We can't change what's done

“Are you okay to stop by the Wapiti reserve on our way back to camp?” Arthur asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had befallen them.

“Yeah, sure, everything good?” Isabella asked, taking the right at the crossroads to lead them there. “I wanna talk to Rain Falls, Dutch has got into Eagle Flies' ear, and I’m honestly worried.” He had no reason to lie after all, it was true, especially with Dutch’s disturbing focus on the idea of making some noise, so they could slip away.

He was hoping upon hope that Dutch wasn’t going to use the Indians' already treacherous situation. They were already in enough of a battle with the disgraceful government they didn’t need the addition of an egomaniac attempting to use them for his own gain.

Once upon a time, he would never have believed Dutch would do that, but now.  Honestly, he wouldn’t put it past him to do this. Every day, it felt like their mentor was falling further into madness and bloodlust.

Isabella let out a long sigh “I knew he was breaking his moral code nowadays, but I never could have believed he would go this far. Guess I’ve been proven wrong, the Indians are already fighting for their lives against the government and the army. They don’t need whatever the hell Dutch’s plans are now getting mixed up in that. This is bad, Arthur.”

Arthur pressed his lips together, “I know, I’ve seen how they are living, we thought we were fighting, but it ain’t got nothing on them. They’ve been fighting for years to keep their land, pushed out by the greed of the government, so many promises made and then broken. Jesus, the things the government have done to them, it will break your heart.”

Arthur had always heard stories about what had happened to the native American's, but hearing the stories about what the white man had done to them. From the actual people who had been through it, it angered him to a degree he hadn’t understood until now, made him hate the government more than he already did.

Riding into the Wapiti reservation, Isabella glanced around at the tents, the young and the old walking around. Most of them were half-starved and looked like they were so very ill, and yet they were still here working to just live another day. Climbing off their horse’s, she walked in step with Arthur.

“Is Rain Falls around?” He asked in a soft and kind voice as he spoke to the woman who was preparing a meal. “He’s in his tent.” Arthur gave her a nod of thanks, and Isabella gave her a small smile.

Eyes focused on the tent in the middle of the camp, greeting the chief and stepping into it, “Hello, Charles said you would be here soon to speak with me.” Rain Falls commented, slowly raising his head to catch the two of their eyes.

“The raid you went on with my impetuous son the other night, it has already caused retaliation from the government, they have already attacked two of our women.” The elderly man added, the sorrow obvious in his voice, disappointment in his son and horror at the situation heavily laced in his words. Arthur dropped his eyes as guilt began to pump through his veins, in response, Isabella reached beside herself to run a finger over the back of his hand.

“I know that sorry will never make up for the pain that has been caused to your people because of our actions. But if there is anything we can do to help, we will, I promise we will,” Isabella assured him, hoping to at least ease a little of the guilt that she knew Arthur was feeling. They both were more than aware it had been a bad idea to follow Dutch’s plans when it came to retrieving the Indians' horses.

 But Isabella also knew Arthur had gone to try and help stop it escalating as far as it had, but he hadn’t been able to, and that seemed to make him feel even more to blame. He had failed to do what had been asked of him by Charles, to help those who were innocent, and instead, they’d made things worse, pushed them further into the hell on earth they were already facing.

 “Sometimes the correct path, the bravest path, is the least obvious and often the gentlest.” Rain falls spoke with the wisdom of a man who had been fighting for a long time, who, like many, could easily turn to violence. But it was evident that his care and love for his family were too powerful to allow that risk, he aimed for peace and freedom, not by committing horrors, but by living as peacefully and as diplomatically as he could.

 “I also understand my choices are a disappointment to my son.” He straightened himself and focused on the new arrivals in his presence. “Your son seems to want a war,” Arthur noted, easing himself down to sit before him, Isabella mirrored his actions.

 “He sees glory in death, I do not. I have seen too many good men fall to that. That does not equate to victory in my eyes.” Rain falls explained.

“We’ve killed a lot in our lives, don’t reckon there is much glory in any of it, nor victory. Not anymore.” Isabella admitted shamefully, worrying her lower lip. Arthur nodded at her in agreement and understanding, because it was true, for a long time, he’d believed their lifestyle was right, but it wasn’t, it never would be. They were murderers and thieves, not decent people, and they never had been, it was time for them to stop lying to themselves.

“Dutch ain’t in a good place, and he ain’t leading your son towards a good place, we’re worried about how it will end.” She added with an exhale. They couldn’t dwell on the words for long when they heard the chief's name called from outside.

Isabella and Arthur jumped up, climbing out of the tent with the ease of people who were used to protecting anyone who needed it and getting out of situations quickly. Atop a horse was a soldier, which caused the two outlaws' hands to immediately go to their guns.

“Please do not worry, this is Captain Monroe, he is not out to harm us.” Rain Falls explained, climbing out of his tent behind them. “I’m so glad to have caught you all, Rain Falls. I was in Saint Denis, the revenge that Colonel Favours has sought against you has continued and is going to get regrettably worse.” The captain’s breathing had not yet settled, it was obvious that he was panicked, that he'd not stopped since he'd left the city. Rain Falls nodded as he spoke, it seemed as though it was hitting him again how terrible their situation was, and it was turning even more violent.

“They are now withholding the vaccines that were planned to be sent to you.” He explained, to which the older man gave a sigh.

“Mr Morgan, Miss Hunter, I do not like to do so, but I need to ask, can you please help Captain Monroe?” The chief’s eyes turned to the pair of them. “Yes, of course we will, anything you need.” Isabella stepped forward, she had promised that, and she had meant it. If they could do anything to offset the mess that Dutch was creating, they would.

“Lead the way, captain.” Arthur agreed, mounting his horse. Isabella turned to Arthur as they both did so, “How did he know my name?” She queried, because despite meeting Eagle Flies in passing, she had never met Rain Falls in person.

“Seems like Charles must have spoken highly of you.” Arthur shrugged. “Least somebody does.” The woman let out a laugh and winked towards the man, who they were both aware worshipped the very ground she walked on.

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They had returned with the vaccines to the reservation, thankfully without a drop of blood spilt. Now back at camp, there was a quiet that had settled between them. That tense air still hanging around, the one that made Isabella feel panic that consumed her entire self, it felt like everyone was acting like they were on their last days. And in a way, they were.

 Arthur and Isabella settled down beside the oak tree that they both seemed to frequent recently. “Feels strange.” Arthur mused, lighting up a cigarette as they sat. “What does?” Isabella asked, reaching over to take the cigarette from him, a playful frown on his face at her taking it before he could even have a drag, but she gave him that smile, and he didn’t argue against it for a moment. She had him wrapped around her finger and always had done.

“Actually getting something without bloodshed feels like what we used to do. When not everything ended with a pile of dead bodies, didn’t end in regret, back when we used to sneak in and out of places, guess that ain’t exactly the norm anymore.” He observed, Isabella moved closer to him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Feels like the killing never stops nowadays, and it ain’t as if we often don’t leave with more kills racked up and heavier souls each day now.” He added moving his head slightly to place a kiss into her ebony locks. Hearing voices, including ones they didn’t recognise, distracted them.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Isabella did know one of them, but she couldn’t figure out why. Standing, they rounded the tent and observed the new people, who were sitting with Dutch and Micah. Two strangers in the camp, who caused everyone to hold their guns a little tighter, and the tension to grow even more.

Then she saw him. Why did she recognise that face? But not a moment later, it clicked, and she felt her heart drop to her stomach, bile rose into her throat. She turned to Arthur, eyes wide with shock, the small amount of colour that was usually on her face had totally disappeared, making her closely resemble a ghost. Arthur frowned, looking at her, unsure what this reaction could have been caused by.

 “What’s wrong?” He asked, reaching for her, but Isabella stepped back. “Please remember that I love you and I’m so sorry for what is about to happen.” Arthur’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion, especially at her refusal of affection, that wasn’t them anymore.

They’d just been relaxed together a moment ago, and now she had shut down again. It made his heart speed up slightly with panic. Isabella held her head up high as she stepped around the tent, ready to walk into the hell that was her past.

A low whistle happened the minute she entered the surprisingly chilled air. “Well damn, ain’t it strange to not see you lying on your back?” The man said with a sneer. Isabella wanted the earth to fall apart and swallow her up, but she didn’t let herself appear weak.

No, she was no longer that woman, nobody would ever use her again. She had built herself back up to be the pillar of strength that she had been before she lost herself. That was her past, and never would she be that woman again. Crossing her arms, she held her chin up, staring daggers at the man.

“What do you mean by that?” She heard Dutch ask, feeling a wave of shame run through her at what her mentor was about to find out. She may not trust him or frankly like him right now, but there was still a small part of her fearing disappointing him. He was the man who had helped raise her after all.

 “Didn’t you guys know?” The man was glancing around to catch the attention of anyone within earshot. “This woman is one of the best whores this side of New York, the joy a man can find between her legs is pretty damn close to heaven .” Isabella felt her anger rise, that red surge beginning to flow through her veins.

“Shut the fuck up, I ain’t that girl anymore.” She hissed between gritted teeth. Arthur stepped behind her, placing a hand on her lower back as a sign of support. “Ain’t that a surprise, didn’t know a cowboy could afford you. Careful friend, that woman has been with more men than a number you could count to.” At his words, Micah let out an evil laugh, dirty and judgmental, making Isabella frown more, lines on her face deepening by the second.

“So I was right, you are the camp whore. Hey, Arthur, you wanna share? Pretty sure I could have a lot of fun.” He sneered, his eyes studying her in a way that made her stomach twist around itself, his words however, resulted in Arthur storming over to the greasy blonde. His fists clenched, the look on his face was the one that people whispered about in moments of fear around the states where he was wanted dead or alive. Hell, it made even Micah have a flash of worry in his eyes, but he collected himself again, that perverse sneer taking over his face once more.

“Call her that again, I dare you, because you’ll have a bullet between your eyes before you can even get another damn word out.” He snarled, before he turned to the stranger who sat in the camp.

“And you, you better shut your damn mouth, cause you ain’t got any idea what you’re talking about. That ain’t her anymore, and if you even glance at my girl again, you’ll be six feet under.” The stranger actually gulped at that when Arthur had that look on his face, that icy stare in his eyes. It was something that could make a grown man fall to his knees with dread, the one that made them know they were soon to meet the damn devil.

 “Don’t worry, I ain’t forgot how good she is, I get why you wanna keep her close.” And with that, the stranger turned to Dutch, a sneer still on his face. Instead of continuing the conversation, Arthur turned to Isabella, who was still staring down the man, but he could see that glisten of tears in her eyes.

Reaching for her hand and leading her towards the edge of the camp, far enough that there were no longer prying ears around. Isabella was still staring straight ahead, that look of fear and line of moisture still in her eyes, as she tried desperately to fight the tears that were pushing against the water gates.

“Belle.” His voice was so soft it made her heart still deep inside of her, waiting for that look of judgment in his eyes. “Belle, look at me.” She was not moving, still staring forward, as though she was trying to convience herself he wasn't there, that she could disapper, so Arthur caught her chin, moving her gently so she was looking at him.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, her voice cracking as she spoke, her face crestfallen with shame, “You don’t gotta be sorry.” His voice was assertive, trying to get his point across, hoping beyond hope she’d believe him.

“Yes, I do, the things I did, Arthur, the people I let in, the man after man I lay with. I lost count, Arthur. I needed money, and my body was the only way I knew how to do so.” Her well-crafted mask was starting to slip, and the tears were starting to escape from her emeralds, drawing patterns down her cheeks.

“I didn’t tell you, I couldn’t tell you, because I dunno, I feel dirty, I feel tainted. I look at you, and you still treat me like the girl who had only ever been with you. But I ain’t her anymore, so many hands have touched me. Used me and abused me, I just...I wanted you to see me as her. I was so scared you would judge me if you knew.” She was rambling now, her body swaying, tears falling despite how much she wanted to stop them.

“Belle.” Arthur reached forward to brush one of her tears away. “That doesn’t matter to me, I get you have done things you regret, who hasn’t? You did what you needed to survive. Do I like the idea of other men touching you? Hell, fucking no. But that doesn’t mean you have changed in my eyes, I know you ain’t the woman you once were. But I ain’t the man I was either, we never will be again. You got a lotta scars that will forever be with you, wounds that may never heal. But please, I beg you, let me help you heal at least a little bit.”

Isabella finally looked up, her lower lip still trembling. “I would understand if you never wanna touch me again, knowing how many other men have.” Arms crossing around herself, embracing the habit she had when she felt vulnerable, trying to make herself smaller, trying to disappear.

“Darlin, let’s be honest, it don’t matter how many men have touched you, cause they ain’t ever gonna make you feel like I do.” Arthur gave her a lopsided smile, the one that made Isabella feel a wave of adoration run over her.

“When you love someone, you love all of them, the good and the bad. You ain’t that woman anymore, you are safe, nobody will ever touch you in that way again. Your body is your own now,” Taking her hand in his and placing it on his heart.

“This is what matters, Belle, how you make me feel, how much I love you, and how much you love me. And anyone who wants to judge you for your past. Well, fuck them. They ain’t got nothing on us, we found the person perfect for each other”

It was the truth that they had, they found their one person, the one who completed the other, two broken people. Who had gone through so much untold trauma, who had done so many things they regretted. But together they were there to restore each other, to help them be themselves again.

“Belle, go sit with Abigail, darlin', I’m gonna go find out what these pieces of shit are doing here.” Leaning over to place a soft kiss on her temple. Isabella didn’t want to, she wanted to go with Arthur, but she knew if she went with him, shit would hit the damn fan. And murder in the middle of the already tense camp would likely end up with a war breaking out, and they didn’t need that right now.

She made her way over to sit with the other woman, as Arthur exhaled deeply and returned to the campfire.

“Who the hell even are you guys?” His words were growled like a wolf’s, his voice carrying to the centre of the camp before he was even there. “They are old friends of Micah’s,” Dutch advised. His body language put Arthur on edge, he seemed so unfazed that one of these men had just disrespected Isabella, someone whom, until recently, he’d thought Dutch cared about.

“Old friends of Isabella’s as well, apparently.” Micah let out a leery chuckle, but Arthur paid no attention to him instead, he focused on Dutch, his jaw working. “We need to get prepared for what’s coming, who’s coming. These two can fight, and don’t act all pissy in reaction to a few extra bodies, it works out for all of us.” Micah added, lazily dropping down beside his friends.

“What the hell is happening to us? What the hell is happening to you, Dutch? Since when did you not care about killing people?” His eyes narrowed with anger as he focused on the man he'd seen as his father for twenty years, a man he no longer knew. “This is war, Arthur,” Dutch answered simply with a small shrug.

“It ain’t war, Dutch, time for people like us is done. There ain’t a place for us in this world anymore. The sooner you get that through your head, the better it is for the rest of us.” With that, he turned to leave, feeling fury at everything going on like he never had before. He was done, completely and utterly done, and all he felt was a soul-consuming rage.

Isabella hadn’t slept a wink, she couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Arthur had once truly loved Mary. She hated the jealousy she felt, but it was unfortunately something she didn’t have control over. It was an emotion that one could not honestly fight.  

There was something about the very thought that tugged on her heart, made her feel sick. But then she felt undeniable guilt about that thought, because she also had loved another. She had loved Thomas, but she knew that love had been different.

Once she’d gotten her memory back, she’d realised it had been a different kind of love, yes, it was beautiful love that she had shared with Thomas, of course it was, and she would forever adore him. But her heart had held two, in two very unique ways. If she believed in soulmates, she knew that was what she and Arthur undoubtedly were.

But there was that other thought at the forefront of her mind also, one that was also just as heavy. Those words that had been written in the letter that the giant wins time and time again.

The effect that the short sentence had on Arthur, well, that broke her heart. She already knew how deep his self-loathing went, how much he saw himself as a bad guy. That no matter how many rights he’d done, he still believed the wrongs would forever outweigh them.

Every time she looked at him, she still saw deep in his eyes the fact that he would never believe he was worth it, no matter what he did, no matter what she said. That the giant would win, it burnt her right down to her very soul, because no matter how many times she reminded him how good he was every damn day, he would still feel that way.

Her body and mind ached from the lack of sleep she’d had recently, the constant hits of hot flushes, the relentless pain in her joints and stomach. It made her curious about what was happening to her body, and more than anything, caused further stress to her already broken state of mind. It was like her mind was a constant whirlwind and completely out of her control, and she despised it. Her own body was something she'd always fought to have control over, and yet it denied her that chance time and time again. After all, she was her own worst enemy.

However, she continued to push that down, she couldn’t let Arthur see her suffering. He was already carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, the added weight of her inner battle added to that? She was terrified that could cause him to fully crumble.

The aforementioned man let out a soft snore as he tightened his arms around her unconsciously, almost like he could pick up her suffering under her well-crafted disguise.

Giving his hand a small squeeze, she smiled, “Time to wake up, Arthur.” She heard a grunt from the man, which caused a laugh to escape her lips. “No, I’m tired.” He mumbled, almost sounding like a grumpy child.

She turned in his arms and placed a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. “How about if I promise that if you wake up, we’ll have some fun later?” That fully woke Arthur up, and he gave her a boyishly eager smile. This woman knew him far too well, knew that his addiction to her ran deep into his soul.

“You are insatiable,” Isabella teased, slapping his chest lightly. “Can you blame me?” Arthur unashamedly ran his eyes over her body, looking at her like he would devour her if he could.

Isabella shook her head, but she still had a secret smirk fixed on her lips. Unwrapping herself from him, using quite a bit of strength with how tightly he was holding her.

“Arthur,” She gave a playful warning, to which he responded by loosening his grip to at least a small degree. Meaning she had to climb out and over him to escape from his tangled limbs, causing her to roll her eyes in faux irritation.

They slowly dressed, swapping heated glances between the two of them, damn, she wished they’d woken up a little earlier so they could enjoy each other. But oh well, they had tonight.

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Isabella sat by the oak tree at the side of the camp. Arthur had left a couple of hours ago. Something about a hunting trip with Charles, supplies were running low, almost as low as morale around this place.

 It wasn’t exactly easy to stock up, every single town around here, they had to cast their eyes down to avoid catching anyone’s gaze. After all, it would be far too much of a risk to have anybody recognise them for even a second, every single day, the date of their death sentence was creeping closer.

Her attention was distracted, however, by the sound of quiet sobbing, glancing around herself to locate where the sound was coming from. Then she spotted it, and it made her heart break deep within her chest. John’s small son Jack was sitting in the grass, clutching a daisy chain that had fallen apart, tears streaming down his face.

Isabella stood up and brushed down her jeans, slowly creeping over, trying not to make too much noise and scare the young boy. Dropping down before him, she tilted her head as she gave him a look with soft eyes and a gentle smile.

“You okay, little one?” She asked her voice was steady, but it had a tone of compassion to it. Jack shook his head, still clutching the broken daisy chain.

 “I made some of these for momma and pa, but when I came back, they were..were broken.” The tears were still flowing, in that way only a child cried, without worry of judgment from anyone else. Sometimes there was jealousy within adults about how children held so little worry about what others think, the minute you reached adulthood, that freedom was ripped away.

“Well, sweetheart, how about we make some more? We have lots of daisies here, and we’ve got some time, that sound good?” Isabella offered with a sympathetic smile on her face. To which Jack nodded, “How about you do one for your ma and I’ll do one for little Johnny, we’ll make them real pretty?” Jack responded by eagerly starting to reach for the plants around them.

They sat in peace for a few minutes, the only sound was of them moving around to collect the daisies and starting to tie them together. “I don’t like it here,” Jack announced suddenly, which caused Isabella to look up.

 “This camp?” Of course, it was the camp. Isabella mentally hit herself at the stupidity of her own question, the location and the air that surrounded them was hard enough for an adult to survive in, she couldn’t imagine how challenging it must be for a child.

“Yeah, it’s scary, I hear bad noises at night.” Those tears formed in Jack’s eyes again. Isabella moved slightly closer. “Well, Jack, I know this place ain’t nice, but I promise from the bottom of my heart, you’re safe. Ain’t nobody gonna mess with you whilst we're around,” Reaching over to give his hair a small ruffle.

“Your pa, ma, Arthur and me ain’t gonna let anything happen to you.” She assured him, giving that tender smile once more. “Can you help us leave?” The small boy asked with hopeful eyes.

“When the time comes, we're gonna make sure you're okay.” Placing down the finished daisy chain. “You and Uncle Arthur?” Isabella gave a nod in response, “Yeah, me and your Uncle Arthur.” The raven-haired outlaw confirmed his words.

Jack looked up at her wide-eyed for a moment before he moved to curl up in her side, stopping her body from stiffening at the sudden touch, before she relaxed, rubbing his small back with her hand.

“Does that make you Auntie Isi then?” Isabella’s smile grew slightly, disregarding the tears that lined her emeralds, gulping down the lump that was forming in her throat, not able to put into words the effect those simple words had on her. “Guess it does, little one, guess it does.”

What she hadn’t noticed was Arthur at the other side of the camp, a bloody deer lugged over his shoulder. Azure eyes focused on the woman with the small child cuddled up to her side.

His heart was both soaring high and dropping to the depths of hell at the sight of her with a child. She was so damn natural with them, it was like the hardened shell she wore like a second skin seemed to drop. She held such a deep maternal instinct.

Which also meant the knowledge he had about her struggles with having a family hurt even more. Maybe it would one day happen, but knowing that it was unlikely. It must fucking kill her, and in a selfish way, it killed him as well.

He’d never consider having another child, not until she came back, but then he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt thinking about that. Knowing that the next time might be the one that broke her completely, the loss of another child could be the thing that killed her, so he would never bring it up, no, he would never even let the idea of children slip past his lips.

 “You okay there, Arthur?” He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard Charles behind him. “Shit, Charles, you ain’t half light-footed, but yeah I’m good,” He gave him a nod before stepping to the side so they could make their way to the Pearsons wagon.

“You can skin it yourself, Pearson, get your ass to work for once.” Arthur muttered at the camp cook, “My ass is put to work every single day cooking for you.” The man replied as he searched through his knife bag for his best skinning knife.

“If you can call that cooking, Pearson.” Arthur’s face lit up when he heard that sweet voice, the one that made his heart raise when it graced his ears, suddenly feeling the desire to stand up straighter as Isabella brushed up against his side.

“I used to get enough attitude from Arthur, then the female version of him turned up. God help us all.” Pearson’s voice was loud, holding an overdramatic tone which made Isabella and Arthur laugh when they caught each other’s eyes. It was similar to conversations they had with Hosea when they were younger. When they used to be referred to as double trouble, the minute the two of them got together, it was going to be a wild ride.

“Isabella and Arthur!” Sadie’s low southern drawl carried across the camp.

“Yes?” Isabella folded her arms across her chest, body leaning towards Arthur’s, unconsciously doing so, as she often did nowadays, she felt herself being pulled closer to him physically whenever he was near. “Need some people to ride with me,” Sadie commented, straightening her gun belt.

“What for?” Arthur asked, “Finish off the O’Driscolls, apparently the last of them are holed up in Hanging Dogs Ranch.” The woman explained, and in response, Isabella nodded straight away.

“You really think that’s a good idea? We saw Colm swing, the rest of them will turn tail and run before too long.” Arthur sighed, not even needing to look at Isabella to see the way she was staring at him with hellfire darkening in her emeralds.

“I reckon that me and Mrs Adler are on the same wavelength here, we don’t wanna see them get to run away. We wanna see them goddamn suffer, if you don’t wanna come?  Then suit yourself, but I’m going with Sadie.” Already turning on her heel to make her way towards their horses.

 “Arthur, I know you don’t believe revenge is right, but you two are the only fools I actually trust around this shithole. You know what those guys did to me, to my husband, to Isabella. So, I want you there, and although she might not admit it, so does Isabella. So please, for us both, come with us, having you there will help.” Sadie’s words didn’t hold her usual sarcastic, hardened tone.

Instead, she actually sounded troubled, somewhat fearful, she needed this to be over as much as Isabella did, and Arthur knew that. That didn't mean he liked it, he'd never be fully okay with putting the two of them at this much of a risk, but there was no point in arguing with them about this.

And there was also no fucking way he was going to abandon Isabella in her time of need. Every battle from now on, they would walk into together, no matter what they faced. “What is it with me and damn stubborn woman, am I like a magnet or something?” His words were huffed, but he walked along with Sadie nonetheless.

He spotted Isabella, who was already sitting atop Florence. The woman gave him a silent nod of thanks, she was more than aware he wasn’t a fan of this plan. But she was grateful he was going to be there for her. “Just so you know, you both owe me a drink, hell, a whole damn bottle of whisky.” He called out after the woman who had already started their horse's cantering off.

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They’d ridden into the early hours, crashed out on their bedrolls for a few hours and now, with coffee downed and anger in their veins, they lay on their stomachs, upon the damp, cold ground.

Binoculus held up as they watched the group, who were all staggering around, “Looks like a lot of them are down there.” Arthur mused as he pushed himself back up onto his knees.

“And all drunk, like they're in mourning or some shit, sucks that will be cut short,” Isabella growled through gritted teeth. Arthur’s aquamarines looked over to her, noticing the slight tremble of rage in her hands. She’d been on edge since Sadie had first spoken to them yesterday.

He wasn’t sure if she’d actually slept at all, the bags under her eyes were growing, and she seemed to be motivated only by that blind fury. It caused his heart to twist with worry, he understood the craving for revenge, of course, he did, but this obsession was almost unhealthy.

He’d considered saying something last night, but he knew that if he had, she’d probably have stomped off and stormed into the camp guns blazing. It hadn’t been worth the risk, so he just let her be, making sure to keep an extra eye on her. That’s what he’d do, every moment they were on this murder spree, he’d be there to keep her safe.

“So, what’s the plan?” The man asked as he stood, reaching down without hesitation to help Isabella, who took his hand and pulled herself up with a grunt, her body heavy with lack of sleep. But despite that, her concentration was fixed, almost like the anger had taken over her brain's need to shut down for a few hours.

 “We go in, see how it goes, and watch the world burn.” Sadie’s body, much like Isabella’s, was taut with anger. “So we ain’t got a plan then? Got it.” Arthur couldn’t help but sound a little apprehensive.

 “You can leave if you want.” He heard Isabella snap, so instead he reached over to squeeze her arm. “No, I ain’t leaving you.” His voice was firm, once more stubbornly pointing out he wasn’t going to leave her to suffer this alone.

They crept along the ground, the drunk Irish accents carrying throughout the air. In a strange way, it reminded him of hearing Sean shouting around the camp. And that caused him to sting with grief, he couldn’t lie about how much he missed the Irish bastard.

Dropping down behind a rock, he glanced around, might as well sort out some semblance of order here, otherwise, this thing was going to be a mess, and they would end up the dead ones. “Sadie, you take the right, Belle, you approach from behind that building here, and I’ll hit them from the left.”

The women nodded to the words, not taking a beat before they were both left to make their way towards their assigned positions. Arthur had only just got himself situated when he heard gunshots start to ring out. Revenge really was a desire that ran deep within both their veins.

In no time, he had joined the women, letting the bodies of the O’Driscolls drop before them as they moved up. “Sadie!” Isabella shouted over to the other woman, aiming to shoot the gentleman who had set himself up with a long-range rifle.

 Thankfully, he’d not even gotten a chance to so much graze Sadie with a bullet before he dropped from the barn. Arthur was reminded for the thousandth time that she really was a formidable force.

 “Take the barn, Arthur,” Sadie was roaring over the gunfire, already leading Isabella towards the farmhouse. He wanted to follow them, make sure they were okay, but he knew if he didn’t at least clear the barn, they’d never have a chance of getting out of here alive.

Isabella stood with her back to Sadie’s actions behind her, keeping her in the corner of her eye to make sure she didn’t need to step in. Eyes trained on the door just in case another O’Driscoll decided to disturb them, then she heard the door crash open, and she cocked her gun.

But let out a sigh of relief when she recognised the looming figure of Arthur at the door instead of a madman with a gun. Emeralds met aquamarines, and she tilted her head to motion for him to come upstairs, hearing the falling of the O’Driscoll’s body behind her from Sadie’s process of ending the man's existence.

 She turned and watched the scene unfold, remaining totally silent, she wasn’t sure if she should step in. Stop Sadie from unleashing that inner monster, one she felt on a spiritual level. But at the end of the day, Sadie wasn’t her, if this was what she needed, if this was what would heal her, then she had no right to stop her, no right to so much as mutter a comment.

 Jumping slightly as she felt Arthur’s hand on her shoulder for a moment. Reaching to give it a squeeze, before it left her again, and he was moving to grab a chair for Sadie to collapse her spent body into.

“Arthur, I don’t think this is my conversation to have,” Isabella whispered, stepping back to allow the two of them to talk. She more than was aware that her opinion on this situation was clouded by her own anger against the O’Driscolls and by her own loss.

Walking down the stairs, she dropped herself on the final one and lit a cigarette, only hearing the ends of the conversation, but she didn’t pay attention, it wasn’t her time to get involved.

She was more thankful than ever that Sadie had someone like Arthur to speak to, despite his own faults, he would always be there for the people he cared about. It was one of the things she’d always loved most about the outlaw.

Hearing the creak of the stairs behind her, Isabella stood up and gave Sadie a nod. “You gonna be okay?” She asked before she could help it, needing to gauge how the woman was doing, to make sure she didn’t fall into the bowels of hell, the ones Isabella knew well.  “Yeah, I just need to be alone for a bit,” Sadie muttered as she left the house.

Isabella followed her, reaching to place a hand on her arm. “Just don’t disappear into yourself for too long, I know what that does to someone. When you're ready, come back, me and Arthur will be there for you.” Giving her arm a squeeze before she backed up, feeling Arthur right behind her.

“Are you okay?” His low timber made her turn, his words held a similar sentiment to what hers had been moments ago with Sadie. She glanced up at him through her long lashes, “I am,” Standing on her tiptoes to place a chaste kiss on his lips. “What was that for?” He asked, his hand moving to settle on her lower back.

Arthur wasn’t sure when he’d lost sight of Isabella, it must have been somewhere a while ago, though the trees, he’d spent his whole life running. But he’d always done so with others, whereas Isabella for almost the last decade, had been running alone.

 You can lose people a lot quicker if you are used to that. He’d need to ask Charles later for his help to learn to track better because it meant that, despite how far Isabella had got ahead, he would have been able to follow the tracks of her horse a lot quicker. After what felt like a lifetime and plenty of wrong turns, he’s finally reaching the clearing that she’d settled in.

Well, somewhat settled, she’d not made a fire, she’d not set up camp. She was just sitting there in her ruined dress, still soaked in blood, some of which had long dried onto her pale skin.

Knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, just staring out at the river. That look of shame was gone, now there was just no emotion on her face, no sparkle in her eyes, and pouted lips fixed shut.

 It reminded him of that time in Shady Belle after her miscarriage, when her body had looked completely devoid of anything resembling life. She looked lost, broken, and so very small, a shell of her usually powerful self.

 Arthur climbed down from Valour, walking as slowly and silently as he could towards her, like he’d approach a spooked horse, before he dropped down beside her. He’d thrown away that damn woollen jacket whilst he’d been riding, so he was sitting in too-short trousers and a plain white shirt.

 Isabella didn’t even turn when he arrived, but at least she didn’t stiffen, that had to count for something, at least. Arthur sat for a moment, just trying to think what to say, how to approach this. He was worried that something would fall apart and she’d disappear further into herself. She would become completely lost in a pool of anguish that her mind was teetering on, and she would be gone forever.

The tense silence was broken after what felt like hours by Isabella. “They were the ones who killed Thomas.” Her words were flat, quiet, barely there, but still Arthur’s ears pricked up.

“What?” The woman didn’t turn; her emeralds still fixed on the lake before her. “They remembered me, pointed out I was one of Dutch’s girls, and that they remembered him. They remembered killing him, they had stood by the side of the farm and laughed at my screams.” Her fists were balling up as she explained, whole body tensing with a wave of pure unbridled wrath.

 “So, you killed them?” Arthur asked. “No, I didn’t kill them,” Worrying her lower lip so hard she tasted blood. “I destroyed them, Arthur. They didn’t even look human when I was done. I stood above their eviscerated bodies and waited for that relief, the freedom, but it never came, I just felt, just evil.” Her voice cracking.

“How can I sit here and judge Dutch for how he’s acting when deep down I am the true monster?” Wrapping herself tighter into herself, as though she was trying to disappear, trying to erase herself from this mortal plane.

 “Do you feel guilty about it? About killing them? About killing the people that you did whilst you were chasing Colm?” He looked out the corner of his eyes towards her, noticing how she grimaced at his words.

“Yes, at first, I thought I wouldn’t, I was so fuelled by anger, by hatred, at one point convinced myself I enjoyed it. But then the nightmares came, their faces haunted me, their last moments scarred my mind forever. I don’t feel relief at the fall of the men I just killed, that I finally got revenge for Thomas. All I feel is shame that I’d done that, that I’d gone back to who I once was.” Finally, she looked up, emeralds meeting aquamarines, the man could see the tears that danced against her waterline.

“That’s what makes you different, Belle. When I look at Dutch, there’s no guilt in his eyes. There’s no look of haunting from the people he kills, he is so wrapped up in his dream that he no longer cares about the people he must end to get it. You ain’t a monster, Belle, you never have been, because you still feel guilt, you still feel shame. You still have humanity about you, that’s the real difference there.” Reaching to cup her cheek, inhaling deeply before he continued.

 “You’re not what you’ve done, you’re a good person. In your heart, in your very soul, you’re a good person” Isabella felt her lower lip tremble, but she didn’t cry, she didn’t speak. In the place of words, she pushed her face against his chest, finding that warmth and heavenly embrace she found only in the other outlaw. In response, Arthur wrapped his arms around her, one around her waist, the other cradling the back of her head.

Slowly, after a few minutes, Isabella finally parted herself from Arthur and stood, in response, Arthur looked up a little quizzically. That look got even more powerful when he watched her next actions.

Reaching down to pull off her boots, before she undid the damaged corset and blazer, letting them fall from her arms, finally shedding the ripped skirt. As she stood there completely naked, Arthur’s breath hitched, his mind taking a moment to wake up before he could even speak.

“What are you doing, Belle?” But Isabella didn’t say anything, instead padding forward barefoot, seemingly not caring that they were basically fully out in the open, that anyone could see her naked form.

Isabella reached the river and kept walking until the water reached just under her chin. Hiding her modesty, “Belle?” She still wasn’t speaking, and it was concerning him.

But then she ducked under the water, and Arthur felt his heart sink, already moving to stand up and rush over. She was going to come back up, wasn’t she? She wasn’t going to stay under, right?  He thanked all the gods when she remerged a moment later.

Wiping the dried blood from her face and began to run her fingers through her blood-matted hair. His eyes stayed on her, there was something about her being in water that caused his panic to hit. It took him back to that night, but he didn’t dwell on it long.

Not when she finished washing the blood off and was making her way back out of the water. Drops of water falling from her hair, down between her breasts, downwards over her stomach, and finally stopping at that tempting heaven between her legs.

Once she’d returned to him, she reached into her saddle bag, pulling out a woollen blanket to wrap around her form, before she turned towards Arthur once more. “I’d like you to set up the tent, Arthur. I need you to remind me I’m not a monster, but not with your words anymore.”

Arthur climbed to his feet, his breath catching in his throat. “Belle.” Her name left his lips carefully, whilst he gave a tilt of his head, worry deepening the lines on his face. “Colm is the reason that I lost one of the men I loved, but he is also the reason I refound the other man I love. I want to relish in that love, I want to be consumed by that love, I want you to make love to me like only you can.” Her now softer eyes are focusing on him.

 Arthur just nodded as Isabella stood there, wet hair starting to cause a chill across her body. He set up the tent with the quiet ease of a man who had done it a thousand times.

After what felt like an eternity, the cover was finally created, and Isabella didn’t hesitate. With bare feet, she made her way over to it, entering the tent and immediately feeling the warmth of no longer being outside.

 Dropping down onto the bedroll, she looked up to her lover, a coy smile on her lips as she dropped the blanket from her shoulders without a single care about modesty. There was something comforting about how he gazed upon her body that she’d viewed as ugly for so long, as if it were a painting of beauty.  He worshipped her, even with how her skin was marked, he still looked at her like he did before those horror stories had decorated her form.

He may not know the stories behind all those wounds, and she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to tell him those. Yet something had healed inside her when she’d realised it didn’t matter to him, those stories didn’t matter, only she did.

 His eyes this time, though, did fall to her bandaged ribs, he worried that his weight on top of her would cause her pain. The injury was so fresh, and he’d seen it happen. It terrified him, the possibility of worsening it.

Isabella followed his gaze towards it and gave a shrug, but instead of letting him worry the whole time about how he could cause her further pain, she turned onto her side.

Patting the side of the bedroll behind her, Arthur gave a nod, following her lead. He undressed quickly, so very thankful to be out of that damn cop outfit. Once he was as bare as her, he lowered himself onto the empty side of the bedroll.

One hand resting on her hip, as the other gently tilted back her head, letting their lips lock together. Hips moving softly against her, eliciting sweet moans of praise that were swallowed by their kiss. Feeling himself hardened against her, that slick wetness of her a beautiful temptation just for him, it brought that need he held for her to the forefront of his mind.

Gently, he lifted her leg slightly, lining himself up, achingly slowly pushing himself into her sex. A groan he couldn’t stifle slipped from his lips as he felt her pulling him in, that enveloping heat that set his entire body on fire.

They lay there for a moment, chests heaving, one of Arthur’s hands on her supple hip, slowly beginning to move against her. Feeling that slight resistance of her tightness as she relaxed around his size, those velvety walls holding him greedily within as he bottomed out.

His hips were moving languidly, each thrust hitting deep inside of her, the head of his manhood finding that sweet spot deep inside, that caused her to curse and whimper his name like a prayer.

Moving her wet hair slightly to gain access to her porcelain neck, his lips tenderly finding it, placing fond kisses along her soft skin. Every so often, leaving a slight nip with his sharp teeth, each one resulting in a lustful moan, escaping those pouted lips, as her hand reached around.

Lacing in his sandy locks, and tugging slightly, so she could claim his mouth once more. Kiss harsh, a mix of shared hunger and lust, but underneath it, a kiss of love. He sped up his hips but only slightly, in no way being rough with her.

Not only because she was hurt, but he also knew right now was not the time for roughness. This was making love, slow, passionate, each movement measured and controlled.

As that coil began to form in Isabella’s stomach, she was letting out a wanton moan against his lips. Something akin to pride ran through Arthur’s body, he knew he was the only one who got to see this warrior of a woman like this.

Who was always so put together, he got to see her fall apart, let down those walls, and lay herself completely bare, not only physically but also emotionally. As she reached that height that caused the earth to spin on its axis, her vision broke for a moment as that pleasure spread through every fibre of her being.

Arthur’s own end didn’t take long after that, the way she tightened so harshly around him, almost vice-like. It caused a loud and low moan to rumble from deep within the man, attempting to quiet it in her ebony hair, but not succeeding.

Lying in post-intimacy delight for a moment or two before Isabella exhaled. “Thank you.” She whispered breathlessly. Arthur raised a brow, unable to help his confusion. “What for?” He asked.

 “For reminding me how it should be, for loving me despite everything I’ve done, everything I am.” Her voice was quiet, but she was no longer whispering, showing that the vulnerability she held deep inside wasn’t an easy thing for her. In response, Arthur slowly moved out of her, gently pulling on her shoulder to move her to look at him.

“Belle, I have loved you since I first met you. I still love you now, and I will always love you. It don’t matter what has happened, what you’ve done or how long you were away. Those feelings haven’t changed. You deserve this, you deserve to be loved and cared for. And I will spend the rest of my goddamn life proving that to you.”

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The journey back to camp was quiet, but they exchanged glances full of love with one another. Isabella was still fragile, she still wasn’t completely back to normal. That monster breaking out from inside her had terrified her to her core. But once more, Arthur had saved her, helped her accept that no matter the bad inside her, there was good there too, good that he loved.

Maybe they weren’t officially together, but they were the only ones for each other, and they were learning that more and more by the second. Dismounting, Isabella glanced up at Arthur with that soft smile that made his heart stop, the smile that lit up her eyes like precious jewels, was what covered her whole face.

A sign of actual happiness that she didn’t show often, it felt like a secret thing only for him. He was about to reach out and tuck a loose piece of her jet-black locks behind her ear. But the stolen peace was broken by Tilly walking over. “A letter came for you.” She’s holding it out. “Uhm, okay?” Who would be writing to him? “I know it’s from that Mary.” The mentioning of the woman’s name made Isabella’s smile fall, her face tightening, eyes lost that sparkle slightly, arms crossing over herself, those walls slowly rebuilding again.

 “Done with her, are you?” Repeating his words from the other day, without stopping, she shoved past him, the strength of her shoulder against his making him stumble a bit. “She ain’t worth it, Arthur. Concentrate on the good before you.” Tilly breathed, tilting her head toward Isabella, who had stormed into the tree line.

The letter felt like a brick in his hand, there was so much contained inside it. His past, the time he’d thought he’d loved someone other than Isabella. The woman who had given him dreams of grander, that he could be someone else, who offered him affection and love when she wanted something.

Just to rip it away when he was no longer useful, he felt a lot of anger at the woman, but at the same time. There was still a tiny part of his heart that remembered who he’d been when he’d met her. He’d been a broken man, and she’d put him back together, but in her own way, moulded him to be someone who could be of use. Making his way to the fire, he sat on one of the stumps and opened the envelope.

“My dear Arthur

You never showed up, and now, after looking at the newspapers I understand why. I don't imagine you will receive this letter but I nonetheless must send it. Arthur, oh, Arthur. I was just starting to dream the silliest and softest of dreams. I miss you, and I will always miss you but I cannot live like that, and it seems you cannot live any other way.

When I'm with you, the world makes sense; but when we are apart, I see clearly that your world is not a world from which one can escape. I'm so sorry, for everything, for everything long ago and for starting up that business again. There's a good man within you, Arthur, but he is wrestling with a giant. And the giant... wins, time and time again. You've broken my heart, again, and I fear I have broken yours.

For that, I will never forgive myself, but you must let me go now. I enclose a ring you gave me many years ago, when we were both young, not because I don't like it, but because I care for it far too much and it reminds me too much of you. I hope, one day... you will find some people in love who can use this, for it kept me thinking of you all these years, and I hope by returning it to you I can finally be free.

Goodbye

Mary”

His heart hammered in his chest as he read over the words again and again, one line that became a fixture in his head. There's a good man within you, Arthur, but he is wrestling with a giant. And the giant... wins, time and again. Even now, in a goodbye letter, she couldn’t help leaving a final jab, but the question played on his mind, did the giant really always win?

He was trying so fucking hard not to let it do so, but he knew sometimes it did, he was fighting to be a better man. With everything inside of him, but was he ever going to be able to actually win that war? Would he ever be able to be a good man? He wasn’t so sure.

Feeling a small weight in the envelope, he dropped the ring the woman had returned into his hand. The minute it was in his hand, it felt like it was biting through his skin. As if it were a poisonous snake that he was risking his life by holding, he stared at it for a minute. Before letting it fall from his hand into the fire, watching it be captured in the flickering flames.

He walked towards where Isabella had disappeared, feeling more weighted than he had in a long time. He reached the tree that she was sitting against, a cigarette in her hand and eyes closed. Without a word, he dropped heavily down beside her. She opened one of her eyes. “Go away, Arthur.” But instead of doing so, he held the letter out to her.

“Does he really win?” His voice was so small it made Isabella’s heart ache, he sounded truly lost, terrified of the words he was saying. Reaching over, she took the letter and scanned over it. She hated that this woman was declaring her everlasting love to him, was it petty and jealous to do so? Probably, but after all, one couldn’t always help their emotions. 

But then the words she read made his own make sense, and she looked at him, that line cutting her deep. “No.” Holding her cigarette against the tip of the paper, letting the fire spread across it, until she dropped the flaming embers to avoid burning herself.

“This fight, it ain’t about winning or losing, it’s about what is deep in your heart. And just like you said to me earlier, you have done a lot of bad in your life, but you feel guilt. There is a good person inside of you, who is fighting to get out, and every day I see him coming out more and more. Neither of us are perfect, but we are trying, and that’s what matters."

As she finished speaking, she leaned her head against his shoulder, eyes fixed on the view of the landscape before them. It was true, neither of them was without sin, they had done some horrendous things in their lives. And yes, they were both likely on a one-way trip to hell, but she knew the two of them would spend the rest of their lives fighting that giant, and one day they would no longer let it control them.

They sat for an hour or two, watching the hustle and bustle around the camp, although far more muted than it once was, no laughter, so much pariona in the air, yet they stayed still, just passing the time. Drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes and swallowing a bowl of Pearson stew with a grimace.

Despite Isabella’s tiredness and pain being at the forefront of her mind, she couldn’t relax for a moment. Emeralds constantly flickering to the entrance of the camp, expecting Pinkertons or the damn army to show up at any time.

They’d pushed it even further. What was Dutch thinking? Every lawman in the state was already hunting them, and he was out there pissing off more people, making them even more enemies.

The calm they had found themselves in was broken, however, when Bill walked over. “You hear about Colm?” That piqued Isabella's attention, her heart speeding up as she felt those flames that desired vengeance fuel inside her at that very name.

 The man she’d chased for years, with the only hope being to put the bullet in his head, but he’d constantly slipped through her fingers. Leading her on a permanent game of cat and mouse whilst she caused untold pain to his gang member.

Arthur jaw fixed as aquamarines scanned his brother, already feeling the burn of Isabella’s anger beside him, “What about him?” His fist was curling around his coffee cup so tightly that he was concerned he’d actually bend the tin.

 “He’s getting hung today, Sadie meant to say, about you two meeting her and Dutch in the Doyle’s tavern in Saint Denis.” Isabella shot right up, so quickly that her tin of coffee dropped from her hands.

Not even giving Bill another moment before she’s rushing to her horse, Arthur stood and followed her, his long-legged strides meaning he caught up with her quickly. Taking her arm gently, “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to go, Belle?” His voice was quiet; they both knew exactly what her opinion on the O’Driscolls was, what the very thought of them did to her.  

“That man killed my husband, they tortured you, so yes, I’m goddamn sure. Try to stop me, and it ain’t gonna end well for you.” Her emerald eyes were reflecting almost alight with wrath, such soul-consuming hatred it almost overtook her entire being.

Arthur wanted so badly to ask her to stay, to allow him to go alone, seeing that man again was likely going to trigger something deep inside her. And he was terrified she wouldn’t ever come back from where that anger would send her, back from the dark abyss she had fought so hard to claw out of, but he also knew it was fruitless to try to stop her. He could pick her up, tie her to a damn tree, and she’d chew through the ropes to get to this event.

He knew deep down that she needed this, needed to see this man who had ruined her life finally face his retribution, so she could be brought back to life, but was the risk truly worth it? Honestly, he doubted it, but there was no possibility of stopping the train now that it had rolled out of the station.

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This might have been the only time Isabella wasn’t going to complain about wearing a dress, not vocally anyway. It was worth it to see Thomas get absolution and Colm finally face the rope he’d been avoiding for so many years.

She couldn’t help the anxiety deep inside that he would escape the rope again, and for them to end up replacing him on the gallows. It was more than risky being in the city, but this was worth it, that’s what she convinced herself of, anyway.

Even funnier than her being pulled tightly into a corset and having a dress that she had to pick up off the floor to walk in, however. Well, that was watching Arthur in a cop uniform, it barely fit him. The lawman in the city didn’t tend to have his imposing and uncommonly large stature.

It was tight across his broad shoulders, and the pants were a couple of inches too short. He looked like a man who’d forgotten his uniform and grabbed the last out of the laundry mat so he could still turn up to work.

Arthur was more than aware of how strange he looked, considering how he’d told her 'don’t' the minute he'd left the changing rooms to face her. He’d worn some interesting outfits over the years on encouragement from Hosea, and he felt a silent tug in his heart knowing the mixture of pride and amusement the older man would have on his face at Arthur’s commitment to this character.

 “May I say, Mrs Alder, you do suit being a fancy woman of Saint Denis, I’d tell Belle the same, but she’s probably got a knife stored somewhere I won’t see till it’s against my neck.” He let out a gruff laugh, which was responded to by Isabella winking at him, because they both knew that was true.

 “I’d dress like Queen of damn Sheba, if it meant I get to see that man hang,” Sadie responded in a cold tone. “Colm strung me up, tortured me, nearly butchered me, that doesn’t mean I’m happy in this woollen coat.” He grumbled, but Sadie was whipping her head back, staring daggers at him.

“You made it outta there alive, my husband wasn’t so lucky.” She snapped back, the rage obvious in her tone. “Neither was Thomas, so you'd better get damn comfortable in that woollen coat, Arthur.” Isabella shared the fire in her voice that Sadie had.

“Who’s this Thomas?” Dutch asked from the front of the group. Isabella thought about lying, but there was honestly no point, not anymore. “He was my husband, and the O’Driscolls killed him. Why do you think so many of them disappeared during my time away?” Her voice was unwavering, even if one of her secrets had just come out unintentionally, she wasn't going to deny it any longer. She hadn’t told any but Arthur and Hosea about Thomas, but right now she didn’t care.

Arthur reached his hand back to catch her fingers in his, a quiet and secret reassurance that this was going to end today. Dutch seemed deep in thought at the news before he spoke once more.

“Well, despite the hatred the two of you have, and yes, I share that with what he did to my dear Annabell. We need to keep cool heads and calm dispositions for this to be done.” He advised as they walked. Arthur couldn’t help himself from speaking up, “Practise what you preach, brother.” The outlaw responded through gritted teeth, his frustration at how Dutch had been acting showing at full force.

“And what do you mean by that, Arthur?” Dutch questioned the younger man, and Isabella could see the slight tensing in his shoulder, that inner war of his loss of loyalty from the man was once more overcoming him. His grip over Arthur was loosening every day, and he despised it, that  much was obvious.

“You don’t seem to be the best at keeping your cool nowadays, that’s all Dutch.” Arthur shrugged, voice casual despite the fact that his heart was hammering at the action of fighting back against the one person he once would never have talked back to. “You question me oh so often now, Arthur. It makes me worry about the belief in loyalty I’ve tried so hard to instil in you.” Dutch threw back at him, but before it could descend into an argument, Sadie spoke again.

“Stop it, both of you, this is an important task, and you two scabbling will not help anything.” Her words were sharp, leaving no room for argument.

They approached the entrance of the park, standing at the gate to take a look at the group of spectators. After a moment or two, Dutch tilted his head, “You see those two, they are Colm’s boys.”  It was obvious by the way they looked so confident, so pleased with the situation, in comparison to the sombre viewers of today’s planned event. Following their eyeline, Arthur frowned, spotting them pointing to the roof,

“The hell are they looking at?” Squinting as he studied the scene before him. “Dunno, let's go find out,” Dutch said, keeping his head down as a men passed by them. “You two stay here, and don’t cause trouble.” Words came out in almost order as he looked towards the two women.

Before either of them could comment, he and Arthur were disappearing across the street, following the men. After they’d left, Sadie turned to Isabella. “I didn’t know you were married.” She said eyes on Isabella, her words weren’t critical, but just confused.

 “Yeah, it ain’t like I share that information, it was after I first left. He was a good man, my dear Thomas, and that bastard was the reason he died. His hatred for the Dutch van der Linde gang followed me despite my new life, I guess.” The raven-haired outlaw focused on the ground, the emotion of the memory still almost suffocating even after all this time.

Even though she’d left the gang and even after those three years she’d lived a new life, the O’Driscolls apparently couldn’t get over the resentment they had for the Van der Linde gang.

She had a feeling they had been watching her new life, whilst she was just living in peace, and they thought taking Thomas from her would be a revenge for the gang. Even with her not having anything to do with the gang at the time, hatred was a cruel bitch, and revenge was an even crueller one.

“Guess we got more in common than we thought.” Sadie reached over to place a comforting hand on Isabella’s shoulder. Whose green eyes shot up to her, a glance shared between them of matching understanding, it was rare that Sadie showed affection. Isabella knew this wasn’t an easy thing for her, and she was eternally grateful for the support from a kindred spirit.

Their shared moment was broken by the return of Dutch, who cleared his throat. Isabella turned, seeing he was now alone, “Where’s Arthur?” She questioned right away, panic settling heavy on her heart. Her mind went to all sorts of horrible and dark things, seeing the man had not returned, it took her back to the night he’d turned up at the camp half dead.

 “He found out a better place to watch from higher ground,” Dutch answered simply, and although Isabella wanted to question further, she knew now was not the time.

 Instead, they are slipping through the crowd. Isabella and Sadie went straight away to approach the men who had retaken their previous spots in the crowd, Sadie positioning her knife against one of their necks. And Isabella followed suit, her pistol against the other man’s temple, “Don’t even try it.” She muttered under her breath, voice low, but the tone was strong and powerful. The two men shared a gulp, and it seemed they’d realised they weren't getting out of this situation.

One could hear a pin drop as silence fell over the crowd, the guards dragging Colm onto the scaffolding, and Isabella could hear her heart thundering in her ears. Fighting everything inside her not to just turn her gun on the man and end it all now.

Probably not the best to attract that attention, but there was still that fear he’d escape the rope again, and she wouldn’t be able to witness what she needed to see, to live again, to finally be free.

She’d spent years chasing the man, spilt both sinful and innocent blood, and now he was right before her. She grit her teeth so hard her jaw spasmed and pressed her gun further against the bastard she was holdings temple, just to give her hands some busy work.

The priest was speaking, but his words disappeared; instead, all the woman could see was that blinding red surge of rage within herself. “Colm O’Driscoll is a man of savagery, he has murdered, robbed, tortured, raped and abused for a decade across five different states. Seemingly, he has acted without impunity. Today, however, he will face justice.” The priest called out, which was met with cheers from the crowd.

It was strange that much like the Romans watching the gladiators, there was still an innate human craving to indulge in seeing the ones they hate face their end.  If one truly thought about it, they would realise how sick it was to feel fulfilment in watching this level of violence. But Isabella agreed that seeing the ones who have caused you so much pain die, it satisfied some brutal, animalistic sense within a person.

 “Look, I’ve been a bad boy, but these charges, really?” Colm’s voice is jovial, a man who was so self-assured he would not meet his end today.

 “Silence, you are not before a court, you are here to pay for your sins.” The lawman wrapped a dirty rag around his mouth to keep him silent. Colm could still be seen laughing behind the gag, that was until he looked up, fixing eyes on someone he hadn’t expected, who stood on the opposite rooftop.

Instead of one of his men, who he had expected to be standing and aiming to stop the rope from squeezing the life out of him. It was the infamous Arthur Morgan who stood there instead, a rifle leaning on his shoulder, a wave given to the man and a cocky grin fixed on his bearded face. Isabella could see Colm’s breathing speed up with panic, as it hit him like a brick wall, he was out of time and options.

His eyes dropped to the men who were meant to be before him, who were now held by Isabella and Sadie. Two women he barely remembered, but two women he’d widowed.

“Colm O’Drisscol, you are to be hanged by the neck until you are dead,” The priest announced before he indicated to the executor to approach the trapdoor lever. “May god in his infinite wisdom have mercy upon your soul.”

And with that, there was the sound of the trapdoor opening, a long few seconds of the man falling, and then the echoing noise of a neck snapping. And right there and then, within mere moments, it was over, it was finally over. All of those years chasing after the bastard, all those men Isabella had killed to try to find him.

In just seconds, it had been finished. She had felt guilt about taking so many lives, but every single one of those bodies, every moment of their suffering, was worth it, well, it felt like for a moment, but an internal battle was still growing deep down within her, the monster inside curling its dagger-like claws around her heart.

Her thoughts were broken by Sadie’s growled voice beside her. “Now you know what it’s like to watch someone you love die.” And before any of them could say anything else, she’s dragging her knife along the man’s neck.

Blood spurted from the cut already as Sadie retrieved her pistol and started shooting, Dutch grabbed the woman and dragged her back. Whilst Isabella dropped behind a crate, closer to the action, but she knew if she tried to get to Dutch and Sadie, she’d swiftly meet her end.

 “Arthur, shoot us some space!” She heard Dutch shout, and she glanced up to the rooftop. Arthur was standing there, firing shots that took down men like they were bottles on a shelf, each shot done with perfect aim.

They were all shooting now, the screaming crowd running down the street, tripping and falling into others, but still trying to escape the violence and the deafening gunfire.

Isabella was taking out as many men as she could, trying to break through to Dutch and Sadie. It seemed like even in his death, Colm had a barrage of men ready to sacrifice themselves for him. Hearing heavy footsteps beside her, she turned slightly, only to feel a fist colliding with her face.

 The impact caused her teeth to rattle, and her vision to swarm for a minute. She felt herself being thrown over a shoulder and dragged away, kicking and screaming. Despite the pain in her head and ribs, she kept fighting as she felt herself being carried into one of the darker alleyways. God only knows the hell she was about to be dragged into.

Arthur finally reached the park that contained the gallows, taking out anyone brave enough to appear in his eyeline. “Go! Go!” He yelled towards the two. Sadie and Dutch jumped up and started to run towards their horse's wagon that had been abandoned by one of the viewers of today's events.

“Dutch, where’s Belle!?” His voice was cracking with panic, he couldn't see her anywhere. Dutch whipped his head around. “She was right there!” He called back, looking all around, until he spotted Isabella’s pistol on the floor beside the crate.

He felt a wave of sickness over him, his throat drying and his heart constricting around itself. Where had she gone? He hadn’t been paying attention to her once more, he felt his knees go weak. She’d been shot the other day because he had been distracted. And it had happened today again, he felt himself die inside, just like he had all those years ago.

But then he heard Sadie, “Isabella!” Turning to where she was looking, there she was, his whirlwind of a woman. Her fancy dress was ripped to shreds, almost to the point of it hanging indecently off her frame, but the thing that ultimately caught his attention was how much blood there was painted on her. It was caked over her dress, matted in her hair, and her face was decorated with it. Dropping a bloodied knife onto the floor beside her, the sound echoed around the now silent streets.

She staggered slightly, but he didn’t let her fall, sprinting at a speed a man his size shouldn’t be able to achieve. Catching her, hand moving to brush her hair from her face, not caring about how the blood was spreading to his hand, painting moist patterns on his callused skin. “Belle, christ are you? Where are you hurt?” But then he caught her eyes, there was something heinous within them. As if her anger had cracked through her defences, and she’d fallen back into the woman she’d once been.

“It’s not my blood,” Her voice was monotone, totally disconnected, her face blank, but her eyes burning with a fervour which closely resembled hellfire, it wasn’t the usual flames of defiance, it was something new. Something Arthur had never seen before. Pulling herself out of his arms, she remained silent as she made her way towards her horse.

Not even looking at any of them, because in the time that she’d been held with the O’Driscoll men, that monster within her that she’d worked so hard to tame had escaped. Arthur stood dumbfounded for a minute before he followed her, only just catching up when she dug her heels into the side of Florence’s flank.

She glanced back once, eyes catching Arthur’s, and he could feel the weight in her stare, no longer were her eyes angry, instead they were full of regret. A level of regret that was attached to a soul-deep sickness and revulsion throughout the woman, at herself that she’d become that monstrosity of a person once again.

She’d denied its release for so long, and yet even after believing her craving for revenge had finally been satisfied by seeing Colm swing, it would always crave to feed its gnawing lust for retribution.

It had hit her with the last slash of that knife against her captors that the monster would never truly leave her, that it would haunt her into her dying day, because it was her, the vile part of her rotten soul. She was trying so hard to be a good person, to pay for her sins, to gain her redemption. And yet in just one moment of blinding rage, she had been able to act with such violence, such callous it had almost terrified her.

Isabella’s mind flickered back to the mess she’d left those O’Driscolls in, left them to lie in a way no human should lie, caused them to meet an end that no person deserved, no matter their sins. Swallowing the bile that rose to her throat, feeling the blood of her victims crusting on her face and arms. The outlaw didn’t stop riding for a moment, eyes fixed ahead as she entered the woods, trying to escape from everything, from the world.

An attempt to escape from herself, even if she knew she never could, never could she truly be exorcized of the demon within.

The ride back to the camp felt like it took a lifetime, Arthur trying not to jostle Isabella too much. She’d held her hand against her side, the blood had mostly stopped leaking now, but she still felt droplets on her fingers every so often. The sting radiating throughout her whole core, a dull ache of the evidence of the bullet cutting her, the stitches on her other wounds being caught.

When they finally reached their poor excuse of a camp, Arthur gently patted Isabella’s shoulder, gaining her attention. “Hang on for a moment, Belle.” She nodded without looking up, holding her hand unmoving from her side. Her hand was still slick with her own blood, she hoped there had been no real damage done, but you never really know until you see the injury.

 Arthur dismounted Valour before reaching up to help her also get down, gently placing his large hands on her hips, making sure to avoid her injuries. Isabella rested her hands on his shoulders, one of them coated with blood, marking his brown leather jacket.

Yet Arthur didn’t seem to care, he never would. She could cover him in her blood, and it wouldn’t bother him, not for a single second. What was more important was keeping her safe, even if he knew he’d failed once more, so instead of saying anything, his own hands gripped tightly on her hips, helping her down from the horse.

He wrapped one arm around her shoulders as he led her through the camp, supporting her. She wasn’t unconscious or anything, but the blood loss was making her woozy, and her legs were heavy. 

Arthur shook his head as he spotted John making his way over, the worry causing the lines in his face to deepen. As he took in the sight of the blood on Arthur’s shoulder and Isabella’s hand, which was still pressed against her middle.

 Gulping before he stepped aside, he wanted to ask what was wrong, but knew that if he questioned them now? It wouldn’t end well, he’d ask later, after all, he just needed to make sure his friend was okay. But she had Arthur, and John knew he’d look after her, the older man worshipped the damn ground that woman walked on.

As they reached their tent, Arthur helped Isabella onto the bed. “Belle, can I have a look?” Isabella gave him a soft nod and a slight smile. He reached forward, undoing her buttons, slowly exposing her scarred and marked skin.

Peeling away her shirt, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him as she hissed out due to the material that had fused to her cut with blood being pulled away. The injury was an angry red line, deep but not life-altering, god alone knew how the hell it had missed any further damage.

Because it was only an inch or two away from vital organs, she’d been damn lucky, and he was thankful for that, but it had also reopened some of her injuries from gurma.

But still, even if the damage wasn’t devastating, what was devastating was that she’d still gotten hurt once more, and it had been when she was with him again. He couldn’t protect her, something he felt was his purpose in life, his one duty, to make sure the people he loved were safe. Especially Isabella, yet he’d failed once again.

He’d let himself get distracted by the whole issue with Micah, and now she was hurt. He wanted to cry, to beg her forgiveness, because right now he hated himself more than he did Micah.

 Isabella must have picked up on his emotions because she reached down with her clean hand, capturing his chin with her rough digits. “I know that look, Arthur, and this ain't your fault. I was distracted. I looked over at Micah, talking instead of concentrating on the men in front of me. That’s on me,” Her voice calm and reassuring, but she knew he didn’t believe her.

His own self-loathing ran too deep to accept the words of comfort, to accept that it wasn’t his fault, that concept appeared almost alien to him. He hadn’t been able to stop blaming himself for so many years when he thought she was dead, and now he had gotten her back? The weight of guilt he felt for anything going wrong with her, it was even heavier now, almost suffocating as it sat upon his chest like a boulder after a landslide.

 Arthur felt like he was going to vomit. She’d been shot, and yet she still wouldn’t let him blame himself. She never did, it was something he loved about her, but something that also terrified him about her at the same time, that she denied that anything was his fault when sometimes it was. His mind ran back to the torture she’d faced in Gurma because he hadn’t been there in time.

 “I shoulda protected you.” His voice was faint and distant, fighting against himself to not disappear into himself from the regret and disappointment that he felt, overwhelming his whole existence. “That would have put you in harm’s way, Arthur, I understand you don’t want to see me hurt. I don’t want to see you hurt either, but it is part of this life.” Caressing her thumb over the slight scar on his jawline, the patch where even after all these years his beard wouldn’t grow.

 “And I’m okay, stings like a bitch and feeling a little sick, but I’m alive, and that’s what matters.” Leaning forward to place a tender kiss on his forehead. She knew her words wouldn’t sink into him fully, that he’d still lie awake tonight and overthink everything. That he’d blame himself for her getting hurt, no matter how much she tried to convince him otherwise.

His self-hatred ran just as deep as hers did, especially when it came to people he loved being affected. “Can you help me clean it up, please?” Placing one final kiss on his temple before she backed up, they needed to stop the risk of infection.

Arthur nodded, completing his task silently, his brows knotted in the middle, a lump in his throat every time she hissed at his touch. He moved without thought, trying to switch off that part of his brain, and pretending this was just anybody he was patching up.

Because if he didn’t, he feared he might break apart, that last piece of thread holding him together in the mess his current state of mind was would snap. That he’d drop into a state of darkness he could never escape, that he’d finally sink into the insanity that was clawing at his brain.

Wrapping a clean cloth around her midsection and pulling it tight enough to stop any further blood from leaking and protect the injury from the infectious air, but not too tight. After he had finished, he helped her pull on a new shirt and sat down beside her.

Isabella didn’t hesitate, moving gently to not upset her newly bandaged ribs, leaning against his chest. Arthur opened his arms, wrapping her into himself, just a stolen moment of peace between the two of them in their own little world, away from the cursed nightmare they were currently living in.

“Something needs to give, Arthur.” The man nodded, leaning his chin against the crown of her head. “I know, I think we gotta start talking to people.” His words were hot against her hair.

Before Isabella could comment further, however, they heard shouts from within camp, “For Christ's sake, what now?” Arthur growled in frustration before he placed a kiss on Isabella’s ebony locks. Standing up with a grunt, he held out his hand to her. Isabella didn’t even give it a second thought, her pale one in his sun-warmed one, allowing him to help her to her feet.

Hands parted, but they stood close together as they approached whatever drama was happening in the camp this time.

Charles was entering the camp with another man, Arthur recognised as Eagle Flies from Charles' stories of the Indians he had been helping. Stepping forward, he went to offer the man a handshake and a smile,

“This is Eagle Flies, his father is someone I’ve been helping.” Charles explained, Arthur was about to speak, but instead, Dutch was stepping up, holding out his own hand, “Dutch van der Linde, how do you do?” He shook hands with the man.

 “Not well, my father has confused wisdom for weakness. Our people continue to suffer, be lied to, and now they’ve taken our horses, they are trying to end us.” His voice was harsh, his abhorrence for the situation obvious, which was completely understandable, after all, their entire life was being taken by the government for no reason apart from hatred and greed.

 “The infantry division posted at Fort Wallace took them.” Charles piped up. “Colonel Favour is an evil man, he has come after us, and now, without our horses, we cannot hunt. Our people will starve. It is a further declaration of war.” Isabella glanced at Dutch, seeing those cogs turning in his head. She couldn’t help the wave of concern at the darkening in his eyes, she was terrified he was thinking of using the men, not actually helping them.

Could he really do that? Even a month ago, she’d never believe he would, but the Dutch stood beside them now was not the Dutch she knew. He was a stranger, a man who had allowed the anger and hatred they had for the world to mould him into someone she didn’t recognise.

“I see that.” The older man nodded, face fixed with an unsettling calmness in response to the tense situation. “I have money, if your men can help me?” Eagle flies offered, holding up a fold of crumbled bills. “Your money is not needed, this is man against the system. We shall fight beside you if need be.”

Those words made Arthur frown. What the hell was Dutch planning? If he was refusing money, he always had some sort of ulterior motive, and to use the Indians for that? Shit, how low could he sink? These men were already going through hell, they didn’t need the addition of Dutch’s delusions of grandeur and dark influence.

 “I promised your father I would not fight, nor have you fight over horses,” Charles had a grimace on his face, as he was starting to pick up what was happening, the way this story was unfolding. He glanced between Arthur and Isabella, noticing they both had the same sombre expression on their faces.

 “But I didn’t promise that, come along,” Dutch commented before turning to guide Eagle Flies back out of the camp with him, not allowing anybody to utter a further sound in refusal,

 “We need to help them, Arthur, please. Eagle flies is blinded by vengeance, and this will not end well.” Charles looked towards his good friend. “You’re right.” Arthur nodded his face steadfast and fixed in confirmation.

 When Isabella stepped forward, however, Arthur turned to her. “Belle, you ain’t coming.” He could tell she was about to argue, but he held his hand up to stop her. “This ain’t me telling you cause I don’t think that you can handle yourself, we both know you can handle yourself better than most of the guys in the camp. But you are hurt, and the camp needs your help right now.” His voice was firm but soft, he needed her to listen to him for once.

Isabella crossed her arms, letting out a deep exhale as that sting returned to her ribs. She wanted to argue, but the pleading look in Arthur’s aquamarines stopped her. She knew he was right, and her being there would only put him, herself and everyone else at risk.

 Nodding, she stepped forward, standing on her tiptoes and placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “I ain’t happy about it, but I’ll stay, just promise me you’ll come back.” Her large eyes were watching him closely, to which Arthur nodded, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips.

“Always.” And with that, he’s turning on his heel, heading towards the horses and following the others. Isabella stood and watched after him for a long time, fighting with herself not to just get on Florence and follow, because she knew she couldn’t.

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Sighing, Isabella lowered herself to her knees to join the other women who were doing various activities. Abigail was sewing up one of John’s shirts, Tilly was working through the pile of clothes that needed washing, and Mary-Beth was peeling corn. Karen, however, wasn’t doing any chores, instead in her usual way, at least since Sean had died, she was cradling a bottle of whisky as if it were some sort of damn life support.

Isabella chewed her lower lip. She knew she should say something, after all, this was the first time she’d managed to get the girls alone. With most of the men away on the job of retrieving the horses. They weren’t going to be easy to talk to, but hopefully she could find some common ground with the woman of the group.

The issue was just figuring out how to start the conversation, “How are you guys feeling about things?” Her voice was soft, picking up one of the things of corn that Mary-Beth was working through.

“What do you mean?” Abigail asked, looking up from her detailed stitch. “I just, this camp, everything that’s going on with the gang.” Waving her hand around their surroundings.

Before speaking again and dropping her voice lower, keeping her words just to the group and not prying ears. “With what’s going on with Dutch.” That got the rest of the woman’s attention.

“Look, I get it. I was away for a long time, and people change. I wouldn’t expect people to stay the same. But even since I’ve come back, I dunno it feels like I returned to a slightly different Dutch to who I remember and now he’s someone else completely.” Green eyes full of apprehension as she looked towards the girls.

 Mary-Beth’s head raised, glancing around as if she was worried someone would hear, but when she realised there was enough space between them and the other group members, she spoke up. “I think it’s Micah, since he arrived, he’s like the devil on Dutch’s shoulder.”

 Isabella was a little surprised by how much her own thoughts were shared by people around, the fact that it felt like Micah was leading Dutch down the dark path straight to hell, and dragging them all down with him. “Hosea’s death didn’t help either,” Abigail added, which caused a heavy silence to fall, they all had grieved Hosea their own way.

He had been a father to some, a mentor to others, but a friend to all. His loss had caused a wound to form in the group worse than any the rest of them had ever received, whether through guns, knives or fists.

His absence felt more and more powerful each day. His death had caused a level of damage she knew the gang had ever faced before, wounds they could never heal from. He’d always been there since day one, there to lend a listening ear, a quiet, non-judgemental presence to support you no matter what happened.

It felt like a knife in Isabella’s heart, even thinking about him, knowing that the last conversation they’d truly had was her laying her soul bare. Knowing that she’d been one of the lucky ones whose memory of him forever would be positive, that she’d been able to have the remembrance of him being just that, Hosea Matthews. A world-renowned conman, but under that bravado, a pillar of kindness, understanding and love.

“Do any of you ever think about leaving?” She asked, her voice slightly more hushed. Karen scoffed at that, “Where would we go?” Her words were bitter and caused the other women to turn to her. She was so angry, wrapped up under the darkness of her own grief, her own loss. Isabella had been through a similar thing, so she understood, even if what she had turned to had been much worse than the bottle.

“None of us should lie to ourselves anymore, we shouldn’t pretend that we ain’t so far into this life now that there ain’t no way of getting out. The only way we are is at the end of a gun or a damn rope.” Karen slammed down her bottle and stood up, unsteady on her feet. Continuing to drink as she walked away towards her own tent, leaving the group of women in a hushed and strained silence of shock and discomfort.

 “Don’t let her get to you. Sean’s death changed her.” Abigail explained with that strictness but kindness that a mother developed as she watched Karen disappear into her tent, probably to indulge herself with further alcohol until she passed out in the early morning. Grief was a disease, and it didn’t matter what remedy you used, there would never be a cure.

“She’s right, though, where would we go?” Tilly mumbled her voice laced with anxiety. Causing Isabella to swallow, racking her brain for some ideas.  “We could go wherever we want, Mary-Beth, you can go and write, Tilly, you could became I dunno a fancy woman, Abigail, you have John and Jack, you have a family. Something that very few are lucky enough to have.” Trying to encourage the women without saying it outright.

“You know that Dutch says we go alone, we’d all get picked off,” Tilly said, her eyes still on Isabella. “That was true at one time, but now? Us all travelling as a group, the men causing constant noise, we are in a hell of a lot more trouble together than we are apart.”

Standing, she brushed down her jeans, “Just have a think on it, girls, maybe the time for this life is over, the time for people like us is done. We ain't safe anymore, and we can’t live like this anymore.” Her words were out like a conclusion. “What about you, Isabella? Will you leave?” Abigail questioned, which made the woman stop in her tracks. “Once you are all safe, then me and Arthur will be able to leave as well.”

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It was early dawn when the men returned, Arthur soaked to his skin after the battle to get the horses off the boat. It had broken out into bloodshed again, less violence than it often seemed to nowadays, but still, the river couldn’t clean the never-ending staining of blood from his hands.

Spotting Isabella sitting by the campfire, smoke swirling up from her cigarette, he felt the tension in his shoulders dissipate slightly. No matter what was going on, she was his steadying force, just seeing her, his heart became slightly less heavy in his chest.

He could hear his own footsteps in his waterlogged boots, and it seemed Isabella could also because she looked up. That beautiful smile of hers lit up her face before she raised her brow.

“You go for a dip in the ocean?” She asked with a small laugh leaving her pouted lips. “Something like that, we got the horses back, ain’t got no idea at what cost though.” Dropping down beside her, even with his soaking clothes, causing a puddle to form below him, Isabella nudged closer.

 “Think that’s a phrase we can apply to most things around here nowadays.” She sighed, taking another long drag of her cigarette before throwing the spent stub of it into the fire.

 “Did you sleep?” Arthur asked in a low and gravely voice. “Couldn’t, bed felt too empty, but I’m alright.” Isabella shrugged. Arthur couldn’t help the small smile that tugged his lips and the slight flip of his heart at her words.

 She’d said them so casually, and yet there was something about her saying that it didn’t feel right to sleep without him nowadays that made him feel blissful happiness. And he would happily admit that he shared that sentiment, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to sleep without her in his arms ever again.

“I should get changed, feel like a damned drowned rat.” He’s scoffing and standing slowly. “Look like one to,” Isabella teased, turning and winking towards him.

Resulting in a low laugh from Arthur and a shake of his head as he walked away. Isabella was tempted to follow him, ask him to lie down with her for a couple of hours' sleep. Her body ached with exhaustion, and her injuries, what she’d said was true about the lack of ability to sleep alone any longer, but there was also the fact that she currently felt she could barely even breathe, much less sleep.

When she knew that he was away, facing unnamed danger, the knowledge that there was a high likelihood one day she’d never hear his voice returning to camp. Whilst he was apart from her, she couldn’t ever truly settle any longer. What had love done to her? That was the thought she mused on as she alit another cigarette and watched the ghost of where Arthur had just stood. 

Isabella’s eyes flickered open in response to the early morning sun breaking through the gap in the fabric of the tent, feeling one arm under her neck. The other wrapped around her waist, tightly holding her against his firm frame, as if she were the only thing keeping him attached to this earth, his own source of gravity.

She knew Arthur was going through hell, definitely fighting a harder battle mentally than she was. She’d been away for ten years, she’d returned to the changes and had noticed them right away. But Arthur hadn’t, he’d given his whole life to Dutch and witnessing him fall into madness? She couldn’t even imagine how painful this must be to watch, to feel abandoned by the man he saw as a father.

Things were changing so quickly that it made Isabella’s damn head spin. What the hell was happening? The way Dutch had looked at Arthur yesterday, as if he didn’t even know him anymore.

 He’d looked at John and Isabella the same way, but the effect would never be anywhere near as heavy as it was for Arthur. She couldn't deny the devastating effect that gaze would have on the man who lay beside her, how it would hit harder than it would for anyone else. Arthur had spent his whole damn life trying to gain Dutch’s favour, even when they’d been younger, his loyalty to the older man had never been in doubt. Dutch said jump, he’d say how high, that loyalty had heightened even more over the years.

 In all honesty, to an outsider, you could almost say he became Dutch’s puppet, ready to put himself in harm’s way just because Dutch had instructed him to. Ready to lay down his life and do anything just to get that pat on the back from his father figure, to have the older man proud of him.

 Isabella felt the force of wrath bubbling from deep within her because she’d seen it over the time she’d been back, Arthur was no longer Dutch’s son, he was a tool. She saw how Arthur had looked at Dutch, like the sun shone out of his ass, but yesterday something else had been in his azure orbs. It was like that last string that Dutch held him by had finally snapped, he was no longer a puppet, he was his own person, he was done.

Turning as carefully as she could in Arthur’s tight grip, which proved harder than planned, the man held her in a vice-like hold. She placed a soft peck on his cheek. Resulting in Arthur letting out a quiet mummer, “Hey.” Voice hoarse with sleep, “Hey, you.” Isabella retorted, pressing her lips fondly to his.

 Kiss slow, tender, but the radiating warmth between the two of them just couldn’t be denied. Without words, Isabella broke her lips from his, moving so she was above him, straddling his hips with her pale thighs. Her own rocking, resulting in a quiet, involuntary moan, leaving Arthur, his morning excitement pressing against her without intention, craving that heaven he found between her legs.

Isabella couldn’t help the smirk that grew on her face at the noise that left his lips, being able to obtain that kind of reaction from the so carefully put-together man, watching him fall apart, purely due to her actions. It brought an exhilarating sense of achievement that made her feel all-powerful. In one smooth movement, she’s pulling her chemise over her head and throwing it, god alone knows where, within the tent.

Grinding her hips against him once more, her own breath stuttering at the ache for him that was growing in her stomach, the wetness gathering on her sex. Bending at the middle slightly as she placed a finger to his lips to quiet the next moan that threatened to leave him at the overstimulating feeling of her subtle movements.

He didn’t allow her to tease him much longer, however, wrapping his arms around her, and flipping her over, Isabella was unable to suppress the almost squeal at the unexpected movement.

Soon he was above her, their bare chests pushed together, skin to skin, the fire already starting to grow between the two of them as they indulged in their primal urge for one another. He wasted no time in starting to explore, the callused digits of his hands already reaching down to slip below her underclothes. Isabella bit down on her lower lip so hard she was pretty sure she was about to cut it to stop the cry that was about to leave her at the sensual touch.

“Arthur, Isabella, are you awake?” Before the two of them could even move an inch, they froze, caught like does in a lantern light, the head of Mary-Beth suddenly popped between the makeshift door of the canvas tent. Reddening straight away at the sight, “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry.” She stammered, backing away from the tent.

Isabella tried to deny it escaping, she tried so damn hard, but before she could even take another breath, she’d started to laugh. Loud enough that it echoed around the tent, as Arthur climbed off her, shaking his head.

 “That poor girl.” He muttered his own cheeks painted in a shade of red that reached the same level of darkness as Mary-Beth’s had been, feeling sheepish about being caught in such a compromising position.

 But Isabella wasn’t blushing instead, she was laughing, unable to stop, her whole body shaking with the effect of it. “I’m sorry..I just, the look on her face, I can’t.” Wiping away the tears of laughter that were escaping from her emeralds to roll down her cheeks.

 “You’re a strange one,” Arthur joined slightly in her laugh, though his was awkward, he was a pretty private person, especially when it came to intimacy, so the idea of being caught, it caused the redness to darken even further on his face.

Isabella sat up, still laughing, clutching her middle with the breathlessness of it. “Come on, Arthur.” She stated, a grin forming on her pretty face, when she could finally breathe again. “It was a little funny.”

Smiling to herself as she picked up a clean shirt from the side. “Was it really?” Arthur asked raising a brow. “Yup,” Pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and leaning in to place a kiss on his lips. “To be continued.” She winked, walking past him, leaving Arthur to shake his head but let out his own laugh. She really was something else wasn’t she? A complete wildcard of a woman, he never knew what she was going to do next. But damn, he loved the woman so much.

Stepping out of the tent, Isabella made her way over to Mary-Beth, whose cheeks reddened once more at spotting her. “I’m so sorry, Isabella, I didn’t mean to walk in like that.” Her eyes were wide with shock at what she'd seen.

“Don’t worry about it, Mary-Beth, honestly, just be glad you didn’t wait for a few more minutes. Would have seen Arthur butt ass naked.” She couldn’t help but let another laugh escape, leaving her when she spoke, Mary-Beth’s face flushing even more at her words, she closely reflected someone left out in the sun too long right now. 

Hearing footsteps behind her, a booming voice echoed. “Leave the poor girl alone, Belle." Arthur sighed out, however there was no malice in his voice, although it was slightly exasperated in his embarrassment. "Mary-Beth. I’m so sorry you had to see that.” He’s placing his hand on Isabella’s lower back. Instinctively, she leaned back against his touch, chasing that security without even being aware of it.

“Were you coming to let us know something?” He asked, trying to steer the conversation away from the interesting morning interaction. “Uhm yeah, Dutch said for you to meet him and Micah in Annesburg, apparently they have a lead on something.” Arthur tutted slightly but nodded,

“Thank you, Mary-Beth, and once more I’m very sorry.” Taking Isabella’s arm and leading her away, his face fixed once more. Isabella glanced over towards him, a frown growing upon her own face. “You good?” She asked with those emerald eyes of hers studying him closely as they walked.

“Couldn’t even ask us himself? Dutch gotta send other people to do it for him.” His shoulders were tense, evidently still reeling from yesterday.

Isabella stopped them, with a hand placed gently on his chest, “Arthur, my love, you gotta take a breath, I know you are pissed off, I am too, but we both know how unpredictable Micah is, you go in all guns blazing, it ain’t gonna end well.” Arthur let out a long sigh, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers, taking a moment of just them.

“I just want it to be over.” He moved back slightly, looking deflated, the weight of their situation weighing him down more and more every single day, that mountain felt impossible to scale right now. “I know, and it will be, we just gotta keep going a little bit longer.” She assured him, giving the tense muscles of his tricep a small squeeze before she mounted up on Florence. It felt strange knowing she’d for once be the rational one in the situation. Arthur was still far too clouded by all the emotions he was currently wrestling with. 

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The ride to Annesburg was almost silent, just quick words exchanged between the two outlaws every so often, making their way to the middle of town. They dismounted, tethering up their horses, and glanced around the overcrowded mining town, with heavy smog in the air. Approaching the miners’ houses, walking in step but not touching fully, the two of them still had that magnetic pull to each other, especially in the tense air, being out in anywhere public place right now was risky.

However, the moment they’d stepped into the alleys between the houses, they didn’t even get a chance to call out before Arthur was being shoved against the wall by Micah, the flash of the blonde's blade being pushed against the outlaw's throat.

“Arthur!” Isabella called out the blood rushing to her head, her heart speeding up, and sickness pooling in her stomach at the sight. “Was you followed?” Micah asked his knife, pushing against the other outlaws adams apple. “What?” Arthur shouted back, attempting to push Micah away. But he held firm, knife against Arthur’s neck, as he spoke again.

“I said was you followed,” He sneered, but his attitude faltered slightly when he felt cool metal against the side of his temple, the sound of a gun cocking. “You have three seconds to let Arthur go, before I blow your goddamn brains out.” Isabella growled, her voice taut with fury, her figure shaking with a mixture of wrath and anxiety.

Micah’s backing off, laughing and putting his hands up in that mock surrender taunt of his. “She doesn’t half have a spirit, does she? Now I get why you want to spend so much time between her legs.” Micah sneered with a jolly but bitter tone.

Isabella’s eyes darkened, her fury continuing to burn within them, and Arthur quickly grabbed her hand before she could make good on her threat. “Shut it Micah, cause I ain’t gonna stop her if you keep going. You’re sick in the damn head.” His hand was tightly on Isabella’s, voice calm now, but his eyes were still alight with fire when he glowered towards Micah.

“All of you stop it.” Dutch’s voice cut across them, breaking the staredown. They turned towards him, and the older man was standing leaning one leg up on the steps, “Micah reckons there’s a rat.” His voice was far to casual for the words he was saying, and both Arthur and Isabella couldn’t help noticing the paranoia that clawed behind his eyes.

“Does he now? What evidence has he got?” Arthur asked, letting go of Isabella’s hand, and she reholstered her pistol. “We’ve only been back for a few minutes, and the Pinkertons are already on us.” Micah stated, his mocking voice making Isabella clench her teeth, fighting against every part of her self-will to not reach for her pistol again.

“We’ve been on the run since you two lost it in Blackwater, we barely lived through Saint Denis, and Gurma and now what we gotta a damn rat? Do you hear yourselves?” Arthur questioned, his voice grated with frustration, they were all but creating a goddamn sign saying come get us with all the trouble they were causing.

“Well, we know that Molly talked, who else could have?” Dutch’s eyes were now focused on Isabella, holding an accusatory look. Arthur followed his gaze to look at Isabella and then back at Dutch, his face fixed with anger, the idea of Isabella being a rat? It was so insane, it made him honestly concerned that Dutch needed a damn asylum. He'd raised the girl, as if she'd ever turn on them, turn on Arthur especially, and it boiled a pot of wrath within Arthur that Dutch could doubt her for a second.

“Maybe we just pushed things too hard, maybe the time for folks like us is done.” His voice was defiant, heavy with exhaustion because it was true, the world was moving on, and the time for the outlaw life was over. Everyone seemed to see it or at least sense it, apart from Dutch,

“We don’t needa a rat, we’re getting sloppier than the town drunk, they know who we are, where we are, and everything we are goddamn doing.” He waved his arm around to indicate the surrounding metaphorical walls that were closing in on them, that noose around their necks getting tighter and squeezing the life out of them more every second.

 “Way I see it, I reckon it’s time we let the weak go, get our money and leave,” Micah said, focusing on Dutch, repositioning as the devil on his shoulder again. Arthur saw something flash in Dutch’s eyes for a moment, a sign of the old Dutch who he’d looked up to his whole life.

“That ain’t happening, we ain’t leaving no one behind.” He snapped, fixing his collar. “We gotta get this shit sorted and fast, otherwise, the Pinkertons, that Cornwall fool, everyone, they are gonna find us.” Isabella finally spoke up. She’d been watching silently, Arthur’s former words hitting her like stabbing needles.

Because it was true, they were setting off damn fireworks everywhere they went, and it kept getting people killed, they were done, this was over. Just none of them were brave enough to admit it. The world had moved on, and it had left them behind, stumbling to catch up was no longer possible. “Well, Mr Cornwall is why we are here.” Micah’s gloating voice announced, with a snide smirk on his face as he and Dutch already began to walk away, not taking a moment to check that the other two were still with them.

“What the hell are we doing Dutch? We need money, we don’t need revenge. That ain’t us, that's never has been us,” He pressed, but despite his protests, he followed the two men anyway, following them off the edge of the world once more.

“It’s always about money Arthur,” Micah spoke up again, and Isabella was fighting everything in herself not to lose her carefully crafted control and unleash her inner monster on the man. “This better not be some stupid revenge mission Dutch. You’ve always said revenge ain’t a luxury we can afford, when did that change?” Arthur snapped, his temper flaring slightly, at the whole situation, at being pushed to the edge by Micah again. Admittingly it felt like that had changed a long time ago, even before Bronte, but he just couldn't highlight that exact moment. 

 “Of course it isn’t revenge, Arthur, it’s just a simple social call.” Dutch's drawled voice was casual, but that calculating presence in his aura showed that he had a plan, and it wasn’t a moral one.

“I don’t like this, Arthur.” Isabella murmured in a low voice.  “Me either, Belle. I think you should go, this ain’t gonna end well.” His need to look after her was at the forefront of his mind, just like always. “I ain’t leaving you, we are in this together, we always will be. And you can try to turn me back now, see how far you get?” Raising her brow in a challenging manner.

Arthur didn’t respond but reached out to give her hand a secret squeeze. There was no point arguing with her, and they both knew it, no matter what, it was the truth. They were always in it together, a formidable team, one that nobody and nothing could ever get between, they needed each other.

As they caught up with the pair, Arthur spoke again, “What are we even gonna say to him?” Arthur asked the gang leader and his loyal lapdog.

 “The man’s been hunting us since Valentine, we know he’s the one who’s bankrolling the Pinkertons. He’s the reason Lenny and Hosea are dead, he owns everything, even this town. He brought it to destroy these poor people’s lives.” Dutch shared his words in his usual dramatic tone, as if he were some great actor on stage.

 “This ain’t our job to right those wrongs, Dutch, we’re wanted men.” Arthur grunted, every word causing him to feel more and more exhausted. Yes, Cornwall was an evil man and had so much blood on his hands, but now was not the time to spark a further turf war.

“And yet you two went to get John without my permission.” Isabella felt an electric jolt of rage shoot through her body. Why the hell did they need permission to save one of their best friends, their family?

“Funnily enough, Dutch, we didn’t wanna see your son get hung.” She snapped venom clear in her voice, Dutch didn’t even bother looking at her, but she could see a momentary tension in his shoulders in response to what she'd said.

“We’re here to cut a deal,” Micah cut through the settling tension, distracting them all. Arthur gave a look of questioning, but sighed, knowing that Dutch was already set on his plan, there was no point arguing now. “We want to get out. Cornwall wants to stop getting robbed, he’s the one keeping the Pinkertons coming after us. He is America, the gluttonous man obsessed with his own wealth and has lost his moral. We make a deal, cause some noise, and then we disappear, away from tyrants like him. That is what we have come to speak to him about.”

 They reached the docks and dropped behind crates, Isabella and Arthur behind one further back. Dutch and Micah are at the ones near the front. They heard the over-the-top sound of the boat mooring at the docks, an argument between Cornwall and his men.

As the Pinkertons, who had just been speaking to him left, Micah is already creeping after them, with only a nod from Dutch. Isabella and Arthur exchanged a look of raised brows, but neither said anything. There was no point debating with Dutch about that choice.

Before anything further could happen, both their eyes went wide as Dutch stood and began to speak some nonsense. Making the two of them stand, looking at him with pure shock and stunned silence.

“Is he trying to get himself killed?” Isabella hissed. “What the hell do you want, Van Der Linde?” Cornwall’s voice echoed around the empty port. “Ain’t decided just yet.” The gang leader had already raised his hands up, but there was an almost daring look on his face, raising a challenge of whether this man would shoot him in the middle of the street.

 “Your impudence will be your undoing,” Cornwall said, with obvious frustration growing in the businessman. “Apparently, I’m undone already. Just ask my friends here. Even they think I’ve gone crazy” Indicating to Isabella and Arthur, who just shared a look of 'what do we do?' before they refocused on the scene.

“You kill, I kill, you rob, I rob. Only difference is, I choose who I kill and rob, you sir, destroy everything in your path, cause death and destruction, hiding behind the fake virtue of the law. Tell you what, you give us money, a ship, and a safe passage out of here, and you won’t die.” Dutch’s voice was still confident, despite the tenseness of the moment and how out in the open he was.

“I will do no such thing.” Cornwall went to signal his guards, but before he could do anything further, Dutch was whipping out his pistol and shooting Cornwall. Time stopped for a moment before the three outlaws dropped behind crates and began to unload their guns into the now approaching guards.

“You’ve lost your god damn mind, Dutch!” Arthur called out above the gunfire. “It’s the noise we need dear boy, noise. Oh shit Pinkertons.” He hadn’t even needed to point them out, to be honest, both Isabella and Arthur had already heard the approach.

Turning quickly and firing, pushing them back until they were able to get to a mining plant. Taking the steps up two by two, Arthur was all but running straight into Micah. “Got them papers.” Holding them up like the goose that got the gold, goddamn papers? That’s what this was about, another murder spree for that, what were they even doing anymore? Could they even deny they were cold-blooded killers now?

 Arthur’s thoughts were broken as he heard a grunt from Isabella, clutching her side for a moment before pressing forward. He ran quickly behind her, shooting anybody who dared to rear their ugly head.

 “Belle!” Catching up with her, she was still moving, and that was good. But the way her teeth were grinding, and her skin had paled, she was obviously hurt. “I’m fine Arthur. We need to get out of here.” As she muttered out her words, between clenched teeth, she could feel blood pooling under her shirt.

It had just been a graze from the bullet, but it was still enough to cause a burning sting, she'd felt it opening other stitches on her abdomen as it had caught her. They continued to shoot side by side, covering each other’s backs as they chased after Micah and Dutch. After what felt like forever, they reached the other side of the plant and broke through the exit. Spotting an abandoned wagon sat by the side of the building.

“We can get those horses,” Dutch called out, to whom? Isabella had no idea, she was starting to feel a little lightheaded, and her side was throbbing. She was still weakened by her lasting injuries from Gurma. Currently, she was purely running on instinct and adrenaline. She stood for a moment with her gun raised as she let them cut the horses free.

 Moving to cut the last one away, instead, she felt an arm around her middle, a cry of agony at the tight grip against her injured side, before she was being pulled onto the horse Arthur was riding to sit in front of him. Letting herself lean back as he dug his heels into the horse’s side. Prompting it to gallop at the same speed as Micah and Dutch’s.

When they were finally a safe distance away, Dutch stopped, “Interesting social call.” Arthur grunted through gritted teeth, not moving as he tried to support Isabella as carefully against himself as he could, but his anger was making being gentle hard.

“Cornwall had to go sooner or later.” Micah shrugged, passing Dutch the papers and dismounting. “It’s more attention we don’t damn need,” Arthur snapped his voice loud enough to make Isabella jump, before she hissed out at the pain.

 “Worlds closing in on us, Dutch, they are gonna find where we are now.” His fear for their family was so powerful that it was almost vibrating his whole body. Isabella could feel his fury radiating from the warmth against her back.

 “We just need a distraction and some damn noise.” Opening the papers, he read over them. “Looks like Mr Cornwall’s company has a railroad contract with the army, taking dynamite from Annesburg to Saint Denis. And there are bonds in his oil factory.” The grin on his face was almost wicked, reminding Arthur of those maniacal demons in storybooks.

Climbing back onto the stolen horse. “Micah, you take Bill and have a look at this dynamite. Arthur, you and Isabella go back to camp.” Dutch threw over his shoulder, not even looking back at the man now.

 “Micah, we gotta talk and figure some things out.” The man added, “Sure thing boss.” Micah, the ever-obedient ass kisser, answered. “Figure out what?” Arthur asked with a frown on his face, a small amount of petty jealousy taking him over. It used to be him who would have discussions with Dutch, and now he’d been thrown out like yesterday’s trash. Was it childish to feel like that? Yes. But he couldn’t help it, he'd been unconsciously begging for this man's approval his whole life and now it was slipping away.

 “The plan Arthur, to get us out of here.” And with that, he’s digging his heels into the side of the horse to leave, Micah close behind. The crestfallen look of betrayal was obvious on Arthur’s face, Isabella groaned,

“The hell do we do now, Arthur?” The woman whispered, breathing sharply, he’s glancing down slightly at her, placing a comforting kiss on the crown of her raven locks. “I ain’t got no idea Belle.” It hit him then, Dutch hadn’t even asked if Isabella was okay.

Arthur awoke to the sunlight breaking through the gap in the tent, warming his skin and creating shadows in his eyes. Pushing his face into the pillow, he let out a tired huff. He hadn’t gotten much sleep, spent most of the night watching over Isabella as she slept restlessly in his arms.

Her words still swimming around his head, 'If you die because of me.' Was that what she’d been so scared of, why she’d constantly pushed him away?

Was it because of Thomas? God, he hated how much pain she’d been through. It broke his heart every single time, reaching to his side to wake her. His breath caught in his throat, a wave of panic clutching his heart as he realised she wasn’t there, and from the coldness of her bedroll, it seemed like she’d not been in a while.

Sitting up quickly, he looked around, eyes scanning frantically, but then the scent of coffee caught him. Leaning to watch between the parting of the tent that showed the early shine of the sunrise.

Isabella was sitting in front of the dying embers of the fire, fully dressed but barefoot, ebony hair catching in the early morning sun, highlighting slight shimmers of brown. Her brows furrowed, and her lower lip was between her teeth.

 But she didn’t look like she was upset, instead, he saw her journal sat on her knee, pencil between her fingers as she created a time capsule of some scene. He watched her for a moment or two longer. There was something so beautiful about this, just her in her natural element and finding a way to soothe herself.

 He slipped back inside the tent and got dressed, picking his hat off the floor as he finished stepping out of the tent. He saw her look up, a small smile tugging at her lips, but he couldn’t miss the flicker of worry that flashed across the outlaw’s emerald irises.

She was scared of something, and he had a feeling it was about how she’d acted after her nightmare the night before. It seemed her last words before she’d fallen into slumber were running through her mind as much as they were in his.

“Hi Belle,” He greeted her, giving a small stretch before making his way over and dropping beside her, reaching for the coffee pot in front of them. Filling his cup and taking a long drink, relishing in the bitter burnt taste, that warmed his bones and zapped his brain.  Turning slightly to face Isabella, noticing that she was still looking down at her journal.

Reaching out to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. She stiffened for a moment. It seemed tender touch still seemed alien to her at first, much like it had before. He could see she was starting to shut down again, and Arthur would do anything to stop that.

Placing her journal down, she picked up her own coffee cup, tapping her blunt nails against the tin. “I’m sorry.” She whispered, voice barely a breath. Arthur raised his brow, trying to formulate the right words, “You don’t have to be sorry.” They stared at each other for a moment before Isabella lit up a cigarette and took a long drag.

“I was back at mine and Thomas’s house, on that night.” She began, which slightly surprised Arthur, he hadn’t prompted her to speak, nor had he needed to beg to get some sort of information, she was offering it freely. This was new, but there was no way Arthur would point it out, no point in looking a gift horse in the mouth.

 “But it wasn’t Thomas there.” Taking another long drag from her cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke through her nostrils. “It was you on the bed. I tried to stop the bleeding.” Holding her hands out in front of her as if she expected that there’d still be blood coating them.

“But, you.” Rubbing her hand over her neck, feeling the ghosts of the injury in her dream, it hadn’t been real, she knew that, but it still ached.

 “You said it was my fault, and that’s what I’m scared of Arthur. Sometimes I feel like I’m cursed, like everyone I love dies,” Her voice was frail, arm wrapping around herself, a small sign of vulnerability which she rarely presented, but when she did? It twisted Arthur’s heart so tight it was almost painful and made him want to just hold her and protect her from the monsters inside her own mind.

“Belle,” Arthur took her hand in his. “We’re all gonna die, but if I even get a minute of my life with you, instead of spending ten more years living without you, then it’s worth it. We ain’t gonna be around forever, but life ain’t worth shit if I don’t have you in it. I love you Belle, more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and that’s what matters. Not what happens tomorrow.” Isabella looked up at him, giving a small nod. Because honestly, she didn’t know what to say.

So instead, she leaned in, placing a soft kiss on his lips, leaning her head on his chest. Just inhaling the pine and tobacco scent there, keeping the moment that was only theirs. The confirmation that no matter what, she would always have him, and he would always have her, until their dying breaths, they would be each other’s.

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They rounded the corner towards where Sadie had asked them to meet, hearing raised voices from two women, one was frantic and the other calm but authoritative.

As they came into view, it became clear that it was Sadie and Abigail who were there, and from whom the frantic voice was coming. “I need to come Sadie, he’s my husband!” Abigail shouted towards Sadie. Sadie didn’t even look up from the gun she was currently cleaning, as she began to speak once more.

 “I know that, but it’s gonna be dangerous, Abigail.” Only raising her eyes when she heard Arthur and Isabella approach, “You tell her Arthur.” She instructed him in a monotone voice, resulting in the man stopping for a second, a look of confusion forming on his face, trying to figure out how to do this kindly. He knew he’d be the same if it were Isabella, but they couldn’t have the distraction of heightened emotions right now.

 “Abigail, you ain’t coming, there ain’t no point in arguing.” Arthur’s voice had that conclusiveness to it that meant the conversation was over, no matter how much she protested, the decision was final.

 But Abigail pressed her lips together and looked towards Isabella. “I please..he’s my husband.” Isabella stopped as she watched the other two prepare the boat, reaching out a comforting hand to rest on the younger woman’s shoulder.

“I know he is Abigail, and I know it's hard not to help, but this ain’t gonna be an easy thing, it’s dangerous, it’s deadly. If you are there, we all know John will be distracted. We need all our heads there, okay. I promise you we will get him back, I ain’t gonna let my little Johnny swing, and I swear that on my life.” Giving her shoulder a small comforting squeeze.

“Go back to camp, be with Jack, we’ll be back before you know.” She reassured the younger woman, who tearfully nodded. Before Isabella could say anything further, she felt Abigail hug her tightly. She tensed at the sudden touch but hugged the woman back after a moment of pause.

“Thank you, thank you. I just.. I can’t imagine.” Abigail was pushing her face into Isabella’s chest. “I know hon, but me and Arthur have gotten the guy outta a lotta tight spots, we’ll have him back driving you mad soon.” Patting Abigail’s back, before she unwrapped herself from her.

Turning and taking Arthur’s hand to help her into the boat, “Yano, she might have a shoe in for the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.” Arthur mused as he began to row them out. “Excuse you, Morgan, that’s my title, and it always will be.”

Silence fell upon the boat, the reality of where they were going settling in, this wasn’t a straightforward thing. This was not just a simple town jailhouse, this was a damn government prison, and them getting even spotted here?

Well, damn, they might as well get their measurements taken for the ropes to wrap around their necks right now. But this was John, and there was no way in hell either Arthur or Isabella were going to leave him to rot.

He was family, maybe even more than Dutch was, because they had a bond that only people who grew up together in this ugly, regrettable life had.

 “So they are gonna be working the field around this sorta time, we need to find somewhere to spot John,” Sadie explained, taking out her binoculars as did Isabella, scanning around until she locked in on something.

“What about a guard tower? Looks like there’s only one guy, Arthur, if you go up there with your rifle. Give the guards a little scare, the prisoners will hopefully scatter, then we can grab John.” She suggested removing her binoculars and placing them back in her satchel.

“Who’s bossy now?” Arthur raised a brow, “Learnt it from you.” Isabella winked, with that pretty smile tugging at her lips, the one she saved only for him.

As the boat reached land, they all dismounted, stepping straight into the swamp land, “Yano when we get Johnny out of there, the little shits buying me some new shoes.” Isabella grunted as the uncomfortable wetness seeped inside the hole that had been worn into the bottom of her well-loved boots.

 “We get him out of there, he can buy us all a whole new damn wardrobe,” Arthur muttered, the three of them continuing to move towards the watchtower. Isabella and Sadie ducked as Arthur went to climb the ladder. The raven-haired outlaw kept her eyes unmoving from the man.

As long as he stayed in her eyeline, nothing could happen to him, at least that’s what she began to convince herself. Emeralds stayed focused on him as he fired, taking the two guards out in the blink of an eye.

The alarms blared within seconds, and Arthur jumped down the last few rungs of the ladder. “Let’s go.” With that, they are all sprinting towards the group that now had two guards sprawled on the ground. As they reached the fallen guards, a sickening realisation was hitting each of them one by one, the group had not contained John.

 “Shit,” Isabella said with gritted teeth, holding her gun steady and pointing towards the guard who was still writhing in pain. “Where’s John Marston?” She spat, that fury spreading through her due to her panic for the man.

 “Put the gun down, lady.” She whipped her head around to see the guard creeping up on her. But before she needed to fire, she spotted the imposing stature of Arthur appearing behind the young guard.

“No, you put the gun down.” Arthur hissed, obvious wrath in his voice at someone pulling their gun on Isabella. She gave him a nod before looking towards the now scared shitless guard.

“Questions for you then, friend, where’s John Marston?” Her own gun trained on him, as Sadie shot the guard that they’d just been questioning, kindly putting him out of his misery.

Arthur wrapped his arm around the standing guard’s chest, pressing his gun to his temple. “Answer the lady.” He hissed. “He ain’t on work duty today.” The guard stuttered, eyes wide, looking around in panic, realising he had no way out.

“Well, let’s go get him together then.” Arthur forced the young man to walk forward. Isabella rolled her eyes, “Nothing's ever damn simple with that kid.” But she turned anyway, following with her gun out, Sadie covering the back of the two of them.

Isabella quickly shot the man who had slipped past behind one of the side buildings. “Don’t make me blow your head off, boy.” That gruff voice of Arthur that put fear in men’s hearts and awakened a fire inside Isabella echoed around.

“Should probably apologise to my lady here for pointing a gun at her.” Isabella’s eyes widened as he called her that, knowing the weight of the comment would only be noticed by her and Arthur because Sadie was barely even paying attention, too busy scanning for approaching wolves.

“I..I’m sorry.” The guard said, turning around as much as Arthur’s gun would allow him to look at Isabella. “Don’t mention it kid, you ain’t the first man to pull a gun on me, probably won’t be the last.” Sadie let out a snicker behind her as Isabella spoke.

The two women ran ahead to take down the guards in front of them. “So, who’s in charge here?” Arthur said as he continued to push the guard forward. “Jameson,” The guy was mumbling, but still loud enough for Arthur to hear.

 “Look forward to meeting him,” Arthur advised with a somewhat evil grin, predator to the prey who was holding his brother. “You know they ain’t gonna let you away with this.” The guard didn’t halt his walk, though, not like he could, with Arthur all but holding him off his feet.

“You sure about that?” Isabella asked sarcastically, even though she knew it was probably the truth, they were likely to be riddled with bullets soon, but at least they’d tried.  Arthur and his hostage approached the bridge with Isabella and Sadie following close behind, trained eyes scanning for even the slightest hint of movement. 

“So are you a well-liked guy round here, friend?” The guard seemed stunned at the question, mouthing like a fish before speaking once more. “I don’t, I don’t know.” He’s shaking his head, feeling the cold end of Arthur’s gun against his sweat-stained skin.

“Guess we're gonna find that out then.” Arthur hoped upon hope that they hadn’t picked the guard everyone hated, because that wouldn’t end well for any of them. As they reached the other side of the bridge, the walls were quickly lined with guards. All were aiming their guns at the four of them.

“Time to be calm, boy,” Arthur ordered, tapping the cold steel of his gun against the guard’s temple. “Is Mr Jameson in?” He’s calling out to the guards, “He’s in Saint Denis," Was the response from one of the guards above them. Causing Arthur to grunt with frustration, of course, they’d pick the day of the damn boss's field trip to pay a visit.

“They got Milliken!” One of the other guards called out. “And I’ll kill him unless you bring me out, John Marston. You've got one minute.” Arthur’s rough shout was cutting easily across the guards' panicked voices.

 “Your friend here’s gonna count,” Isabella said, nodding towards the terrified guard, who nodded and started to count down the minute. The man started going through the numbers slowly, “Go quicker, and ya’ll better bring out Marston, or your friend here’s gonna get his head blasted off. And for what? Absolutely nothing.” Arthur's growled words echoed around the tense situation.

Finally, they spotted John being pushed towards the gate, doing one of those strange, unbalanced runs, showing his ankles were chained together. “Hey there, stranger,” Isabella grinned as she greeted her brother, rushing over and hitting John’s legs apart with her own feet, shooting the chain so he could actually walk like a normal person.

Handing him one of her pistols and shoving him towards Arthur and Sadie. As soon as the three of them were safely back beside Arthur, he grinned. “Guess today’s your lucky day Milliken.” Shoving the guard hard in the back before he’s running to duck under the crates that lined the bridge. He guessed it was time for the prison break of the century.

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Having to shoot their way out of a goddamn government prison was a new one for them, but they were all here, and in one piece. That was all that mattered. After what felt like an eternity, the boat moored on the other side of the river, all of them letting out a deep shuddering exhale as what they’d just done hit them.

“Can’t make nothing easy, can you, Johnny?” Isabella teased, climbing out of the boat with Arthur’s help. “You were the one who threatened the damn prison warden.” The scarred-faced man chuckled with a roll of his eyes, but there was a twinkling smile on his face, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to give them the gratitude they truly deserved for going on what could have been a damn suicide mission to rescue him.

 “Careful you, don’t think I won’t row your ass back there, and anyway, it was Arthur who threatened him. I was just along for the ride.” A laugh left her, they each mounted up, with John getting onto the back of Sadie’s horse, Bob.

“Is Abigail alright?” He asked as he situated himself, and they all began to ride. “She is, she managed to get away when they got Hosea,” Arthur explained. “Hosea being dead, shit, it still don’t feel real. All those years, he was like family,” Johns responded.

 “He was family, Johnny.” Isabella’s words cut through the conversation, causing Arthur to turn to her. He could see that war raging behind her eyes again, a war he was right beside her in. “We lost Lenny as well,” Arthur added.

“What a damn mess. Did we at least get the money?” John queired, hoping there was at least something positive out of the colossal failure the bank job had been. “We got away with it, but it’s lost at the bottom of the damn ocean,” Arthur grunted out his explanation when John looked between him and Isabella. She just shook her head, “Trust me, Johnny, better not to ask.” Because honestly, where to even start with that whole thing?

“Things ain’t good right now, John.” Sadie huffed out as they rode. “That’s a nice way of putting it.” Isabella couldn’t stop how much sarcasm laced her words. “We’re up in Butcher's Creek now, the Pinkertons came after us again,” Arthur explained their completely different journey now.

“Molly ratted us out, so she’s dead now. It wasn’t pretty.” Isabella admitted, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for Molly. Sure, she was pissed off with what happened, and she hadn’t known her well.

But even a blind person could see that Dutch’s attitude and constant belittling of Molly had triggered that temptation to push back. She had loved that man so much, charmed by his silver tongue, convinced her to leave everything and live in the dirt with the rest of them. And now she was six feet under, she’d been left to bleed out on the floor like she was nothing, like she meant nothing.

  “I should also warn you, Dutch didn’t want us to come get you yet, so don’t expect a warm welcome,” Arthur advised, his voice strained. Silence fell for a moment before John spoke once more, “You know it’s strange, I feel like when they grabbed me in the bank, he had a moment to do something. But he didn’t even try, he just watched it happen,” John admitted the feeling of betrayal was so very obvious in his voice.

“Dutch ain’t himself right now, or maybe he just ain’t who we once thought he was.” That doubt that had been building within Arthur for a while was now bursting out of him, his years of trust and blind worship of the man felt useless. It made him question everything, everything he’d done throughout his life, it caused the guilt of the blood on his hands to feel overwhelming.

“Guess we don’t have to fight for the favourite son title no more,” John retorted, the look on his face matched the others, they were all aware that things weren’t the same, they never would be again.

 “Pretty sure that’s fucking Micah now,” Isabella affirmed with a scoff. Arthur glanced at her, catching her eyes, and, despite himself, he nodded. Micah had definitely wormed his way into the good books of Dutch.  They were more than aware of the goddamn snake whispering poison in the man’s ear.

The rest of the ride was silent, as they approached the camp, Isabella let out a long sigh. This was going to be interesting. The minute they arrived, the group could already see Abigail running towards Sadie’s horse, whilst Isabella and Arthur dismounted theirs.

“You brought him back to me, thank you, thank you.” The woman’s eyes were glazed with happy tears. “Promised we would, didn’t we?” Isabella is nodding, already noticing Dutch and Micah storming over.

Crossing her arms across her chest, but staying close enough to Arthur that their arms grazed one another’s. John and Abigail’s reunion was cut short by Dutch starting to speak. “John, what are you doing here?” He asked as he approached, a frown fixed on his face.

 “Great to see you too.” John couldn’t help the sarcasm in his words. “I didn’t send for you yet.” He’s moving to approach  John, but Arthur stepped forward. “Well, I felt different, he weren’t gonna stay there.”

He’s standing close to Dutch, the older man’s face showing obvious surprise at the idea of Arthur standing up to him. It had never happened before, and he wasn’t happy, not at the tight grip of the leash he’d had on Arthur loosening.

“And when breaking him out brings the law to the rest of us?” He’s staring down Arthur. Isabella stepped forward, undoing her arms and reaching to take Arthur’s hand. A sign of encouragement, Arthur glanced down at their joint hands, heart flipping for a moment, but he refocused on Dutch.

As did the woman, “Guess we got another fight on our hands then.” Arthur shrugged, and if that was needed, then they’d do it, getting John back was worth it. “Breaking the loyalty, all of you, John, I had a plan, you are my brother, my son. I was gonna come for you.” His eyes finally moved from Arthur to John.

“They was talking of hanging me Dutch.” John’s voice was cracking slightly, feeling mental agony at the man he saw as a father's refusal to embrace him being back, hell, the older man seemed almost annoyed about his arrival.

“They are always talking about that. But now, they may come and hang us all.” Dutch barely finished his sentence before he headed back to his tent. Micah following close behind, the four of them stood together for a moment, a crack forming within their hearts about what just happened.

Nobody spoke, because what was there to say? The silence almost suffocating between them all. Instead of anything being said or done, Abigail was taking John’s hand and leading him to their tent. Arthur and Isabella did the same, their hands still locked together as they walked into the camp, once more showing they were a formidable team ready to face their next challenge, whatever that might be.

They’d ridden slowly into saint denies, keeping their hats down low, covering glittering gems of eyes, both of them scanning the people who walked around. Anybody who looked at them for a second too long made Isabella's heart speed up a little, they were still wanted after all. And although it had been a good few weeks since the bank job fiasco, they never knew who would recognise them.

Whether that was the law or bounty hunters, sometimes she forgot how exhausting this life could be, until situations like this arose. Not being able to ever fully relax wherever they were, the constant looking over their shoulders, never knowing if they were fully safe.

 It was something she wouldn’t miss of this lifestyle, whenever it was that they were able to get out, and that decision was more and more tempting every day, especially when they saw the darkening in Dutch’s eye as he calculated their fate to fall further into the life-ending destruction.

But there was also that likelihood that it might never happen, that niggling doubt was still in the back of her mind. Was it actually possible for them to ever get out? Or would they die first?

Unfortunately, the latter was way more likely, the metaphorical rope around their throat got tighter every day, knowing how there was a very high chance it could be an actual one soon. Her thoughts were only broken as she heard Arthur clear his throat.

 “Belle we are here.” Emerald eyes glanced up at the sign for the tavern. They both dismounted and made their way inside, matching each step, they weren’t holding hands or anything, but their arms were moving against one anothers. Barely touching, but every so often they would brush together, causing goosebumps to grow on Isabella’s skin under her leather jacket.

 That comforting touch shared between them, that they both needed, the reassurance that no matter what happened, they were a team, that they were still alive. No matter how long they would be honoured with being of this world, that they were still embracing it silently, that was something that they shared, something that was just their own.

 As they approached Sadie, the woman was giving them a nod as she was downing the end of the whisky. “Took you long enough.” The woman said with a raised brow, but Isabella couldn’t help the laugh that left her, mostly by the way the woman had a suggestive glint in her eyes.

“Put it back in your pants Sadie. We were setting up in Butcher’s Creek.” Sadie scrunched her face up at the thought of their new pitching ground, “I don’t like that place at all.” Seemed Isabella’s opinion was shared by many.

“It’s a shit hole, but it ain’t forever, we just need to be there until we can move on, until we can find somewhere else.” Isabella shrugged as they walked towards the horses, knowing that it was likely the gang would never share another place again.

 Mounting up, they began to ride out of the city. “So how are we gonna find out if John’s still even there?” Arthur enquired, it wasn’t as if they could stroll right in, without ending up at the end of a gun, the thing was on a damn island for gods' sake.

Even from the tallest building in the city with the best bolt-action rifle in existence, there was no way they’d be able to see anything. Although from the expression on Sadie’s face, he realised she’d not only thought up a plan, but he also had a feeling it was not going to be a plan he would like.

 Point further proven as they rode up to the giant balloon, and a rather eccentric-looking man. “Mr Bullard,” Sadie called out to the man. “Hello, Mrs Alder, welcome back, and this must be your friend that you were telling me about.”

 Holding his hand out to Arthur, who took it reluctantly, shooting daggers through the corner of his eye towards Sadie. “Arthur Morgan,” He said gruffly, trying to keep his face relaxed and friendly, even if that frown of uncomfortableness was creeping onto it. “And this must be Mrs Morgan.” Isabella’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, face flushing, and it was her turn to be uncomfortable.

“No, no, Isabella Hunter, not Morgan.” She explained, her eyes shifting between Mr Bullard and Arthur, who had a shit-eating grin on his face, which honestly made her want to give him a swift punch to the gut.

 “It’s a great day for flying, Mr Morgan. Tell me, have you ever flown before?” Arthur was staring at him as though the man had just grown a second head. “No.” He was not looking forward to this, he was much more a lover of having both feet on the ground than anything to do with the sky or, now, after recent events, the sea.

 “It will change your life! After this, you’ll never want to stop.” Arthur pursed his lips, brows furrowed. “Think this is a one-time thing for me.” Eyeing the massive balloon, he'd seen them floating around the air, of course, but never in his wildest dreams did he ever think he would be in one.

He took the glasses that Mr Bullard passed him and threw them to the ground like they were some sort of venomous snake. “Ain’t these two joining us?” He’s indicating to Isabella and Sadie with a tilt of his head.

“No, no woman cannot fly, Mr Morgan, it does horrible damage to them and their vapours. And a delicate flower like Mrs Alder, god forbid.” Isabella let out a laugh at that. She was pretty sure Sadie being referred to as a delicate flower was about as realistic as she was to be one.

“Lucky shits,” He muttered to himself, kicking the dusty ground with his boot, like a child throwing a tantrum before he’s climbing into the contraption. Isabella stood and blew him a kiss whilst he was shooting daggers at her, feeling himself being taken up, further and further into the sky.

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They couldn’t do anything simple, could they? Yes, they’d achieved their mission of confirming that John was in Siska. But that had also ended with multiple dead O’Driscolls, a deceased Mr Bullard and a hot air balloon crash. Never a dull day for them after all.

Typical for them to make it pretty damn interesting. “Next time.” Arthur’s standing holstering his pistol, “I don’t care bout woman’s vapours and all that shit, you guys are going up in the damn balloon. And I’m staying on the ground.” He grunted with a roll of his eyes.

“Think I’m good,” Isabella shrugged. “I’m gonna go get us a boat sorted, meet me at the north point of the river tomorrow.” Sadie declared, putting her hat back on her head and mounting her horse.

“She’s something else.” Arthur shook his head as they watched Sadie gallop away, “Ain’t that the truth.” Isabella muttered, glancing around at the bodies of the dead O’Driscolls, feeling a burning anger at the sight of them.

 “You wanna head back?” Arthur asked, dusting off his jeans, an attempt to clear the dust and specks of blood on them, even if his attempt was futile, those stains would never truly leave. “Not to Butcher’s creek, it ain’t comfortable there, let’s just ride for a little bit and find somewhere to set up camp.” Isabella climbed onto Florence without another word, shooting him one of those show-stopping smiles of hers.

The one that made his breath catch, and his heart hammer. “You coming, Morgan? Or you gonna try to put that balloon back together?” She teased, to which Arthur let out a huff and followed her.

Once they’d ridden for a while, they spotted a clearing in the trees, Arthur setting up the tents, whilst Isabella started a fire, a practised routine they had become used to many years ago.

 “Strange that he thought we were a married couple, right, Mrs Morgan?” Arthur mused as he settled beside her, Isabella felt a twist in her heart. The idea of ever being married again, it felt foreign to her, she’d been a widow for so long. The thought of being a wife once more?

She wasn’t sure if that was something she wanted, but then a memory of Micah’s words hit her like a shotgun to the chest. “Pretty sure there was almost an actual Mrs Morgan.” Her words were way more bitter than she planned them to be.

Arthur looked shocked at her words, his mind whirred for a minute before he caught up, the confusion in his eyes settling into a look of reluctance to share his thoughts, “Oh.” Was all Arthur said before Isabella turned to him, focusing on the man,

“Was it Mary?” She questioned, poking at the fire with a stick, lips pressed together into a thin line, hiding the way her heart was speeding up with anxiety at the answer she may receive.

A heavy silence fell over them for longer than it should, to the point it made Isabella shift uncomfortably. “Yeah, it was Mary.” He finally admitted, causing Isabella to grit her teeth, jaw twitching before she spoke once more.

 “So let me get you straight, I tell you about Thomas, and you decide not to mention the whole fiancé thing?” She’s focused on the fire as if it would give her the answers that Arthur had decided not to offer her.

“I dunno, I just never really thought about it.” He sighed, watching her carefully, almost as if he was ready for the fact that she was very likely to lose it with him. “Never thought about it? Never fucking thought about it?” She repeated his words slightly louder each time, disbelief lacing her voice.

“I just… it was a long time ago. And it didn’t work out,” Arthur ran his hand through his sandy hair, “Yeah, no shit, it didn’t work out, but I would have thought you’d at least respect me enough to tell me about it.” She snapped.

“Yeah, course you’re the pillar of honesty, Belle.” The woman flinched at that, his words stung because they were true after all. She really had no right to lose her temper at him for hiding things. When she was hiding so many secrets from him, hiding more from him than she ever wanted to, but how could he not see it was to protect him? If he knew some of the things that she had done? He’d never look at her with that love in his eyes anymore.

 “That ain’t the same.” Drawing her knees up to herself. “Ain’t it? Cause from where I’m sitting, I reckon honesty is a two-way street, and you ain’t exactly been open about a lot of the decade where you let me think you were dead.” He couldn’t help the aggravation in his voice.

Isabella's head snapped round, and she glowered at him. “What do you wanna know huh Arthur? You wanna know the things I’ve done, the shit I’ve done to people, with people. Where is that gonna go? What is that gonna prove? I was a fucking monster for seven years. You think you’re a bad person. You don’t even know what a bad person is, not when you compare yourself to me. So, what would me laying my soul bare do? Probably make you hate me. So don’t even dare go there, the shit I did when I was trying to survive and get revenge for my poor husband being brutally murdered. That ain’t shit that will ever be forgivable. You wanna know why I wanted to die for so long? Why I didn’t care about dying? Cause I was already in hell, every damn day, cause I knew that's where I’m heading. If you knew the things I’ve done, you’d understand why and you would fucking hate me.” Her temper was burning like a poison of fury leaching throughout her veins.

 And for once, Arthur was rendered speechless, not because she’d shouted at him, but from what he’d overheard her admit to Hosea back at Shady Belle. Knowing the things he knew and pushing her like that, it wasn’t fair. He knew why she didn’t tell him, and as much as he wished that he could admit that she’d already unintentionally shared every sordid secret with him. He knew he couldn’t say anything, not without losing her, not without her walking away, or worse than anything, not without her hating him.

So, he didn’t instead, he leaned forward, rubbing his hands over his face and spoke. “I was heartbroken Belle, for a long time, and I guess she was the first woman to show me attention. And she saw that I was an easy target, that all I wanted was love, and that I could threaten and control any situation she wanted. She’d set me on people like a damn guard dog, and in reward, she’d fawn over me. But the minute I was no longer useful to her, she pulled away. Cause that’s what that relationship was, push and pull, she wanted me to be someone else. But at the same time, she wanted me to be useful, she filled my head with grand ideas of us running away together. But her dad hated me, and I think part of the reason she was with me was to prove a point to him. He's an asshole, that’s probably the nicest way to put it. I don’t think I realised how screwed up the situation was until I saw her in town after you’d appeared again. Cause you never treated me like that, never wanted me to be someone different, never used me as a way to rebel. The comments she made whilst we were talking finally clicked, she never actually wanted me as a person, she just wanted me when she found me useful.”

He sighed as he took a moment before continuing. “That’s it, that’s the story basically, obviously I’ve missed out the courting and things like that. I know I shoulda told you about her, but the look on your face when you saw her touch me. I felt cruel telling you about it, but I’m done with her, Belle, I promise”

Isabella turned, looking towards him. “Arthur, I ain’t some broken flower, I get you had a life when I wasn’t around, hell, there were nights I had hoped you found someone else. And I know I still carry a lot of secrets that I ain’t ready to share, I may never be ready. But those ain’t secrets like that, those are secrets that will change how you look at me. So please understand I’m being as open with you as I can be. Please tell me you understand that.” She’s all but begging, green eyes wide as she pleaded.

“I do Belle, I do understand that, and I hope one day you will be ready to tell me. If not, that’s okay as well, but I want you to know one thing. There ain’t nothing you could have ever done that would make me look at you any different, make me love you any less.”

Leaning in to place a tender kiss onto her forehead, Isabella let her eyes close, remaining silent, she wanted to believe him. She wanted to so badly, but she was more than aware that the things she’d done would destroy him.

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She knew this place. Why did she know this place? The paintings on the walls, the creak of the second-floor board after she stepped through the door, the dying daffodils on the sideboard that she had meant to refill with fresh ones from the garden.

 Frowning as it sank in that there was a smell that she didn’t recognise, one that didn’t fit. Usually, there was the air of remnants of the farm, coffee and tobacco. It had been replaced by a strong mellitic smell, like rust forming on an old fence.

Stepping further into the building, she glanced this way and that, hearing the neighing of horses outside, panicked and shrill. The door before her was ajar, and she could already tell that it was where the smell was coming from.

Pushing it open, the sight before her made her want to fall to her knees. That is why she knew this place, it had been hers and Thomas’s home, and the smell? It had been what she was greeted with that night, but there was one thing different.

 It wasn’t Thomas lying there, clutching at his middle as blood seeped out far too quickly to survive from between his fingers, his breathing laboured. It was Arthur. Her eyes went wide, her throat dry, nausea building in her stomach.

 Before she could stop herself, she was running forward, pushing her hands against his stomach, trying to curb the flow of blood, even if she knew the attempts were futile, the blood wouldn’t stop escaping. “Arthur! Arthur! Please, oh god, please.” Her cries were loud as she pressed harder, looking up into his face.

But it was no longer twisted in pain, it was twisted in pure rage, disgust and disappointment. “This is your fault.” His voice was so bitter it made her want to cry. “What?” She breathed as her stammering brain tried to catch up.

 “It’s your fault I died, you killed me.” She felt him pushing against her, but she didn’t move her hands, pushing as hard as she could despite the way her hands were becoming slick with his blood. “I’m sorry Arthur! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean..” She’s shaking her head, tears dropping from her eyes.

“It’s your fault!” He roared, moving far too quickly for someone so close to death, and with that, she was thrown backwards, unable to even react, before he was on top of her.

Hands wrapping around her throat and squeezing, “You shouldn’t have come back, you’re the reason I died, the reason all of us died.” Isabella clawed at his hands, coughing and spluttering. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry Arthur,” Her screams frantic, her nails digging into the hands around her neck, pleading for relief, but her vision was starting to tunnel.

“Belle! Belle!” Arthur shouted, shaking her shoulders. Her eyes flew open, and without a second thought, she shoved Arthur away with her strength. Causing him to fall back onto his ass.

Her eyes were wild, tears staining her face as she moved back, trying to get away from him. Clutching her throat as she felt the sleep-stained weight of hands still on it, dropping her own hands after a moment to look at them.

They were clean, there was no blood on them, but she could still feel it. Could still feel Arthur’s blood wetting out against her fingers. Oh god, Arthur, she looked up, noticing that he was on the floor, arms still held in front of him.

Appearing totally bewildered, but alive, there was no blood, and yet she still couldn’t stop seeing the image of him bleeding out on the bed in her head. Nor that look of pure hatred in his eyes.

 “Belle are you okay?” He was pushing himself up, hands up in surrender, he didn’t want to trigger her further in her current panicked state, trapped between sleep and wake.

“Arthur?” Her voice was so small, so scared. “Yeah, darlin', it’s me.” His words were barely out before she was all but barrelling into him, wrapping her arms around him so tight, it stole the air from his lungs for a moment.

 Face pushing against his chest, clinging to him like he might disappear if she let go. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.” Isabella wept against his chest.

“Hey, hey, Belle it’s okay, just breathe.” His arms wrapped around her, soothing hands running down her back. After a beat, she looked up with those emerald green eyes that were swimming with tears, so much unshed pain which she wasn't able to share.

 “I can’t lose you.” She sobbed, face twisting into a look that Arthur wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before, and he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to again, a look of dread and fear that seemed to consume her entire being. “Oh, Belle you won’t.” He was assuring her.

“If you die because of me, I’ll die too.” His brows furrowed, but he didn’t comment further. Instead, he just held her, as she cried herself back to sleep. What the hell did she mean?

Isabella awoke slowly, the sunlight warm against the window at the side of the shack that she and Arthur had selected to spend last night. They’d chosen one away from the others in the gang, but still close enough that if the Pinkertons reared their ugly heads again, they would be the first to draw.

The protective nature of the members of the gang had only been strengthened after their decision that they were going to get the rest of them out, that they would make sure they all lived to see a brighter future. A life of happiness and safety, just like they all deserved.

He’d restitched her wounds, as she had his, both had remained silent whilst doing so, there were no words possible to exchange within their current situation. They had just held each other, remaining in a heavy yet refreshing silence, and then they’d made love.

Quiet and gentle, every single move had been an admission of love. Arthur had been so careful with her, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world. It had not been a quick embrace like they were so often limited to in the camp, when they knew either of them could be called on at any moment. When they had to swallow their sounds of pleasure against each other’s lips, to not risk waking people.

How he touched and treated her, hands heated with passion, but with a gentleness that he had always given to her. It always warmed her heart and ignited her soul. He worshipped her like a goddess, like she deserved the love she so often denied herself in believing she did so.

  Didn’t matter how many times it happened like that since they returned to one another. It always almost brought tears to her eyes, it had been so many years since someone had treated her like he did. He was known to so many as a monster, as a violent, degenerative murderer, and yet with her, he looked after her, he made sure that no danger would ever come to her again. Her protector, her hero, her saviour.

Sex between them meant something, it always had, no pressure, no pretence of anything. It was the melding of two souls, the only other person each one had found who could fix their broken parts and help them heal to be the people they once were. The young lovers who had so much hope for a future, for freedom, who gave each other faith and belief in a better world.

It was making love with each tender touch, whether it was gentle like last night had been or the times they had been rushed and rough. The times when she was left with fingertip bruises on her hips, and an aching between her thighs in the best way for days. Or the times it had been so tender and loving that the ghosts of his touch reached deep inside her soul and made her feel worth something, worthy of his love, worthy of him.

Isabella had never realised that until they began again, had almost forgotten what it was like until they had lain together once more, god it was thrilling, addictive and healed her badly stitched heart back together a little bit more each time.

Even in moments of blinding passion, he still put her first, and knew naturally what she needed, they knew each other’s bodies through years of touch. Knew how to treat one another to help the other reach that earth-shattering end, and how to get there each time.

 Their lips had been joined as they cried out against each other, reaching those heights of pleasure they had only found together. A beautiful symphony shared between them as they fell over that cliff’s edge, wrapped together with their perfect person.

As the sleep slowly left her, and she began to feel the haze of dreaming lift, she realised that there wasn’t the warmth beside her, she wasn’t curled up against a toned chest like they had fallen asleep.

She didn’t awake to those azure eyes studying her like she was an angel who fell from heaven, she hadn’t awoken and felt the smile that he only got grace her face. The smile that reached her eyes made them glitter like precious jewels and made her jaw ache if she held it too long.

 Looking around, she felt a panic rise within her, a lump forming within her throat, a feeling of dryness filling her mouth. It may be a stupid thought, but she straight away slipped into that deep-seated fear that he was done with her, that he’d had what he wanted and left.

Her fear of abandonment was so deeply ingrained, her fear of loss of the person she loved, it had happened before with both Arthur and Thomas before, not by choice and in different ways, but that kind of loss marked one forever.

Of course, she knew that wasn’t the man Arthur was, but the concern would always be there deep down, that all she could offer was her body and then when a man had satisfied themselves. She no longer had any use, and all she had been was a warm object to indulge in, then they left her to stew in her self-loathing once they had got their fulfilment.

As Isabella attempted to push down those fears that were causing her shoulders to tense, shooting pain throughout her damaged body and heart, she crawled off the bed rolls. Letting out a stiff groan at the tenderness of her body from her injuries, she was still trying not to allow herself to come across as actually hurt. As always, she was trying to present as a pillar of strength, but she was hurting, and it was getting harder to deny, especially when there was a storm of self-doubt raging in her mind.

She dressed herself as quickly as she could, disregarding the way her clothes were heavy with caked mud from the night before, splatterings of the Pinkerton’s blood still forming nightmarish artwork on the material.

 Leaving the shack once she was clothed, not caring that her hair was wild from both sleep and intimacy. She held her hand above her eyes to block out the harsh sun as she searched the faces that were around, but she didn’t spot Arthur, and it caused that inner distrust of herself to gain more force within her. That self-doubt was just twisting around her heart tighter, with its ugly claws and dagger-like teeth.

 Turning to the chuck wagon, she spotted Tilly washing some of the blood-stained clothes. Who knew whose they were, after all, they had spent a long time clearing bodies last night.  You so often dissociated with it until you saw evidence like that. Yes, the fight had been to keep the gang safe, but it still added to the never-ending pile of bodies they had accumulated by the weight of their crimes.

“Hey Tilly,” She wondered if she should dance around the subject, it wasn’t like she knew Tilly that well, but she couldn’t keep her anxiety under control, that trauma from the past was gnawing at her to an almost painful degree. “Have you seen Arthur?”

Tilly looked up with a small smile. Isabella was more than aware that everyone had likely figured them out by now. At one point, that would have made her uncomfortable, she wasn’t someone who liked to have people in her business, but now that had changed.

 They were a team after all, and they strengthened each other, so if that meant everyone knew about them, then so be it. She knew it would be something that Hosea would be proud of, he’d always encouraged their love over the years.

“Dutch sent him and Charles to scout some place for us to camp, up in Butcher's Creek.” She’s giving her words softly. Isabella felt a wave of relief, he hadn’t abandoned her, he was looking after the gang. That evil voice that occupied her mind had been silenced at least a little for now.

Letting out a long exhale, a breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding, finally escaped her. She glanced towards the pile of dirty clothes, “Want a hand?” She offered as she dropped down to sit beside the other wash basin. “Sure,” Tilly nodded, humming as she continued to work on the shirt she was washing.

They sat and spoke for a few hours, exchanging their historic stories. Tilly talking about her time with the foreman gang, and Isabella reminiscing about her time running with the Van Der Linde gang. And some parts of her time away, omitting a lot of details, just like she always did, some things were still too difficult to share.

She noticed a shadow fall over herself, and a gruff voice she recognised well caught her ears, that low timber that ignited her heart and pooled in her stomach.  “Look at you being a proper woman.”

Isabella glanced up at him through long lashes with a look of playful irritation. “Don’t make me drown you in this water, Arthur.” She shot back but laughed.

“You see how she treats me, Tilly, so mean.” Reaching to take Isabella’s hand and help her up. “Let’s be honest, you probably deserve it.” Tilly teased a smirk on her face. “You teaming up all the women in the camp to go after me, there Belle?” He laughed as azure orbs focused towards her.

 “Somebody has to make sure you behave.” Stretching her sore arms from hours of washing clothes against the board. “You okay if I steal your friend for a bit, Tilly?” The woman glanced at the pile of clothes that now only contained one or two items. “Of course, thanks for the help today Isabella.” Isabella gave her a soft smile and a tip of her hat.

Turning to Arthur, who was still looking at her with those eyes that made her heart speed up, that saw right into her soul and gave her a feeling of protection and happiness that she couldn’t quite put into words.

“We found a place up by Butcher's Creek, it’s a shithole, and the Murfree broad are something else. But it will keep us safe for at least a little bit of time.” He explained with a shrug. Placing his hand on her lower back and leading her towards their horses.

 “Whilst everyone heads out there, I was hoping you’d do something important with me?” He’s asked, looking a little concerned, worried she’d say no, that she’d just want to go to camp and relax her aching joints. “Arthur, you know I’d go anywhere with you.” And that was the truth they both knew deep inside, she just didn’t often vocalise it.

 Climbing onto Florence, she clicked her tongue to encourage her to move, the two of them leaving the temporary camp together.

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After a long while riding in silence, Arthur finally spoke. “I’ll be honest Belle, I don’t think this is gonna be an easy thing, but it’s something I feel I need to do, we need to do.” Isabella rose her brow, trying to figure out what he was planning.

“As long as I don’t have to wear a dress, I’m fine.” Arthur let out a laugh as he shook his head at her response, but slowed Valour to a halt.

 Isabella followed his eyeline until she spotted it, “We never got to say goodbye.” Arthur admitted as he's climbing of Valour, taking her hand and leading her to the mounds of dirt. She felt her eyes well with tears, they’d gone through so much the last couple of weeks, she wasn’t sure that it had really hit her fully yet.

That Hosea and Lenny were really gone, that they were never coming back, they’d lost so many people over the years, but Hosea had honestly been the most heartbreaking loss.

He had been the man she had respected more than possibly anyone else and loved, someone who she had now realised would never again be there to give her a piece of advice or support.

 Never again would he be there to offer a listening ear, to understand you, no matter what you did. Never again would he sit beside you with patient kindness and let you open up, whilst he softly shared his thoughts that underneath the darkness anybody held, that they were good people.

Her heart broke knowing that out of anyone who could have heard her secrets, he’d never changed how he’d looked at her despite her knowing what she had done, and it hit her then she’d never get to thank him for that.

The minute they were before the graves, she was almost dropping to her knees, the only thing keeping her steady was Arthur, his strong arm around her waist. A grounding support, even though she could feel him trembling beside her, a sign of overwhelming emotion he rarely showed.

 Isabella wasn’t sure when the tears started to fall, but she didn’t wipe them away. Instead, she felt them drip onto the ground before them, wetting the mound of dirt that grass had slowly begun to grow on.

 “He’s really gone, isn’t he?” Isabella’s voice was barely a whisper; she was unable to make it any louder as she stared at the place Hosea lay. She had still been trying to convince herself that he would return, but there was something about seeing his grave that finally made her accept he was never coming back, she’d never see him again.

 “He is.” Arthur’s face was emotionless, but she could see the sadness in those aquamarine orbs of his, a slight glimmer of tears in them.

 “This is such a mess, such a goddamn mess, Arthur.” Her words were gasped out between sobs, she didn’t care about crying in front of him right now. She couldn’t stop it if she tried, the barrier had broken, and there was no rebuilding it.

 “We can’t lose anyone else, Belle. We gotta get people out, before they get dragged down whatever dark path Dutch is on.” His voice is firm, the fury underlying, he had lost so many over the years.

Watched so many people he saw as family die, but something about losing Hosea and Lenny had hit him like a slap in the face. They had been running for so long, at one time so full of hope and belief in Dutch’s grand ideas, but it hadn’t got them anywhere.

 No longer did they dream of the wild west and the freedom it offered, because that no longer existed, it wasn’t a goal they could aim for any longer, because that world wasn’t real anymore.

The belief and trust in Dutch was gone, he had changed, and they had come to realise that the gang safety didn’t matter to him as it once had. He had turned into the kind of person they had spent their whole life fighting against. Gluttonous for riches and consumed with the desire for revenge, something for so long they’d been told was the wrong way to live.

They were no closer to this fabricated world that Dutch promised them, where they could escape the greed and corruption that was bleeding through the veins of America.

 If anything, they were getting further away from their goals, they were leaving a path of destruction and death in their wake. It wasn’t about dreams anymore, it was about trying to survive one more day, whilst they collected more blood on their hands. A stain that would never come out, a damn stain that never would leave them. The sins that they were collecting were throwing them straight down to hell.

And they couldn’t go on like this, because if they did? They would end up with Hosea and Lenny, under the dirt, as would all the people they loved. “We are gonna do this Belle, we are gonna get everyone out, and then we’re gonna get out. We are gonna live a life without violence, without pain, just love and happiness. I promise you that.” His voice was so resolved, so powerful, there was a commitment to his words that resonated with Isabella. That commitment to the life he’d always lived had finally broken, and it had been replaced by regret about what they had done and who they had become.

Isabella could almost bring herself to believe it, the pretty picture he was painting. She wanted it, goddamnit, she wanted to so fucking much, but she wasn’t sure they’d ever get it. More than anything, however, she knew deep down she didn’t deserve it.

 She felt a chill run over her when Arthur removed his arms from her, causing her to wrap her own around her body. She felt like she was completely naked in the middle of the field without him. Like a lost soul who needed comfort, and that comfort was no longer tethered to her.

Arthur stepped forward, retrieving an item from his pocket, bending down to place something on Lenny’s grave, a pocket watch. Isabella didn’t understand the meaning of it, but she didn’t question it. Instead, she waited for Arthur to stand up, turning her face to him. Now set with strength, the tears had stopped falling, and that blaze in her emeralds had been relit. “For Hosea, to honour him, we will fix this.” She promised and meant it with every fibre of her being.

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Isabella could not help feeling a little bit creeped out as they entered Butcher's Creek, it seemed kind of off. There was a strange air to it that made a shiver run down her spine, especially as they rode past the town and all the people stared at them.

 The people there weren’t the norm, their faces and bodies were disfigured. Was that from injuries? Or was it from the rumours she’d heard about this place that family members lay together in a way no family member should?

“I don’t like it here.” Isabella muttered under her breath, “Neither do I, but we ain’t gonna be here for long,” Arthur attempted to reassure her. And she tried her best to believe him, but where else could they really go? The law was closing in on them, and there were so few places left to run, so few places left to pitch their tents.

They were coming to face their end, just nobody was brave enough to say that, even Isabella, who prided herself on her bravery, just couldn't. In this situation, she felt helpless and voiceless, there was no way to utter that truth.

 As they approached the camp, however, she couldn’t help the small smile that played on her lips, spotting that their two tents had been connected. It seemed like Arthur had called in a favour, probably from Charles, based on how neat and organised the setup was. She’d need to remember to thank the other man.

“You just trying to get me into bed there, Morgan?” She teased as she pointed to the tents. “Ain’t hearing you complaining,” He smirked, placing his hand on her lower back. Causing Isabella to smile once more, short but sweet, feeling an unexplainable amount of security just by the simple touch.

“And I ain’t ever gonna don’t worry.” Given him that sultry look with her emeralds that lit a fire deep down inside him, which tempted him to just drag her into their now joint tent and completely disregard how much the camp may hear. He had to tear his eyes away before he acted completely inappropriately in the middle of camp.

Heading over to the fire in the middle, he gave a small nod to the others who were in the place. There was something different about this camp, everyone was on edge, as if every moment they were terrified that someone would come after them, which was unfortunately very likely.

 And Arthur understood, because he shared that sentiment. They were tittering on the line between life and death every single day, and it was getting thinner and thinner by the day.

The skies had opened as they headed towards Lakey, water soaking through their clothes right to their skin. Causing their teeth to chatter and their body to tremble, they should stop and find cover, warm themselves and dry their clothes with the heat of a campfire, before they got a cold or something worse.

But not for a moment did they halt, even when the stolen horse skidded slightly on the muddy ground. Arthur’s skills as someone who had ridden for his entire life were in full view. Who, despite what horse he rode, whether it was a new one or one he had ridden for years, he was able to keep the animal steady.

After what felt like far too long, they were arriving at the decrypted buildings of Lakey, spotting that they were all barely standing, making the abandoned shady bell they had just left look like a damn castle.

And yet when they spotted Valour and Florence hitched at the side of the camp, Isabella felt a wave of relief run over her and the heavy weight of homesickness lift. Attempting to focus on the rest of the sight before them, but it was almost impossible to see much further than a couple of feet ahead.

She watched for movement before them, praying for a sign of life at least, just one sign and thankfully for the first time in longer than she knew should be possible, her prayers were answered.

“Arthur! Isabella!” She heard the voice of Pearson ring out, and god she’d never been so relieved to hear that man’s voice. Hell, right now she’d maybe even eat his stew without grimacing, well, at least one mouthful.

The pair of them dismounted the horse and made their way towards him, only stopping when Abigail exited from the shack before them and was all but running to tackle Isabella with a hug. Making her curse with pain as she felt the pressure against her wounds. Despite this, however, she wrapped her arms around the younger woman, something about someone being this excited to see her, it was something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

 “You’re alive, oh my god you’re alive, come on in please, I say this with love. But you both look like drowned rats.” Beckoning her hands to them, instructing them to follow her, Arthur shook his head at her comment, but there was a faint smile on his lips as Abigail also hugged him before leading them inside.

He was straight away hit by the warmth of the fire, helping warm his soaked stature, the fire already helping the water droplets dripping from his hair to dry. Seeing their whole family together and safe, it softened something inside his heart, gave him a sense of peace that he so often denied himself of having.

They were getting hugs and greetings from each of the members before Abigail approached them, placing her hand on the large man’s arm. “John got arrested.” Her voice was laced with fear. “I know,” Arthur said, reaching out and giving her shoulder a squeeze. He was worried for John, of course, he was, but thankful they hadn’t needed to bury him as well.

 “We’ll get him for you, I promise.” He’s assuring her that they would, whatever it took. John was his brother, and no matter how much shit they ripped out of each other, he would always be there for him. “They moved him to Siska,” Sadie explained beside the younger woman, with her lips pressed. Arthur internally cursed, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck.

That wouldn’t be an easy breakout, it wasn’t as if they could just stroll in like it was some back-ass town jail. No, it was a damn government prison, with an entire army of guards stuck on its own fucking island, he had no idea how they were going to do it. But he knew they could do it, especially with Isabella by his side, they could do anything.

Spotting that Micah was already there, relaxed back beside the fire, feet up on a table, sipping on a beer, like he didn't have a care in the world. In response, Isabella rolled her eyes, pursed her lips, but kept her focus on the rest of their family surrounding them, despite her frustration at that man.

She did notice, however, that nobody else was even paying attention to him, there was no celebration in the room about him like there was about Isabella and Arthur’s presence, a secret smile creeping onto her face at the sentiment of everyone giving him a cold shoulder.

 They got passed some of Pearson’s famous stew, it still tasted like shit, but it was warm and filling, and god, it felt good to eat something more than crackers they’d had on the boat, or the scarce amount she’d been able to nibble on whilst they were on the island.

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The hours were passing by as they waited for the others, who knew if Dutch and Bill were going to actually appear, if they were even still alive, or whether the Pinkertons had picked them up.

Knowing there was the possibility that in a few days they’d see reports in the papers of their deaths, maybe they should have all stuck together, but then it would have been a lot more likely that those reports would have all five of their names on instead.

 A few people had fallen asleep, but Isabella and Arthur still sat on one of the benches by the wall. Close together, Isabella leaning into Arthur’s shoulder, she didn’t even care how public it was, she hadn’t stopped needing his comfort. He was her rock in the stormy sea, much like the one they had almost drowned in just a few weeks ago.

What she’d gone through on the island, something had changed, and she knew that she could never lose Arthur again. Something inside her had broken yet healed at the same time, all she knew was that Arthur was the only person she needed, no matter what.

 Hearing the door open, they jumped up, always ready for whatever was to happen, years of being at risk constantly had prepared them to react without hesitation. But then they noticed it was Dutch, and the tension melted, well, to a certain degree. Isabella wasn’t sure she and Arthur would ever be able to fully relax around the man again. That trust, that loyalty that had been so deeply ingrained in them, the rope of it was starting to fray.

 They could hear Abigail telling him about John’s arrest and celebration from the rest of the gang, in response to their leader's return to them. “It’s good to see you all found each other,” He commented with a proud smile, it made Isabella frown that he seemed to straight away disregard Abigail’s frantic pleas. As if the man he saw as a son for so many years no longer mattered to him, nor did John’s terrified, possible widow affect him for a moment.

“It was Charles and Mrs Alder, they made sure we were all safe and together. Took us here, and made sure we were all okay.” Strauss said, giving the woman a nod who, in turn, gave a small smile that Arthur didn’t often see, Sadie, much like he and Isabella didn’t often show her emotions.

Trauma was a funny thing, it shaped you, hardened you, twisted you into ugliness. Arthur, like many times before, wondered who she was before her life fell apart. Did she smile more often?

 “Mrs Alder, we will forever owe you.” Dutch offered words of gratitude towards the woman, who just nodded, she wasn’t comfortable with compliments, which Isabella found a kindred spirit within her.

 “We went to the morgue, Dutch, got Lenny and Hosea’s body and buried them proper,” Abigail explained, leaving the topic of John for now. At the two names, Isabella felt a painful tug at her heart, her breath catching in her throat, Arthur reached to give her hand a quick squeeze of reassurance as they stood there. Knowing she wasn’t going to fall apart physically in front of so many people, but she was mentally teetering on the edge of hopelessness.

The time in Gurma had been a distraction, because although it had been a horrific situation, at least it had allowed them not to constantly focus on their loss. However, now it returned to the forefront of their minds, and Isabella wasn’t sure if she was yet able to believe it was real. Part of her was still expecting that the wise voice of Hosea would ring out in the cabin at any time.

“It ain’t been easy, Dutch, it’s been a tough time, we’ve barely been surviving,” Tilly spoke up. Dutch looked between the group, straightening his back and fixing his face into the charismatic leader of the group's appearance, which he held.

Who anyone honestly would follow into battle, whether that meant life or death, “Times have been tough, ain’t no doubt about that, but you all just need to trust me, I will get us out of here.” He announced before taking a seat on the bench and thanking Abigail as she passed him a cup of coffee.

Micah stepped up with that usual confident swagger, which made Isabella cringe. “Ain’t ya’ll wanting to hear tales of our adventures?” He smirked, acting as if their time on the island had been entertaining, not traumatic. Like it had been some kind of goddamn holiday, not days of fighting for their lives.

It caused Isabella’s mind to return to what he said about liking Fussar’s style, it still shot a wave of dread throughout her. It made her wonder if he would be okay to do the same as that man did to so many, had done to so many.

“Guess we are more interested in not getting hung.” Abigail snapped at his words, which Isabella couldn’t help but grin at, proud of someone standing up to Micah. Sometimes it felt like the people around the camp understood his unpredictable mental state, they didn’t want to risk him losing it within the camp.

“Ain’t you a cheerful little nymph of the prairie?” Micah leered at the woman, the way he looked at Abigail with that perversive glint in his beady eyes, it made Isabella want to burn the world just to end him.

 “For once in your god damn life Micah, would you just shut the fuck up?” Isabella growled, her teeth gritting together, her fists curling, anger building within her.

Even Micah gave a little step back, he seemed to have remembered her previous right hook well. “Ain’t my fault none of you can take a joke.” He muttered, but taking a seat, seemed that he was actually listening to someone for once.

The silence that had settled was suddenly broken as Bill stormed in. “Here you are, I’ve been asking all over damn town for you!” His fury was obvious at the fact that he’d spent all night in the rain, soaking his skin. Looking somewhat akin to that drowned rat that Abigail had lovingly referred to Isabella and Arthur as earlier.

“Somebody get me a damn drink.” He grunted, facing Sadie, “Get your own damn drink.” She snapped back, her southern drawl becoming harsher with her words.

But then, before anything else could happen, they heard a familiar voice that made the hairs on the back of Isabella’s neck stand up. “This is Agent Milton, and we, the Pinkerton detective agency, are here to arrest you and watch you swing.”

 In response, straight away, Arthur, Dutch, Micah, Bill, Sadie and Isabella were throwing themselves to the sides of the windows. Guns drawn and held firmly in their hands.

“Count to five and then give them hell.” Agent Milton shouted his commands to his men. “Actually, never mind, they aren’t civilised, so we won’t be either, just go,” He ordered with a shit-eating grin fixed on his face. And with that, the bullets are flying from the Pinkertons, and everyone dropped to the ground of the cabin.

 “Arthur, Isabella, follow me!” Sadie’s trying to keep as quiet as she can, but still needing to be heard over the gunfire, allowing her voice to ring out loud enough for the two to hear her instructions. The three of them army crawled until they were dropping onto the muddy path outside the door, all but falling face-first into the swamp, but quickly gathering themselves.

“There’s a trap door in the house beside us. We get in there and take them out from the side.” Sadie hissed as she slipped against the mud, but staying upright, the other two following her closely, Arthur reaching out to steady Isabella’s elbow anytime she looked as though her balance was waning.

 They managed to pull themselves into that house despite the slippery mud caking their boots and the bottom of their jeans, making them heavy, but they disregarded it. Noticing the sudden silence, Isabella turned to the other two. “Why have they stopped shooting?” The outlaw hissed as she snuck to the side of the windows.

“You fools never were listening to me. I showed you mercy, and you mistook it for weakness. Now I will show strength, and you may mistake it for brutality. But none of you will escape. I will hunt you to the ends of the earth, and the end of time.” He continued his speech as if he were presenting as some rich spoilt politician, like some sort of tyrant with an army behind him.

 And Isabella could see Arthur’s shoulders tensing, even without seeing his face, she knew it had twisted into that look that made a grown man tremble with fear, the one that showed a war of fury was ready to be released by the man. One that would bring destruction and death like the Pinkertons had never faced before.

“This asshole is really starting to irritate me.” He growled as he watched the man continue to wave his arms. “I killed your friends, and I enjoyed killing them.” Those words pushed Arthur over the edge, and he kicked the door open, walking out into the barrage of bullets flying. Giving no care for his own safety, his only focus was to bring a level of violence to the man speaking that would stop the world spinning on its axis.

 “Arthur!” Isabella screamed, chasing after him, as he took out the man who was using the gatling gun. She ran right into him, using all her strength to smash into his massive frame, knocking him down until he was behind one of the crates.

“You’re a goddamn idiot.” She’s barking out the insult, she understood why he reacted like that, of course, she did. But him basically sacrificing himself in a moment of misplaced bravery? That caused her temper to flare, they had promised each other they wouldn’t do that. She disregarded her feelings, however, needing to concentrate on the situation at hand, they needed to stay alive and protect their family right now.

So instead of sharing the emotions bubbling so close to the surface, she’s peaking up to shoot with perfect aim to hit the heads and shoulders of the barrage of men. Anyone she didn’t kill, Arthur finished off, and she did the same for him.

“Get to the gatling gun Arthur. We’ll cover you!” Sadie shouted. Arthur didn’t have to be asked twice, springing up from behind the crate and running to the gun.

Ducking out of the way of the bullets, one grazing his arm, and despite himself, he groaned with pain, feeling blood already flowing down his limb, and dripping under his worn leather jacket, yet he didn’t stop for a minute.

Jumping onto the wooden basket that was holding the gun. “Get down!” He yelled towards all members of the gang before he let the gun rip, bullets flying at a shocking speed. His teeth rattling in tune with the force of the gun, but he didn’t allow it to overcome him, just kept spinning the weapon around.

Taking out Pinkerton after Pinkerton, the figures of the men dropped as they were riddled with bullets. The leftover men were already disappearing into the trees, figuring it wasn’t worth it, the gang weren’t going down without a fight.

The government really should have learned by now that they were a force to be reckoned with, and there was a reason there was an unbelievable bounty on their heads. Yet they kept sending men to face their death at the hands of the gang, questionable whether it was really only the gang who were the only bad guys now.

 Dutch stepped out of the shack, nodding at the shooters, eyes sweeping across to check all the gang members were still standing. “We ain’t been back long, how the hell did they find us?” Isabella asked, standing up and letting out a hiss. The stitches had come loose in some of her wounds, but much like she had seen Arthur do. She refused to succumb to the pain, which could be focused on later.

 Dutch didn’t answer her, but she saw that darkened distrust in his eyes at the ones who stood around him, even if it only sat for a moment before he blinked it back and made a plan in his head. “We gotta move, Miss Grimshaw, Mr Pearson, start packing up. We stay one more night, and then we leave.” He’s turning to lean on the box holding the Gatling gun.

 “What’s next, Dutch?” Arthur asked as he looked towards his mentor, stepping forward, fists clenched, and icy cold gaze in his ocean eyes. That look was the one that terrified people, the stare that sent them straight to hell, and now he was looking at his mentor like that. It waivered Dutch’s confidence for just a moment before he shook himself off, regaining to his calculating presence.

 “I just need some damn time. We can’t go east, so I guess we are going north. I just need to…I need some goddamn time to figure it all out.” He snapped, banging his fist against the stand, hard enough that the old wood cracked slightly and splintered against the man's hand.

 “You’ll figure it out, boss, you always do.” There was the ass-kissing from Micah again, and Arthur could almost feel the way Isabella rolled her eyes.

Abigail stepped forward. “What are we doing about John?” Arthur moved slightly so he could place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Dutch spoke once more without focusing on her, as if it were just a casual conversation “We’ll get him, we just need time to sort this out first, okay.” He’s already walking away, not giving the desperate woman another glance as he did so, even whilst Abigail is crying out about them hanging John.

But Dutch was already gone, seemingly not caring for a second about the man whom he had always referred to as his son, causing Isabella to grind her teeth. The group watching Micah following him like a loyal lap dog, ready to whisper more poison into his ear.

 Abigail turned to Sadie, Arthur and Isabella. “I’m begging you guys, they’re gonna hang him. I can’t..it would break my … It would break the boy’s heart.” Her eyes were pleading, despite her protest, that it wasn’t her who would be affected, that it was only their son who would be hurt by John’s death. It was obvious to everyone she would be destroyed as well, how much she loved the man, how it was also she who had nightmares about John swinging.

Sadie stepped forward, “We’ll get him, I promise.” As Abigail walked away, Sadie turned to the other two. “I’ll figure out how we are gonna rescue him, meet me at Doyles Tavern on Milyonne avenue.” With that, she’s walking away. “Damn, that woman is close to your level of stubbornness.” Arthur shook his head, a gruff chuckle leaving his lips, but it was silenced when he noticed the fury flaming in Isabella’s emeralds, showing this was not a time to joke.

 “Come on, we need to get some sleep.” Taking her hand and leading him to Florence and Valour, so they could grab their bedrolls and take one of the shacks.

Isabella hissed out a string of curses through gritted teeth, flexing her fingers so tightly around the table edge that her knuckles whitened, as she felt Arthur run the cloth covered in whisky over her burnt feet.

No wonder every step she’d taken looked like she was holding her breath, nipping down harshly on her lower lip to point she’d caused a further cut in it, but honestly, whilst they’d been on the island, she couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t been tasting blood.

The bottom of her feet were almost completely raw, both from the burns but also from running barefoot for hours over uneven and jungled ground. Arthur felt his heart tug as he watched her close her fists, nails digging into her flesh as she tried to concentrate on something else but the sting. Her nostrils flaring and her green eyes, although no tears were falling, were lined with moisture at the body-racking spasms of pain.

Arthur knew he was contributing to the pain that was flaring in her feet, but they needed to be tended to, needed to be rid of dirt and dried blood, they couldn’t risk infection. Once they were finally clean, he reached for the clean bandage beside them, wrapping it around the bare skin of her tender feet.

“Thank you.” The raven-haired outlaw said with a nod, going to move from the table, but Arthur stopped her with a gentle hand on her knee. “We need to clean up the rest of you Belle.”

Indicating at the lines on her arms, knowing there was likely more hidden under her tattered clothes, marks of the last two days that probably caused as much mental pain as they did physical. Isabella let out a sigh but didn’t argue.

Despite her just wanting to find a quiet place and collapse in exhaustion, fuelled by their time on the island, she knew there was too much risk in leaving injuries unclean and uncovered.

Reaching up, she captured Arthur’s chin with her fingers, tilting his face up, so he was looking into her eyes. Emerald meeting aquamarine, “This ain’t gonna be pretty, so please don’t get upset.” She pleaded with him, she knew a night of torture wasn’t exactly something easy to see, especially for Arthur, seeing someone he loved like that.

He’d killed men for doing less to the people he loved, and there was no way she was letting them turn around now. Nor was there any way she was going to let him slip into that self-loathing anger she knew he would fall into at the idea he hadn’t saved her before she had been touched by a single finger.

Arthur fixed his mouth in a firm line, brows knitting together, not wanting to keep his words to himself, but nodded nonetheless, letting her step back and begin to slowly undress.

 She couldn’t lie, her body was a mess, the cut down her chest was red and raw, there was a deep cut under her breast, and burns littered the top of her legs. There were so many other injuries painting her porcelain skin, there was barely an inch untouched, some of the cuts were surface level, others were deeper, ugly and were going to result in even more scars than before, now littering her body.

Arthur inhaled sharply through his teeth, anger flooding throughout his entire being from the evidence of her horrific time with Fussar’s men. The fact that they had treated her like she was something less than human, and by the injuries had obviously relished in each moment of her agony, caused his heart to twist and grip so tightly it felt like it was going to give up.

Needing to look away to swallow the tears of guilt and regret that formed. “I should have stopped them from taking you. I’m so sorry, I should have come for you earlier.” He sounded completely lost, and more than anything, his voice showed how enraged he was with himself for not protecting her.

Isabella reached forward her hand to cup his bearded cheek. “Arthur, my love, look at me, you would have been shot if you tried to stop them, and if you’d come alone. Then it would have ended the same way.” She leant forward to place a soft kiss against his temple.

“I would go through days of this again if it meant keeping you safe. Anyway, I’ve been through worse, maybe not physically but definitely mentally.” Backing up a little, her hand stayed on his cheek, running her thumb over his cheekbone.

 “Please just help me clean up, and then we can move past this. It doesn’t matter what happens, we will get through anything this damn world throws at us, even this.” Arthur looked up, spotting that fire burning in his eyes.

He’d always known she was one of the bravest people he’d ever met, and he’d known a lot of brave people. But seeing her even when she was in obvious agony, fighting beside him, comforting him when he should be comforting her.

It was almost magical, there was such strength within the woman, a goddess that would be worshipped in ancient times. No matter what the world tried to knock her down with, she would remain surviving and fighting until the last stand, at that moment, despite the state she was in, he knew she had a future, they had a future.

Didn’t matter what they would go through, nor what they had to do, the two of them were unbreakable and unmovable forces of nature. A team made from pure grit and trauma and, more than anything, love, finding their perfect other half deeply in the others' souls. “Okay,” Was all he could manage. Isabella moved to allow him to start working on her injuries.

“Please tell me you’ve learnt how to stitch people up better now, I'd rather not have scars that match the one on my hand.” The man let out a gruff laugh at her words. Despite the pain she was in, she was still able to joke, underneath the wounds, she was still her. Still a damn spitfire, his wild-minded girl, who would never give in to her nightmares. 

Soon, with Arthur looking at her with haunted eyes and Isabella offering him soft reassurances, her wounds were cleaned and stitched up, and new clothes to replace her torn, blood-soaked ones. No longer did it feel like sandpaper was being rubbed against her body at every movement from the dirt and blood-crusted materials.

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Before night fell, Isabella gave her famous puppy dog eyes towards the captain and managed to get themselves his bed to spend the night in. They hadn’t been physically intimate; they both knew Isabella was neither mentally nor physically able to do so.

But they still lay in each other’s arms for hours, lost in silence with the only sound their shared breath and the boat settling, before Isabella spoke. “We can’t do this anymore.” Her words were soft, but with so much certainty behind them.

 Arthur’s heart sped up, and he looked terrified for a moment, his mind going straight to his deep-seated fear of abandonment, especially from the woman lying against his bare chest. Isabella noticed the rapidness of his heartbeat, almost as though the organ was trying to escape, feeling it powerfully beating up against her ear. In response to that, she looked up straight away.

“I don’t mean us Arthur, please know that I’d never mean us, I mean this life. We can’t spend the rest of our lives running and killing, constantly looking over our shoulder for the law. It ain’t right, it ain’t any way to live.” She explained and exhaled deeply.

“And we can’t watch Dutch fall further into whatever darkness is now occupying his mind, nor let him drag us down with him” Finally admitting something she’d been thinking about for a while, honestly, since she’d returned, she’d noticed that change in Dutch.

Something had altered deep within him, whether it had been the life they’d lived finally catching up with him. Or that this was who he had always been deep inside, his darkness fuelled further by the evil voice of Micah whispering in his ear.

Yes, Isabella had done a lot of bad things in her life. But every moment, she was haunted by guilt from every single action, no matter who it had been, even if they deserved their end, it still affected her, chipped away at her very soul.

 Yet when they’d watched Dutch kill Bronte. He didn’t seem to feel any guilt, in fact, it seemed like he’d relished in it, as though he’d celebrated it. Once, she’d believed she could do the same thing, but every life she’d taken weighed on her like an anchor dragging her deep into the sea.

 That wasn’t the man she had known many years ago, who had honour to himself, someone who would only do things that were best for the gang. They’d always been in search of riches, but it had always been for the goal of freedom. Now it felt like the bodies left in their wake were piling up, the blood on their hands would stain them forever, and none of it seemed to affect her once-mentor.

 “I just..The idea of trying to leave the man who saved us Belle, it ain’t something I’m sure would ever be possible. He’s given us so much, we are alive cause of him, our lives would have been so different and so much shorter if it hadn’t been for him” Arthur admitted, no matter what had happened, he still felt an innate notion that he owed the older man his life, maybe that’s why, even if he’d begun to question Dutch internally, he still felt an undeniable need to stand by him.

 “He saved us many years ago, yes, but we have kept ourselves alive, and nowadays I’m not sure if he even cares about that anymore, doesn’t care about any of us anymore. I feel like he just sees us as mindless puppets to be controlled. Something is happening to him. I saw it first when he let someone like Micah into the gang, and then his actions after, he’s changed. How he treats you, like you are some kind of pawn, like you are someone to send in to mindlessly kill and show off his power. That you can’t make your own decisions without him, he has just decided that you are useful, and that’s it, not even a person with a heart and soul. Arthur, he doesn’t treat you as a son anymore, I ain’t sure he even sees you as that anymore.”

Arthur wasn’t sure what to say, he had seen the signs and felt the doubt was blossoming inside himself as well. But he didn’t know how he could abandon the only life he’d ever known, abandon his family.

They were the only family he’d ever had, the only people he’d ever had as a constant in his life, their connection ran deeper than any blood relative could ever share. He’d protect his family until his dying breath, no matter what he would have to do to make sure they would live and live happily.

“If we do leave, we need to make sure everyone else is safe, make sure they get away and can live their lives. That’s the only way I can do this.” He’s looking down at her, his words steadfast, needing her to understand that was the only option he could offer.

 “I know, and I am ready to commit to that, as long as you are ready to commit to that once we have protected them, saved them. That we are gonna leave, together, we are gonna have our own life.” Gulping before she leaned her face against his chest once more. “Cause I can’t live without you, I love you too much.” Her words held so much weight behind them; her admission was so hard to give.

Before she’d refound the man, she’d never thought of a future, hell, every damn day she’d expected she’d be meeting her end. And at one point, she’d relished in it, she hadn’t cared if she lived or died. Because honestly, who would have cared for her body slowly rotting under six feet of dirt?

But then she’d found him again, and that haze of somewhat suicidal ideation had been lifted, even if it had taken a long time. When she’d been tortured over the last few days, it had finally hit her, she now had something to live for, someone to live for.

Arthur reached down, gently pulling her up to face him, “I love you too Belle, and I ain’t ever gonna leave you, I promise on my damn life. We are gonna get out of this no matter what it takes, and we are gonna get through it together. Me and you are gonna have a life, we are gonna finally have some sorta happiness that we could never get from this life.”

Leaning down to place a tender kiss against her knotted ebony locks. Silence fell as they held each other, and as sleep finally hit them, it felt like one weight had finally been lifted, but another was slowly settling, the idea of leaving the only life they’d ever known.

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Isabella was pretty sure she never wanted to be on a boat again. After the first ship, she seemed to have developed a fear. Considering it crashed, lit on fire, sank, and stranded them on a nightmarish island, that’s kind of understandable, and the one they had been on for days had never stopped rocking. Yeah, she was not gaining her sea legs anytime soon.

She’d stared out from where she was on the deck more than once, expecting the water to run over the sides and them to be dragged down deep into the ocean, all that would be left would be the trauma they had caused with their crimes.

Once they’d left the captain's bed her and Arthur had sat on the deck, her leaning on him, and his arms wrapped loosely around her, making sure not to hurt her further. She was still tender in so many places, sharp inhales taking between her teeth from certain movements.

Making Arthur cringe and move himself each time to try to keep her close without causing her further injury, as if she were the only thing holding him together. Because emotionally, she was.

“What do we do now?” Bill asked the group, finally breaking the heavy silence that had formed between them all. “We’re heading back to exactly where we are wanted men.” He’s adding with a tone of something akin to regret, or maybe even fear.

“We slip ashore, each of us separately,” Dutch said as he looked out to sea. He’d barely looked at anyone but Micah since they’d boarded “Why don’t we just head back to Blackwater, get the money and leave? Ain’t no point chasing ghosts.” The aforementioned greasy man said with a lack of concern for anyone else, which made the woman’s hackles rise. Isabella couldn’t help whipping her head around to stare daggers at him.

“We ain’t abandoning our family, you wanna leave go, but we are going back to our people.” She all but snarled, Arthur, holding her a little tighter to stop her attacking him, because he could feel that slight shake of wrath in her body.

“That’s right Isabella, we need to find them, we aren’t abandoning anyone.” There was the sight of the old Dutch again, who would lay down his life for them all, who held love for his family above any greed or madness.

 “We’ve been on the run for so long now, it feels like our luck has turned, it ain’t turning back. We had a damn good run, but it feels like we are reaching the end.” Arthur admitted with a shrug, causing Isabella to reach down and give his hand a small squeeze of reassurance.

 Reminding him that no matter what, they’d turn their damn luck back around, for themselves and for the gang. “Arthur and Isabella, cause I guess you ain’t splitting up now,” Dutch said with a slight hint of sarcasm in his voice. He almost looked disappointed that Isabella had taken his enforcer from him. The female outlaw held her tongue from making some kind of sarcastic remark about how Arthur wasn’t a person to own, but she kept the words to herself.

“You guys go to shady belle. We’ll find each other eventually, we always do, no matter what.” Dutch explained, before silence fell over them, the only sound was the boat creaking and the water rippling around them.

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Finally, after what felt like a lifetime and another small boat, Isabella’s feet were, for the first time in what felt like forever, once more on stable ground. She’d never been so happy to be on it, didn’t matter where they were, hell, if she wasn’t so sure she wouldn’t end up in horse shit or god knows what else, she’d kiss the damn ground and promise she’d never leave again.

 Emerald orbs scanned the mining town of Annesburg, trying to assess the best way for them to get to their destination. Spotting a lone horse, she turned and caught Arthur’s eye, giving a shrug. She hated the idea of stealing someone’s horse.

But at the end of the day, walking to shady belle would take days, and even bandaged and now in shoes, her feet would not be able to handle that pressure. They silently climbed onto the horse, Arthur at the front and Isabella sat behind him, arms wrapped tightly around his waist, a grounding pillar for herself, something, although she still struggled to admit, she needed.

The outlaws rode in silence, every so often Arthur whispering hushed words of encouragement to the stolen horse. Even a horse that was a perfect stranger, Arthur had bonded with straight away, his ability to  form a friendship with any animal was something Isabella had always admired. As they approached shady belle, Isabella's heart was heavy, it was totally bare. The lack of tents and noise made her heart ache with concern.

God, she hoped beyond hope that the gang were safe and, more importantly, alive. Dismounting the horse behind the house, the knowledge that they were always at risk from the law was ingrained deep within them, and they knew they needed to make sure they were safe and had the ability to make a quick getaway if needed.

Creeping towards the house, both with their guns drawn, Arthur pushed the back door open, and they stepped inside. The creak of the floorboards as they stepped was almost overwhelmingly loud, reinforcing the knowledge that the house was empty just from the way it echoed.

They walked from room to room, making sure to look in every place they could until Isabella noticed a letter on the table. Picking it up and opening it, she let out a faint laugh.

 “What?” Arthur whispered his question, “Sadie ain’t half a funny gal, they are in Lakey.” Folding up the letter and pushing it into her pocket. But then voices rang out outside, and they jumped behind the cover of the walls.

Arthur glanced out, and his face fell, mouthing Pinkertons towards her. Isabella ran through curses inside her head, but looked towards the back door. She could hear them making their way to the house, bitching about Agent Milton as they did so.

Seems even that man’s own employees weren’t a fan of him, it surprised her they hadn’t just turned a damn gun on him, but some people did follow the law after all. And murder without any cause but just anger wasn’t exactly socially acceptable

 Tilting her head towards the door, they slowly made their way there, keeping low, under the cover of the walls of the now naked house.

 She pulled open the door and slipped through, with Arthur close to her. Running through the mud till they were at the horse, Arthur mounted up quickly and reached down to pull Isabella up.

 Turning the horse and taking the back path away from the house that stood deep in the swamp, one that for a time they’d called home. As soon as they were out of earshot, he dug his heels into the flank of the horse, pushing him into a gallop, needing to put the distance between themselves and the Pinkertons, but also, more than anything, needing to reunite with people they cared for the most.

Arthur had barely slept the night before, maybe getting an hour or two, the comment that Hercule had made about how Isabella being taken to Fussar was dire news, it had none stop been racing though his mind.

 All the horrific things that those men could be doing to Isabella were all he could think of, had he tortured her? Done unspeakable things to her? Or, and the worst thought that caused his heart to crumble into a dry husk was the possibility that the man had killed her.

 Arthur had only just got her back, he couldn’t lose her again. It would destroy him. He had barely paid attention whilst he and Dutch had followed the old lady through the underground tunnels.

As they went about their task of saving Javier, hopefully, they’d find out from the men there where Isabella was. And if they didn’t tell them, well then, Arthur would tear this damn island apart to find her.

He’d only been snapped back to attention as he watched Dutch murder the old woman who’d been their guide in cold blood. Why he’d done that, Arthur had not a single clue, he could have just told her to leave, or hell, even knocked her out. They’d be long gone before the woman awoke, but with that action, Arthur felt his belief in Dutch further declining.

 Especially when Dutch had admitted that he didn’t actually know Spanish after his lie regarding it not long before. Instead, he blamed something along the lines of body language, as if it wasn’t just an innocent old woman who had lost her life. But he couldn’t think about that now, no, they needed to work on rescuing Javier and finding Isabella.

Looking around the side of one of the outbuildings, they spotted Javier being dragged by his bad leg, crying out with each bump. Jesus, that wound needed attention before it became gangrene. Their kind of life with just one leg would be close to impossible.

Dutch tapped him on the arm and tilted his head to the two guards beside the building. They dispatched of them quickly, barely able to hear their bodies thud to the ground before they entered the building they’d been behind.

Sneaking up behind the guards that were now the only ones to take out before they figured out a way to save Javier from the overwhelming number of men outside the building they were in.

“What do we do now?” Arthur asked as he glanced around, racking his brain for some sort of action they could take to fix their problem. Yes, they could start a shootout through the windows, but that risked Javier.

It wasn’t like the man could move quickly, and coming all this way to save him, just to watch him die, would be a brainless endeavour. No, Arthur wouldn’t lose anyone else. He once more reminded himself that every single one of them would get off this damn island, no matter what he had to do.

“We just need to cause a distraction, we get Javier, then we disappear like a cloud of smoke.” Along with his words, Dutch was moving his hands in the action of an explosion.

“What, you gonna find another old lady to strangle?” Arthur spat, not even attempting to hide the sarcasm in his voice. “That’s enough, Arthur. This is war.” Dutch threw right back at him. His mentor’s words made Arthur hold his tongue to stop himself from throwing another vicious comment, having a war of words wouldn’t cause anything but further trouble right now. 

“Well, guess we'd better start blowing things up then,” Arthur grumbled out, the kindest words he could think of with his current mood. Dutch shot him that look of praise that he hadn’t seen in a while, and it made that loyal part of him smile, and the doubtful part of him pulse with guilt.

At one point, that smile would have felt like a reward, something he aimed for, but now it just made him question things further. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, and it buzzed to a painful level with a hostile amount of uncertainty.

 “Is there any dynamite?” The outlaw uttered whilst looking around as his mind whirred with thoughts. “We don’t need dynamite Arthur, we’ve got sugar and a furnace.”

Arthur’s looking at him quizzically, but couldn’t be bothered to argue, starting to open the bags alongside his mentor, closing the windows when asked. The air was becoming thick with sugar, and Arthur couldn’t help a slight cough that escaped his lips, but he was following Dutch out the door quickly.

Sucking in the air to clear his lungs, even though all he could still taste was way too much sweetness, hell, it made his damn teeth ache. He felt Dutch shove him, so that they could run at least a decent distance away.

Not a moment later, there was a ground-shaking boom that came from the no longer standing sugar storage building. They stayed undercover until they reached the cages, Dutch already unlocking the first.

Before Arthur is scanning to the second, and then he noticed them, those emeralds staring at him, ones that he’d lost himself in so many times. The ones that stared into his soul so deeply that it made him feel like his whole existence was on show. She looked like she’d been through hell, but she was here, alive, in front of him.

The world stopped for just a moment, and Arthur couldn’t move until he heard that sweet sound of a voice that occupied his dreams. “Took you long enough, was starting to think you weren’t gonna come.”

It looked like even speaking hurt her with the bruising on her jaw, and yet she still held that strength to be sarcastic even in agony. Never stopping being that goddess of power every damn day, a damn inspiration to all that lived.

As Isabella was dragging herself up the bars, Arthur finally found his voice.  “I’ll always come Belle, I’ll never leave you.” Shooting the lock, he reached inside to take her hand and pulled her out as gently as he could, but still with a strong jolt enough to make sure she moved as quickly as possible.

Resisting with every part of his self-will to hold her so tightly it knocked the air from her lungs, just so he could assure himself she was actually real. But instead of giving in to that desire, they chose survival, and the two of them dropped down behind the wall as the shooting started.

“Give me a gun Arthur.” Isabella all but grunted as she moved, feeling cuts ripping back open. “You’re hurt, Belle,” Arthur returned his words between raising and ducking to make shots. “And you’ll be as well if you don’t give me a gun.” Not hanging around any longer, she’s reaching for him and all but ripping the pistol from his holster.

“Belle.” Arthur warned, even if he knew she wasn’t going to listen, she was so damn stubborn. “Don’t start,” She frowned toward him as she quickly joined in the shooting. No matter how much he wanted to argue, he knew this was needed, that even though she looked like she’d been half beaten to death, he needed her help, he always would.

“We gotta go,” They both turned to see Dutch behind one of the pillars already, shooting them space. Together they sprinted to the small cover of safety, even though Isabella’s burnt feet caused every single step to feel like she was on a bed of nails, yet she didn’t stop, she knew she couldn’t stop. So, with a grimace, she just kept running until she was behind the pillar beside the one Dutch was using.

“Isabella, good to see you.” He stated his face almost twisted with disbelief, he honestly hadn’t expected they’d find her alive after Hercule’s words.

“You as well Dutch, maybe we should meet up in better circumstances next time, though.” Within little time, they had managed to shoot their way out of the compound, thankfully, with Dutch carrying Javier over his shoulder, as Arthur and Isabella turned every so often to take out another guard.

They were able to get through the sugarcane field in little time, feeling their clothes and skin ripped from the harsh plants, making their way towards the small river beside the rocks. “Let’s get over this river, we can fight from there.” As they all managed to get across, they were all ducking behind said rocks.

“I can’t help with Javier on my back, hold them off, and we’ll regroup at the fort,” Dutch called out as he began to run, working on getting the limp figure of Javier away from the flying bullets.

Isabella and Arthur cleared the wave after wave of men who were ready to take their lives without a second thought. It was seemingly unrelenting, but that’s what places like this were like. There was no shortage of men ready to lay down their lives for their leader, part of Arthur realised how often he’d been the same for Dutch.

After what felt like an eternity, they managed to get enough men down that they had space to escape. Arthur stood up and swung his rifle back over his shoulder, and glanced towards Isabella. The woman was leaning against the rock she’d been using as cover.

Almost like now that the adrenaline had worn off, she’d started to finally succumb to exhaustion of her broken body, unable to fight it any longer. “Belle, we gotta go,” He ran towards her, and gave her arm a gentle squeeze. She hissed in pain, going to stand up, stumbling slightly, her bare and burnt feet were barely able to hold her up anymore, causing her knees to buckle.

 Knowing that she was going to keep trying to stand up and that would delay them, he took in a deep inhale between his teeth. Arthur was aware that the woman was not going to be impressed by what his next actions were going to be.

 Because he was more than aware that she would continue to insist she could walk, but right now, they didn’t have time for her to fight against her own body. So, without hesitating, he’s leaning down, wrapping one arm under her legs, the other wrapping around her shoulder.

Letting out a small grunt as he stood back up at his full height, cradling her close. “I can walk Arthur.” She protested, pushing against his chest with an attempt to escape, but Arthur just looked down at her with a look of really on his face. “Darlin, as much as I love your stubbornness, now ain’t the time.”

His words were conclusive, showing there was no point in arguing, and before she could, he was running through the trees, trying not to acknowledge how his heart ached with each cry she let out when she was jostled against him.

Finally reaching the fort, they were gathering at he kicked open the door with his foot, and stepped inside, nodding at the other men. Carefully placing Isabella on the chair and dropping himself on the one beside, taking her hand in his.

He didn’t care about the fact that it was such a public display of affection, he needed her close right now, needed to know she was real, that she was alive. “Fussar knows who you are, knows the price on your head. He’s bringing in reinforcements as we speak.” Hercule said as he sat against the wall, leaning on his rifle.

“Shit,” Dutch smacked his fist on the table. Arthur felt Isabella squeeze his hand a little harder in response to the echoing sound. “You help me silence him, for long enough for us all to get away. I can get you a boat.” Hercule’s assuring them.

“Really, we gotta help some strangers?” Micah snapped, which made both Arthur and Isabella both stare daggers at the side of his head. “You have found your way into the middle of a war, whether you like it or not. I’m your best chance.” The Haitian said, completely disregarding Micah.

 Isabella looked up at him through her one good eye. “What do you need?” Hercule is about to speak again when another man ran in, speaking panicked French. They stood before following the man outside, the sound of footsteps stopped though when they spotted a huge ship, “Meld, that’s the ship he’s called in for you.” They all looked wide-eyed.

 “What does he take us for, some militia, not a bunch of damn outlaws?” Arthur asked. “What do we do now?” Bill added his own question from beside them. “Well, we fight, or we run.” Dutch turned to look at all of them.

 “Any of you feel like running?” Already knowing the answer. “Never been a strong suit of ours,” Isabella said with a twinge of pain in her feet, knowing that she shouldn’t keep going, but her damn stubbornness was stronger than her acceptance of pain. So instead of listening to her body that was protesting each movement she took the rifle Arthur offered her, they both knew there was no way she was going to miss out on this fight.

 And Arthur knew that telling her that she was going to have to do so, well, it would not end well. His damn whirlwind of women, a goddess in her own right.

“I’ll get the cannon ready,” Hercule called as he began to walk towards it. “A cannon?” Isabella's eyes light up with that fiery glint, becoming even brighter with excitement at the idea of using that weapon.

 “This is gonna be fun.” She’s rubbing her hands together in anticipation in response to which Arthur let out a laugh, for the first time, he was pretty sure in days. “You’re a strange woman.” Shaking his head. “You love it.” Isabella teased as they began to unload their guns into the approaching men.

Arthur couldn’t help glance at her, he did love it, he loved her fighter spirit and more than anything, he loved her. She was his life, his soul, his everything. No matter what, he would love her to his dying day. Hearing Hercule’s voice, he nodded at her, knowing that Isabella was not going to miss a chance to fire something as big as a cannon.

Despite the throbbing pain that was constantly flowing from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, she ran over, helping Hercule push the cannon into the position. “So how do I work this thing?” She asked, steadying it before her. “Just point and fire,” Hercule answered her question with a shrug.

 “Music to my damn ears,” Doing as instructed, catching the ship on the side and hearing the metal splitting. “Keep going.” Hercule encouraged, and she didn’t need to be told twice.

Firing until the ammo ran out, “We need to go to the next one.” Feeling the ground shake below them as a cannonball was fired back towards the fort. Isabella clutched to the cannon to keep herself upright as the vibrations of the attack rocked the very surface they were on. Turning from where she was standing, she swung the rifle back around into her hands from her back.

Following close behind the men, this time it was Arthur who reached the weapon first, and started working with Hercule, so instead of Isabella approaching or trying to take control of it, rather than the man. She’s firing rounds from her rifle to help take out any single person that dared to approach Arthur, shooting and reloading the weapon at an impossible speed. And then they heard one final roar from the ship, a roar that radiated throughout the island, so loud that Isabella felt it ringing in her ears, before the two halves of it fell into the ocean, completely separated now.

When they finally managed to get to the beach, there was a boat in front of them, and Isabella was pretty sure she’d never felt so relieved in her whole life. So thankful to have a way from this god-forsaken island, however, the happiness was quickly crushed when Micah spoke.

“Small issue, we ain’t gotta captain, Fussar’s men got him, guess they want to keep us on the island until more men can come and get us.” The outlaw explained the situation. “This man is really starting to try my patience,” Dutch grunted, hands moving to rest on his hips, that calm demeanour of his almost completely withdrawn.

“And he ain’t even tortured you,” Isabella said bitterly, crossing her arms across her chest, cringing at the pain that brought the memory of the aforementioned torture. “I like the man’s style, I won’t lie, nasty, vindictive and damn thorough.” At his words, Isabella is already taking a step forward to attack the greasy son of a bitch, but Arthur grabbed her arm to halt her.

“Stop it, Micah.” His voice held that well-known threatening tone, one that made even Micah gulp, but he shook it off quickly. “Do not fight right now, it is time to go and help our captain, so we can get the hell out of here,” Dutch snapped as he stepped forward, paying no attention to the obvious simmering tension.

“Bill stay with Javier.” He threw over his shoulder as he walked, Arthur looked down at Isabella, who was still staring daggers into Micah’s back. “Reckon there’s no point in me telling you to stay behind with them.” Isabella smirked up at him, “Only took you twenty years to figure it out, but you are finally learning,” Giving him a wink before following the others.

Creeping up the side of the fort, they were watching and listening for any movement of guards, it seemed Fussar wasn’t suffering with a shortage of men. Dutch, Isabella and Hercule stood guard as Micah and Arthur put the dynamite on the artillery, and even from back where they stood, she could hear them snapping at each other.

 She was pretty sure Arthur wanted to put the dynamite on Micah, and she wouldn’t lie about how joyful she would be about that thought coming true. As the artillery started to blow up, men were sprinting out from buildings, attempting to gun down the group.

They seemed pretty fast, but the gang were well practised in fire fights and survival, bodies falling to the ground before they could inhale a final breath. Isabella glanced over at Arthur. He was in his element, letting ammo rain from his gun, reloading in practised ease, focusing on where each bullet ended up, face fixed, and blue eyes secure on each and every target.

Finally, after dropping an immeasurable number of bodies, they were reaching the biggest cabin that was in the middle of what was now a literal mass grave.

Arthur and Dutch went in first, with Isabella close on their heels, until she wasn’t, and Fussar had stepped out from the shadows. His arm so tightly wrapped around Isabella’s that it caused a burning throughout her torso, the cold steel of his gun against her temple.

“Guess I got the pretty girl back, my men missed you.” Isabella’s heart thundered in her chest. She wasn’t sure what scared her more. The cold steel against her temple, or the murderous look on Arthur’s face.

“Drop the guns,” He’s shouting at Arthur and Dutch. They went to do so, but before Arthur could place it on the ground, he felt the blonde from earlier push into his side. Knocking the wind out of his chest and causing his gun to slip from his grasp.

 Dutch held his gun pointed between the worker and Fussar. Arthur grunted, pushing himself to his feet, and his own eyeline followed Dutch’s, trying not to focus too long on Fussar. He knew this was the wrong time to lose his temper, there was too much risk to Isabella. Instead, he’s looking down at the captain, giving him a small nod, and kicking his gun towards him.

The captain didn’t hesitate, grabbing the gun and firing it, hitting their previous kidnapper right in the chest, in response Fussar is pushing Isabella forward, almost like he was trying to use her as a shield from the men.

 Then Fussar ran towards the window, rather than staying and fighting the outlaws, who looked almost at a psychotic level of anger now. Dutch firing after him, Arthur didn’t move to grab his gun, though. Even when he heard the shots leave Dutch's gun and a cry of pain from the fallen Fussar. Instead, he wrapped his arms tightly around Isabella, he’d almost lost her again. Fuck half the time he felt like he was a goddamn death sentence.

Everything hurt, and all Arthur could taste was the seawater that seemed to have collected on his lips, flooding into his lungs. He was so thirsty it felt like he’d been consuming sawdust, and the heat of the sun beating on his back made him feel like he was still in the fire there’d been on the ship.

 Was he dead? No, he couldn’t be because he didn’t think he’d feel this awful if he was, then again, he definitely belonged in hell, so maybe this was how it actually felt.

Turning over with a grunt, lying on his back, he felt himself blinded by the sun, it was so damn bright. Honestly, if he weren’t under its gaze, he might find it scenic, but that definitely wasn't his current sentiment. Despite how much he didn’t want to, he knew he had to get up, he had to search, even if it wasn’t likely at all that the others could have ended up here.

He needed to know if they were alive, and more importantly, if Isabella was alive. He knew if it turned out she wasn’t, that he’d probably walk right back into the sea and just let it take him. The longing to see her was all that motivated him to stand, he needed to find her, more than he needed blood in his veins, more than he needed breath in his lungs.

The outlaw believed he would feel it if she was no longer attached to this world, all those years ago, he hadn’t. But now? In their older age, the connection had become even more powerful. 

With that in mind, he started to walk, well, it was more like stumbling, completely unsteady from dehydration and heat exhaustion. His legs were so heavy, his body was so weary, every step harder, only then did he realise he’d lost his shoes in the sea.

The sand felt like lava against his skin, it burned with every step, and yet he continued. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, until he collapsed to his knees. His energy was almost completely sapped, he needed water, he needed shelter. He knew he’d die soon if he didn’t get either, fists closed until his nails nipped at his skin.

Pushing himself to stand purely through his own stubbornness, fighting against his body's craving to give in to the temptation of his sweet mortal end, getting himself back up with a groan that was riddled with the agony that ran through his whole body, and yet he kept going, even when he reached a hill. Which he half walked up, half crawled up, looking around when he reached the top.

After what felt like an eternity of fighting against his own body, he saw smoke floating into the air and felt his heart speed up with the possibility that it was people who were friendly, or at least not out to kill him. But more than anything, he hoped that Isabella was there. Staggering further, he finally spotted the people sitting around the fire.

Dutch, Bill, Javier, and Micah were croaching beside it, and sure, he was happy to see them, but his eyes were drawn straight to the person sitting on the rock. Someone who was slightly parted from the group, escaping the heat of the fire that added to the heat of the sky.

She was sunburnt as hell, hair knotted with sea water, clothes ripped, and lips chapped. And yet she still was the most beautiful sight he’d ever laid eyes on. “Arthur, you’re, you’re alive.” He heard Dutch shout, but his eyes didn’t move from Isabella, especially when she looked up and a bright smile formed on her face.

A smile that fully reached her emerald eyes that were sparkling like precious jewels as she stared at him. Pushing herself off the rock, she didn’t hesitate to jump down, running towards the man, despite her lack of energy.

 Almost taking him out as she all but flung herself into his arms, wrapping herself around him so tight it took his breath away. But he locked his arms around her just as tight, a viselike grip that felt both restricting and intensely comforting, and when they were finally parting from each other, his hand reached to cradle her face.

Even with the sting of the touch against her sensitive skin, making her tempted to flinch slightly, she didn’t move away, staring up at him as happy tears laced her eyes.

 “I thought you were dead,” She whispered, voice wavering with pure emotion, tears of gratitude lining her orbs. “Couldn’t do that to you.” He assured her, leaning in to place a kiss on her forehead.

Ready to hold her against him again when he heard Dutch clear his throat, “Come on, son, sit, have some water.” He reluctantly separated from Isabella and turned to them. The sight of a canteen was like a salvation, he walked over, dropping heavily on the ground. Isabella sat down beside him, regardless of the fact that she had no desire to sit so close to the heat from the fire.

She needed to be next to him right now; to make sure he was real, because half of her was still convinced he was a mirage. She was close enough to him that their arms touched, but nothing else, it gave her something to hold onto, something grounding.

Arthur took the canteen and drank greedily, so quickly that a small amount of the water dripped down his chin. But he didn’t stop until the canteen was empty, feeling the water flow through his veins, and it was quite possibly one of the most incredible feelings he’d ever had physically.

“So, what next, Dutch?” However, the minute he’d finished speaking, he heard the sound of guns cocking around him. “Well, I guess next we are getting shot,” Dutch muttered, hands going up as the rest of them followed suit. As they stood, Arthur immediately pushed Isabella behind him, putting his body at risk for her again.

“Encadénalos.” The order was shouted by the man atop a horse, each one of them was grabbed, and chains were attached to their ankles.

Until they reached Isabella, instead of touching her, they just watched her. “Agárrala, Fussar disfrutará del regalo” He’s letting out a leery laugh before the woman was being grabbed by some of the men.

 Letting out a scream as she was, and already fighting against them, despite the fact that it felt like her sunburnt skin was ripping with each movement. “Belle!” Arthur shouted, stepping towards her, but straight away he felt cool metal against his temple, and the sound of a gun cocking.

“One more move, and you die.” The man atop the horse shouted. “Arthur, please, don’t move, please.” Isabella pleaded, still battling against the men who held her. “Let her go! Let her fucking go!” He roared as he watched her resist against their arms.

 But as she did so, one of the other men stalked over to her, hitting her with the butt of his rifle, knocking her out cold. Arthur felt his heart drop to his stomach as he watched her slump in their arms, feeling chains being attached to his ankles, and being shoved forward by the butt of the gun.

He still looked back as he watched Isabella being flung over one of the men’s shoulders and taken away from him. Taken away from him again, he wanted nothing more than to run after her, but not only would he get a bullet in his head before he took a step, he was now trapped along with the other men in the gang.

 All he could do was drag himself along behind them, bouncing from one foot to the other. He kept his head down, fighting against shedding tears of soul-wrenching loss and fear, knowing that would be a sign of weakness, and that was a huge mistake in his current situation.

He could hear Dutch spinning a lie in front of him, but he was barely listening, just concentrating on moving along with the other men. That name that had been mentioned when they’d grabbed Isabella rang a bell.

 Then it hit him, he’d met Fussar at the party, and he’d seen exactly how he looked at Isabella. Arthur felt like he had perished right there and then. What were they going to do to her? He couldn’t stay in his thoughts much longer when he heard gunshots ring through the air.

His head shot up, half expecting to see the men before him drop. Instead, there were guards falling down around them, and the four men were straight away moving to retrieve keys. Unlocking themselves and grabbed any weapon they could from the fallen guards.

Shooting the leftover men and looking around for whoever had started the killing spree, half expecting them to be next. Especially when he heard the rapid hooves come from across the river before them.

“Shit, they are bringing reinforcements.” Dutch hissed, but then they heard someone shouting behind them. A stranger stood in the trees, beckoning them over. “Come on!” He’s yelling, none of the men argued, already running over, until they heard another shot, and Javier grunted.

 Turning back, Arthur saw Javier drop, a wound that was already dripping blood, had been created in his leg. “Javier!” Arther bellowed, ready to run to him. “Go, go! Leave me.” Javier shouted with his thick accent.

Arthur didn’t want to, but he already knew if they stayed, the rest of them would die as well. “We can get to the fort I’ve settled in, it’s high up, easy to defend.” The stranger called out, leading them without another word as gunshots were fired behind them.

 Hearing cries as men’s lives ended behind them, but none of them could bring themselves to care, it was about survival, and that was the most important thing right now. He needed to survive long enough to find Isabella.

They quickly dispatched the uniformed men, especially when they had the defence of the fort. As the last man died, Dutch turned to their saviour, “I’m Dutch, these drowned rats are Bill, Micah and Arthur.” Holding his hand out for the stranger to shake.

“Hercule Fontaine,” The man gave his name before he spoke once more. “Fussar will be looking for you,” Hercule said, looking towards Dutch. “Who is Fussar?” He asked with a frown. “A tyrant who owns this island, who uses humans like toys until they die.”

“What does he want with Belle?” Arthur questioned as fear laced his voice; he didn’t even bother to hide his terror any longer. “Who’s Belle?” Hercule turned to him with a look of confusion.

“Isabella, she is one of our gang members, the men who captured us took her,” Dutch answered. It angered Arthur that his voice was so casual, as if he were talking about the weather, not an actual person, a person whom he had raised.

 Hercule’s lips pressed together, a grimace on his face. “Honestly? If they took her to Fussar, then nothing good.” Arthur felt like the ground fell from under him, and he turned to walk in the direction they had just come from.

But before he could take another step, Dutch took his arm, “Dutch, let go of me, I have to help.” He’s trying to shrug him off, but then Bill is grabbing his other arm. “Arthur, my son, you need to eat and rest. You go look for Isabella now? You ain’t coming back alive.” Arthur gritted his jaw so hard that he was surprised his teeth hadn’t cracked.

Despite how much he wanted to deny it, he knew Dutch was right, his body had been through hell. He was nowhere near well enough to go and help Isabella, and he wouldn’t just be risking his life but hers as well if he did so.

“Fine, but the minute I’ve slept, I’m gonna go after her whether you like it or not.” He grunted as he stared down at Dutch with a look of defiance he had never had given him before, a look that showed the trust and belief had finally cracked.

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Isabella woke with her face down on the cold stone floor, it smelt like damp, moss and the rust of aged blood. Attempting to reach up to rub her sore face, she realised she couldn’t move her hands, there was a rattle of chains every time she tried to do so.

Where the hell was she? The last memory she’d had was fighting against strong arms and then the butt of a rifle hitting her face. Opening her mouth slightly, pain exploded throughout her jaw, but at least that meant it wasn’t broken. And more than anything, it meant she was still alive. Struggling to sit up from the floor she’d been lying on, she managed to pull herself up and rest her sore body against the wall behind her.

“Ella esta despierta.” Isabella heard a voice from outside the cell speak in fast Spanish. The click of a lock being opened echoed off the stone walls, and then two men entered her cell.

She didn’t pause for a second, kicking out, trying to keep the men away. However, as she tried to move, one of the men managed to grab her hair so hard that she was pretty sure it was about to leave her with a bald spot.

 “Get the fuck off me,” She hissed through gritted teeth, despite the stinging in her scalp. “Qué luchadora, ¿no?.” The guard, looking down at her, snarled. “Supongo que tendremos que asegurarnos de que la linda chica se comporte bien antes de que llegue Fussar.” The one above her added, pulling his fist back, hitting her face again and again until she felt her eye swelling and blood dribbling down her face.

Unsheathing a knife from his belt, he ran it along her cheek, adding to the blood flowing onto her chin. Before he ran it down her front, cutting down her shirt, hard enough to not only expose her, but to also leave a trailed cut down her torso.

From her collarbone, down her sternum and ending at the bottom of her stomach. Isabella kept her teeth clenched, refusing to cry out in pain from it, she wouldn’t show weakness to these men, not even for a single second.

Staring up at the man with her one good eye, she didn’t look away, emeralds burning with fire that could set a man ablaze. Feeling a hand wrap around her neck, pushing her back so her head was smacked against the wall behind her, hard enough to cause her to see stars flash before her eyes.

Hearing the familiar sound of a belt buckle being undone, she began to kick out again, movements only stilled when she felt the coldness of a revolver against her temple. She wanted to keep fighting, but she knew she couldn’t, if she did, then she’d die. For so long, that was what she wanted, but now she had made a promise to Arthur, a promise that she’d never break.

No, she would not die, no matter what they did, she’d stay alive so Arthur could as well. So instead of moving any further, Isabella just stared down the man before her. Refusing to let him look away as she waited for what was coming next, if he was going to do this.

She would not let him see fear nor pain; he’d have to watch that flame that was unwavering in her eyes. Proof that no matter what they did, not a single soul could extinguish that fire. She'd make sure the men's minds would forever be seared with the memory of her power whilst they tried everything to break her soul, but nobody ever would.

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The torture had lasted hours, parts of Isabella were bleeding without ceasing, the cut down her middle stung like a bitch.

Looking towards the candle that now sat on the table, the same candle that had been brushed over the bottom of her feet, causing every step to feel like she was walking on glass. There were cuts and burns decorating every part of her skin that wasn’t covered, and bits that were covered as well.

She’d been given a fresh shirt after she was dragged from the cold cell, and it clung to the parts of her skin that were still bleeding and the bits where the blood had started to congeal.

 “Even bruised, her beauty is unmissable,” She heard the voice she’d been half ignoring cut through the heavy silence again, then his words were repeated in Spanish towards the man who had taken great pleasure in her agony earlier.

That man nodded eagerly, giving her a keen grin, which held an undertone of perversion within it. She kept staring at the way the flame flickered on the candle, as if it were performing some sort of ritualistic dance.

 Isabella heard footsteps approach from the other side of the table, nails nipping into her aching jaw, as she was forced to look toward the man who had an air of brutal authority about him.

 “You will learn to respect me or suffer the consequences.” He snapped, face so close she could smell the rum and cigarettes on his breath. She had recognised him from Bronte’s party straight away, and then she’d heard the name Fussar.

The name seemed to strike fear within the guards; he appeared to have a control over this island that caused her to be fuelled by further rage. Men like him made her sick, they used people like they were objects, ready to discard them when they no longer proved valuable.

 “I have asked multiple times, and you are testing my patience.” He hissed so close to her face she could feel spittle hit her damaged skin. “What is your name?” Isabella just stared at him, eyes glowering in fury, but she said nothing, her lips pressed together so tightly that they almost seemed glued.

After another few moments, the man lost his very little patience and moved, slapping her across the face, hard enough for her head to snap to the side. A stinging pain flared in her cheek, but she didn’t reach for it, didn’t cry out.

Instead, she just straightened herself up and went back to staring at him, expression blank but eyes darkening further. When she had no reaction to him, he slapped her against the other cheek, the side of her face that had already swollen, her eye shut with the bruising.

That one hurt more, rattling her teeth, but not a sound left her still. “I have been nice to you, and yet you still disrespect me,” Isabella kept her eyes fixed on him and finally spoke.

“Fuck you.” Spitting blood against his face, he flinched back, picking his pocket square and wiping his cheek with it, looking at her with disgust. “So unladylike,” He inhaled through his teeth before he tutted, turning to one of the guards.

“Métela en la jaula; if she doesn't give in to a beating, she'll give in to dehydration, or she'll die like a stubborn fool.” Isabella felt herself being roughly pulled up, agony spreading through her insides at the hands gripping at her injured body, but she refused to look away from the tyrant. Her emeralds fixed on him until she was removed from the room, and he was no longer in her eyesight.

The men dragging her were starting to struggle to catch their breath, she’d totally dead weighted herself. She wasn’t a heavy woman, but that kind of thing was difficult to move.

One of the guards let out a yell of fury, stepping forward and nodding to his fellow man. With a casual move, they threw her down the three steps in front of them, her air totally knocked out of her lungs, and she let out a bloody cough.

Finally letting out a quiet moan of agony, which was muted by the above men’s laughter. It seemed as though the men had released the evil inside completely with the encouragement from Fussar.

She could feel herself being grabbed again, heaved over one of the men’s shoulders. “Esta maldita perra está empezando a molestarme.” He’s muttering, digging his fingers into the now rebleeding wounds and broken ribs in her side. “Ella hablará o morirá, así que simplemente le damos tiempo para que decida.” The other man shrugged.

Carried out into the still unbearably hot dawn air, she just stared straight at the ground. Trying her best to memorise the scene, but it was becoming almost impossible, her sight limited to just one eye.

After what felt like an eternity, they stopped, and she heard a slam of a cage being opened, her limp body being thrown into the awaiting cage.

Hitting the metal bars made her hiss, but her mouth clamped back shut once more, even when a well-timed kick hit her sensitive side. There was a click of a lock behind her, and she slowly dragged herself up on the bars beside her. “Nos vemos pronto, niña bonita.” The guard's voice rang out before silence fell over the womans surrondings, and she watched as she was left completely alone. 

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i don't speak spanish so please see google translation below Encadénalos - Chain them Agarra a la chica, Fussar disfrutará del regalo. - Grab the girl, Fussar will enjoy the gift. Ella esta despierta - She is awake Qué luchadora, ¿no? - What a fighter, right? Supongo que tendremos que asegurarnos de que la chica guapa se porte bien antes de que llegue Fussar. - I guess we'll have to make sure the pretty girl behaves herself before Fussar arrives. Métela en la jaula - Put her in the cage Esta maldita perra está empezando a molestarme - This damn bitch is starting to annoy me Ella hablará o morirá, así que simplemente le damos tiempo para que decida - She will either speak or die, so we're simply giving her time to decide. Nos vemos pronto, niña bonita - See you soon, pretty girl.

It had been hours, Isabella and Arthur had finally unwrapped from each other, but they sat close, their arms brushing together every so often. Needing the security of one another, Isabella was fighting everything inside to not break down and cry, and although Arthur wouldn’t admit it, he was right there with her. 

Hosea was dead, Lenny was dead, and John was arrested and would probably hang. What the hell were they going to do now? There was no way out, nowhere left to run, the Pinkertons had found them more than once, and they would never truly escape.

They’d figured out their grand plans and once again been right there to pick up the spoils. It was true that the time for people like them really was coming to an end, and they were pathetic to think that wasn’t the truth. Everything had fallen apart once again, it was a mess, they’d made such a goddamn mess.

They were stuck like rats, caged up because there was nothing left, nothing left deep in their empty souls, there was just agony that held heavy in the room, loss and grief thick in the air.

Isabella looked towards Arthur’s bag, which sat in the corner that was full of gold, at one point that would have brought them so much joy. Not anymore, the gold didn’t matter for a single fucking second, she’d trade every single bar in the whole world to get Hosea back.

 He’d always been there, a pillar within the gang, he had taught her and Arthur to read, to swim, to fight and helped them fully embrace who they truly were. He’d offered never-ending support and patient love for all of them, no matter what they did, he was always there to fix it.

He had always been there as a quiet support for anyone who needed it, her memory flashed back to their final conversation. How he’d given her such comfort when she’d opened herself bare to him emotionally, no judgement, just love of someone he saw as family. Just gave her further proof in the knowledge that he was a truly good person, no matter what he had done.

Yet now he had bled out on the street alone, nobody to hold him and reassure him that although he was leaving the world psychically, he would never leave them in their memories.

That he was going to be with his beloved Bessie, that they loved him, that they were so thankful to him, and would always adore him. They could never make up for everything he’d done for them. After all, for Isabella, although Dutch had helped with raising her, her relationship with Hosea had always contained heavier sentiments and deeper emotional support.

She hated that she’d never be able to truly thank him for raising her, for saving her. It felt, to some degree, like she had watched Thomas die again, yes, it was a different form of love and loss. But still part of her heart had died with him, and a further part had died with Hosea, and she knew that Arthur felt exactly the same as her.

He’d stared at the wall the whole time, eyebrows fixed in a frown, those lines in his face so deep, it looked like they’d been carved in stone. Hosea had been the father to him, something that he never got with his own, blood be damned, that man was his father.

The outlaw had stopped Isabella running towards Hosea as he lay dying on the ground, but a part of him wished he had instead. Not really caring if he died alongside the older amn, because at least Isabella would be safe, and he could have offered comfort to Hosea in his final moments.

Well, he would have hoped she’d have been unharmed, but he knew for a fact that if he’d run to Hosea, Isabella would have been hot on his heels. She’d have been gunned down along with him if that had happened.

He couldn’t live without her, and he knew deep down that she couldn’t live without him either, they’d just got each other back. So, in a selfish way, he thought that if that was how they died, at least they would have died together.

But not only had they lost Hosea today, but they had also lost Lenny, brave and wonderfully stubborn Lenny, who’d fought beside him so many times. He'd formed a brotherly friendship with him, he’d been so young, he had so many years to live, he deserved more than any of them to live.

And yet his light had been snuffed out so quickly that he hadn’t been able to breathe a final breath, say a final word of fear or loss, he had faced instant death from the violence of their enemy.

Arthur had been hurt deeper by today’s deaths than he’d ever been with any other death in the gang, well, apart from Isabella’s supposed death. Losing his father, losing someone he’d counted as one of his brothers on the same day. Something had shattered inside of him, he wanted to cry, he wanted to curse at God. Why did he live when two of the people who had deserved to do so much more than him had died?

“You gotta plan yet Dutch?” His words were spoken with an unintentional aggression that he wanted to deny, but he just couldn’t anymore, he was done with pretending to care what happened next, but he also knew the remaining members of the gang needed to live.

“If we go back to camp, everyone’s dead, the streets are full of cops, I need time, Arthur, just please let me figure something out.” Both Isabella and Arthur were shocked and so angry by this scenario, for once the man didn’t have a plan, at that moment they realised they were well and truly fucked.

The gang leader mused for a moment or two longer before clicking his fingers in an almost-sign of a grand epiphany. “I’ve got it, we stay here till nightfall, and then we sneak through town, and stowaway on one of those boats at the harbour.” Without hesitation, he kicked Charles out of the only chair in the room, reestablishing that he was still the leader.

Charles took the space on the other side of Arthur, and Isabella gave him a nod filled with respect, before she turned once more to listen to Dutch, “We leave, we lay low, and then in a few weeks we come back for the others to take them with us.”

Arthur let out possibly the longest sigh that Isabella had ever heard before speaking again, “Guess that’s all we can do, or we die out there just like Hosea and Lenny.” His words were answered by a look of disbelief and disappointment from Dutch that Arthur had never seen before, causing him to shift uncomfortably under a look he felt cut deep into his soul.

Isabella reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze before quickly dropping it again and reaching down to cut the skirt she was wearing to reveal that she was wearing pants under it. Along with shedding herself of her ripped blazer above it, leaving her in just a tight undershirt.

Showing far more skin than she cared to, the look from Micah made her wince with obvious unease. That look of leering that made her shiver and feel a wave of sickness throughout her whole body. Arthur noticed and removed his suit jacket, passing it to her wordlessly, so she could cover herself with it, to help her feel more comfortable and meaning that Micah’s eyes moved away from her.

Whether or not she was ready to accept it, she was Arthur’s, and no man could look at her like that. She’s putting on the jacket and buttoning it up. Tightening it to the point her skin was covered, even if it still dwarfed her. “Thank you,” She whispered words just for him, relaxing back against the wall, as she finally succumbed to the exhaustion of the day.

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The raven-haired outlaw felt a gentle shake of her shoulder, and she let out a groan of protest at the sudden wake-up from her deep levels of sleep, somewhere that she had been able to disappear from the true nightmare their life had become.

 “Belle, we have to go,” Arthur’s voice was low and tender. Isabella slowly rose as she began to regain her senses. She noticed that she’d cuddled up to him in her sleep, seeking that unconscious reassurance only he offered her.

Arthur hadn’t slept but also hadn’t stopped her lying against him in her sleep, relishing in the only comfort he could currently get, even if he knew he didn’t deserve it. He knew he didn’t deserve her. Yes, Isabella saw herself as a bad person, but she was most definitely nothing compared to him.

The whole group remained silent as they left the empty decrypted room, the air of the city polluted with the scent of blood and gun smoke. Ears sprang up when they heard the law stationed everywhere around them; they needed to move silently but not stop for a single second. 

Arthur and Dutch went first to move stealthily through the train, the others following soundlessly. Arthur grabbed Isabella’s hand to pull her behind one of the seats, to hide her as cops appeared at the end of the train.

They crept through the rest of the train, a wave of anxiety washing over Isabella when they left it only to see guards standing in their way. Arthur didn’t falter for a moment, sprinting and hiding behind the crates so he wasn’t spotted.

Before he let out a loud whistle to distract the guards, he returned to the group when the guards went to investigate the source of the sound. Isabella’s heart was racing with panic the minute he left, only settling when he returned to her side.

They made their way further into the outskirts of the city and collected within a large stand of crates, noticing four more lawmen stood there. There was no way they could sneak past without taking them out and shooting their way out? It would cause so many more to come after them, which would mean the night would come to an end with all of them dead.

However, Charles stood without hesitation and walked right through to distract the cops despite Arthur's hissed protests. “Now that’s the best goddamn act I’ve ever seen,” Dutch whispered words had that usual flamboyance that made Isabella clench her fists, and it took every bit of self-control not to call him out for his disregard for someone as worthy of respect as Charles.

Yet another gang member risking their life to get them out of the trouble they had so willingly put themselves in. It was getting worse and worse every single time she watched it happen. They had lost too much today; both Isabella and Arthur weren’t sure they could stomach any more loss without dying themselves.

Arthur immediately picked up on Isabella’s mood as he always did and placed a hand on her shoulder given her that look that said stop, and unlike how she would kick off with so many other people, she straight away listened to his speechless action. If they had been in a different situation, she would have made a snide comment, but in this one, she knew she couldn’t.

Once the guards had been distracted, they followed Dutch, staying low as they made their way to the docked boat, following the path to the deck. Settling between crates to hide and wait for Dutch’s next plan, once again.

After a few more hours, dawn broke, and Dutch looked towards both Arthur and Isabella. “Guess it’s time to introduce myself to the captain, maybe give him a little gold for his silence.” He muttered in a quiet voice, so only those two could hear.

“Guess so.” Arthur agreed with a shrug, but he didn’t even look Dutch as he spoke, staring daggers into the crate before him. “I’ll be right back,” Dutch said, standing and making his way to the man pacing the deck with a gun.

“We hear a shot, then guess we’re going overboard.” Arthur tried to joke before he noticed that Isabella had her hands over her face. Shoulders shaking a bit, a clear sign of how harshly she was silently sobbing.

Releasing the overwhelming emotions that she’d let fester deep within her all day since watching Lenny and Hosea's violent ends, they all finally exploded out as the floodgates opened, because it was impossible to do anything else. Every one of the heavy emotions that had occupied her all day carved a fresh line of tears to fall down her stained cheeks.

“Belle, darlin.” Without delay, he’s pulling her into him, resting his chin against her tussled hair, which had mostly fallen out of the carefully crafted hairstyle from earlier. She pressed her face against his chest for a few moments, relishing in the reassurance he offered even without a word.

 After a few minutes of him just holding her, she finally broke the silence. “I miss Hosea,” Pulling away from him and finally revealing her face. Her eyes were glistening with tears, red-rimmed from her sobbing. A few still dripping from her chin, ones she didn’t even bother to wipe away, she didn’t have the energy to do so.

“I know so do I.” His own voice cracking under the weight of his own emotions, “Him and Lenny, they’re dead, Arthur they’re gone, and John he’s gonna hang, and there ain’t a single goddamn thing we can do.” Another few tears escaped her eyes; she hated crying in front of anyone, even Arthur, and always had.

She’d denied breaking down in front of people for so long, but she just couldn’t anymore. She had finally stopped being able to push her feelings down, she’d lost that carefully crafted control, and she just couldn’t keep it together any longer.

“What do we do now, Arthur? What the hell do we do?” Her lower lip trembled as she cried. Now that the tears had started, she couldn’t stop them, they just kept falling. She honestly was scared they would never cease.

“We keep going Belle, we survive, we survive in their honour.” He’s soothing her, his large hand rubbing circles against her back. “What if I don’t want to anymore, what if I just fucking can’t?” Eventually confessing to the thoughts that had been building in her mind since she’d watched the blood seep from Hosea’s body. Arthur captured her chin with one worn finger, tilting her head up, making sure emerald met aquamarine.

“Please, Belle, we’ve lost so much, I’ve lost so much, you’ve lost so much. I can’t lose you, please, please, I can’t lose you as well. I can’t. It will kill me, I can’t keep going without you, I just can’t. And that might be selfish as hell to admit, but please, I’ve lost you once. I can’t again.” Arthur was pleading, his own eyes starting to become lined with moisture.

 Isabella didn’t say anything, just closing the distance between them, her hand resting on his cheek. Lips meeting, the kiss was slow, there was nothing hinted by it, this was not a kiss to lead to something else.

 It was a promise; it was her realising that she had been so consumed by the idea of finally giving up. But in that moment, she realised that she couldn’t do that, not to Arthur, not to the man she loved more than life itself.

She understood then that she knew she had forgiven him, it sank in just as Hosea had told her that the look he’d given her the other day was not from judgment. It was from fear; it was a look she’d never seen grace his face before, and because of that, she’d confused the two.

 When they finally parted, foreheads rested together, breath mingling between the two of them. “Belle I love..” He started before Isabella cut him off.

 “You don’t have to say it Arthur, I already know, and I know that you know I feel the same.” She curled up against his chest, just listening to his heartbeat as he held her. A moment that was only them sharing such love that even if Isabella couldn’t admit it out loud, nor let him. She knew he felt it, just as she felt it, so deeply inside that it possessed their entire form.

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Dutch’s bribe had worked, and they’d been given the approval to stay on the ship, so they spent the next few days on deck. Apparently, the ship was heading to Cuba, it looked like they were on their way to the promised tropical island that Dutch had been talking about for so long. A dream that had been there since they’d lost the wild west, the place that at one point had been where their hearts had lived, but they never could again.

Arthur and Isabella had sat together on the deck during their time on the boat. Just savouring each other’s company, even if no words were exchanged.

She felt like her skin was on fire the whole time, her pale skin reacting unhappily to the beaming sun. Turning red as a lobster, and causing every movement to sting, her clothes felt like sandpaper against her skin.

 She’d swapped Arthur’s suit jacket for a ship worker's light shirt, it had been too hot to stay in that thick material, and too much skin was on offer to prying eyes without it. Even though she felt more comfortable, her arms were now uncovered and burning along with her face.

 She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the voices of Dutch and Micah as they loudly spoke, acting as if everything was okay, acting like they hadn’t just lost three members of the gang, hell, lost fucking everything.

Finally, Micah spoke with a less relaxed tone, looking over the railing of the deck, “I ain’t no sailor, but I reckon that cloud don’t look like good news.” Arthur and Isabella both looked at it and gulped, hopefully it skipped their ship, god they hoped so.

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Arthur was jolted awake by a shout from Dutch, the boat rocking to the point that it felt like a damn earthquake. “Arthur, get up, we gotta go!” Dutch cried out as he clung to the railing of his bunk to try to steady himself.

Suddenly wide awake, he all but threw himself out of the bed, stumbling slightly as he landed into ankle deep water. “Come on!” The older man yelled, already running out of the room.

 As Arthur managed to get out behind him, his eyes were looking around widely. “Where’s Belle?” His voice so panicked, his heart thundering, he’d never felt so scared, not since that night.

“I don’t know Arthur.” Dutch’s voice was solid, almost like he didn’t care about the woman and whether or not she was alive. “I need to find her,” Arthur shouted as he felt the water under his feet get deeper.

“She’ll be on the deck,” Dutch responded, sounding like he truly believed his own words, as if he already knew she was safe. Fuck, Arthur hoped Dutch’s words were the truth, more than anything, he hoped they were the truth.

As they ran, he felt a massive sway of the boat, knocking the crates that were standing before him down in front of Arthur, immediately separating him from the group. He pushed at them with all his strength, yet they didn’t move an inch.

 “I gotta find another way out,” Dutch nodded towards him, before he continued to run along with the other three men, not even looking back. After searching for what felt like hours, Arthur managed to locate a ladder down one of the unstable corridors. Without pausing, he heaved himself up it, gripping it tightly so that he could pull himself up it whilst the boat fought against his clutch and get to the deck.

Reaching the deck, he felt himself suddenly hit by the overwhelming heat that was from the fire, which was spreading rapidly over the wooden ground. He was rushing through the only still available path, fire spreading behind him with every step.

He knew it wasn’t safe to stay, but he was battling against everything within himself not to turn back and look for Isabella. Finally reaching the railing of the boat, he saw Micah, Bill, Javier and Dutch, who were all floating on a piece of wood. But the one missing from it was the one he needed to know was safe, and it felt like his mind was burning like his skin was in the fire, not knowing if she was or not.

The only option he had was to jump, praying as he did so that Isabella had done the same. When he hit the freezing water, he felt the air be knocked out of his lungs, and he was more than aware that he couldn’t fight the sea.

All he could do was just let it drag him wherever it planned for him to go, hoping he ended up somewhere safe. And he, more than anything hoping that it was somewhere that Isabella was also.

The two of them awoke gradually, at some point during the night. Isabella had cuddled herself into the man, her head resting against his firm chest, her leg draped over his. Seemingly seeking comfort unconsciously during the night.

They were both more than aware that if they had attempted to sleep alone, neither of them would have got a wink of rest. Yet wrapped up together, they had drifted off into the peaceful lulls of the land of dreams.

Despite how their bodies ached, clothes caked in mud and hair tussled, the most painful thing in the room was the weight in both of their hearts. They’d watched something change last night, and that memory would never leave them.

The man who for so many years the one they’d watched be the embodiment of patience and control had snapped, as if this life had finally caught up with Dutch, or, and the more concerning possibility was that whether or not this madness had always been deep down within him the whole time.

Arthur’s half opened azures focused down on Isabella, sleep-hazed as he thought of what to say, but he didn’t know how to, so instead he reached forward to tuck a lock of her tangled ebony hair behind her ear.

“Did you sleep okay?” He asked voice husky with exhaustion still, “I did, did you?” The woman answered, gifting him with a soft smile. “Yes.” Reaching out to run her thumb over the small scar on his chin. Just lying in silence for a moment or so, the tranquillity and stolen peace they had found themselves in would be the perfect time to talk about the other day. And yet neither of them could bring themselves to do so, the inner war in both their minds was too much to make sense of a single thought.

“I’m sorry, Belle,” Arthur whispered, unable to say more but needing to verbalise at least something. The woman nodded, leaning forward to place a tender kiss against his forehead. “I know.” Things weren’t back to normal, and they probably wouldn’t be for a long time, but at least the groundwork was there.

At least the two of them were able to finally breathe within each other's company again, even though they still had a lot of work to do. It hit them that there were bigger things going on, losing each other? That wasn’t something either of them could live with.

“I should get up, the robbery is today.” Isabella backed away, unlacing herself from that safe place she found in his arms. As she stood, she felt a large hand wrap around her delicate wrist, glancing down at the joint limbs, emeralds returned to aquamarines.

“Be safe today, okay, Belle.” It was said so simply, so casually, but Isabella was more than aware of the weight of his words. It was for both of them, a commitment and promise that the other needed to be okay, to be safe, that was the most important thing. “You to Arthur.” She reached down to take his hand in hers.

Pulling those joint hands to her lips and placing a soft kiss on the rough outer skin of his knuckles, before she stepped back and retrieved her possessions. Leaving the room with one last glance and a kind smile towards the man who meant the world to her.

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Isabella tugged at the damn corset which was stealing her ability to fully inhale. She hated the damn thing, had all but begged Hosea for her to be able to wear something else. Suggested she could wear her shirt and pants and sneak in behind everyone else. But he’d reiterated that she had to fit in with the fancy ladies of saint denies.

So here she was stuck here in a blazer with a corset and a ringed skirt, which she’d chosen to wear pants under, because she’d always find a way to rebel, that inner feral teenager had never fully grown up.

Her hair was styled delicately on her head, a few curls hanging loose around her high cheekbones, at least she’d had some choice with that part of her look. Poor Mary Beth had backed up with panic at the look that Isabella had given her when she’d pulled out a ribbon from her bag for her to wear. Isabella would only take the disguise so far, honestly, she was counting down the minutes until she could get back and throw this damn outfit to the gators. It would only be a few hours after all.

Hearing someone clear their throat beside her, she turned, emeralds catching aquamarine as she focused on Arthur, brow raised. “Nice dress,” She rolled her eyes and laughed, “Nice suit.” To which Arthur ran his hands uncomfortably down the front of the suit jacket.

He felt just as out of place in a suit as Isabella did in a fancy dress, it made him feel alien, and it probably looked like it to. Like two kids playing dress up, so unlike them, this future America was not made for either of them.

His eyes widened as he noticed how tightly her waist was captured. “Holy shit, Belle, can you even breathe in that?” The woman hummed uncomfortably, tugging at the damn contraption. “Not at all, yano forgo torture methods, stick a man in one of these, and he’ll sing like a damn canary in minutes. Pretty sure I can feel my stomach being pushed into my throat.” She grunted out, brows knitting before she looked over at the other gang members milling around as they prepared for the day.

Isabella couldn’t help how her eyes followed Dutch, he seemed so calm, not a lick of guilt from the night before. Yes, the woman had done many horrific things, but she carried each of those actions like a scar on her soul.

Whereas Dutch seemed to have been completely unaffected by what had happened, as if it had just been another night, not going against one of the principles he’d ingrained in the gang since day one. That revenge wasn’t something for them, and yet he’d acted on it in the darkest way possible.

It filled Isabella with doubts in her trust of him, they weren’t saints, not a single one of them. But even when she’d at one point tried to convince herself that revenge was the right thing to do, she had always had that battle with her morals deep within herself. 

The people who were there last night seemed to be having inner battles themselves, whereas the people who hadn’t just seemed to be walking on eggshells, nothing felt like their norm anymore. Giving Arthur one final nod and a gentle pat on his arm, they made their way over to the gathering of the group.

Hosea and Abigail were climbing onto a wagon at the front of the camp, whilst the Dutch, Micah, Arthur, John, Lenny, Charles, Bill and Isabella all mounted up. With great struggle and complaints from Isabella, getting onto a horse in the damn skirt she was trapped in was no easy task.

“So we rob ourselves a bank and within six weeks we are on some tropical island, living out the rest of our days as banana farmers?” Hosea’s question quietened down the chatter of the now mounted-up gang. “Well lets get out of this godforken place and go rob that bank then!” His words were responded to by cheers from the others as reins were snapped and heels dug into the sides of horses.

As they rode, Dutch spoke once more, “This is it, everybody, one last big job and then we are done.” He explained with a tone of pride in his voice. “Ain’t we heard that one before?” John mumbled under his breath, which made Isabella turn to him and give him a knowing nod of agreement.

“What has happened to you, John? You’ve lost all your heart.” Dutch threw back. “Guess we are just trying to find some damn reality in this Dutch,” Isabella called out, causing Arthur to give his own internal sigh, partially out of agreement, but also in shame that he didn’t have the courage to say those words.

He’d always prided himself on his bravery, when it came to gunfights, the law, risking his damn life, he was one of the bravest people to exist. What would make others cry and run, he’d face head-on. Yet he didn’t have the courage to stand up against his mentor's ideas.

Dutch scoffed, “Real, reality, oh how I hate those words, so devoid of any imagination.” His strained voice was cut off by Micah starting to question about the blackwater money, with the gang leader offering reassurances in response that although that money was long gone, they would soon have way more, enough to finally escape.

He turned on his horse to look at the group before working through the motions of the plan. “John and Lenny, you are at the front doors. Javier, you will take the side. Micah, Bill and Charles, you will control the crowds. And me, Isabella and Arthur will have a chat with the bank manager.” He called out his orders.

“Me and Abigail will go on ahead, stay cool and collected until we give the signal. And if there are any problems, we will all meet back at camp.” Hosea explained from his seat atop the wagon, whipping the reins of the shire’s dragging the wagon to prompt them to speed up.

“Well, everybody, let's act nice and civilised, not like a group of degenerate cowboys,” Dutch instructed with a charismatic grin on his face. They rode in calmly, as if they were all just on a simple Sunday ride. Not about to cause more trouble than this city had seen in a long time, if they had ever seen this amount of trouble before.

As they approached the bank, all the gang members dismounted, tugging at their various disguises, trying to get comfortable, not that they could. “How long do we wait, Dutch?” Bill asked, holding his rifle tightly.

“Not long, now remember we are stealing back from the people who have already stolen from the mouths of mothers and babes. Just evening the scales.” Dutch stood up straight. Not long after he spoke, the ground shook with an explosion at the other side of the city.

“I love that man, never does anything by halves, does he?” Dutch boomed with a prideful laugh, which everyone joined in on. Hosea had always had a flair for the dramatics, knowing how to cause the maximum amount of trouble and slip away before the law could even have time to scratch their heads.

The cops who had been occupying the bank were already all rushing away to try to address the disaster that was overwhelming the other side of the town. As the last one ran away, the group are making their way across the street.

Dutch kicked the door of the bank open, whipping the guard who stood beside it with the butt of his gun. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a robbery, keep calm and nobody needs to get hurt.” His voice echoed over the panicked customers.

Charles, Bill and Micah were already working on pushing the terrified patrons into the back room, as Arthur, Dutch and Isabella stalked over to the bank manager who was standing beside the vault.

“Open the damn door,” Arthur growled out, the cool steel of his gun pressed towards the man's forehead. Completely in his element, holding that air of threat, with his imposing stature and the fixed frown on his face. Once more proving why he held the title of enforcer of the gang, when he gave that icy glare, not a single man could hold eye contact without gulping, knowing they were tettering on the edge of their possible death.

The bank manager held his hands up as if to show he wasn’t a threat, despite the fact that he not only looked like he was about to wet himself but also the fact that he was nowhere near appearing like a threat to the hardened outlaws.

As they entered the vault, Arthur headed straight to the safes. Isabella stood with her back to him, holding her gun up, ready to take out anyone willing to rear their ugly head. A small secret smile was creeping over her features at the clinking of the gold hitting Arthur’s saddle bag, a clear sign of their success.

But panicked voices from the gang caused the woman to raise her brows and turn to Arthur, tilting her head to indicate that it was time to go.

And the scene they returned to was one Isabella could have never imagined in her darkest nightmares. The pinkertons armed to the teeth, stood across the road, but that wasn’t the thing that drew her emeralds. It was Agent Milton who stood in the middle with his gun resting against the base of Hosea’s skull.

“Dutch, get out here!” The lawman called, “Someone musta said something,” Dutch gritted through his teeth, mind whirring back to who he had spoken to that day, shared his well-crafted plans with. “We shouldn’t have gone after Bronte,” Arthur growled, his emotions bubbling to the surface, as his eyes were fixed on his other father figure, who stood in the middle of the street with a gun pressed to his head.

Dutch steeled himself, “Mr Milton let my friend go, or folks are gonna die unnecessarily.” His own temper starting to take over, actual worry gracing his face at Hosea’s predicament, that was his best friend, his right-hand man, his damn brother.

“It’s over for you all, no more bargains, no more deals.” Agent Milton called out from behind Hosea, “Mr Milton, this is America, you can always cut a deal.” Dutch shouted, but no words came in response.

Instead, Milton pushed forward Hosea, who staggered into the street for a moment, catching the eye contact of the gang. Before he turned to look back at the men, obviously ready to offer an easy lie. But those words were stolen from him by Agent Milton’s bullet, shooting straight through his gut.

“Hosea!” Isabella screamed out, getting ready to run to the man, but her actions were stopped, however, by strong arms wrapping around her form. “Arthur, let me go! I need to help him! Let me go!” She screamed, fighting wildly against the outlaw's harsh grip.

“Belle, you go out there, you are dead, please, I can’t lose you to, please,” Arthur begged as he held her tightly enough that her breath was stolen from her. As those words hit her, she knew they were the truth, and despite every part of her screaming to go and try to save the man, Isabella fell slack against the outlaw. Arms left her and pushed her gently to stand at the cover of the window beside him.

“There’s your deal, Dutch.” Agent Milton’s bragging voice broke that last part of humanity within the group, and the shooting started. Not one of them could bring themselves to care about the fact that who they were killing under those Pinkerton uniforms were actual people, that they were someone’s husband, brother, son.

No, now they were only target practise for the gang to take their hatred, their fury out on. Bodies fell, and bullets rang through the air, gunsmoke filling their senses, the echo of shots ricocheting off the walls.

“Hosea ain’t moving Dutch.” Javier shouted through the noise, “Course he ain’t, he’s dead.” The coldness in Micah’s voice made Isabella want to turn and aim a bullet to pierce him right between his eyes. But she knew she couldn’t right now, all that mattered was keeping as many of them alive as possible, to not let another fall today.

 “Arthur you alive?” Dutch questioned voice only just loud enough to hear over the never-ending sound of guns firing, “Just about.” Arthur snapped back, his whole body shaking with rage. “Get over here then, I need you to blow a hole through that wall with some goddamn dynamite.” Despite Arthur’s current doubt creeping in about Dutch, he once more followed orders, it was the only chance to get them out of there alive.

Taking one last look at Isabella, he saw her face unwavering, contorted with a mix of pain and concentration, taking out as many men as she could with her almost perfect aim. If there was anyone who was going to get through this, Arthur was going to make damn sure it was her.

Ducking low to avoid shots, he ran to the wall, placing a piece of dynamite on it, striking a match and lighting it. Before sprinting back behind the desk. The explosion rocked the entire bank and caused a deafening ringing in all their ears. But it didn’t slow them, not even for a second, instead they were all already advancing to the now destroyed wall.

Arthur was the first to get out, already heading to the ladders that took them to the roof, they’d have a better aim from there. He’s hunkering down behind the wall, taking down man after man as they try to aim at him. They were fast, but he was faster, leaving their faces frozen in a final look of fear when their bodies thudded to the ground.

As he finally heard the last of the gang’s boots hit the ground, he turned to Dutch. “We lost John,” Dutch muttered once he finally reached Arthur. Isabella felt her heart drop into her stomach.

“John can’t be dead, please, please tell me he’s not dead.” She’s all but pleading, “No, he was arrested, I’m sorry I couldn’t help him.” Dutch explained, and Arthur felt a wave of sickness wash over him, but he steadied himself. They could deal with it later, after they’d got to safety. Nobody could be there to help John if they were all dead.

 “We gotta get out of here, Dutch, you got another plan?” His voice was as steady as he could make it despite how close to the edge of losing it he currently stood.

“You and Lenny go across the roofs, we’ll cover you.” Arthur and Lenny gave him a nod of agreement, already leaving to make their way to their intended destination. Lenny was in front of Arthur as they ran, their feet pounding on the dusty rooftops.

 “We can get across here,” Lenny’s calling back to Arthur, but then two guards stepped out from behind the cover before them. Striking the younger man down, a blast of a shotgun hit him with such force that it pushed him back at least a foot.

“Lenny!” Arthur’s voice was almost a shriek, his teeth gritted so damn hard he was pretty sure his jaw was going to crack. Before the men could raise their guns again, they were both being dropped by Arthur’s shots.

He ran over and dropped to one knee beside Lenny’s body, hoping there was some way he could help him. But heartbreakingly, he could see there was nothing he could do, the blood was already pooling from Lenny’s wounds, and despite how much Arthur wished he could stop the man losing his life, it was already too late. His heart leapt into his mouth, and he felt his whole body vibrating with loss, of Lenny, of Hosea, so much fucking loss in just one day.

The other men ran past without even taking a second glance at Lenny's dying form, apart from Charles, who stared back with a look of anguish in his eyes. Arthur was unmoving until Isabella got to him, grabbing his arm with all her strength.

Her eyes were wide, tears decorating her waterline that she denied allowing to fall, as she looked down at poor Lenny. He had been so young, he had so many more years to live. And yet his life had been snuffed out just like Hosea’s had. Tugging harder to raise the man to his full height. “Arthur, Arthur, we need to go,” Her voice insistent as she grabbed his hand, all but dragging him away from Lenny's body.

Arthur brought himself back in an instant. They needed to move, and so he was once more shutting off that grieving part of his brain, just like he had all those years ago. He followed closely behind Isabella as they moved closer to some hope of freedom. She could feel her lungs burning, the damn corset barely allowing her to breathe, but Isabella knew she couldn’t stop for a moment to loosen it.

No, she kept running, ducking and climbing over the rooftops. Until she finally noticed that the men in front were climbing into a window, which Dutch had pulled the boards off of. Throwing herself through, she all but collapsed on the ground, feeling suffocated as she clawed at the back of the damn torturous garment, trying to get at least a moment of relief.

Hearing Arthur’s heavy boots hit the ground behind her, she felt herself being pulled up, a sharp object against her back, and he sliced through the lace of the damn torture device. Loosening it until she could finally take a breath again, she dropped back against Arthur.

Staying in his wrapped arms, not caring for a second about the public display of affection, she needed it right now, to push aside the grief and fear for at least a moment, even if she wasn't sure it would ever leave, that the loss was too heavy to ever heal from.

“What the hell do we do now, Dutch?” Arthur growled, body vibrating with fury as he held Isabella tight, fighting against himself not to return to Lenny, to Hosea. His arms were clutching onto Isabella as if his life depended on it, because in all honesty, it did.