seen you dressed up like this before. And you are absolutely stunning, a true vision. The dress that you are wearing is one that Mary-Beth had scored for herself a few months ago. It is a beautiful blue empire-style, modified a-line dress with gold cap sleeves and covered in bead-work and crystals. It gathers in the middle, accenting your bust-line, and pours down over your hips. As you move, the slight train floats over the grass, the front hem dusting across your slipper shoes. The iridescent material and crystals shimmer in the fading sunlight of the day, casting you in a mystical aura. Your hair is braided into a crown around the front, and then woven behind your neck as is cascades down your back, making it look like a sculpture. Mary-Beth has really outdone herself when she styled your hair, as she also found a broach and an elegant necklace that she has managed to weave into the folds of your locks, adding the perfect accent to top it off. Somewhere off to the side, you can hear Bill let out a slow whistle in approval. You smile as you walk towards Arthur, not even noticing anyone else. But then suddenly, the corners of your mouth turn down in concern when you notice he’s just staring at you with a blank expression, not saying anything.

“What's wrong? Does it not look OK?" you ask Arthur as you nervously run your hands over the material again. "I may be as tall as Mary-Beth but surely ain’t as small, I guess” you laugh awkwardly. You have curves to begin with, and with the built-in corset being pulled in the back, the dress creates and accents an hourglass figure. “Is it too tight?," you ask tentatively. "I feel like a sausage in this thing,” you mutter under your breath to yourself, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. "No…no it’s just the right amount of…tight", Arthur finally replies clumsily, not really sure how to articulate the words in his melting brain right now, as his hand comes up to rub against the back of his neck. Its a behavior he does when he's uncomfortable and he cringes internally when he hears how ridiculous he sounds. You smile at his awkward comment before you notice Dutch off to the side and do a double-take of your own. “Well, hey! Don’t you look all snazzy, Mr. Van der Linde!,” you tease as you turn to walk over to Dutch, admiring his new look.

As you walk away from Arthur, he catches John out of the corner of his eye, smirking. "What?" asks Arthur.

“'Just the right amount of tight'?" John repeats Arthur's words with a chuckle. "Smooth, Arthur.”

“Shut up, Marston”, he snaps. They both turn to follow after you. And as they walk, John cocks his head to the side a bit, assessing you from behind. “OK…now I get it,” he says looking at Arthur with approval, who just scowls at him in response.

“My, my, look at you, (Y/N)! This job may be easier than I thought”, says Dutch with a wolfish grin as he offers you his arm to lead you towards the awaiting wagon. Suddenly Arthur’s chest tightens at the sight of you on another man’s arm. Especially when its Dutch, as Arthur catches just a hint of lust in the man's eyes as he looks you over.

Lenny walks over at this point to join the group at the wagon as well. He is the “hired hand” for tonight's charade and is dressed in a fine suit, looking quite handsome and dignified; every bit the staff of a wealthy couple. “You’re bringing me 'cause I look like 'the help', is that it?” he asks Hosea, annoyed. “No, son, I’m bringing you because you can keep your wits about you," says Hosea. "You’re quiet, observant, and I don’t have to worry about you getting into a fight or getting drunk. I need someone with a little class, someone I can trust in this situation.” Hosea nods in affirmation and claps Lenny on the back. That's one of the great things about Hosea: he says what's on his mind, no bull-shit, no apologies; straight to the point. He told you once that if he can manage to live as long as he has, doing what he does, then he's earned the right to speak like that. And he's probably right.

Arthur lingers back behind the others, catching your elbow and pulls you aside for a moment while everyone else is preoccupied with getting prepared to leave. "Listen, don’t let these two talk you into anything stupid, alright? Don’t do anything that don’t feel right to you." He keeps his voice low, but it carries concern, not malice. His eyes are giving you more of a pleading look. "I won’t," you smile up at him softly. "Stick with Hosea, you’ll be alright," he nods in confirmation. He's trying to reassure himself as much as you, at this point. "I promise," you reply with a more serious demeanor. You can tell that he's worried about this plan, as its clearly set deep upon his face. It's bad enough that you are going out on your first job, but you're going without him and he won't be there to protect you if anything goes wrong. "Don’t worry Arthur, we’ll bring her back in one piece," scoffs Dutch as he waves his hand at you, motioning for you to join him on the wagon.

The plan is to take one of the gang's wagons to meet up with Trelawny at the Merkle Farm. He's made a deal with one of his many connections in the next county over to borrow a stage coach for the evening and is stashing it at his friend's farm. (Tom Merkle is another connection of Trelawny's who promised Josiah that as long as he didn't use it too much, he could use the farm for his "work" on occasion. For a small fee, of course.) From there, the four of you will then proceed to ride in to the city to the gala. This way, you will arrive in finery, thus completing the illusion of wealth and success.

Its a relatively short ride, and when you arrive at the Merkle Farm, Trelawny is already waiting for you all with the carriage. "Come on, we got to get a move on," urges Hosea as he climbs down from your wagon as soon as it lurches to a halt. He is never one to be late and wants to be on the way quickly. Whenever he's running a con, the man always wants to be ahead of it, always prepared. Hosea holds his aged, but still strong hand up to you to help you down from the wagon as well, and then transfer you into the awaiting carriage. "Why, Miss (Y/L/N), I almost didn't recognize you! You look quite exquisite this evening," says Trelawny as he assists you by holding your other elbow, opposite Hosea. "Why, thank you, Josiah," giving him a coquettish little smile, drawing your shoulder to your chin in a flirtatious gesture. Once you are all in, Lenny climbs up to the driver's seat of the carriage and urges the horses forward and on to your final destination.

As you are making the trek to the gala, the three of you go over the plan one more time. Dutch will be 'Mr. Maxim Graves, mine owner', with you as his wife, 'Lilah'. Hosea is his business partner, 'Mr. Glen Millet'. "Whatever you do, don’t break character," you warn Dutch and Hosea as the carriage rolls along, rocking in a comforting motion. "There’s always someone listening, sometimes even standing behind the curtain in the corner." "We’ve done this before, you know," says Dutch with a slight hint of exasperation and you chuckle at the ignorance of your own statement. "I know, of course. What I mean is, don’t underestimate these people. They may not carry guns, but they can be just as dangerous. People like them hire people like you to do their dirty work in order to keep their own hands clean." "Did you ever resort to such tactics, Miss (Y/L/N)?" asks Hosea. "No. My father kept his nose clean, never got involved with anything so questionable as to lead him down that path." "How sanctimonious of him," smirks Dutch, causing you to briefly arch an eyebrow in annoyance at such a flippant remark of your beloved father. "No matter how rich you are, how big your house is, or how much you own, our graves are all the same size in the end, Miss (Y/L/N). I am not intimidated by these people." Dutch states definitively, squaring his shoulders up. He just oozes self-confidence and it is easy to see why his people are so loyal to him. "Fair enough," you answer simply and leave it at that with your hands folded in your lap.

"You do bring up a good point, (Y/N)," says Hosea, pointing his finger at you as he mulls over the plan again for the hundredth time. "You two have to sell this, you know," Hosea says to you and Dutch.

"Sell this?" Dutch questions.

"Yes. If you two are going to be husband and wife, you’ll have to play the part." Hosea is a consummate con-man, an actor in another life that would have gone down a different path had he been given the opportunity.

"I think we can manage that," Dutch says dismissively, not worried in the slightest.

"We’re not talking about her and Arthur, we’re talking about her and you, Dutch" Hosea reminds him. His comment makes you stop in your tracks and eye Hosea questioningly, the vocalized statement making a blush dust across your cheeks at the mere suggestion of you and Arthur together. You divert your eyes and turn to look out the window of the carriage and wish it was Arthur that was paired with you tonight. The thought of seeing the rugged cowboy cleaned up and in a fine suit made you smile.

The sun is just starting to set on the horizon and it doesn't take long for your carriage to arrive at the mayor's estate where the gala will take place. Its a large property, one that has been in the family for a few generations now and has grown considerably over time. You cautiously peer out the window to get a look at the crowd that you'll be maneuvering in tonight. "Just smile and nod until you know who you’re talking to, and then smile some more," you remind Dutch and Hosea. "These socialites are like pack animals. They hunt and prey on the weakest one in the herd," you state disdainfully as your nose wrinkles up at the thought of it. Your mind goes back to a time when this sort of thing was a common occurrence for you. The music was beautiful, the dancing and costumes were lovely, but you never did enjoy the social warfare that takes place at these events. "Hmm, these people may not be so bad after all," muses Dutch with a smirk. "Just goes to show you, people are the same, wherever you are," remarks Hosea.

The estate coachman approaches your carriage and opens the door, as Lenny brings it to a halt at the front steps. Hosea is first to step out. He stands proudly, shoulders back, as he casually fixes his suit jacket. He is amazing to watch, as if he truly were one of "them". He turns to look back at the carriage as Dutch is next to follow, his larger frame landing in the gravel of the parkway. His eyes cast over the crowd of people who are slowly making their way into the house, taking in the atmosphere of it, almost as if he is surveying to make sure it is safe for you to follow. Finally, he looks back to the carriage as well, lifting his hand up. Your delicate hand and forearm emerge from the carriage and settle into Dutch's large awaiting fingers. He carefully helps you down, standing close to you as you smooth out the layers of the skirt of your gown. Smiling up at Dutch and then to Hosea, you raise an eyebrow with a grin, "Gentlemen...shall we?"

---------------------------------

Upon entering the house, Hosea hands the gala invitation to the doorman, who inspects it before giving you all a once-over glance. Once satisfied, the doorman then takes a step back and opens his arm towards the awaiting room behind him, granting the three of you access. The house is large and ornate. Beautifully polished hardwood floors and carved-detail walls line the structure. Ornate tapestries and glittering silver accent-pieces adorn anything that will hold it. Bundles of flowers are everywhere, creating an indoor garden of color. Musicians are playing in the parlor, the sound of violins and cello carrying through to the great hall where the rest of the guests have congregated.

The three of you slowly meander through the room, observing the various people, trying to gauge where to start. You can already see a few women gathered in small circles, speaking in hushed tones as they quickly notice and eye-up the new arrivals. Your plan is already working, as they seem to have already taken a great interest in the three of you. You observe the crowd of guests that is gracefully dancing to the music that is playing.

"Would you care to dance, Wife?" Dutch quips to you. "I’d love to, Husband," you reply equally as coy. With your hand still wrapped around his arm, Dutch leads you to the center of the floor of the great hall where other people are elegantly moving about to the sounds of the stringed instruments of the small orchestra placed in the corner. He places one of his large hands just below your shoulder blades while gently taking your hand into this other one and begins to guide you in a waltz. The motion is fluid and elegant, one that may contradict a man of Dutch's stature.

"People are starting to notice us already," you note, catching the faces of the guests out of the corner of your eye as the two of you sway about the floor together.

"They should," says Dutch. "We make a handsome couple." This makes you snicker a bit as you look up at him. "I know someone who would whole-heartedly disagree. And she has the fiery green eyes to prove it." (After this plan had been decided a few days ago, you made sure that you'd had a long, long talk with Molly to make sure she understands that you have no desires for her man.)

"Miss O’Shea…yeah I’m not sure what I’m gonna do about that one," says Dutch with an uneasy sigh. He adjusts his grip on your hand and back at the mention of Molly's name.

"Well, I can tell you, she’s most smitten with you," you reassure him.

"Funny, you don’t strike me as the type to let other women mess around with her husband," jokes Dutch. This comment makes you laugh, causing even more people to notice the new couple in the room now.

As the two of you continue to glide across the floor, you think on their relationship for a moment. Maybe Dutch would be more accommodating if Molly weren’t so desperate to be loved. Maybe she wouldn’t hover over him so much if he’d just show her some genuine affection and consideration. Either way, though, you think it best not to interfere. You look upon Dutch's face and wonder what it would be like to wake up to him every day, to lean over and kiss him good morning. But admittedly, Molly does have her work cutout for herself with being with a man such as Dutch. Dutch is very charming, indeed, and, yet he is not what you'd want for yourself. And your mind goes to Arthur yet again. You aren't jealous that Molly specifically has Dutch; you're jealous that she has her man in her bed with her every night.

Meanwhile, Hosea slowly circles and scouts the room, but always keeps a watchful eye on you and Dutch. Seeing you together, he’s not so sure he likes this idea now. Hosea is very much aware of Arthur's affections for you, even though the man himself has never told him. He doesn't need to. Hosea knows Arthur better than anyone. But he also knows Dutch. And he knows that once Dutch sees something that he wants, he will not stop until he gets it. He notes how Dutch swirls you across the hardwood floor, the fabric of your dress swaying with the movement of your body as the music carries through the air. The two of you almost seem like a fairy tale. Hosea told the two of you to "sell" the premise of being married, but it almost seems to be going too well.

"I never realized I was so judgmental of the judgmental, looking down on those who look down upon others. Ironic isn’t it?" you muse to Dutch, looking around the room before coming back to his dark eyes which are locked on you. "You gettin’ philosophical on me now?" he asks you with a slight chuckle in his tone. Dutch moves his hand lower and onto the small of your back now, and occasionally his fingers drop to rest just above your rear. Is he just playing the part of "Mr. Maxim Graves" or is he hinting at something more there? Either way, the first part of your plan has worked as the other women in the room have taken notice of the handsome dark-haired stranger doting on his beautiful young wife as if they are the only ones in the room.

Soon the music stops and everyone claps with their applause. "Well, I think we’ve made enough of an impression, Mr. Graves. I think it’s time to make some new friends, no?" you suggest to Dutch. "You are absolutely right, Mrs. Graves." And he brings the back of your hand to his lips for a kiss, causing you to offer him a flirtatious and playful grin. He really is very charming when he wants to be. And you both go your separate ways to join Hosea in working the room.

You float over to the champagne table and it doesn't take long before you are approached by a young woman. "I don't think I've seen you before," the woman leans over to catch your attention. "You must be new in town?" she asks you sweetly. You can already tell she is very curious about you with her large, excited eyes and a beaming smile that could light up a dark tunnel. 'And this is my way in to their circle', you think to yourself.

You turn to face her as you smile and greet her in return. "Yes, we are. My husband and I are here to look for investors. We had a chance meeting with, I believe a banker fellow. Didn't catch his name," you say dismissively with a waive of your hand. "Anyway, we were fortunate to be invited to this evening's event where my husband and his business partner intend to look to see who may be a compatible match for us." "Interesting," the woman says, thinking of the possibility of what juicy stories lie there, hooked by the breadcrumbs that you've just laid down for her. "My name is Cora DeLaney. My husband, David, runs the textile mill that turns out the cotton yarn at the edge of town." And she proudly points to a man standing with a drink in his hand, chatting with a few others. They are both fairly young, and obviously hungry to move up the social ladder. "Lilah Graves," as you reach out to shake her hand. "Come Lilah, come over with me to the other ladies and I’ll introduce you!" as Cora excitedly takes your elbow and leads you over to a group of women standing by the window.

Mrs. Delaney proceeds to introduce you to some of the other prominent women in town, who seem pleasant enough, and after standing with them for about half an hour, what you expected is certainly true: if its inside information that you want, you can get it from a gossipy group of women. In the short time of standing there, you learn that the bank president is having an affair, that the mayor (despite this extravagant gala that he is hosting) is actually almost bankrupt, and the man that owns the blacksmith shop spends a lot of time with his male “assistant”. But, on the brighter side of things, the apothecary is doing quite well (thanks to a "miracle cream" that helps women with wrinkles that they insist that you “simply must try”) and the general-store owner, who seems quite drab and dull, is actually hoarding money like crazy. He’s dabbled in lumber on the side and apparently has "made out like a bandit". You snicker at their reference and you have to catch yourself. You also get a list of who is who and what they bring to the table by way of casual introductions and subtle finger-pointing by Cora.

And inevitably, talk in the circle eventually comes around to you and the two men you came with, as they begin to question you about Dutch and Hosea.

“He owns a mine?”, asks one of the women skeptically, raising an eyebrow as she scrutinizes your "husband". She is an bit of an older woman, older than the others at least. She has a harsh demeanor to her, carrying an air of importance. (You'd love to see a street fight between her and Ms. Grimshaw.)

"Yes, he does," you reply pridefully as you follow their sight-line and look over at Dutch who is caught-up in a deep conversation with a group of his own. "My husband can be very…persuasive. But the deal is honest, the sale is legal. And we have the deed to prove it."

"He’s quite “rough” isn’t he?" someone else in your circle questions, a slight hint of disdain in her voice.

"That comes from the hard work his whole life. But trust me, what he lacks in social refinement he’s more than made up for in other areas," you say with a raised eyebrow and sultry grin. "He’s got a chest you can break rocks on," you whisper loudly to Cora. The women giggle and blush at your bold statement. "Is that so?" says another woman eyeing up Dutch hungrily. You can see the wheels turning in her head as she sips her champagne and wouldn’t be surprised if she approaches him at some point in the evening.

"And who is the man with him?" Cora asks you, trying to keep the conversation on track and digging for more details, which you are more than happy to feed her.

"That is Mr. Glen Millet, Max’s oldest and dearest friend," you offer affectionately, smiling as you now look over to Hosea who is standing with Dutch.

"Well, he certainly is old," one of the women snicker, causing a ripple of laughter to cascade amongt the women. You desperately try not to lash out in response as you can feel your face flush a bit in anger. You can't help the sudden desire to scratch this cat's eyes out for turning her nose up at your dear Hosea.

"That he may be, but he is also the cleverest man I’ve ever met," you reply in a thinly-veiled contemptuous tone. "And don’t let his age fool you. I’ve shared a hotel wall with the man and, let me tell you, I’ve heard many strange noises come from that room that would make a working girl blush." Your comment puts this woman in her place and the group all look on both Dutch and Hosea with great interest.

As you look up from your conversation with these harpies, you notice that the group of rather dignified-looking men that Dutch and Hosea have engaged themselves with are suddenly all eyeing you from across the room as if you are the topic of their discussion, now. Probably fitting, as you have been doing the same on your end. So you decide to leave the women's company (you've honestly had more than you can stomach for now) and excuse yourself to walk over to the men to see what’s going on there. You confidently saunter up next to Dutch to join him. “Hello, Gentlemen” you purr, as you snake your arm through Dutch’s. Your boldness to go wherever you want is not lost on them, as the other women are content to sit off to the side, while you have no issue to walk up and stand with the men as if you belonged there. Quick introductions are made to give you a name to each face.

“Ah, Mrs. Graves. We were just discussing what a lucky man your husband is.” The man addressing you is Mr. Warren Clayfield, one of the importers of steel into the area and probably the richest man in attendance this evening. Of course, he is going to be the one that Hosea seeks out tonight.

“Oh?”, you feign innocence.

“We couldn’t help to notice how young and beautiful you are. Very young. How did you two ever meet?” Mr. Clayfield asks with a doubtful, challenging tone. He absent-mindedly swirls the amber liquid in his drinking glass with a cockiness to him that alludes that he is not accustomed to being challenged. His tall stature and preened appearance may be daunting to some. But you have seen his kind before and rarely is there much substance to it.

You size him up, knowing that he's trying to make an example of both you and Dutch to the others. But you know this game, and have played it well before. And you aren't about to let this jackass get the upper hand. "My husband is a very handsome and charming man, Mr. Clayfield. Any woman would be lucky to be attached to such a man," your voice cool and confident. "Not that its any of your business, really, but my father was a business partner of Max's. The two were very close, actually. When my father died, Max and I sought solace in each other’s company." You pause to give Dutch a seemingly-loving gaze, as if recalling some distant, treasured memory. "That concern and care soon turned to love and we were married within the year. And we've have been inseparable ever since." You run your hand along Dutch's arm as you speak and he turns his gaze to Mr. Clayfield, gloating immensely as you just confirmed what he apparently already told the group.

“Forgive me, madame, I didn’t mean to offend you-” Clayfield stammers slightly, trying to gracefully save-face, as his intimidation tactic has clearly failed.

"Yes, you did," you cut him off abruptly. "That’s why you said it," you lift your chin slightly in defiance, now making him the example. "This is not the first time our relationship has been questioned, nor will it be the last. But it’s alright, such is the way of things," you say confidently, with a polite smile. Dutch simply stands quiet with a smug look on his face. The way you command the presence of this group is impressive. The entire circle is taking you in, and Dutch makes his possession of you tighter, as he pulls his arm out from yours and places it around your waist, pulling you in closer to him. This is a side of you that the gang has not seen before. And Dutch likes it very much.

You turn towards Dutch, leaning into him, pressing your body up against his as you thread both your arms around his again, your hand running up his bicep to give these men the last bit of the show. “I don’t know about you, darling, but I am growing quite tired. Might we be heading out soon?” your voice carrying a slight pout and almost seductive tone to it. The act that you are putting on is amazing. And Dutch is the envy of every man in the circle at the moment. But you don't want to press your luck, and decide to end the evening while you're ahead. “Yes, of course, my love. Anything you say.” He replies, raising an eyebrow suggestively as he leans down to you ever so slightly. Dutch then nods to Hosea with a knowing glance and, with that, he wraps his arm around your waist once more, giving the other men a quick "Gentlemen" in farewell, and walks you away from the guests. The group of men all gawk as they watch the three of you head to the main doors, the blue fabric of your gown swishing sightly behind you as you leave.

-------------------------

When the wagon arrives back to camp, Arthur is quick on his feet, in a hurry to make sure that you are OK. His muscles relax a bit as he sees that not only are you OK, but seem to be in good spirits. He sighs heavily in relief to have you back safe and sound. God only knows what you could have gotten into while in Dutch and Hosea's company.

"Well, how’d you do?" asks Arthur anxiously, as he approaches the wagon, watching as Dutch helps you down to the ground.

"It was kind of fun being 'Mrs. Dutch' for an evening," you joke as you settle your feet safely in the grass, smiling over your shoulder at Dutch as if you are sharing an inside joke between the two of you. The gesture creates a slight pang of jealousy in Arthur's stomach.

"(Y/N) did great," says Hosea, nodding approvingly as he walks up next to you and places his arm around your shoulders. "She made the right call. Perfect con, no one the wiser," he says proudly.

"She’s a natural," agrees Dutch. "Got some real good information tonight, too. We got some planning to do."

Lenny pipes up as he comes around the corner of the wagon, adding that he heard from the other porters as he worked the outside of the gala that there's a hefty gambling ring that congregates in the area, too. The gang may be able to get in on that action as well.

"There’s at least three good, strong leads out of this run," says Hosea quite pleased. "All around, a good night for once," rubbing his hands together in excitement.

You smile brightly as you listen to the two men carry on about the evening, excitedly filling in the others of their prospects. You're proud of yourself that not only were you able to help out the gang and come through when needed, but that you were also able to hold your own with the two leaders. But admittedly, it has been a very long and exhausting night and fatigue has finally caught up with you.

"Ugh, I gotta get out of this damn dress," you huff uncomfortably as you finally turn your attention to Arthur. "I’ll meet you at the fire in a bit, yeah?" you say to him. "I'll tell you all about it." "Sure, alright," he answers, grinning with relief that you are home safe where you belong. Arthur's eyes follow you as you turn and walk away, staring after you for a minute after you disappear into your tent. He misses your presence already.

Dutch quietly walks over to stand next to Arthur, his gaze following Arthur's in your direction. "You ever gonna do something about that?" asks Dutch, a slight grin on his face.

"About what?" replies Arthur, oblivious to Dutch's meaning.

The older man just chuckles and shakes his head. "OK, so that’s how you’re gonna play it, huh?"

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #Dutch Van Der Linde #hosea matthews #dutch van der linde x reader

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