#abijohn

Thinking about that after the epilogue of rdr2 they thought that was it. That was the end. They are done and all that matters is them and Jack- oh and now their daughter. Thinking about John thinking of Arthur, silently saying "we did it, brother". Thinking about John dying and silently apologizing, "I'm sorry, I tried."

John insisted, “And if Swanson don’t make it?”

“Then maybe you get married tomorrow, or else we go see if we can get the preacher from Blackwater.” He put a hand on John’s shoulder. “It’ll be fine, Johnny.” He’d seen John fixating on things like this while building the barn and the house, caught up in the need to have everything perfect. Having Swanson here, inviting those they loved, all of just the same. Love and kindness, but also some driving need to be just so.

He’d seen that in John as a kid too. He’d glided through so much and gotten away with it often enough as Dutch’s favorite, but when it truly mattered to John Marston, he lit up like the electric lights of St. Denis at night and came alive. When that happened, nothing was impossible, nothing was too much, and only perfection would do in that ferocity of his passion. “She’d love you no matter what.”

John sighed, turning away from the window, nodding, face twisted in confusion. “I just want...I want it to be good for Abigail, you know?”

“I know. But you’ve seen how it is. Marriage ain’t ever gonna be perfect.” It wasn’t as though by officially making her his wife it would all be a dream from here.

“I know that, Arthur. I ain’t perfect. Neither is she. But here and there I can give her a perfect moment, a perfect day. Sometimes you gotta have them to support all the rest.”

That caught him aback, because when John said it, the thing just made sense. He’d never quite thought of it like that. He’d long since accepted that Sadie saw and took him in all his imperfections, and that took some of the unbearable anxiousness off. But he’d never stepped back to look at the best days and how much they meant, stopped to think of them as something a part of the whole picture rather than awe-inspiring isolated events above it all. The way John put it, those pure and wonderful moments turned into bright shining stars to help guide them, rather than marble monuments on a pedestal.

John eyed him, obviously unnerved by Arthur’s sudden silence. “I say something funny?”

“No, no, just astonished. You finally said something profound. Only took you thirty-four years.”

“Jackass.”