Arthur Morgan x John Marston
The sky was a perfect shade of blue, with fluffy clouds that made John feel like he was sitting inside of a painting. He had spent the past few days enjoying the warmer breeze the wind carried alongside Albert’s presence. He was grateful for the man’s hospitality but had grown eager to return to the gang.
John hoped they were okay, not having heard any word from anyone since his arrival at Albert’s cabin. It wasn’t unusual, since they were undoubtedly just keeping a low profile, but he was uneasy nevertheless.
Luckily, most of the time Albert kept John preoccupied with helping him do his photography. It kept his mind free from the anxiousness he felt. John had become an assistant of sorts, aiding Albert in finding the best spots to photograph wildlife.
The sun shined down on John as he set Albert’s tripod on the ground amidst a clearing. The photographer’s head popped up from digging around in his bag, “yes, that’s perfect, Mister Marston!”
“John,” he corrected with a smile.
Albert gave a sheepish grin, returning to his bag once more, “right, apologies. John.”
John had spent their time together constantly reminding the other man to call him by his first name, yet Albert always retreated to his polite roots. It was certainly a contrast to what he was used to, not at all close to the usual treatment he received as a wanted outlaw. Of course, John didn’t believe the man to be naive, how he must know that the likes of him and Arthur were not like most other people. But Albert didn’t seem to care, at least he never voiced any concerns on the matter.
Albert came up beside John, holding the camera he’d retrieved from his bag. Carefully, he placed it on the head of the tripod, setting it up to angle slightly upward.
They were after the Pileated Woodpecker. A tough subject to capture, in Albert’s words. He thought that with their combined effort, he may be able to finally pull the feat off. John suggested this area, sure to travel to a dense enough part of the forest where the bird would likely be spotted.
“I’ve put some berries out in hopes of attracting one,” Albert motioned over to where he came from. “Now all that’s left to do is to wait.”
“Sure.” John stood beside Albert, following his line of sight to the tops of the trees.
Albert produced a pair of binoculars to search above them. Every once in a while he’d tense when it looked like he had spotted something, only to slouch in disappointment when it wasn’t the woodpecker he was in search of.
Eventually, John sat himself against a trunk of a nearby tree, patiently waiting in the comfort of its shade. He tried not to let his mind wander, instead, taking in the beauty of nature that surrounded them. He felt at peace watching the birds fly above, and the tiny squirrels and rabbits that scurried around the forest floor.
A small gasp escaped Albert, who pointed a finger toward a nearby tree, “there.”
John followed his gaze to where he gestured, seeing a ghost of white feathers against the trunk. Upon further inspection, he could make out a streak of red running down the head of the woodpecker. “Whoa.”
John slowly got up to get closer to Albert, who adjusted his camera to get a good shot.
“He doesn’t have any black feathers,” John quietly stated.
Albert gave a short nod, “right you are.”
“He doesn’t look like the other ones, he’s different.”
Albert pressed down to take the picture, sending a plume of smoke to the air with the sound of the shutter ringing out for a split second. Surprisingly, the ghost woodpecker didn’t fly off from the commotion, barely even flinching as it moved its head in their direction.
“It seems not only were we successful in finding one but stumbled across a rather rare variation of the species!”
John studied it, almost convinced that the creature was studying them back with intelligible eyes. He was beautiful but stood out like a sore thumb amongst the dark branches and leaves.
“Must be lonely,” John thought aloud. “Being the only abnormal one around. Are you not disappointed that he doesn’t look like the rest?”
“On the contrary!” Albert turned to smile broadly at him, “this particular woodpecker is a gift! You see, nature can be so exciting. Just when you think you’ve come to understand it, it throws you something unexpected. To find a bird different from the others is refreshing, such things should be cause for celebration in a world that can be so bland at times.”
John let Albert’s thought sink in, deciding he liked the other man’s perspective on it. He’d called it a gift, whereas others might’ve called it a flaw. He continued thinking about it for a while, lingering on his mind even as they packed up the equipment and took the decent walk back to their horses.
By the time John and Albert made it to the cabin, the day was coming to a close. He was starting to grow fond of Alberts simple life tucked away in the forest, but once again felt the anxious pull of not hearing from anyone back at camp. Luckily, the few days here had given his body the chance to heal, admittedly finding his current living arrangements much more agreeable. It was nice to sleep under a proper roof for once.
The next morning, John woke up alone without any sign of Albert. Upon entering the kitchen, he found a note in Albert’s writing saying that he took a trip to the post office and that he didn’t wish to disturb John.
Retreating back to the main room, John couldn’t help but study the odd things that cluttered the space. There were devices strewn about that he couldn’t name if he was asked to. No doubt more equipment Albert used for his photography. The whole house was like a museum that continued to mesmerize John with each following day.
Out of the corner of his eye, a picture on the front page of a newspaper caught his attention. He furrowed his brow, thinking his eyes to deceive him in seeing who he thought it was. Moving closer to the desk it lay on, he felt his blood run cold at the realization that he had been right. There, staring at John was a picture of Nico. His eyes dropped to the writing underneath which stated:
After months on the run, the Van der Linde Boys are still evading capture. With the events of the Blackwater Massacre still fresh in our minds and the murder of the innocent Heidi McCourt (pictured above), along with many others, we wonder why they are still at large.
John had to still his hand as he read, not believing the words on the paper. There was that name again, ‘Heidi McCourt’. It taunted him from the page, making him wonder where it had come from. Who the hell is Heidi McCourt?
Whoever she was, she wasn’t Nico. That much John was sure of. And as much as he was curious about the name, he was more annoyed at how clever Dutch’s story was. If Nico was working for the law, or the Pinkertons, there was no way they would admit publicly having her be associated with them. Her death would’ve only been tying up a loose end. Of course, John knew it was all a lie, wishing there was some way to clear her name. He wished he knew more.
Turning the page over, he continued reading under the bold headline of:
TWENTY-SEVEN DEAD AT THE VALENTINE SHOOTOUT. EIGHT LOCALS.
Eight locals?! John wondered to himself. Shaken to the core of how this was caused by the event he was present for only a couple of days prior.
Even if these locals did wield guns in defense of their town, he was sure Dutch would be able to avoid shooting one, never mind eight innocent people. His heart dropped a little at the thought of Arthur being there, too.
The Valentine shootout is believed to be the result of the earlier robbery of a Leviticus Cornwall transport coach, catching the attention of the Pinkerton Detective Agency in the investigation to whether the train robbery and Blackwater Massacre are in any relation to the same group of outlaws.
He tossed the newspaper aside, worked up from the anger that rose inside him. This was all Dutch’s fault. He was becoming this unstoppable force backed by greed and foolish choices that would be the undoing of their gang. It would only be a matter of time before his vicious nature would unravel out of control.
So overwhelmed by the contents of the newspaper, John almost didn’t notice the sound of Albert entering through the front door.
“Ah, John! Good morning, sir. Are you well?”
John gave a nod, “sure.” He tried to give the man a convincing smile as he forced his gloomy thoughts from his mind. He noticed a small parcel in Albert’s hands, curiosity piquing his interest.
Albert looked down at the small package as if he had forgotten about it, “oh, yes! Some of my prints arrived today, would you like to see them?”
John nodded enthusiastically, and watched as Albert gently undid the string that tied the wrapping together. He then came over to sit beside John.
Albert unfolded the papers to reveal a short stack of photographs, picking up the first one which depicted a buck. Its head was up, with knowing eyes that seemed to stare right at John. His antlers reached toward the skies, complementing the mountainous terrain he stood in front of.
John couldn’t help from reaching to take the photo from Albert’s hand to inspect it more closely. “That’s amazing!”
“Ah, yes, I remember that buck. Gave me quite the challenge, he did. I originally was after capturing a deer, but couldn’t seem to shake this one’s attention. The nerve of the animal, tried to run me over! And almost succeeded, too.”
Albert lifted the second picture, “see, here she is.” He handed it over for John to see. Sure enough, this one showed a deer nibbling some berries from a bush, completely unaware of the camera.
“Oh,” Albert gave a little chuckle, already having moved onto the next picture. I think you’ll quite enjoy this one.”
John accepted the photo he held out, seeing an action shot of a coyote running off with Albert’s bag hanging from its mouth.
“Cheeky little thing, that one. If it weren’t for your friend, I’d have never gotten my things back!”
John looked up at Albert, “Arthur help you with this one?”
“He did, indeed! And with another, too. Let me see if I can find it,” Albert started shuffling through the photos in his hand, but John was distracted by the next picture in the stack. He blinked, smiling to himself a little as he came to the conclusion that this one was by far his favourite.
He gingerly picked it out from the stack, Albert letting him as he continued to search.
“It’s got to be in this batch somewhere, I know I sent that reel out. You see, there were these God forsaken creatures that almost killed me! Managed to snap a few good ones before they tried ripping me to shreds, though…” Albert continued talking, but John tuned out as he studied the photo in his hands.
It was a picture of Arthur, who was smiling. It was a genuine one, which proved to be a rare sight for John. Somehow the image alone made him feel butterflies in his stomach, the way his smile reached his eyes with how they crinkled. He was captured from the waist up, holding one hand on his hip and the other up like he was about to say something. It was a candid shot where he wasn’t looking at the camera, which probably made sense as to why Albert was able to print it. If Arthur had known, there was no way he would’ve let him.
John couldn’t tear his eyes away, Arthur’s image was always well captured in photographs. Most of the pictures they had growing up were group photos where no one smiled, not like this. This one rendered John in awe, the exact moment living on forever through the photograph. It made him wish he could go back in time and capture some of his favourite memories together.
“Here it is!” Albert produced a photo from the pile before noticing John’s attention on the one he already held.
Albert leaned over to look at it. “Right! I almost forgot about that picture, I got it printed with the intention of gifting it to Mister Morgan. He’s been so helpful with my foolish endeavour, I really felt I owed him.”
“Well, if I know Arthur I’m sure he enjoyed helping you, he’s too curious not to. He’s got so many stories about the people he’s met, I’m not at all surprised that you’d be one of them.”
Albert gave a little chuckle, “he is definitely an interesting man. Nevertheless, would you mind passing it on to him? I’d very much appreciate it.”
“Sure, yeah..” John got up to find his satchel, placing the photograph inside with the intention of giving it to Arthur. Eventually, that is. For now, he thought he might hang onto it. And even as Albert went on to ramble about the other animal encounters he’d experienced while taking their likeness, John thought about how none could compare.
A steady knock at the door made John suddenly look up and Albert almost jump out of his skin with an “Ahh!” Taking a moment to compose himself, he stood and went to answer the door.
John peered over to see a familiar form stood at the entrance, making him stand up abruptly. “Charles, that you?”
Charles noticed John, giving him a relieved smile before his eyes darted back to Albert.
“This is Albert Mason, a good man. He’s been helping me get back on my feet these past couple days.”
Charles gave Albert a stern nod, “Seems we owe you our thanks.”
Albert bashfully waved it away, “it was of no trouble, I assure you, sir.”
John swore he could see Albert’s cheeks heat up a little as he continued, “Well then, would you like to come in for a cup of tea, Charles?”
“Thank you, but I’ve come to collect John and I’m sure he’s eager to return-”
“Yes! Yes,” John interrupted, “how is everyone? Did everyone make it okay?”
“Everyone’s fine. Abigail and the little one are safe, Arthur was the last to join us.”
John let out a breath, “good, that’s good.”
Thank God, he was relieved that everyone made it in one piece. A new flood of anticipation for returning overcoming him from the news.
“I’ll let you say goodbye,” Charles said as he gave him and Albert a nod, retreating to the horses.
John turned back to Albert, “thank you, for everything. How can I ever repay you for the kindness you’ve shown me?”
Albert gave a modest shake of his head, “please, as I told your friend, it was of no bother. Might I say, I rather enjoyed the company.”
“Well then, it’s been a pleasure,” John held out his hand to Albert, who looked down at it for a brief moment before clamping it in a firm grasp. The other man’s eyes glistened a little before he pulled John into a hug. Caught off by the gesture, John hesitated before giving Albert a slight pat on the back.
Albert pulled back, already apologizing profusely, “sorry, John, forgive me. I just-I hope the world treats you a little kinder in future.”
John smiled slightly at that. Albert was a kind man that he was grateful to have met, even if it was under such a terrible circumstance.
“And please,” he continued, “if you ever find yourself in the area, do not hesitate to stop by.”
John nodded, “of course. Thanks again, Albert.”
Walking back into the makeshift bedroom in Albert’s cabin, he took one last look around the room. He’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t miss the comfort of the place.
Grabbing his gunbelt from where it sat idle for the past few days, John secured it around his waist before picking up his coat and satchel. As he left the cabin for the last time, John found Charles waiting by his horse for him.
He looked up when John approached, “ready to go?”
John gave a firm nod, climbing on the back of Old Boy.
Charles took the lead, mounting and walking his horse in the direction of the pathway away from the secluded cabin. John looked back to Albert, who stood at the entrance. He waved them off, and John returned the farewell with a flick of his hand.
The two spurred their horses, leaving the cabin behind them in their pursuit of the main path. They eased into a steady pace through the countryside, careful to avoid any roads that were known to be busier.
John forced Old Boy to ride up next to Charles, “how’s the new spot? Is it a good place to lie low?”
Charles gave a stiff nod, “It’s definitely more secluded than the last place. I found it myself.” He looked over to John, “figured I could be the one to show you.”
Charles turned his gaze back to the road ahead of them once more. John noted the way his expression seemed more hardened than usual, brows creased to indicate his loss in thought. It wasn’t unlike Charles to be reserved, but John sensed something was bothering him.
“I’m glad you’re the one who came to get me, it’s good to see you.”
Charles’ features softened somewhat as his attention focused back on John, “of course. I’m glad you’re okay, do you remember what happened?”
John frowned slightly at the thought of what happened back in Valentine. “Not much, I, uh, wasn’t with Dutch n’ Arthur when everything went down with Cornwall.”
“I heard. I’m glad Arthur found you. From how he described the whole thing, you’re lucky to have gotten out of there.”
John nodded, feeling his skin crawl from the recent memory. “How much did he tell you?”
“Only a little.” Charles paused for a moment before adding, “he seemed.. off when we spoke.”
Charles took his time in replying as if choosing his words carefully. “He seemed a little wary of how Dutch handled the situation. I don’t know if you heard about it after you escaped but they were calling it a bloodbath… awfully similar to Blackwater.” His deepened frown returned, “but this time it was just Dutch.”
“And Arthur,” John added, though it sounded almost like a question.
“Hmm.” Charles’ face screwed up slightly, “I don’t know. To be honest, Arthur made it sound like he got out of there pretty fast.”
John let the thought sink in, surprised when Charles broke the silence once more.
“We’re supposed to be avoiding trouble, not causing more. What was Dutch thinking? Why didn’t he just get out of there as soon as he could?”
It was rare to see Charles so shaken, taken aback by the fluctuation in his voice. “Where will it end? The moving, the running?”
He still avoided looking directly at John, making him think he wasn’t asking him as much as just voicing his concern. John could tell it upset him. Charles had only been running with the gang for half a year or so, clearly unimpressed by the recent direction the gang had taken with their poor choices.
John swallowed, wanting to reassure Charles but finding it hard to come up with anything to say. John was probably the worst of the lot of them to consult in, having no kind words to offer about Dutch.
Charles gave a heavy sigh, “I’m sorry, brother. You’ve got enough on your mind, I’m sure.”
John slowed his horse until he came to a steady halt. Charles didn’t notice immediately, turning his head back toward John when he didn’t answer right away. He stopped his own horse, a look of interest dawning his face.
Pressing his lips together nervously, John thought carefully about what he would say next.
“Back in Valentine, when Cornwall showed up… I was by some of his men. They threw me into an alley beside the saloon Dutch and Arthur were held up at.”
Attentively, Charles listened to what John was saying, waiting for him to continue. John drew a shaky breath.
“I could hear them talking from where I was tied up and… I thought Dutch was going to cut me loose, I thought-” he broke off the sentence as his throat tightened.
“What you went through,” Charles started, his voice softer than a moment earlier. “I couldn’t even imagine. It was horrible what those men did to you. But to feel abandoned by your family… John, I am so sorry.”
John shook his head, blinking away the tears that had started to form in his eyes.
“One of the reasons I joined this gang was because of the loyalty shared amongst its members,” Charles continued. “Dutch always said that no one gets left behind, and Arthur managed to get you out of there-”
“What Arthur did isn’t what I’m worried about. It’s Dutch, Charles. I fear if Arthur wasn’t there, Dutch would have left me behind.”
The words hung in the air, suddenly making John so aware of how bold they were now that they were spoken out loud. He studied Charles, scared that he may react as Arthur did when he mentioned the same concern over Dutch.
He hadn’t meant to admit his feelings about Dutch so openly to Charles, knowing the man respected him as much as most of their peers did. John had been reserved about Dutch all of his life but had become so overwhelmed with what happened in the past couple months that his actions had become brash.
Charles gave a slow nod, “I understand your concern.”
John exhaled in relief, not realizing the breath he held in anticipation, “you do?”
“Dutch didn’t speak about what really happened at Blackwater, and now he avoids talking about what he did in Valentine. It has me questioning his methods. Arthur seems a little shaken, and now you, too? I can’t ignore something like that.”
John felt a sudden buzz from his words, almost not trusting his ears to believe what he was hearing be true. “What do you think will happen next?”
Charles let out a deep sigh through his nose.
John’s eyes dropped. He knew he did, yet the statement still dealt a hard blow.
“But I trust you, too. And Arthur.”
His eyes flickered back up to Charles, widened in surprise.
“For all I know, Dutch may not have had another choice. In Valentine and in Blackwater. But I think I’ll be keeping a closer eye on things. And if you notice anything, tell me. I will be speaking with Arthur, too.”
He straightened Taima back on the road, signaling that the conversation was over for now. “Come on, we should get going.”
With that, Charles urged his horse to continue moving forward. John followed, suddenly feeling a lot lighter than a moment before. To know that Charles had the slightest shred of doubt about Dutch made John want to cry from relief.
The thought that Dutch’s risky actions finally had repercussions, even if they were minuscule, gave John the tiniest flicker of hope that ignited inside his chest. The feeling was a foreign one that John hadn’t been acquainted with in a long time. His mind was racing at the possibilities of what it could mean, that maybe there was change on the horizon.
With all that in mind, he couldn’t help but feel a little scared, too. After the years of abuse he’d received from Dutch and losing the only people who could do anything about it, John truly believed he could do nothing but accept it. But now, now he didn’t feel as alone as he did before.
Pushing down his thoughts, he tried not to get ahead of himself. He didn’t want to get his hopes up over the matter, so, for now, he focused his mind on his and Charles’ surroundings.
The low sunlight dappled John’s skin through the sparse branches above them as they made their way through another cluster of trees. The forests they found themselves in now weren’t as dense as where Albert’s cabin lay tucked away and had a different look to them.
The air was hotter, with a humidity that made John’s shirt cling to his back as they rode to their new camp. The path in front of them turned to a dusty red and seemed to reflect in the sky above them. Or perhaps it was the evening casting the earth in its warm glow. Either way, John felt like he was somewhere far from where they once were.
He thought that they must be getting close now, seeing a white wooden sign pop up ahead of them. He glanced over it as they passed by, the paint chipped from being weather worn.
WELCOME TO THE STATE OF LEMOYNE
“You guys fled to a completely different state?” John turned to ask Charles.
“Yeah, better safe than sorry. We’re near the water up this way, it’s a good spot.” Charles nodded in the direction of where their new camp was pitched, steering his horse on a small pathway that led into another heavily wooded grove. John would’ve completely overlooked it otherwise, but once they continued deeper into the shade of the overhanging branches, the path widened into a clearing just before the shore of an endless lake.
"Clemans Point," Charles stated to John at their arrival.
He could make out the familiar bustle of people strung about. Their tents and wagons were more spaciously placed than at Horseshoe Overlook, with more room for the horses, too. A thick, old looking tree was planted right in the middle, providing a promising shelter from the hot weather they would be experiencing here.
John followed Charles to a nearby hitching post, sliding off to secure Old Boy to it. He’d only just managed a tight enough knot when someone came charging toward him.
“John? John! Oh, thank God!”
Abigail threw her arms around John, making him stumble back a step before catching his balance.
She was off of him just as fast, holding him at an arm’s length, “you’re alive!”
John nodded, “so are you.”
Abigail made a noise that sounded like a mix between a laugh and a stifled cry, her eyes glistening as she smiled widely at him.
“He’s good, he’ll be even better now that you’re back. Come, are you hungry? There’s still some stew for you.”
She took his arm, leading him through their new camp. John looked around, his brow furrowing slightly.
“He’s out with Dutch and Hosea,” she interrupted him before he could finish, giving him a knowing look. “I’ll tell you more once we get you some food.”
His shoulders fell, giving in as she pulled him along. On one hand, he was glad Dutch wasn’t around to watch him like a hawk, but on the other, he was a little disappointed that Arthur wasn’t around for his return. Things would likely go back to how they were before. As if the moment shared between him and Arthur at Albert’s cabin never happened and would never be spoken about again.
The simple task of getting a hot bowl of stew from the cooking pot to his tent proved harder than he thought it would. As Abigail brought him over, he wouldn’t stop getting interrupted by the other gang members.
Some of the girls called out to say how happy they were to see him again, followed by Reverend Swanson, who stumbled by to say the same. He then began quoting a verse from the bible that John was sure he wasn’t reciting right. Only to become distracted by something else and finally leave John alone. Then there was Sadie, who practically jumped him, wearing a smile he wasn’t too used to seeing from her.
“John! You’re back, we missed you!”
She didn’t hug him like how some of the others had, which he was a little relieved of since he wasn’t used to the sudden amount of affection. Instead, she gave him a pat on the shoulder.
“I have to say, I’m glad to be back.”
She looked different from the last time he’d seen her, wearing a bright mustard yellow blouse and dark brown pants with a worn looking gun belt loosely buckled at her hips.
Her expression was a little skeptical at first, not knowing the sincerity behind John’s compliment. When he gave her a little reassuring nod, her smile reappeared.
“Thanks! Arthur and I went shopping and I thought I’d get myself a pair of pants, since most of the men around here don’t do a very good job of wearin’ them.”
He gave a laugh, “you’re right about that.”
He barely had time to say goodbye to her before Abigail whisked him away again. Javier tried to call out to John, but she wasn’t having any of it.
“You two can bond once he’s had something to eat! For now, you shut up and play your damn music!”
The last thing John saw before being shoved into his tent was a distraught looking Javier clenching onto his guitar.
The world muffled around him once he was inside the familiar canvas walls. He didn’t think he would miss it, yet looking around to find his few belongings struck a little homesickness within him.
The few books he owned were stacked neatly on top of his clothing chest, no doubt by Abigail. Some other odds and ends of his belongings lay organized on his side table.
“Thanks,” John breathed out to Abigail once he sat down on his bed with his bowl.
She sat in the chair across from him, “eat.”
He did so, scarfing down Pearson’s stew faster than he ever had before. It almost tasted good from how hungry he was.
All the while, Abigail watched him, even once he’d finished and set his bowl aside.
“So,” he broke the silence. “How have things been?”
“Tense,” Abigail pressed her lips together, eye contact not breaking his. “People weren’t too happy to be moving again so soon. Especially under the circumstance of doing so.”
“I see,” John fidgeted with his fingers.
Abigail gave an amused huff, smiling at the corners of her mouth as she dropped her gaze.
“It’s okay, I know you’re wondering about him. I’m just teasing you by avoiding it,” her eyes were back on his, holding a mischievous glint within them. The amusement faded slightly, “he told me about what happened with you. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I am, only because of Arthur.”
She nodded, suddenly so serious, “thank God. I was scared when he showed up alone, not knowing what could possibly have happened to you.”
“I’m okay now,” he tried to reassure her.
“I know,” she let out a breath. “Waiting around was the worst part. I’m just so glad you’re back now.”
“Did Arthur say anything else?”
Abigail shook her head, “no, he mostly just checked in with me and the boy, made sure we were doing alright. He talked a little with Dutch, the two weren’t seemin’ too friendly toward one another when we first settled here.”
John tried to imagine how that must have looked, finding it hard to do so. Even though he knew Charles wasn’t lying to him about the fact that Arthur was clearly affected by what happened in Valentine, it was still hard to believe Arthur and Dutch butting heads over it.
A sudden thought occurred to John, confusion knitting his brows together. “If they don’t seem to be getting along too well, how come he’s out with Dutch and Hosea? What’re they doing?”
Abigail rolled her eyes, “they’ve gone fishing.”
His frown only deepened, wondering what the hell Arthur was doing by going out fishing with Dutch. A little offended at the notion, he tried not to let it show as he urged Abigail to continue, “they did?”
“I know, I know,” she raised her hands like even she didn’t get why they thought now was the right time for it. “The thing is, I think it was an olive branch from Dutch. This isn’t just any member of the gang, it’s Arthur we’re talking about. I don’t think Dutch wants to lose the trust Arthur has for him.”
John let the thought sink in. That sounded like something Dutch would do, and it angered him.
For a moment, he thought about telling Abigail about Valentine, and how Dutch didn’t hesitate to leave him behind. But he bit his tongue, the last thing he wanted was her going after Dutch with the full intention of ripping him apart.
“Hey,” Abigail tried to regain his attention, her expression displaying a worry as if she could read his thoughts. “Arthur’s smart, if he’s worried about how Dutch is handling things he’ll speak up. Hosea’s no fool either, he’s been keeping Dutch in check for years.”
John nodded, but it felt hollow. He knew Abigail was trying her best to reassure him, but he couldn’t stop from thinking about how deep it ran. If Dutch convinces Arthur to look past this… he wouldn’t know what to think.
He stared out of the sliver of the tent’s entrance, completely lost to the present. Not knowing what he expected to see outside, as if he might catch a glimpse of Arthur. Like the man would appear out of thin air just from being talked about.
“I know you care about him.”
John’s head snapped back to Abigail, “what’re you talking about?”
She gave a soft smile, “Arthur.”
He blinked, sputtering over his words in an attempt to respond, “well, I mean yeah, I-we’ve known each other a long time-I just mean I trust him as a fellow member of the gang-”
“I’m no fool, John, I see the way you look at him.”
Panic consumed John completely. He stared at Abigail wide eyed and short of breath, his thoughts running a mile a minute. John had never said the fact out loud, even repressing ever really fully comprehending it internally. It came as such a shock for Abigail to say it, seizing him because of how deep he had buried that part of himself.
He quickly tried to disprove her statement, but all that came out was an incoherent noise, suddenly not knowing how to string a sentence together. He felt heat rise to his cheeks, not even able to look at Abigail directly anymore.
“See, you’re getting all flustered just talking about him!” She held up a hand to hide her laughter.
“No, I’m not!” John yelled at her, jolting upright.
She stood too, shock taking over her features which immediately morphed into concern, “hey, it’s okay!”
“Did you tell anyone?!” John blurted out, still consumed by his fright.
“No, no of course not!” Abigail hesitantly reached a hand out to put on John’s arm. He let her, both of them lowering down in their seats again, then retracted her hand.
“You can’t say anything, please, Abigail, you can’t.”
“I won’t, John. Hey,” she moved so John was forced to look at her, “I would never do that to you.”
He nodded, swallowing dryly, “okay.”
When he thought his heart rate had returned to normal, another thought struck him. “But I don’t understand, didn’t you think that…we?” he pointed between the two of them.
“Loved each other?” She gave a little huff, “I hate to say it but you didn’t exactly sweep me off my feet, John Marston.”
He just stared at her, completely dumbfounded.
“Buuut I do think that deep down you care about me as much as I care about you. Sure, at one point I might’ve hoped for more, but I don’t feel that way anymore as much as you don’t.”
She moved forward to carefully put a hand on his arm again, this time her grip firm. “All I want is for you to provide for Jack and I. I’m not asking for us to be this perfect family, just to be there for us.”
“I, yeah but-are you okay with that? Me being with…” he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence out loud.
“I want you to be happy, John.” There was a short pause before she continued, “you know there’s nothing wrong with you because of that, right?”
For however gentle her words were, he almost fell completely apart from them. His face contorted from an overwhelming sense of emotion that rendered him unable to respond.
Abigail was sitting before him, fully aware of who John was, and completely accepting of it. He didn’t think anyone could ever understand, yet somehow she did.
Before he knew what he was doing, he pulled her into a tight hug. He clung onto her, almost as surprised as she was by the gesture. It wasn’t like him to do something like this, but he felt there was no other way he could have expressed his gratitude towards her.
She pulled back from their embrace, but still held onto his arms, “I have to say. You and Arthur, it’s actually kinda sweet.”
Her voice was soft when she said it, making John want to die from embarrassment.
The opening to the tent abruptly whipped aside, interrupting them and drawing their attention. At the entrance stood Arthur, wearing an easy smile that immediately fell when his eyes landed on John and Abigail holding each other.
John quickly dropped his arms, “Arthur-”
“Sorry, I, uh, didn’t mean to interrupt, I’ll leave you two to it.”
“Actually,” Abigail shot up from where she was sitting. “I was just leaving.”
She gave John a brief look as she moved to exit the tent, “if you’ll excuse me.” She slipped past Arthur, leaving him to awkwardly stay behind.
Silence followed when neither of them said anything, only to be broken by Arthur when it had become painfully obvious.
“Well, I just heard you’d come back and wanted to check that you’re alright, which you seem to be so I’ll just be going then.” He was gone before he’d even finished what he was saying, the tent flap falling into place after his rushed escape.
John let out a heavy sigh, letting his head fall into his hands. He cursed himself for being such a damn mess, knowing that that could have gone way better.
