#there’s multiple themes i unintentionally included in here and not all of them are properly addressed

[paimonial-rage]

spark - xiao

[random writing event] | requested by anonymous

“Do you want to try it?” You asked with a smile. “A day like this is a cause for celebration, don’t you think?”

He kept quiet as his gaze trailed to the thin stick within your hand. Though he never used one before, they weren’t unfamiliar to him. In times past, the more studious of the adepti found interest in those Inazuman delights. The lights would often draw his eyes from across a crowd, but he never bothered to investigate up close. While bright and beautiful, they died quickly as transient things often did.

“I’m alright. There’s no need to waste such human trivialities on me.”

As usual, his refusal didn’t color your expression with hurt. Instead, you shrugged and turned your attention back to the Mingxiao Lanterns floating in the sky.

“It wouldn’t be a waste to me. Not for you.”

He held back his urge to sigh. There you went again saying such things. Though you were assigned to his care, you didn’t need to visit him so often. You didn’t need to shower him with gifts. You didn’t need to stay by his side. He knew he wasn’t easy to be around. He knew he often made people feel nervous. But you didn’t mind. You weren’t scared away.

In the back of his mind, he wondered why Rex Lapis gave you to him. Xiao had been a loyal servant for years. Never once had he failed his duty. So he didn’t understand. What was he supposed to do with you? What was the purpose of keeping you by his side?

He broke away from his thoughts when a soft humming filled the air. Turning his attention to you, there you stood by the torchlight with that stick from earlier in hand. After lighting the tip, you held your arm out as the stick began to erupt in a burst of lights and stars. You laughed, waving it around, enjoying the streaks it made across the evening sky.

The sight was captivating.

But just as quickly as it began, it soon came to an end. With a sigh, you placed the sparkler to the side. Almost as if reading his mind, you turned to him with a bashful smile.

“They don’t last long, but they are beautiful, aren’t they? It may be a bit frivolous, but what’s the point in being alive if we don’t allow ourselves to enjoy it?”

Perhaps it was due to it being Lantern Rite that he suddenly found himself caught in a bout of honesty.

“I’m… not sure I understand.”

It was the most truthful answer he could give. And how shocking it was you did not judge him for it. Instead, you walked over to the box of sparklers and picked out a stick. With a smile, you then held it out to him.

“Why not try?”

[flamehairedwritings]

The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Seven

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

Falling Leaves

She returned to him the next morning, the blouse she’d worn the day they had been taken in one hand, thread and needle in the other.

He couldn’t think for the life of him why she came back, surely she knew he was going to ask her again, but the moment she sat down, without so much as a good morning, she began to speak.

“What do you write in your book?”

“Huh?”

She glanced up from where she was pulling the thread through the eye of the needle, repeating a little more slowly, “What do you write in your book?”

“Just... What we do. Things I find.”

“Why?”

“‘cause I do.”

“Yes, but why?”

“‘cause I just do. Why do you care? It ain’t even noon and you’re already irritatin’ me.”

He thought he saw the ghost of a smile on her lips before she tilted her head, watching the needle as she started to repair the blouse. “I used to keep a journal.”

He didn’t say anything as he looked at her, scratching his growing beard.

Christ, if she thinks we’re about to talk about feelin’s...

“We had a pond on our farm when I was a child and I used to document all the toads that came and went. I named all of them but I couldn’t really tell them apart so I might have just been giving some multiple names.”

He stared at her, his hand dropping into his lap.

“You were a strange kid.”

She smiled at that, her sewing rhythmic. 

“Yes, I was. My mother wanted me to be learning what all young ladies were learning like needle-work and how to pour tea correctly and how to sit straight, but I used to run to the pond instead and converse with the toads.”

“So you were raised to be a proper young lady?”

Why was she suddenly starting to divulge information now?

“Not properly, I’d say. My mother was from a good family and had been raised that way so she wanted to pass that along to me but I was too much like my father, I guess.”

She fell silent for a few moments, probably waiting for him to ask a question about her family, but he saw his advantage.

“Annie, I’m gonna ask you again about—”

Her sewing paused and she looked up at him. “I’ll tell you when I’m ready, Arthur. I promise you I will.”

He got the sense she wasn’t a person who gave her word lightly, but it still frustrated him. What could be so big and frightening that she couldn’t just tell him outright? And how the hell did it involve Colm? Or was it just something she was simply embarrassed about? That maybe she’d been reminded what a group of killers she was with? Nah, that didn’t make any sense to him. Usually he didn’t give a shit about other people’s business, but if this involved Colm then it would most certainly become gang business.

She looked back down at her blouse and the sewing resumed.

“Now, do you want to hear more stories about how strange I was?”

“... Fine.”

He actually found that he did, and she told stories of what a really damn strange kid she’d been (collecting rocks and leaves? Rolling around in puddles ‘cause she’d seen the pigs do it? Really?) until Miss Grimshaw found her and requested her assistance in helping Mr Pearson prepare the deer for supper that Charles had just brought back.

“Deer for dinner, it must be fate,” Annie had said as she left him, a smile on her lips.

It left him feeling... strange, her warm smile and his unease at the secret she was carrying.

He spent the rest of the day thinking about it.

She went back the next morning because she wanted to ask about the article pinned near the photographs, which he told her was about the first robbery he ever took part in. After some prompting, he grumbled and told her the full story, with all the details. She sat fascinated, interrupting here and there to ask a question.

She went back the morning after that because she wanted to know how he got Ophelia and named her that. She was a Thoroughbred and he’d bought her, thank you very much, and Hosea had suggested the name. 

“Is a Thoroughbred really suited for this life?”

“Yeah, she’s got a good spirit and can go fast.”

“So you can run away?”

“So I can survive.”

She’d then asked about other horses he’d had and how he was so good with them.

She went back the morning after that because she wanted to ask about whether some of Sean’s stories were true. Most of them weren’t.

She went back the morning after that because John had told her a story about how Arthur had fallen out of a window after trying to rob a house and she had to hear it from him.

She went back the morning after that because she wanted to.

It started to become part of their routine. She would come in the morning and ask questions and he would answer them, or she would read to him a passage from a book she was reading that Hosea had given to her and ask what he thought, which usually wasn’t much until she gave her opinion on it and somehow it suddenly had more meanings that he could understand, or she would tell him about what everyone else in camp was doing, and they talked until either Miss Grimshaw came for her or she left to get on with her own tasks.

A few times he even got to ask some questions of his own.

“How’d you get that?” he asked one day, sat with his legs stretched out on the bed, a knife and a token he was whittling in his hands. “That scar on your neck.”

She briefly glanced up from where she’d been scrubbing dried red dirt out of a skirt. “I got it when my family was attacked.”

He paused, lifting his head. “When the O’Driscolls attacked you in Strawberry?”

“No, no, years before then.”

She wet her lips, something he was noticing she did when she was considering something.

“Our home was invaded when I was younger. It’s how my father died. One of the men held a knife to my throat to keep me quiet but he pressed a little too hard and it cut me.”

“Jesus Christ...” he murmured, his eyes remaining on her. “How old were you?”

“Five.”

His frown deepened as he shook his head. “Shit, Annie. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” She smiled lightly. “It’s fine, though. I was so young that, you know... I didn’t really know him. You can’t really miss what you didn’t have.”

Arthur watched her, falling silent as she kept her eyes on her sewing. 

Sometimes they would just sit in silence, each getting on with a task.

During one of those silences, while cleaning his guns, he suddenly said, “Sean makes you laugh a lot.” It was a nice sound, her laugh, not grating like some he’d heard. “How come you don’t find him irritatin’?”

She snorted. “What makes you think I don’t?”

“Well, you spend a lot of time talkin’ to him.” His jaw moved minutely. “Are you sweet on him?”

She laughed, the loudest he’d made her laugh yet. 

“Oh, Christ, no.” She shook her head as she chuckled. “I enjoy his company, is all.” She smiled fondly now. “He reminds me a little of my brother. He died a few years after my father did, but... Before then he was always making me laugh, always playing with me. He never found me annoying, never wanted me to leave him alone. He was a good boy.”

“Well...” Arthur cleared his throat, returning his attention to his guns. “It’s good that he makes you laugh.”

Her smile widened as she turned the page of her book, her eyes dropping to it.

“You make me laugh, too, Arthur.”

He did make her laugh quite a bit himself, though often unintentionally. That made a faint smile tug at his lips.

Weeks passed, filled with conversations and silence, each recovering in their own way, until, finally, Arthur was deemed back to full health.

Feeling like himself again, he’d risen early and gone down to the shore, taking a seat on a chair left out on the jetty. He’d taken his journal with him, wanting to fill in a few spaces with birds and fish Annie had described to him that she’d seen. He didn’t know if he quite achieved their likeness, and he didn’t want to show them to her for her opinion because they weren’t anything special, but... One drawing he knew was like the subject it was based on was the drawing he’d started of her.

He’d suddenly begun drawing it about a week ago, fascinated with how her curls, unruly and having fallen out of a braid Mary-Beth had helped her with, fell down against her face and moved in the light breeze. He’d told himself it was just to see if he could capture that movement, a challenge to partake in until he got better, but as his pencil sketched out her lips and eyes with great detail...

You’re a fool of a man, Morgan.

He’d found himself writing about her, too, writing down what they talked about and what she told him about herself that included great detail and no detail at all. She gave greatly but carefully, to the point where he knew what kind of animals she’d played with as a child but couldn’t recall the names of her brother, mother and father. Had she even told him? She never talked about her sister or uncle who’d died back at Strawberry, either. Maybe it was too painful.

She is the most interesting and frustrating woman I have ever met, he wrote. I think I know her one minute and then she says something that completely changes my mind the next.

She still hadn’t told him her secret, and all he could do was hold on to the promise she’d made that one day she would.

“I thought I’d be buryin’ you, Mr Morgan.”

Arthur lifted his head at the sound of Swanson’s voice, closing his journal and sitting straighter with a wry smile.

“Well, not quite yet, Reverend.”

“Good. How you feelin’?”

“Oh...” Arthur inhaled a breath, glancing up at the other man. “About the same as you.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the Reverend answered dryly.

Arthur chuckled, rolling his formerly wounded shoulder.

“I thought Miss Sawyer might have lifted your spirits. She’s done a mighty fine job keeping you company.”

Arthur ran his hand down his beard, nodding a little. “Yeah, she has. It’s been very kind of her.”

“Well...” Swanson patted his back gently. “Take care of yourself.”

"You, too.”

Arthur rolled his shoulder again as he heard Swanson step off of the jetty, humming to himself an old hymn. The younger man gazed out across the lake as he slid his journal into his satchel before getting to his feet, clearing his throat. It was a crisp, slightly grey morning, with dark clouds threatening on the horizon, but he felt good and the strongest he had in a long time.

“You need to cut that beard, I’m beginning to forget what you look like.”

Annie joined him at his side, a cup of coffee in each hand.

He arched an eyebrow as he accepted one from her, returning his gaze to the clouds.

“I thought you might like that.”

“Oh, you’re right, but I think Mary-Beth is beginning to be a little disappointed, though.”

He snorted as he raised the cup to his lips, taking a long sip.

Ada smirked as she glanced at him. He never had anything smart to say back to her when she brought up the other woman’s not very subtle attraction to him. An attraction that Ada was, reluctantly, starting to understand.

Understand, not feel.

That would just be completely ridiculous.

Absolutely ridiculous.

Blowing on her hot coffee, Ada then looked up at him, raising her eyebrows slightly. “How about after you shave we go out for a ride and maybe some hunting? See if you’re really as better as you say you are.”

“I think I might be up to that.”

Her eyes flicked over him, a smile pulling at her lips. “We’ll see.” Raising her eyebrows, she turned away. “I’ll see you in fifteen minutes, Morgan.”

He watched her as she headed back into the camp, a smile lingering on her lips. Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he exhaled a breath.

You really are a fool of a man.

“Aren’t you a good boy? No, don’t eat that...”

Tugging her sleeve out of Faithful’s mouth, Ada smiled as she stroked his neck, his head turning towards her, almost nuzzling.

“You ready?”

Lifting her head, her response caught in her throat as her gaze fell on him.

One corner of his mouth was slightly higher than the other as he approached, a fresh white shirt on, a plain black waistcoat, and a black jacket that fell to just above his knees. His hat lay atop his trimmed hair, the ends of which now curled against the collar of his shirt rather than falling to his shoulders. He had cut his beard down to stubble, too, and though it was slightly patchy in some parts he looked... good. More like himself.

“Yeah,” she answered quickly, realising she’d left slightly too long a pause.

“All righ’, let’s go. I got somethin’ to prove and I’m not waitin’ on you.”

Her eyes kept drifting back to him as they mounted up, trying to ignore the heat that had risen to her cheeks.

Pull yourself together, you can admit he’s an attractive man. A poor-tempered, boorish, attractive man.

Ophelia drew alongside Faithful as they rode out of camp, and once on the main path Arthur let her take the lead, content to be taken where-the-hell-ever, just happy he was out and on his horse once more.

Glancing over at her, she looked more relaxed, too, a faint smile on her lips. She’d pinned back some of her hair but that hadn’t stopped some stray curls from falling about her face, the steady breeze not helping matters. She was wearing the green blouse Sean had given her, he’d found out, and a thick black skirt, a wide brown belt wrapped around her waist. His gaze quickly lifted as she looked over to him.

Her smile widened. 

“How about a little race?”

“A race?” He snorted. “I ain’t a child.”

“You aren’t?” She grinned as she kicked Faithful into a gallop, darting past him.

“God damn it...” he muttered, urging Ophelia to do the same, racing after her.

“Where the hell are we racin’ to?”

“None of your business!”

“How about you have a little sit down while I find us a deer?”

“One of these days that smart mouth is gonna get you in trouble, Miss Sawyer.”

His low words had a smile pulling at her lips and a strange sensation running down her spine. 

She’d won their race, though perhaps it was a slightly unfair advantage to her that she knew where the finish line would be. As he’d grumbled at that fact and they’d dismounted, she’d just smiled widely.

As they emerged from a collection of trees, he realised she’d taken them to Bolger Glade, an old battlefield that lay to the east of Braithewaite Manor. Crumbling trenches, stone buildings and a church occupied it, along with rusting cannons and broken wagons. The earth was slowly claiming them, grass and plants growing over each object.

He was about to ask what the hell could be hunted around here when a dampness landed on his cheek. The black clouds that had been threatening had grown closer and rain drops started to fall, at first haphazardly then all together, pouring down.

“Ah, shit, come on,” he called to her, “We’ll stay in the church until this blows over!”

“What about the horses?” she answered, pulling a face as rain got in her eyes.

“They’ll be fine!”

They broke out into runs, dodging broken wood and rocks as she shielded her face with her hands, he grateful for his hat.

“So much for huntin’, huh? What a grand idea.”

“I don’t control the weather, Arthur!”

They entered the decaying church moments later, slowing to a halt. Pushing her wet hair out of her face, Ada then wiped at her cheeks, blowing out a breath.

“Shit...” Arthur muttered as he came in behind her, shaking his arms out.

She held her forearms against her chest and rubbed her hands together as she walked a little further into the church, staying under the cover of what had been another level above. He followed her, removing his hat and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand before placing his hat back on.

“It looks like someone’s been here. Recently,” he heard her say and lifted his head.

A blanket and pillow covered a corner of an alcove, and close by was a burned out fire pit which he’d nearly stepped on. Stepping over it, her rolled his shoulder.

“We should be fine.”

He followed her into the corner of the church that gave the most protection from the rain. Leaning back against the wall, Ada blew out another breath, rather irritated that their excursion out was now ruined.

Arthur shook his arms out again, water leaping off of his jacket with the action, as he glanced through a hole in the wall. “It should pass soon, I can already see a clear sky beyond it.”

She hummed, thinking it better bloody should, the irritation still prickling at her. This was supposed to be a break for him, a bit of normality to ease him back into a routine, a bit of freedom. And rain was ruining it. If it wasn’t uncomfortable heat here, then it was rain. They stood in silence, he watching the sky, she looking at the floor.

Her gaze drifted to him after a few minutes.

God, he was a good man. Yes, she could very readily admit that, even to him. He wouldn’t want to hear it and would even vehemently deny it, but he was, she knew it. He wasn’t just considerate to her, but to everyone in the camp, always putting others before himself. There was nothing false about him, either, no masks he put on or shows; out of the two men who had practically raised him, he was more like Hosea than Dutch, and she was glad for it. He hadn’t pushed her, either, to tell her secret, and...

If you don’t do it now you never will... His patience could run out... Then what would the consequences be? 

Straightening a little, she clasped her hands in front of herself, playing with them a little.

“Arthur, I...”

His head turned to her and she paused for only a moment.

“... I want to thank you, for how patient you’ve been. I very much have appreciated it. A lesser man would have asked me again and again or made me tell him outright and I’m incredibly grateful to you for not pressing the matter.”

He didn’t say anything or move as she spoke.

“I feel like, over the past couple of weeks, we’ve...” She seemed to steel herself then, her lips pressing together. “... What I’m going to tell you, I hope you do not tell anyone else.”

He nodded, straightening and placing his hands on his gun belt. “All right, I won’t.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly. “Your word?”

“Would it really mean that much?”

“To me, yes.”

He gazed at her before nodding again. “You have my word, I won’t tell anyone.”

She wet her lips and pressed them together, her hands clasped tightly.

“Dutch’s words about killing Colm’s brother affected me because Michael O’Driscoll was my father.”

She’d spoken the words slowly so he knew there was no chance he could have misheard, but... 

Jesus fucking Christ...

He stared at her, something in him twisting sharply.

She didn’t take her eyes off of him, watching for every single reaction he gave as, knowing there was no way of going back, she continued.

“When my father met my mother he was already halfway to leaving the gang. He was disillusioned and wanted a different life, a better one, and after meeting and falling in love with my mother, he then thought it might be possible. He told Colm that after he married my mother he wanted to leave and raise the family they would have together the right way. Colm agreed and he actually came to visit us several times over the years, with a few trusted members of the gang. He visited us nearly every Christmas, brought us presents for them and at our birthdays, ones that he promised he’d bought but we knew he hadn’t.”

A dam seemed to have broken inside her, now, because she didn’t, couldn’t, stop, the words coming out faster. 

“Then when I was five there was a bad winter and all our animals died as well as our crops. We had very little money because my father had spent it all on the farm and getting the best things he could find for us, so he wrote to Colm for help. Colm came to our farm and said he couldn’t loan him any money but my father could earn it by helping him with a job. My father refused and said he wasn’t part of that life anymore, and Colm called him a coward and said would he really rather see his family starve than be a man and they had an awful argument and in the end my father said he didn’t want to know Colm, he didn’t consider him family anymore and he didn’t want to see him ever again. Colm left and we thought that was the end of it. Then two weeks later four men broke into our house, all wearing masks, I heard them kick the door down, and my father ran out of his and my mother’s bedroom with his shotgun but they were too quick and one man pinned him to the ground.”

She wasn’t looking at him now, her eyes fixed on the ground as if she could see it happening all over again. 

“I opened my door and saw him there and I called out and started to run to him when one of the men grabbed me and told me to be quiet and pressed his knife against my throat and told me he’d kill me if I screamed and then, and then a man stepped forward, a man with dark hair, and he shot my Da in the heart and he didn’t say a word and Mama screamed and Thomas cried and I couldn’t do anything and then, then they just left, without saying a word, they didn’t take anything, they didn’t rob us, they just left and Mama ran to Da and she wouldn’t stop screaming and Thomas wouldn’t stop crying and I just stood there, I just...”

She didn’t realise tears were streaming down her cheeks until she broke off with a shuddering breath. Her eyes finally lifted after a moment, meeting his gaze.

He hadn’t moved, his features expressionless.

“You’re Colm O’Driscoll’s niece?” His voice was low and quiet.

“Yes,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “My name is Adaline O’Driscoll.”

“Why didn’t you tell us your real name?”

“Because I didn’t know what any of you were like, I didn’t know what Dutch van der Linde would do with Colm O’Driscoll’s niece, even though I’m not a part of his life, I didn’t know what would happen.”

He was still giving nothing away, his eyes fixed on her.

Her heart was pounding against her ribcage and she had to remind herself to breathe.

This was a mistake—

“What happened when they took us?”

“Colm realised it was me because of my ring.” She held her bare, right hand up, dropping it after a moment. “It was my father’s, it’s a family heirloom, his father gave it to him. It’s one of a kind. And then...”

He kept silent as she paused, wiping her cheeks. 

“When he was talking to me he talked about my brother and said he’s alive, but he can’t be because when he was sixteen, I was twelve, he left in the middle of the night, we found a note from him saying he’d gone to find Colm to kill him, and my mother wept for days and we waited, we waited a year and he never returned so we knew he was dead because he wouldn’t have stayed with Colm, he wouldn’t have, but Colm said he’d told him that it was Dutch who’d done it and that Thomas believed him but Thomas wouldn’t do that, he wouldn’t have left us...”

She was crying again, albeit silently.

It was as if all the pain, all the burdens she had to bear, all the secrets, all she’d had to suppress to keep her mother going, finally came out in simply being able to tell somebody about it.

“An— Adaline, what do you want to do now?”

She frowned as she lifted her head. 

“What?”

“What do you want to happen now?”

Her mouth opened and closed slightly. 

“I don’t know. I want to know what you’re thinking.”

He finally looked away from her, his hand running down his mouth as he placed his other hand on his hip.

Oh, God, he’s going to cast me out, he’s going to tell me go, and I won’t blame him—

“Colm knows you’re with us.”

“Yes.”

“For whatever reason, he’s going to want you back.”

“Yes, he said something to that effect when he took us.”

“So, I reckon... the safest thing is you stay with us.”

She ceased breathing as he turned to her. “What?”

“We can protect you. The others don’t need to know. Colm won’t come this far south, anyway, not with the law and bounty hunters around. Probably not with the Lemoyne Raiders around, too.”

He was moving towards her.

She started shaking her head, utterly confused. “Why, why would you do this for me?”

He stopped before her, and, using a finger, he brushed away her tears.

“Save people as need savin’.”

She laughed, all tension suddenly, thankfully, leaving her body, and his finger brushed down her cheek.

“I need saving, do I?”

“Like no one else I’ve met before.”

“I think I’m fine.”

One corner of his mouth rose higher than the other as he looked at her, his finger settling under her chin.

It made her already rapidly beating heart stutter slightly.

Then he dropped his hand.

“You ain’t gonna kill Dutch, are you?”

That certainly caught her off guard. She opened her mouth, then closed it.

 “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

He didn’t respond for a few moments, then placed his hand on his belt, inclining his head.

“Well, I won’t tell anyone.”

She smiled as she exhaled a breath. “Thank you.”

He shifted his weight to his other foot, arching an eyebrow.

“So, I’m to call you Adaline now?”

“Yes, when we’re alone. Or Ada, actually. Only my mother called me Adaline.”

“It’s a pretty name.”

She ignored the heat that rose on her cheeks again.

“Thank you.”

“Who’s Annie Sawyer? You came up with it pretty fast,” he continued at her look.

“Our maid.”

“You had a maid?”

Oh, shit.

“... Yeah, we hired her when we arrived in Strawberry to help my mother... And a farm hand.”

“How could you afford that?”

Her stomach twisted, and she allowed herself the decency to look somewhat sheepish. “Uh... Well, you see, let me provide some context, uhm, when I said, when I first came to the camp, that my sister, mother and uncle had died, well, it was actually, my mother, our maid, Annie, and our farm hand, Adam, and... Well, we moved to Strawberry to be near my mother’s brother, my real... other, actual uncle.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Now, hold on... you said you had no more family.”

She wet her lips, her teeth slowly grazing over her lower one. “... Seeing as I’m being honest, there’s something else. My uncle is Nicholas Timmins, mayor of Strawberry.”

“Excuse me?”

She spoke quickly again, however this time just because of how exasperated he looked rather than because she was frightened. “We moved in with him after we finally admitted Thomas wasn’t coming back, that he had died. My mother wasn’t coping and he offered to look after us. He was the only one of my mother’s family still talking to her after she married my father. He was shunned by the family, too, years before she met my Da, I don’t know why. He... well, I never really got along with him. He acted like he was more than he was and we were part of his show. He had a new house built for us, gave us Annie, and Adam. I don’t know where he got his money from but he was on a real mission to turn Strawberry into something grand. I don’t think he’ll be particularly saddened at my disappearance.���

He stared at her, then exhaled a bewildered laugh. “Shit, you got any more surprises?”

She smiled, her sheepish expression lingering. “That’s the last one, I promise.”

“You sure? Nothin’ else you want to share?”

She laughed as she shook her head. “Nothing else, I swear it.”

He shook his head with a weary sigh, a smile pulling at his lips. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Ada.”

She liked how her name sounded on his tongue.

“It’s nice to meet you—”

She broke off suddenly as voices came from nearby, carried by the wind.

Arthur lifted his head and moved to the wall beside them. Peering out of the hole in the rock that had once been a window, he pressed his lips together.

“Shit,” he murmured, “Seven of them. They look like Lemoyne Raiders. Probably use this as a hideout.”

The men were moving quickly, eager as they had been to get out of the rain.

“We ain’t gonna be able to get out without them seein’ us, so...” He glanced at her, looking her up and down which had her raising her eyebrows.

“Are you going to throw me to them and run away?”

A corner of his mouth lifted as he moved away from the wall and shrugged his jacket off.

“Nah, but that can be the back up plan.”

Stepping closer to her, he then draped his jacket around her shoulders and adjusted it, his hands sweeping over her shoulders and collar bones.

She felt herself becoming slightly flustered at his act of chivalry, and the fact she could feel a slight warmth from it from his body, a gentle expression of gratitude ready to break free, when he murmured, “Follow my lead, we don’t want to spook ‘em.”

Of course.

Nodding, Ada folded her arms and opened her mouth to ask what exactly his plan was, his history of them not spectacular, when he leaned his shoulder against the wall beside her and his arm slid over her stomach and around her waist. Then, his chin settled gently on top of her wet hair.

Her mouth dropped open slightly.

Before she could, again, question him, the voices of the men grew louder as they entered the ruined church.

"... Ah, shit, it’s gotten all in m’ britches, I hate the God damn rain.”

“Well, Jackie, if you had worn your...”

The man speaking trailed off as they rounded the corner, their eyes darting between Ada and Arthur.

“Hey, what’re you doin’ in here?”

Arthur lifted his head as his arm dropped from her, a warm smile on his lips.

“Woah, woah, fellers, easy. My wife and I are just takin’ shelter from the rain. We didn’t know this belonged to anybody.”

Wife? Oh my Lord...

“Are you now?”

A man with blonde, lank hair stepped forward, quickly establishing himself as the apparent leader of this group as the other men looked to him.

“Well, this here property belongs to the Lemoyne Raiders. You’re trespassin’, friends.”

“Oh, really? Goodness, there aren’t any signs.”

That mouth really is gonna get her in trouble.

Arthur’s humour quickly faded as the blonde man looked at her, arching an eyebrow, and stepped closer.

Then, he looked at Arthur. ”You need to keep your woman in check, friend.”

Arthur held the man’s gaze, knowing drawing his revolver at that moment was not a clever thing to do.

“She made a fair point, friend, but we’re not from around here so we don’t know no better.”

“Yeah, you don’t.” Arthur didn’t like the look in the man’s eyes as he smiled suddenly. “Forgive me, strangers, for not welcomin’ you properly. You see, somethin’ else you don’t know is that you gotta pay a toll to the Lemoyne Raiders to enter these parts. Did you pay a toll, friend?”

God, these people are annoyin’.

“No, I can’t say that we did.”

“Well, no trouble, friends, you can pay us right now. Ten dollars.”

“Ten dollars? That’s a high price for a shit hole of a state.”

Arthur’s eyes closed briefly.

She’s gonna get us both killed and if she don’t then I’m gonna kill her.

All seven men looked like they’d just been slapped across the face.

The blonde man stepped closer to her, prompting Arthur to shift his stance, his shoulder shielding her slightly.

“If you can’t pay that, bitch, then I’m sure we can come to some sort of other arrangement—”

His leering expression was suddenly splattered with blood as a gunshot went off, and Arthur’s gun belt felt lighter.

Oh, for Christ’s sake...

Gritting his teeth as the man fell, a gaping hole in his chest, Arthur drew his other revolver with lightening speed and shot over him, two of the other men falling, too, as bullets struck their chests and neck. In the same moment, as shouting broke out from the remaining four men and they dove for cover, Arthur reached out and wrapped his arm around Ada’s waist, hauling her to the side as he pressed his back against the wall, holding her against him.

“Are you out of your God damn mind?” he hissed, staring down at her and the flecks of blood that covered her face.

“Well, what were we going to do, pay them?” she retorted, her hand braced against his chest.

As she raised her other hand, the revolver she’d swiftly pulled from his gun belt gripped in it, and leaned away from him, peering around the wall, Arthur muttered a curse.

“Well... A warnin’ would have been nice.”

She just snorted and he suddenly held her tighter as he heard a gun shot before he realised she was the one who’d fired.

Then, she was out of his arms.

He killed an order on his tongue for her to get right back here as she darted across to crouch in the ruins, an intact section of wall covering her. Bullets fired and missed her by a wide margin.

The idiots probably ain’t even lookin’.

Nearing the edge of the wall, he joined her in firing at the four men who remained. Two went down quickly, and not because of him. He couldn’t stop himself from repeatedly glancing over at her, watching her as she made each bullet count.

So, she could shoot at what was shooting back.

He shot one man in the back as he tried to run, and she got the last man as he raised his head to call out to him.

Silence descended.

Sighing, he picked his jacket up from the floor, it having fallen from her as she’d made for new cover. She wiped an arm over her face, clearing the little spots of blood from her skin, inhaling a long breath.

"So, I guess you’re all right with killin’ now?” he asked, arching an eyebrow

She shrugged. “Well, it had to be done. They weren’t good men.”

“Neither am I.” 

She glanced at him as she handed his revolver back. “Some allowances can be made.”

He holstered the gun. “Dutch ain’t a good man either.”

She pressed her lips together, wiping her hands on her skirt. “Well...” Licking her lips, she moved past him. “Come on, let’s get back.”

Puling his jacket on, he sighed as he followed her out into the gentle rain.

He watched her that night. She danced with Sean as Javier played a song on his guitar and everyone sang along, gathered around the main camp fire. She laughed loudly at most of the things Sean said, a wide smile on her lips.

He’d admit, not proudly, that how he’d carried out his plan earlier had been with somewhat more commitment than he would have usually given. He’d done the husband and wife routine before with Karen, but he hadn’t wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

And he had held Ada. He couldn’t shake from his mind the feel of her pressed against him, that fire in her eyes he was beginning to crave whenever he looked at her burning bright. He wanted to hold her again. He wanted to do more, so much more.

The only reason he allowed himself these fantasies was because he knew they would never come to pass.

Exhaling a breath, he lowered his gaze to the fire as he placed a cigarette between his lips.

Sean twirled her with more flourish than was necessary before he pulled her back in and continued the haphazard waltz they were doing. The twirl had taken them away from the group and he glanced up, his gaze settling on them before it returned to her.

She was still smiling and it filled him with a decent sense of pride that he could bring joy to her.

“So...” he began, keeping his voice low so only she could hear. “... What’s with you and King Arthur?”

She blinked in surprise, her forehead dipping.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, spendin’ all these mornin’s together. Goin’ out of camp earlier. Is he payin’ ye?”

She snorted and glanced over at Arthur as they swayed. He was talking to John, elbows on his knees and a cigarette between his lips. Just looking at him, though... A strange sensation made her stomach flutter, and she swiftly returned her attention to Sean.

“Nothing’s going on. I just enjoy his company, that’s all.”

“Well, there’s enjoyin’ company and then there’s enjoyin’ company.”

“It is most decidedly the former, Sean MacGuire.”

“Because he’s too much of a dumb bastard to realise ye want the latter?”

She opened her mouth then closed it firmly, trying desperately hard to suppress the smile that threatened.

“I do not want—”

“Ye don’t have to worry about me, Annie, I won’t be goin’ tellin’ anyone. Especially not the big, old, dumb boy himself.”

She exhaled an exasperated sigh as he twirled her once more, though, again, she was smiling. As he sang along to the bawdy song Javier had started to play, she thought, not for the first time, about telling him the truth, about telling him who she really was but... That would just complicate things, and if she told him then she’d feel like she had to tell Sadie, and someone would slip up. It wasn’t a matter of trust but safety.

No, she’d keep it, for now. She would tell him someday.

—

Ada had an early dinner the next day with Sadie, Arthur and Sean having vanished earlier in the day and the girls either during chores or sleeping through the heat, taking the chance while Susan did the same. Not that Sadie was a last resort, far from it, Ada loved talking and sitting with her, and was allowing herself to become incredibly fond of her. They sat on the log on the bank, looking out across the river and sharing a bread roll with their stew.

“We should go out huntin’ later, this is just vegetables and water,” Sadie scoffed, pushing the lumps around in her bowl.

“I think I tasted something like meat but I’m not sure.” Ada wrinkled her nose as she inspected her own portion, opting to just mainly mop up the liquid with the bread.

Pearson was usually a good cook but nobody had brought in anything bigger than a squirrel in the last couple of days, either too busy with ‘business’ or just not bothering.

She’d hoped that she and Arthur would have been able to bring something substantial in but due to the shoot-out at the church they’d left quickly, and the rain hadn’t exactly provided ideal conditions. 

She couldn’t help but think about what had happened. Arthur’s touch, his closeness, his trust...

Oh, Lord...

She so wished she could confide in Sadie, just hear somebody else’s thoughts that weren’t her own that rattled around day and night in her brain. But, no... Maybe someday.

“I’m thinkin’ of going after O’Driscolls.”

Sadie’s sudden statement in their silence, cutting through her thoughts, made her still, her gaze darting up to her. Sadie just looked out across the water, chewing on her vegetables.

“Okay... I know the obvious reason but... why?”

“‘cause I can’t rest.” She inhaled a breath. “It’s all I think about. I can’t stand the thought of them out there, doin’ awful things to other people, ruinin’ more lives. I can do somethin’ about it so why shouldn’t I?”

Ada licked her lips. She was considering her next set of words carefully, not wanting to insult Sadie’s capabilities or state the obvious, when Sadie shrugged.

“I’m just thinkin’ about it, anyways. Nothin’ certain.”

“Right.”

That seemed to end the conversation, decidedly so when Sadie pulled a face and made another comment on the food. Ada took the deviation and ran with it, humming her agreement.

A gnawing, unsettling feeling began in her stomach, however, and she used the excuse of the food to stop eating.

“You’re lookin’ real nice today, Bill.”

“Shut up.”

Arthur arched an eyebrow as he approached the three men loitering by the side of the bank, his thumbs tucked into his gun belt. Micah chuckled and glanced up before raising his hands at the sight of Arthur and standing from where he’d been sat on the stairs.

“Been waitin’ for you, Arthur, it’s nearly God damn evenin’.”

“Well, I’m sorry to have kept you,” Arthur drawled.

“Come on, let’s get going.”

Micah, for once, didn’t seem in the mood to bite back. Instead, he brushed past Arthur, Sean and Bill following, and rounded the stairs to start walking down the main street of Rhodes.

“What’s the plan?” Arthur asked, following at a slightly slower pace behind the men.

“We’re meetin’ a couple of Grays over at the saloon,” Micah answered, turning to look at him with a faint smile. “They spoke to Bill about a job... needing security.”

“After the farce of stealing horses for them, why we doin’ this?”

“‘cause we need to stay in with them, and they’re payin’.”

“So, what kind’a security they want?”

“We’re about to find out, now come on,” Micah said with an air of exasperation, as if they hadn’t asked Miss Grimshaw to tell Arthur to meet them in town with no other information only an hour earlier.

“This seem legit to you, Bill?”

“Sure.”

“Dutch said we was to keep on dealing with them until we find this gold,” Micah cut in.

“Can we trust them?” Sean asked.

“Can we trust anyone?” Arthur muttered.

“Let’s just see what they say,” Micah nearly hissed.

“They said there was some big misunderstandin’ about them horses,” Bill murmured.

“And what about burnin’ their fields?” Sean added.

“They don’t know we had anything to do with that,” Micah now actually hissed. 

“Oh, that so?” Arthur said dryly.

“Yeah, they think it was the Braithwaites,” Bill said earnestly. “Listen, I know these Gray boys a bit now. This is on the level.”

“We’re stuck in the middle of some ancient feud but instead of playin’ both sides we’re bein’ used by both of ‘em,” Arthur muttered, trying to keep his voice low as they neared the Sheriff’s Office.

“They were sayin’ that Catherine Braithwaite—”

“Hey, hold up...” Arthur cut Bill off, coming to a halt and prompting the other men to do the same. “This don’t feel right...”

The street was quiet, far, far too quiet for the morning. They’d passed a few men on their walk but now... It was completely empty.

Sean snorted as he turned to them, arching an eyebrow. “Now it don’t feel right? I could’a told you that—”

A bullet tore through his head, silencing him. Sean died before he hit the ground.

“Shit—” Micah hissed.

“What the hell?!” Bill shouted.

Men suddenly appeared everywhere, on roofs, in buildings, from alleyways, firing at them and they instantly started to fire back.

“Get down!” Arthur yelled as they ran for cover, drawing his revolvers.

“Damn it...”

“Sons of bitches...”

Arthur and Micah ran the same way, Bill the other. Crouching behind a barrel, Arthur couldn’t stop to think, just firing back at whoever was shooting at him. 

“What the— God damn it!” Micah was furious. “I can’t believe you shot me, you bastards!”

“You okay?” Arthur called out, knowing Micah was behind him somewhere but not wanting to take his eyes off the attackers to look.

“I’m fine!”

There were many of them, but he and Micah were better shots. They fell one after the other, but they also kept coming, and Arthur felt and heard bullets whizzing over his head and past him.

“Is Sean dead?”

“Look at him, of course he’s dead!” Arthur yelled, though he couldn’t look at the body. “How could you not think this was a trap?!”

He turned, finally able to look at Micah as he started to shoot at the men on the other side of the town. Blood was running down his arm but Micah was firing back with all he had, rage twisting his features.

“You sure you wanna talk about this now, Morgan?” Then, he lowered his guns, his teeth gritted. “The cowards are in the gunstore! I’ll get the front, you take the back!”

Before Arthur could even think about protesting, Micah was already storming up onto the porch. Cursing, Arthur darted behind a wagon and paused for a moment before moving up the back steps to the door. As soon as he passed through the door, a man appeared, his eyes wide.

These fools are in over their heads.

Arthur knocked him down to the ground and struck him across the face with the butt of his revolver. 

“None of these bastards gonna walk out of here!” He heard Micah yell from the porch as he fired a bullet into the man’s head.

Straightening, Arthur watched Micah as he entered, killing the two men who were cowering on the other side of the shop.

“You’re gettin’ sloppy, Morgan,” Micah drawled as he reloaded his guns.

Arthur clenched his jaw as he strode across the shop, pressing his back against the space of wall beside the door. 

“Do you see that window in Sean’s skull? Don’t talk to me about sloppy,” he snarled.

Leaning forward, he fired out of the broken window, killing a man outside of the general store.

“They’re in the gunsmith’s!” he heard someone yell.

The man was soon silenced by Micah.

Moving out onto the porch, Arthur fired at three men starting to ride down the street on their horses, knocking them off. The horses rode over them, breaking out into gallops as the sounds spooked them.

“I want them dead!” he heard Micah yell over the gunfire as he joined him on the porch.

“You sure about that?”

Suddenly, the shooting ceased. Breathing hard, Arthur quickly scanned the street, his eyes darting from building to building for any sign of movement. Was this another trap?

“See that? Those cowards are runnin’ away!” Micah called out gleefully, exhaling a harsh laugh as they watched a few men jump up onto horses and gallop away without looking back.

“Looks like most of ‘em,” Arthur answered, rolling his shoulder as he stood, sliding his revolvers back into their holsters after a moment.

“Not all of them,” Micah murmured darkly, his guns still drawn as he headed down the steps.

“Sheriff Gray...”

His jaw moving, Arthur followed after him. Looking over his shoulder, then frowned, slowing a little.

“And where’s Bill? Where the hell’s he?”

“We’ll find him later, come on.” Micah was already striding ahead, his mind focused on one thing only. “Sherrif Gray! You need to get a hold on this town, it’s going to hell!”

“Who do you think you are?!” a near-hysterical voice called back from within the Sherrif’s Office. “A bunch of two-bit thugs from God knows where?!”

Micah and Arthur came to a stop outside the building, Arthur’s hand hovering over his guns.

“You’re so dumb to think we don’t know what you been doing!” Sheriff Gray continued.

“Come out, Sheriff!” Micah demanded, a definite taunt to his tone. “It’s over!”

“We put down far worse than you! A hundred times over! This is the Gray’s town. Always has been, always will be!”

Micah laughed harshly as he gestured around. “Only Grays I see left around here is you!”

“You want us to come out? We’ll come out!”

The door suddenly burst open and Bill Williamson muttered out a curse as he was pushed out, a gun held to his head.

“Ah, Bill...” Arthur hissed, gritting his teeth.

“Guns on the ground now!” Sheriff Gray called out as three of his men came out behind him, their guns trained on Micah and Arthur. “Both of you!”

“Don’t do it!” Bill ground out.

“You know we can’t do that,” Arthur replied, “You put the gun down, Sheriff!”

“I’ll blow his brains out!” the Sheriff retorted, an arrogant confidence overtaking him now.

From the corner of his eye, before the Sheriff had even finished his sentence, Arthur could see Micah raising his guns. Grabbing his own, he raised one to the Sheriff and one to the man to his right. He shot them both in the head as Micah also shot at the Sheriff and the two men to his left.

They all fell with choked sounds and Bill grunted as he automatically crouched, staring down at the Sheriff.

“Shit...” he marvelled.

Arthur pressed his lips together and holstered his guns.

What a God damn fucking mess... And it’s only goin’ to get worse.

Turning away, Arthur looked to the ground.

A few feet away lay the body of Sean MacGuire, blood drenching his face and chest. Kneeling beside him, Arthur shook his head slightly, his chest tightening.

“He was a good kid,” he murmured.

“Well, how the hell was I to know?” Bill grumbled, staggering down the steps and towards Arthur.

“Let me see...” Arthur began as he straightened, his jaw tight as his grief turned to rage. “They set us up once before, they didn’t like us, we destroyed their farm, should I go on?!”

His voice had risen to a yell as he’d advanced on Bill, the other man stepping back as he clutched his shotgun.

“Go easy on him, Morgan,” Micah’s voice came from behind him, cool as mountain water. “He was out tryin’ to find a lead, same as you, same as Hosea. All you do is complain when things don’t work out. Except when it’s your God damn fault—”

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Arthur seethed, turning on him now. “You don’t give a damn about nobody but yourself!”

“Oh, you act so high and mighty but you’re no better than the rest of us!”

Arthur had already turned away, leaning down and picking Sean’s body up as carefully as he could, placing him over his shoulder.

“I’ve ridden with you boys close on, what,” Micah continued, “six months now? And all you ever done was complain! And you can fight but you can’t think.”

“You can’t do either,” Arthur muttered as he strode past him, holding Sean’s body with a hand on his back.

Micah laughed as he and Bill followed, Bill watching for any more Grays. “Okay, cowpoke.”

They need to leave before I kill him.

Striding towards their horses, Arthur headed for Bill’s.

“Bill, take the boy’s body. Bury him proper, someplace quiet.” He carefully lifted the body onto Brown Jack before he stepped back. “Micah, best you and I don’t speak for a moment.”

Micah laughed again as he mounted his horse, and Arthur’s fingers twitched to reach for his gun.

“I’m just so frightened by you.”

“Get outta my sight...” Arthur hissed as he mounted Ophelia, hearing Bill and Micah canter away behind him. “... pair of God damn fools.”

His tongue ran over his teeth as he surveyed the town, an uneasy sense of dread settling in his stomach.

What a God damn mess we’re makin’ of things.

—

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