#tw.miscarriages

A look back at Isabella's life during her time away from the gang

“Your parents hate me.” Isabella mused as she tapped her fingers against Thomas’s bare chest, laid in post-intimacy bliss “They don’t hate you Lillian, they just don’t know you.” He responded as he played with her tussled up raven hair as it tickled against his skin.

 “That’s not the best example Thomas, you hated me at first as well.” Letting out a brief but content laugh. “It wasn’t so much that I hated you as I was shocked by you and maybe a little bit scared. If you remember correctly, you tried to attack me, whilst barely being aware of what was happening.” Shaking his head, but at the same time, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he thought about their first meeting; it was an interesting memory to say the least.

She’d staggered onto his farm, soaked through to the skin, with a large gash on her head and having not a single clue where she was or even who she was. Her attacking him had made a little bit of sense, considering he left his house with his shotgun raised.

Which was kind of understandable after all, what else could one do when a stranger intruded on one’s land?

However, then he’d noticed her uneasy energy, confusion and the look of pure terror in her eyes. Not that he’d been able to focus on the vulnerability in her eyes and aura for long, because it took only a few minutes before she’d lunged at him, fighting against him like some feral animal.

He’d had to hold her there until she tired herself out and collapsed in his arms, clinging to him like a lost and scared child. He had soon picked up that this was not a common way for her to act, and soon after their first meeting, he’d quickly learnt she was a force to be reckoned with.

It hadn’t been easy from that moment for a long time; he couldn’t imagine how terrifying it must be to fully forget who you were. To be somewhat reborn in a world you didn’t know, much less understood.

They’d sat for hours trying to figure it out, she definitely hadn’t been a lady of nobility, especially considering the torn clothes she’d appeared in had been a shirt and pants.

She also didn’t exactly act like a delicate soul; she had strength which matched most men he knew, she swore like a sailor and smoked like a chimney.

So that theory had been scraped as quickly as it came about. Then it was a farmer’s wife that they wondered could have been possible, after all, some farmers were okay to let their wives dress in pants. The idea of having to ask permission for anything from a man had brought fire to the woman’s eyes that made Thomas a little fearful, so they’d soon also dropped that idea.

In the end, they had decided that the past didn’t matter; after all, all the women knew was the present.

The name they’d decided together was his grandmother's, who had passed many years ago. It suited her, just like Isabella, his grandmother, had been a spitfire, a damn whirlwind of a woman, someone who Thomas had always admired. So, Lillian had quickly become her name, and every time he said it, he knew his grandmother was smiling down at him, proud of the woman who had become his.

Thomas had been surprised and inspired by her, and at first, she’d just been a friend, and definitely a step up from a farm hand. She’d join him in all the labour of the farm, and spent most of her time with the horses.

 Seemingly more settled with them than she was around any human, he’d seen a gentleness in her with them that wasn’t shown to many people. His own horse, Billy, had taken to her right away, and then there was the mare that he'd barely ridden, only receiving her from a neighbour soon before Isabella had turned up.

Well, that mare had become her best friend immediately. Just like Isabella, she had an attitude that was legendary, and would throw anyone who rode her apart from Isabella

Yet with the raven-haired woman, she became like a whole different horse. Quite possibly the calmest and most loyal to her rider in a way he’d ever seen a horse be before. She’d called her Charlotte and loved her until the day she breathed her last breath; her eyes always sparkled with love whenever she spoke of her.

They’d ridden together, spent the days together, and before either of them really realised, they’d become more than just friends. Days out turned to courting, nights in separate bedrooms had changed to sharing one bed.

Within a year, they’d both decorated their fingers with matching rings, and their wedding day had definitely been different to what Thomas had imagined in his head. Isabella was taken shopping with his mother and sister, grumbling when she returned about the fact that they’d made her try on multiple dresses.

Before she finally chose one that was the most her, even though she still protested about how she should be able to wear a shirt and pants on their wedding day. It was a simple white one, with a short train, long sleeves and a dipped front. It covered the scars on her arms, her back and her sides.

Those marks they couldn’t explain the reason for, but they disregarded them; there was no reason to dwell. It seemed she lived a hard and violent life previous to that night of being a stranger on someone else’s land. Those didn’t matter, even scarred and marked Thomas loved her, he’d kiss along those scars as he studied her body with his lips on so many nights.

He was always so gentle, always so gracious, always a gentleman. This large man, who was shaped from years of hard farm work, who had dark brown hair and brown eyes that studied her like she was a miracle given to him by god.

Their life had been happy; they had many moments of joy, but also moments of darkness. But they’d made plans for the future, even if that future was ripped away from under them more than once.

In early October of the third year that they’d been together, it had fallen apart once more. Isabella didn’t leave the bed for weeks. Her tears fell nonstop from the knowledge she’d never be able to give him what a woman she believed was supposed to be able to give a man.

The loss of children left marks on someone’s heart that carved away at parts of it, left wounds that would never truly heal. They would forever stay open, weeping until the day one died, but still, all the man had tried to do was bring out that smile in her again. Held her as she cried, broke down, screamed at god, and screamed at the world. 

He’d pulled her from the bed on one of the dark days and brought her to the stables to show her the black American quarter horse who had stood tall and proud in one of the paddocks. The minute Isabella had landed her emerald coloured eyes on her, something had been restored inside her; from then on, the horse had never been far from her side. The two of them were attached in a way only a person and their horse could be.

The night that everything had fallen apart, Isabella had been out on a ride with said dark coloured horse; the name Florence had come to her mind the day after she’d gotten her. I

t was a name she wasn’t sure why it meant so much to her, but she’d felt an attachment to it the minute it had appeared in her mind. So she’d given it to the horse, and it had matched her straight away, seemed almost like the name was made for her.

She’d returned in the darkness of an early fall sunset; a quiet had fallen over the farm that felt like it was suffocating to anyone who approached. The woman had tethered up Florence, calling out when she’d entered the house, but then she was greeted with a sight that would never leave her, because what she saw broke something in her.

Her husband was laid on the bed, a shotgun blast through his chest. Wheezing out laboured breath that seemed to cause him pain with every attempted exhale. It seemed he’d used every part of his inner strength to wait for her before he left this mortal plain. Curled in his hand had been a piece of paper, crumpled up and soaked in blood.

She’d held him as he passed away, whispered soft words of adoration into his hair, crying against it until he looked as if he'd been caught in the rain. He’d given words of love as he drew his last breath, and even for hours after he was no longer of this world, Isabella sat and held him.

She had buried him by the farm, in the fields that he spent so many years working in, cultivating, as he’d brought life to a once-abandoned piece of land. Much like he’d done with Isabella when he’d first found her, he brought her from that lost woman to someone who was able to stand on her own two feet.

 She’d not looked at that piece of paper until after the night she’d slept beside his grave. Not caring when the rain poured and caused her hair to mat with mud and her clothes to stick to her, she hadn’t been ready to leave him yet.

She wasn’t sure she ever would be. But when the sun had risen the next day, she’d finally opened it, a crude drawing of herself, with the name Isabella Hunter, part of the Dutch van der Linde gang.

Something broke in her that day she’d watched the world she knew fall apart, made her something else, something ugly. Memories of her life before she’d staggered onto Thomas’s farm, they had hit her like the train the moment her eyes had fallen upon that poster. But she didn’t look for the gang that she had once been a member of, even when she saw bounty posters and heard whispers of their criminal acts throughout the land.

 Instead, she’d hunted down the men who had killed her husband, revealed in the way they drained of blood as it dripped down her arms. In a dark way enjoyed their death, knowing she was the one who was causing it, and her mission to avenge her husband had become the only thing she lived for.

To rid the world of those damn O’Driscolls, watch each of them drop, watch them die brutally; it didn’t matter if there had ever been anything beautiful in her. That part of her had been buried six feet beside her husband.

She was fuelled by fury, a need to survive until she was able to get vengeance for her sweet Thomas, no matter what she had to do, she was going to do anything to get that in the end. Sins after sins had been committed, she’d done things with her body that would never leave her.

Felt man after man have their way with her emotionless form, just so she could scrape together enough money to feed and clothe herself. To keep her alive long enough to right the wrongs that had been done to her, that had been done to the man she had loved. For the next seven years, she lived day to day and travelled to any corner of the country she could, her motivation clear. 

She twisted into something fragmented, something one could consider evil inside, but she no longer cared. She wasn’t the woman she’d been when she’d been with the gang, the woman who had loved her family and that man who held her heart over anyone else ever had. Even if it took everything in her to ignore it.

She’d dreamt of Arthur; she felt her heart in her mouth every time she saw him on a bounty poster or heard whispers of his existence. But she also dreamt of Thomas, dreamt of their happiness, their pain and his horrific end that he didn’t deserve for a moment.

He'd faced a death that had come too soon and was too awful for someone who had so many years to live. Who had deserved a life that contained no pain, just peace and happiness. But she’d been the reason that had been taken from him.

 She blamed herself; she would always blame herself for his bloody, agonising end. She hated the O’Driscolls, she hated the world, but more than anything, she fucking hated herself.

The clerk had told her the number for the room, with a look that made her huff and roll her eyes. She knew what this looked like, and it brought a bubble of regret to her stomach.

Not about Arthur, never about Arthur, but she’d had that look from enough clerks that it made her feel a wave of discomfort over her entire body. Climbing up the stairs slowly, feeling like the creak of them that was too loud for their age.

Making her way down the hallway, when she finally reached the battered door of their room, she pushed it open and slipped inside. Arthur was sitting on the side of the bed, his battered cowboy hat between his hands.

He looked up as she entered and gave her that smile, the one she knew well, although there were more lines on his face than before. It still made him look boyish, like how he’d once looked, before the weight of the kind of life they lived wore them down. Back when the American dream seemed possible, and they weren’t staring down the law and death in the face every damn day.

  Then there was that look in his eyes, silently assessing but also loving, they held so much patience and understanding. It had never mattered what had happened, if they’d lost someone, if they’d spent the day narrowly avoiding death, blood on their hands and sins weighing heavily on their souls.

He had always looked at her like that, like she was a gift from god, like his life was blessed just by having her in it. It made her feel an overwhelming feeling of adoration throughout her whole body; she loved this man more than life itself.

 Even if she didn’t know how to verbalise it, yes, she’d made an admission when she’d been caught in the moment, but now trying to say those words again. They stuck to her tongue, caught in her throat, unable to even offer them once more, instead, she would show him.

Every time she looked into those ocean orbs that were his, she felt they were deep enough that she could swim in them. When she paddled in those waves, everything was okay in the world again. He was her saviour, he always had been, and he always would be.

She had pushed that thought to the back of her mind whilst she’d been away, but since she’d returned, it hit her more and more every day. Spreading a warmth through her bones, but also a feeling of guilt because she knew that she didn’t deserve him.

Her feet barely made a sound on the floor as she crept over and sat beside him, feeling the bed creak beneath her weight. Silence settled in the room, but it wasn’t awkward, it was natural. In this moment of stolen peace, just the two of them escaping from everything, their mistakes, their regrets, their pain.

Isabella felt her hand taken in his, feeling those work-worn calluses on his palm. A hand that fit perfectly with hers, just as the rest of him did, it was like they were made for each other, two puzzle pieces that had harsh edges but matched up perfectly with each other.

Turning his hand over in her own, she drew patterns on his palm as she hummed softly, her fingers working on the lines of them almost like those people called palm readers she’d heard about in hushed voices around cities. Fingers moved to his wrist, continuing to trace her fingers over that skin, in response he let out a rumbling chuckle that built from deep within his chest.

“That tickles Belle,” Arthur muttered under his breath, to which Isabella gave a small shake of her head, but there was an undeniable smile fixed on her pouted lips. After a few more moments, she’s tilting her head up, keeping their hands locked together as she leant in.

Tentatively placing her lips on his, the kiss was slow and soft. No force or anything behind it, just the two of them letting themselves relax into one another. As they parted, Arthur cupped her cheek with his hand, running his thumb over the small scar near her eyebrow.

“If you want to stop, at any minute, tell me Belle. No matter how far we go, if you need to stop, please just tell me.” He sounded almost nervous, like he was terrified she’d break if he pushed her too far. His need to protect her was so very powerful, yes, his own lust was heightened, but he knew he could deny it for her.

 Isabella leant her face into his hand, the tender touch making her heart speed up, just being held so gently, so lovingly. His patience and kindness meant more to her than she could ever vocalise.

She’d been with so many men over the years that even when she begged and cried for them to stop, they didn’t listen, or they hurt her. And yet here he was, the infamous Arthur Morgan, wanted dead or alive in many states. Who could snap a man in two like it was a daily occurrence, who had taken so many lives. His crimes and sins were more than one could count, so many people feared him. Yet he was the one who had always treated her with a gentleness that she couldn’t even put into words, who protected her every single day, even when she pushed him away.

Even when she fought him, screamed at him, cursed the day he was born, he just let her, and he always offered her the love she knew deep down she didn’t deserve, but god did it make her feel like the luckiest woman to have ever lived.

Nodding, she leaned back, unbuttoning her old shirt, ridding herself of it before moving her wet hair off her shoulder as it fell there. Arthur gave her a soft smile as he held her gently, lowering her to the bed.

Not yet moving to shed anymore of either of their clothes, he just looked down at her, knowing she was the most beautiful sight that he’d ever laid eyes on. No view he’d ever had in his entire life compared to her beauty, she was ethereal, exquisite, the kind of beauty that was worshipped.

He’d looked upon many who could be described as beautiful throughout his years on this earth, but none compared to the woman below him. She was perfect, and he knew it didn’t matter how many times he told her that she’d never believe him. Nor was he sure he could truly utter it enough, so instead he hoped he could tell her psychically.

He kissed the scar beside her eyebrow, slowly moving down, lips meeting her collarbone, ghosting over the scar that sat there, then the one from a graze of a bullet on the top of her shoulder, further down to the scars that decorated her arms, her ribs, her stomach.

 The many that were from the men she had said no to, the ones that marked along her snowy skin. At one point, before things fell apart in her life, she’d somewhat embraced her scars, because they had been marks from the outlaw life.

But these were different, these were from the decisions that haunted her. He kept his eyes on her as he began to undo her belt, watching closely for any change in her facial expression, any flicker of her no longer wanting this.

Instead, however, she nodded, allowing him to shimmy her pants down, exposing herself further to him, in the most vulnerable way one could present themself. Isabella didn’t shy away from him this time, not in the way she’d done so when she’d been terrified of him seeing those nightmarish works of art over her skin.

That fear was no longer there, now she was ready to give him everything, let him study each memory on her skin, to replace them with a touch that was what dreams were made of.

He didn’t move to touch between her legs, instead he continued to kiss each scar he saw. As if hoping to heal each wound she had ever received with his soft lips, and it made Isabella’s eyes sting with tears.

Purely at the perfection of the moment, this man who was giving her everything, promising her that nobody would ever hurt her again, purely by his kiss. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he backed away as he spotted those tears that blurred her vision.

 “I’m sorry Belle, I just thought..” Isabella shook her head, reaching for him, a kind smile tugging at her lips. “It’s not you, it’s just, it’s been so long since somebody has cared this much, been so kind and loving, has given me themselves like that. It means more than I can ever say.” Her voice cracked slightly, but she swallowed, giving him another reassuring smile.

“I don’t want you to stop.” Hands reaching to run along his toned shoulders. Studying the strain of his muscles below his shirt, the new scar from the gunshot wound, tugging at the material slightly to signal she wanted there to be fewer layers between them, way fewer layers. Offering him her silent want for him to consume her with his warmth, to meld their bodies together, to become one.

 Arthur nodded slowly, picking up on her hints, backing up slightly so he could pull his shirt of himself. Toned and taut torso now bare, allowing Isabella to focus on him. Feeling an ache between her thighs as she studied him, it didn’t matter how many times she’d seen him naked, it never failed to take her breath away. “Arthur, I want more of you.”

The man nodded, in a complete understanding of her words, he reached down and unclipped his belt, ridding himself of his jeans and boots. Settling back over her, his huge body caging hers, she had never been a small girl. Years of running and fighting, with a lot of manual labour, she had bigger muscles than most women, and she was also taller than average. And yet as he lay above her, she felt tiny, as if she was being cradled by a giant. It gave her a wave of a feeling of security; he was a shield to protect her from the monsters of the outside world.

She looked up, emerald meeting aquamarine, and she reached to run her fingers through his sandy brown locks. Giving him a nod, a nod of permission, a nod of thank you for the comfort and love he gave to her so willingly, without asking for a single thing in return.

He reached down to line himself up, achingly slowly pushing into her. It felt like all the air had been stolen from her lungs, and for a moment, all Isabella could do was grip onto his shoulder blades, blunt nails digging into the skin there, gasping out in strangled exhales.

 But soon her breath settled, feeling that impossible fullness that only he could offer her. Inch by inch, he pushed in, eyes unmoving from her face, etching every single way it moved to his memory.

She was so stunning, and even more in moments like this, when she was laid completely bare. Both physically and emotionally, giving herself to him as he gave himself to her. Just the joining of two broken people, who would never be fully fixed, but at least together it felt like there was some hope for redemption, hope for at least a moment of happiness.

He moved deliberately, each movement of his hips patient and powerful, letting her feel all of him. The dragging of him against her velvety walls, eliciting those sounds from her that made his heart race as he moved.

His hand moved to lace with hers, the other returning to hold her cheek. Feeling her nuzzle into it, her hot breath tickling with each whimpered moan and gasp that left her lips.

Her eyes were closed, head tilted slightly back with pleasure, wet hair spread across the pillow. Almost forming a halo above her head, this ebony-haired goddess who was so willing to offer him his undeserved salvation. There was something so fulfilling about making this steadfast and tenacious warrior of a woman fall apart, watching her melt into a puddle purely powered by a carnal need for pleasure.

He didn’t speed up, he didn’t go harder, he just continued with those deep, measured thrusts of his hips. Each movement bringing them closer and closer to the heights of pleasure that they could only be found in the intimacy of this moment.

Bodies moving together in a way they had indulged in many times, they knew each other fully, how to bring one another to earth-shattering heights. But more than anything, how to show each other the love they both held so deeply for each other, without any words.

Just through their touch, a beautiful and secret moment that they found inner peace that neither had been able to achieve with any other. They were made for each other, and these actions once more confirmed that, no matter who else they had lain with like this.

 No other would compare to the perfection of their bodies melding together. They slowly made love, there was no rush, no roughness, just embracing the need they had for one another.

The need Isabella had for him to reassure her, that even with everything she’d done, that even with her inability to fulfil some old-timey belief, he still wanted her, he still loved her. She knew that she offered him so very little, and yet he was ready to take that and offer all of himself in return.

 When their ends finally hit them, a flurry of matching moans, whispered curses, and each other’s names left their lips as those waves of electricity coursed through their veins. A fire that had been building slowly between them exploded, roasting their entire bodies, but they embraced it fully, let themselves burn in the depths of pleasure.

They remained close, bodies tangled for a while longer, all that could be heard was the sound of the clock in the background and the mix of their breaths melding together. Laying as if they were becoming one, slowly Arthur pulled out of her with a deep hiss, dropping back onto the bed with a stuttered exhale.

Without hesitation, Isabella moved to curl up onto his chest, his heartbeat echoing against her ear as she slowly let her breathing settle, her own heartbeat slowing. As she felt herself become lost in the lulls of peaceful sleep for the first time in days.

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

“What’s happening?” Isabella asked, glancing around the crowd. There were so many gathered all around the sheriff’s office. A bloodthirsty group of spectators, wanting to taste the dark matter of justice that seemed deeply engraved in society.

 People loved to watch those whom they deemed as criminals suffer, to pay for their crimes with their deaths. Placing a hand on the shoulder of a woman before her, who tried to shrug her off, but Isabella held persistently.

“Didn’t you hear? They finally caught the Van der Linde gang.” Isabella’s brows shot up on her forehead, panic spreading through her very soul. They couldn’t have located them, right? The Pinkertons couldn’t have finally caught up with them? Or was it one of the many other groups of lawmen that seemed to be chasing them?

Shoving through the group of locals, not caring about the cries of protest she received in response. Instead, she soon made her way to the front of the crowd, feeling her stomach fall to her feet as she looked upon the faces of those she knew and loved.

The faces of her family, each of them fixed in a final scream, and then she finally noticed the body that hung there. A body that owned a face she’d stared upon so many times, those eyes that penetrated her soul. That once held so much life and promise were now glassy, unfocused and more than anything, dead. She felt her legs buckle, and she fell to her knees, holding out her hands in front of her.

They were dripping with the blood of all the ones she’d killed, but now also the blood of those she held so dear, even the man she loved with her whole heart. The scream that ripped through her didn’t even sound human, but it took over her entire body in never-ending grief.

“Belle! Belle!” Arthur shouted, firm hands shaking her shoulders. There was something about her scream that had chilled him to his very soul. A scream that would haunt him until the day he died; it was one that only came from the anguish of someone’s heart truly breaking.

Her eyes shot open, the haze of sleep suddenly shifting to shock, confusion and finally relief. Not a moment later, she’s reaching up, clumsy with the air of someone who had just awoken, but she’s pulling him tightly to her.

 Biting her blunt nails into the skin of his bare back, holding him tight enough to slightly knock his breath out of his chest. He let her just hold him for a minute, her hot breath against his neck, the feeling of her gripping onto him like he was the only thing that kept her going.

Finally, he moved slightly so he could look at her, the worry was obvious on her face. Eyes wild, cheeks flushed, and the lines that littered her face becoming deeper and ageing her almost rapidly.

“Belle, it’s okay, it’s okay, I got you.” Rubbing rough hands against her pale skin, soothing circles drawn with his thumb over her spine. After what felt like an entirety her emerald gaze flickered to him, and he felt almost miniature under the weight of her intense look. One that had so many emotions swirling within those eyes, so many different ones, regret, concern and more than anything, unbridled love.

 “Please don’t die Arthur.” The man’s forehead furrowed, “What?” As if the words had been incredulous. “I just got you back, I can’t lose you again.”

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

Isabella hadn’t slept another wink since the nightmare, even when Arthur had slowly drifted off beside her. His arm wrapped tightly around her, large hand cupping against her hip, holding her close, as if even in sleep he would protect her.

Isabella however, just stared at a spider crawling on its web that it had built at the corner of the ceiling, as it collected flies whilst the night turned to day. A habit she used to have whilst she’d been trying to escape the moment she’d been in. Finally, at the first crow of the rooster, she felt Arthur shift slightly beside her, tensing around her for a moment as if he was checking she was still beside him.

As though he was worried she’d slipped away, that in the cold of the night she’d decided he wasn’t worth it. Clearing his throat, he sleepily opened his eyes to meet hers, a soft smile curling on his lips at the sight of her in his arms at dawn.

The sunlight made her green eyes twinkle like stars, the paleness of her skin glow and small strands of dark brown appearing in her long black locks. “Mornin',” She mumbled, eyes not breaking from his. “Mornin darling.” An almost youthful grin broke on his lips. 

She reached up to run her thumb over his days old stubble, tender touch in the early morning light, before she grinned. “You need to shave.” Isabella teased, “Way to ruin a moment, Belle.” He’s huffing, but the smirk at the corner of his mouth showed he wasn’t serious at all.

It had been many years since they’d had this, the peacefulness of awaking in the morning together, something he never wanted to stop. Just the two of them, no pressure from the gang, from the law, from the world. No pretence to be the enforcer Arthur was seen as in the gang, or the fighter of a woman that Isabella was seen as.

There was no charade, no attitude, no performance for the outside world, just two people who find a type of solace within one another, no matter their scars, their mistakes or their regrets. When it was just the two of them, none of that mattered because they were a pair who made each other whole. As whole as two damaged people could be.

Nobody had slept that night, a haunting darkness settling into camp as they watched the world around them. Every sound somebody reached for their gun, even if it was just a little critter, nobody tore their eyes away from the entrance for long. Hoping upon hope that Jack would just wander in, that whoever had him had decided that holding a boy from his family was wrong and returned him to them.

But that was an idealistic way to think; people were cruel and twisted, they would use what others love just to get their own way, each of the gang members had seen so much of the darkness society served before, so they unfortunately couldn’t believe in the dream of peace.

There was no ability to relax, not even for a second, even when one’s eyes slowly drifted shut, you were awoken with a jolt of panic at what could be happening to the young boy.

Dutch was pacing his tent as he calculated a plan, hushed, angry words swapped with Hosea as he did, Isabella could be honest with herself, she’d never seen the gang leader look so unsure. The gang had been through a lot, prior to and during her time apart from them. But there was something that affected all of them deeper with the loss of Jack, not only his parents, but the rest of them also.

The feeling within the camp was bleak and heavy, and it put everyone on edge, everyone ready to explode at the slightest hint of emotion. The loss of a child’s laughter around was so much more agonising than you could ever believe. It felt like very little innocence the gang still held had left with him, and without him, they were truly the lowest of the low.

  Arthur sat beside the tree, eyes closed, face fixed, unmoving all night, apart from to chain smoke untold number of cigarettes, his mind overrun by so many things.

Fear for Jack, guilt for Isaac, grief of the situations he’d faced over the years, that he’d pushed so far back in his mind, they just grew in power. And now each of them had hit him like a punch in the gut, wave after wave of emotion crashing into him.

He felt like crying, but there were no tears there to shed, then again, he wasn’t sure if he ever had cried over Isaac and Eliza. For the full year after their death had happened, he’d been constantly drunk, so if he had broken down it would have been then. After that, he just pushed it down, just like he did with everything else, all the other pain, he bottled it up and put it on the shelf, knowing there would be one day all of them would smash, a day he dreaded with every fibre of his body

 After sitting and staring at the water for hours, at the edge of camp, her arms wrapped around her knees, Isabella had felt the silence had become far too suffocating. So, Isabella stood, making her way over to Arthur and dropping with a grunt, hitting the floor harder than she planned. Feeling a spark of pain against her tailbone, yet she didn’t even acknowledge it, instead she just sat beside Arthur.

 “Losing a child changes you.” She didn’t plan to let the words leave her lips, but that shared connection had shown once again, many of their scars were different, but there were ones from traumas that they shared, and this one, the one that changed your heart forever, had been one she’d realised they shared.

 He had the same scars on him as her with this, she’d noticed it in his eyes the minute they’d realised that Jack was missing. That flicker of inner turmoil, that showed somebody knew they had at one point lost the hope they had for a future they could have once had.

“What?” He’s whipping his head around to look straight at Isabella; he hadn’t ever told her about Isaac, and yet Isabella had seen it straight away. Sometimes he honestly thought she could read his mind, but he knew it was more that she could read his soul.

“Our scars may be different in many ways, but there are some we carry that match in the most soul-destroying way.” Isabella let out a sigh, feeling that burning behind her eyes, and a lump forming in her throat. She knew she still had the option to push it down, to leave those secrets deep inside, but she had begun speaking now, and walking away felt impossible.

 Arthur was aware of how his jaw twitched, his own vision blurring at the edges, but he swallowed that down, his eyes focusing on the river before them.

“It was a one-night thing,” His voice empty, soulless, as if he’d been silent for years, after all, in a way, he had, with this heavy secret he had carried. Yes, parts of the gang knew; they’d seen his suffering through his alcohol abuse and violence after what happened.

But he had never actually spoken of it when Hosea had tried to sit him down in the past to help him heal in his grief. He’d put up that harsh wall and walked away snapping words at him he would regret forever, but he was so consumed by guilt and grief he couldn’t accept supportive words.

 “I would go and see them, give them money when I could. Thought staying away would protect them, it didn’t.” He didn’t go further into detail, didn’t give names or anything, all he could manage was that part of the story.

When he’d visited that final time, seeing those graves, it was like a taunt. As though the bandits had done it to prove to him that he couldn’t protect anyone. He had never thought about being a father until Isaac, and hell, for a long time, he had resented Eliza for pulling him into that world.

His commitment to the gang had been more important to him at that time. But there had been those times he’d hear Isaac’s laugh or seen him running towards him, such happiness and excitement at his arrival. He’d dreamt of a future, he’d seen a future in the young boy, he’d fought against getting attached, but he had.

He’d never forgive himself for the loss of their future, his future. Often, he knew it was the universe taking revenge for everything he’d done, he didn’t deserve that happiness, and he knew that.

 So it had been taken from him like a cruel joke; there had been many nights he had wished he had been there, so he would have died instead of them. Because they deserved a full and happy life, and he was the one who deserved to be six feet under, his body rotting in line with how much his soul had over the years.

Isabella reached to take his hand in hers, craving at least a little comfort to give her the bravery to lay her own wounds bare. Feeling her body shaking with the weight of what he’d said and the weight of her next words.

Admissions like this would never be easy, even giving them to someone who knew her as well as Arthur. Her judgement of herself as a woman for not being someone that could give a man what he expected, but also her judgement of her own body, which had repeatedly punished her for the list of her sins. After all, why did she deserve to bring life into this world when she’d taken away so many?

“I couldn’t protect them either, but I’ll never forget the blood and the pain, it will haunt me until my dying day” The words felt like poison on her tongue, and she was fighting with every fibre of her body not to fall apart. The only other person who’d ever known was Thomas because he’d gone through it with her.

Been there to hold her as she sobbed about her loss, their loss, as she screamed and shouted with anguish, with grief. Told her that this didn’t take away from her as a woman, she’d convinced herself from an early age that a family wasn’t something she’d ever be able to have, but she'd let herself believe in an unrealistic dream for someone like her.

That dream had been crushed time and time again; if she believed in god, she would have agreed that those events were punishment from him for her actions. Hell, she knew it was true, she had killed so many, she had caused so much destruction and not for a moment did she deserve any happiness or hell even a real future. She deserved to have faced the rope a long time ago, just had some fucked up type of luck to avoid it this long.

 They didn’t say anything more, because there wasn’t anything more to say. They’d offered some of their deepest darkest secrets to each other. Now there they just sat in the weight of their sorrow twisting together.

Both of them knew it meant something the ability to give each other such honesty, to lay themselves completely bare and not make any move to cover themselves. It was something they had been able to do easily at one point, and slowly that wall was being cracked once more, returning them to how they were as young lovers, even if just a small bit.

 It had connected them, tightened that string between them, bonding in a grim way over their shared loss and grief.

 Their heavy moment was broken by a new arrival, one Arthur already knew, and he felt a jolt of concern as he heard a voice he recognised.

Standing in front of Dutch was agent Milton and agent ross, two of the leaders of the Pinkertons. The ones who were ready to chase the gang across the whole damn country to loop a rope around their neck. To rid the world of people like them, it felt like it had almost become an obsession with those men; there were so many gangs. One's probably worse than them, and yet they always seemed the target.

Isabella swallowed deeply, fuck, maybe she should run cause this was not going to go well. Some of her well-hidden secrets were likely to be laid bare, just like one of her darkest ones had just been, 

Following close behind Arthur as they walked towards the group, folding her arms and leaning onto her hip, her body aimed slightly towards Arthur, as she stood staring at the pair. Arthur made sure his stance held that quiet threat. How he squared his shoulders and held himself tall, it made him look even bigger than he was, his darkened azure eyes staring down the men. With such fury, Isabella was surprised the men didn't blow up like they were holding a stick of dyamite in their hands. 

“Ah Mr Morgan, good to see you again,” Agent Milton said as Arthur moved slightly in front of the group, as if creating a defensive wall between them all.

The man continued speaking, barely looking at Arthur anymore, as if he wasn’t even worth the man’s time. To them, they were shit on their shoe, and the whole gang was aware of that; the hatred these men had for them was like a punch to the gut.

“This has become a civilised land now, and we have no more room for people like you. People like you are still savages, whom we fought hard to clear this land of.” His hands were held out to indicate to the whole group.

Dutch stood taller, staring daggers at the two invaders of their camp, “There ain’t no such thing as civilised land, that is a lie created by men so in love with greed, he has forgotten himself and found only gluttony and a delusion of control.” He’s saying his charismatic personality was on show, but there was also his own buzzing irritation at the fact that his family were currently under attack.

 “So, in response, you people steal from whomever you wish, kill whomever you wish, and cause a stain on the land that we cleaned for the rest of us.” Agent Milton said, not breaking eye contact with Dutch for a moment.

“Who made you a messiah to these lost souls you’ve led down such an ugly path?” Giving Agent Ross a nod, as if every word was an epiphany of knowledge that only he held.

It was something that Isabella despised about men such as these two, the ones who felt they were above everyone else, that they had the right to look down on any of the others, as if they were the only ones with mortality, that they were the kings in a world of peasants.

She knew this kind of man well, possibly even more intimately than many in the group, from her sins over the years. But the way they all seemed to look down on anyone who did not fit their ideas of a correct society was what got her more. It was true that nobody in the gang was innocent, but that didn’t mean these men were either. It was violence against violence; the Pinkertons choice was a war disguised as a pursuit of a peaceful land.

“You are killers, you leave destruction in your wake everywhere you go, and the last figures of a life that no longer should exist. And I came to make a deal.” Stepping closer to Dutch. “I take you, and the rest of these cretins get three days to time to run off, disappear and learn to live as humans should do.” His smug face was making Isabella feel fury; she’d love nothing more than to make the damn thing explode with a shotgun bullet.

 “You entered into the trenches of murderers and criminals to make a deal, ain’t you brave?” The gang turned in surprise at her speaking, until now she’d been a silent observer, but no longer could she hold her tongue as their life was insulted again and again.  

Milton looked at her for a moment before realisation settled on his pockmarked face. “I’d say it is a surprise to see you, Mrs Greyson, but a woman with a bounty on her head almost equal to some of these lowlifes? It makes perfect sense for you to be with them.”

Isabella felt her body stiffen at the name, and could feel Arthur’s eyes on her, the confusion evident in his stare. “Well, if my bounty is as much as theirs, why don’t I feel the pleasure of a rope around my neck instead of these? What did you say? Lost souls,”

Her chin up high, it hit her then like a gust of harsh wind from a storm. She didn’t care about dying; she hadn’t for a long time, and if it meant the gang was safe, if it meant Arthur was safe, then her death would be worth it.

“Because it’s almost amusing that my bounty grew by ridding the land of monsters that make us look like damn saints.” Grinding her teeth together. “Mrs Greyson, we are both more than aware that it was not just monsters you murdered, and that you were a monster in how you ended them.”

Isabella refused to let herself show the way his words affected her, mind flitting back to the things she’d done to the people in pursuit of revenge. But also, the innocent lives she’d taken and destroyed to do so, she felt the heat of the blood she had on her hands coat them.

 For a moment, she lost herself in the memories of her actions that haunted her very soul, the flashes of the way she had left many in the ground. The years of murder and pain she had caused, the brutality of some of the ways she’d ended lives, they terrified her when they thought back to them, terrified her when she thought of the person she once was, she regretted every single one.

 Some had deserved it, yes, but she wasn’t sure anymore, that despite how despicable a person was, their lives did not deserve to end in such horror. She may refer to many of them as monsters, but she was more than aware that she had in turn, become a monster when she’d committed her crimes.

“However, despite how many would like to see you hang, I think they’d much prefer to see Dutch do so.” He moved his eyes back over to Dutch. “Well, if that is what you wish, I suppose I’ll be on my way. Excuse me, friends, I have an appointment to keep with these men.” Dutch announced, stepping forward with his hands up, in an obvious mock surrender.

 But it only took a second for the sound of all the guns cocking to echo around the camp. Isabella couldn’t lie about the satisfaction she felt as there was a flash of fear on that arrogant bastard’s face.

 “I think it’s time your new friend leaves Dutch.” Miss Grimshaw’s strong voice broke the silence.

“You are making a mistake, every last one of you.” She heard Arthur let out a scoff, fighting to hide the smile that threatened to grow on her lips at the man’s attitude. Because with someone as observant as Arthur, he could see the fact that agent Milton was afraid of what they could do, he’d risked his life coming into the camp, and it seemed he’d finally realised.

“Leave here, leave us, stop following us because we will be gone soon.” Dutch’s hands were still up, but he had a self-assured air surrounding him.

“I’m afraid I won’t, I will be back with an army next time. And I will watch every single one of you meet your end. It will be bloody, and it will be violent, and it will be the least you deserve,” Milton is letting out his words with authority before turning and making his way out with Lenny’s gun hitting against his back. “Don’t you touch me boy.” He snapped at the young man, before he was already storming off, satisfied with his actions and what he knew their next plan was.

“What do we do now Dutch?” Hosea asked, still watching the treeline that Milton and Ross had just disappeared into. “We leave and quickly.” Dutch looked around at the members of the gang, despite knowing that right now their first aim should be to recover Jack, they couldn’t exactly help him if they were dead.

“I know a place, me and Lenny cleared out the locals there, it ain’t much. But it will give us a couple of days at least.” Arthur said giving a shrug, acting as if they hadn’t just almost faced their end again.

 “Okay, you and John go, check there are no stragglers there and then we will follow you.” Turning to Isabella, he raised a brow.

“Mrs Greyson?” The name still made Isabella’s chest tight. “Dutch, it was a long time, and we were all wanted, might as well find some kind of cover. Ain’t easy to be a woman alone already, even harder when your name is on wanted posters,” Isabella explained with a faux confidence.

Despite her stomach still reeling at the memory of who she was when she went by that name. Especially when the conversation she’d only had minutes ago with Arthur was twisted into those memories.

Feeling a soft grip on her arm from Arthur. “You’re joining me and John.” His voice was low, that gravelly tone which said there was no point in arguing. She rolled her eyes but nodded, making her way towards Florence. This was going to be interesting. She was more than aware that if she did try to refuse, the man would throw her over his damn shoulder, or hell, even hogtie her to get her to join him.

The pain came first, a slow cramping feeling forming deep in her stomach that awoke her up with a sharp gasp, hand moving to cradle her torso, attempting to soothe the pain, but nothing seemed to.

Soon like many times before, she automatically reached down to confirm her suspicions of this previously encountered situation, and unfortunately, it was just like before; she felt sticky wetness between her legs, dipping her finger into it.

Bringing the coated finger back up to observe the liquid against the moonlight, she knew what this was. It wasn’t like her monthly’s the amount of blood was evidence of one of her worst nightmares, proof that this was just like those times before. Alike the many mornings she’d awoken after a night of soft touch and conversations about the future, and yet here she was again.

Her mind went blank, she didn’t even cry out, instead she pulled herself from Arthur’s arms. As gently as she could, so that she didn’t wake him, hearing him mumble in his sleep made her heart stop.

Fear of him noticing her moving from his vice-like grip was spreading through her veins, thankfully however, he didn’t open his eyes, instead he let out a gentle exhale, and shifted his body slightly.

Isabella got dressed hurriedly, yet silently, leaving the room without a second glance towards the man who held her heart in the palm of his hand. Because she was pretty sure if she stayed, she’d beg him to hold her and push the nightmares away, but this was one she couldn’t escape from.

She was never able to before, and she still wouldn’t be able to now. This was also one he’d never be able to solve for her. How could you solve something like this? Her body constantly fighting against what it should be able to do naturally; there was no fixing this.

She needed to get out of here, needed to get away from him, because all she could do was hold back the tears as she felt them rise from deep within her. They were tears she couldn’t shed in front of anyone, not even Arthur.

 Grief that she couldn’t share, especially knowing that Arthur had previously encountered this, although his son had been able to live. For him to know that, without even being aware, he had just lost another chance of bringing someone into the world. Because of her, it would kill him, just like it killed her.

She hadn’t ever anticipated a family with Arthur, nor had she really ever thought about it historically, bringing a child into this kind of life wasn’t fair to the little one. They’d been teenagers when they had joined, and yes, their childhoods hadn’t been easy, but at least they’d had one.

A child she shared with Arthur? In this life, the idea terrified her. What kind of life could they offer when they spent their whole time running and hiding? When everyday they tiptoed on that line of life and death, she remembered losing her own mother so young, it destroyed her for a long time.

 And even if children were far from her mind or even her future plans, still nothing would hurt her like the feeling of the loss of a child, of another child, that tiny part of her heart that had finally started to heal, it broke again right there and then.

Her body had once again betrayed itself, had rejected the idea of her ever being able to have a family with anyone. It was like some cruel joke from God. She had taken so many lives, and her fucked up reward was that she’d never be able to bring one into the world herself.

Legs moving on their own, even though she felt like they were made from lead, her whole body heavy, exhaustion from the pressure of her failures, her secrets, her pain. Feeling the weight of the world suffocating her once again, as it had before.

Her hands fought against clawing at her throat, trying to find a way to fill her lungs with the air that had been stolen from them. Fought against tearing at her skin and her eyes, against just breaking apart right there in the middle of camp.

She couldn’t, because then there would be questions, but not only that, there would be explanations needed, ones she wouldn’t be able to give to even the people she saw as family. Strange wasn’t it, the people she saw as family were ones she couldn’t even talk to about her own family, or lack of one.

Approaching Florence, she climbed onto her and turned, leaving the camp, leaving the gang, even leaving Arthur. Because she couldn’t be around a single person right now, and more than anything, she couldn’t look the people she loved in the eye. Not without feeling soul-crushing despair and shame, not without falling into depths of depression that there was no way out of. There was no light at the end of the tunnel for her, just never ending darkness that consumed her very being.

Arthur reached out in the bed to find the form who he expected to awake to beside him, Isabella had snuck into his room late last night, not wanting anyone to see her. There was a slight thrill at the secretive nature in which they were acting, like they once did many years ago.

Maybe they were too old to act like this anymore, yet it didn’t stop the exhilaration in the way they were sneaking around. Yet despite them falling asleep in each other’s arms last night after a night of tender touches and muted moans, this morning he awoke to an empty bed, patting the side she usually lay on, only feeling a coldness that showed someone hadn’t lain there for hours.

 He frowned with confusion, shaking his head to try to fully wake up, as he struggled to grasp what was happening. Even when she snuck out, she still awoke him, with a soft kiss and a goodbye.

But he didn’t even remember that, the last thing he remembered was her settling into his arms after hours wrapped around each other. The two of their hearts hammering in tune from the physical exertion, sharing subtle glances of adoration whenever they looked at each other.

Yet as he looked around with eyes still heavy from sleep, she wasn’t there, and it wasn’t just her as a person that wasn’t in his room. Her clothes weren’t there; her gun belt wasn’t hung on the chair with his. Her hat wasn’t sitting next to his, the two of them so similar that it had made him laugh the first time he’d seen her wear it.

It was almost like she’d not been there all night, or at least most of it. He looked to her side of the bed, noticing a small amount of blood on the sheets. Panic ran through him, had she hurt herself and gone to clean herself up? But she’d have woken him up if that happened, right? He couldn’t put two and two together because in his head it currently made five, not four.

 He dressed quickly, grabbing his holster and placing his hat on his head before he was all but running down the stairs. Almost taking out Hosea as he entered the kitchen, “Whoah son, what’s happening?” He’s holding his hands up, both out of shock and confusion.

“Have you seen Belle?” Arthur felt a little guilty that he hadn’t even apologised, but he was worried about Isabella more than anything else, he could apologise later, now was not the time.

 “Not yet, but maybe she’s outside. I’ve yet to make my way out.” Arthur gave a nod and rushed past him, shoving the doors open so hard they rattled against the wall. Eyes scanning the people who stood there, disregarding the looks he got from his dramatic exit from the house.

He didn’t care though, they could look all they wanted, the most important thing right now was finding Isabella. Looking over to the group of horses grazing at the entrance to the camp, he noticed Florence was gone. The camp felt empty without the large American quarter standing tall and proud in the morning sun.

So, without a second thought, he’s rushing over to the horses. Where Kieran was quietly brushing Lenny’s, humming some unknown tune to the animal, “Kieran, have you seen Belle?” Trying to control his voice to not show how anxious he was, even though he could feel a slight tremor in his hands. “She left a couple of hours ago, not sure why, she didn’t say anything.” Kieran shrugged, as if it wasn’t anything, because to him it wasn’t.

People constantly came and went in this camp, if he tried to keep track of them all, his damn head would explode. Arthur didn’t say anything more, he just climbed onto Valour and galloped out of the camp, ignoring anyone who called after him. He’d just got her back; there was no fucking way he was about to lose her again.

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

Two days, two fucking days Isabella hadn’t been there, and Arthur was going insane, hell if he kept going like this, an asylum was calling his name. He’d barely slept, he'd barely eaten, he’d ridden Valour as far as he could. Asking after her with anyone who didn’t look suspicious, obviously asking her name to the law wouldn’t be approved of. But it was getting to the point that he was ready to turn himself in to hang just to find her, because even then, at least he would know she was safe. That inner need to protect her and put her first was so deeply ingrained that he always, without even meaning to, put her before him.

When he finally returned from searching all day once more, he spotted it, something that made him feel like he could finally breathe for the first time in forty-eight hours. Florence hitched up next to the rest of the horses. She was back and more important than anything, she was alive. He didn’t even bother to hitch Valour, jumping off him the minute they reached camp.

Catching Sadie’s eyes, he made his way over, “Is Belle back?” He couldn’t help how hopeful he sounded, nor did he even attempt to hide it, he should probably act calmer, as though her absence didn’t affect him as much as it did. But there was no point in denying it; everyone would have already noticed just how lost he’d been whilst she’d been away.

“She's out the back of the house,” Arthur started to head towards there when Sadie caught his wrist. The man glanced up at her, then he saw it, there was panic in her eyes, something he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen from Sadie, not since the first night they had found her.

“Somethings happened Arthur, she didn’t greet anyone, just walked straight back there. And when I saw her eyes, they looked different.” The woman’s voice was low, as if worried someone would hear her words. Arthur’s heart hammered so loud in his chest, he was pretty sure it would explode.  “What the hell do you mean Sadie?” He was trying to contain his anger, but he just wanted to get to Isabella, he needed to see her, if only to confirm she was still with this world.

“There wasn’t anything there, she looked, I dunno broken. Maybe it’s best to leave her alone for a bit.” She explained, but let go of Arthur’s wrist, knowing her pleas would go ignored. Arthur was one hell of a stubborn man, and it was impossible not to see how he looked at Isabella. Like she was a goddess who had come to bring him happiness that very few people ever got in this sorry excuse for a life.

It was how she knew Jake used to look at her, which made it even more painful to watch that look of fear cross Arthur’s face. It made her miss her husband even more, and she regretfully felt a twinge of jealousy at the knowledge nobody would look at her like that again.

Just as Sadie had expected, before she could utter another syllable, he was already making his way to the back of the house, green-blue eyes scanning for Isabella. Finally, he spotted her, the girl of his dreams, the love of his life, she was sat one of the tree stumps by the water. Knees to her chest and arms wrapped around herself, her back was stiff, unmoving, and her head was firmly held so she was staring forward. Looking as if she couldn’t relax for a single moment, no matter how much she tried.

“Belle!” He’s calling out as he walked faster towards her, but there came no response, only a suffocating silence. “Belle..” He’s repeating her name, and when he’d reached her after what felt like a lifetime, he reached his arm forward, placing a hand on her shoulder.

He couldn’t help noticing how she tensed and seemed to pull away from his hand ever so slightly, as if the touch burnt her. “Belle, I thought you were gone, I thought, jesus I can’t even say what I thought, cause it hurts too much.” He’s admitting, feeling his blood run cold at the fact she’d moved away from his touch. She’d never done that before.

 “Where have you been?” His questions were coming fast now, trying to get something from her, anything, but he was met with only silence. She remained like a statue, if he couldn’t see the rise and fall of her breath, he’d honestly think she was frozen in place.

Stepping around her, he crouched to look at the woman. She looked exhausted, like she hadn’t slept in days, eyes rimmed with red as if they had shed nonstop tears until she couldn’t cry anymore.

 But then he saw exactly what Sadie had mentioned, the sparkle wasn’t there in her eyes. That cheeky glint that came when she made a joke or even shot a gun, the one that brightened when she usually looked at him. She looked broken, and more than anything, she looked like the last string that was holding her together had snapped.

Her eyes had no life to them, and the way she stared, it was like she wasn’t even seeing him stood before her. She just stared straight through him, as if he was a ghost, focusing on how the swamp waters rippled before them.

Reaching up to cup her cheek, he exhaled slowly, the breath catching slightly in his throat. “Belle look at me please.” But she didn’t move an inch, she remained staring forward, as if the landscape would offer all the answers to her pain.

Arthur gulped, raking his brain for something to say or something to do before he decided. Standing before he bent down slightly, tucking an arm under her knees, the other wrapping around her shoulders.

Lifting her up with ease, he always had been able to, but usually she was laughing and pushing against him when he did so. But instead despite the change in position, she just remained still, staring straight ahead, body almost limp as a ragdoll as he carried her.

Giving Sadie a thankful nod as he passed by her, not answering anybody who questioned either him carrying her or what was wrong with her. Instead, he just kept walking through the house, his eyes fixed forward.

 Each step was gentle, almost tiptoeing throughout the house, as if he was terrified that if he dropped her or even jostled her slightly, she’d shatter like glass. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he reached his room and placed her on the cot. The minute her limbs touched the fabric, she turned to face the wall.

Pulling her knees into herself again, appearing like she was trying to make herself as small as possible, as if she was trying to erase herself from existence. Running his hands through his hair, he just stood for a moment azure orbs watching her, trying to think of something to say. He thought better of it however, so instead of speaking, he reached towards the bed and pulled the blanket over her shoulder.

Leaning down, he placed a soft kiss onto the side of her hair, more thankful than he would ever expect to be that she didn’t flinch this time at his touch. “Get some sleep Belle. I’ll be right here.” Settling onto the old, creaky wooden chair, he crossed his arms over one another, a guard to protect the princess.

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

Arthur felt the warm morning sun on his cheeks though the window; he wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep. But his body screamed in protest of sleeping in the uncomfortable chair, he was getting too old to do so, but he wasn’t sure if Isabella would have been okay with him sleeping beside her.

Especially with how she stiffened when he touched her before, he didn’t want to risk upsetting her further or worse, pushing her further into the black hole she was teetering on the edge of.

He’d stayed for a minute, watching the slow rise and fall of her breath as she lay there. Arthur could tell she wasn’t asleep, she wasn’t letting out that adorable little snore every so often. Ones that he often teased her mercifully about, mostly when she denied it happening.

He wasn’t sure if she’d slept at all, but she definitely hadn’t moved. She seemed almost catatonic, like she was barely hanging onto reality. “Belle?” His voice hoarse with sleep, clearing his throat slightly.

She didn’t respond; instead stayed staring at the wall, breathing slowly, her arms wrapped tightly around herself still, just like they had been when he’d fallen asleep.

“I’m gonna get you something to eat, okay.” He didn’t expect her to respond anymore, and she didn’t offer him one. Limping slightly as he tried to wake back up his legs and rubbing his sore shoulder that had once had a bullet in it, it still ached in the cold, but it ached something fierce in response to how he’d slept.

He walked down the stairs, his whole body throbbing with stiffness, like a heavy weight was sitting on his shoulders. The worry about Isabella was almost smothering, stealing the air from his lungs, the blood from his veins.

Hearing Hosea speak, he turned, “What’s going on with Isabella?” Hosea may not admit it much, but he cared deeply, especially about his three wayward children. Arthur gave a loud sigh before speaking. “Honestly, I don’t know, she ain’t talking, hell she’s barely even moving. There’s something really bad happening in her mind, and I don’t know what to do.”

Running his hand down his face, panic still clinging to him like the last stubborn snow of winter. He hated this kind of feeling, when he didn’t know how to fix something, he always found a way to fix things

But Isabella? She was his own mountain to scale when it came to that, he’d been trying to do so since she’d returned, and it felt as if all that work had been destroyed. “Arthur, she’s strong, no matter what happens, she will come back, just be there for her.” Hoesa's words were offered in a soft voice.

“How? How can I be there for her when I don’t even know what’s going on?” Arthur asked, almost pleading for the fatherly advice that only Hosea offered him. “Be with her, and when she needs you, she’ll tell you.” Patting his shoulder in reassurance. The older man left him after that, and Arthur stood in the kitchen, despite being stood in a house full of people, he had never felt so alone in his whole life.

Arthur's Journal

Day one

Belle didn’t get up today, nor did she eat anything. I came back home, and the stew I’d left for her was stone cold and untouched. I don’t think she slept either, the rings around her eyes are getting heavier.

She only drank when I basically forced her, I had to pick her up and hold the canteen to her lips. She was mouldable like a doll, and then the minute I let her go. She just curled back up, facing the wall, staring at it like it would offer her the answers to life.

I heard her crying during the night, it seemed like she was trying to be as quiet as she could. But every so often, she drew in a sobbing breath, her shoulder shaking as she did.

I slept on the chair again, not sure how much longer I can do that for, everything hurts. I’m way too old to spend every night on that, I thought about going out and sleeping in her tent.

But the idea of leaving her during the night its too hard, I don’t know how to ask her if I can sleep beside her. What if she freaks out? What if she slips further into those dark depths she’s fallen into? God, I wish I knew how to help her.

Day two

I slept beside her last night, I asked about sleeping on the cot, and although she didn’t speak, I saw her nod. The cot is small, but it felt like she was a million miles away, I went to reach out a few times to hold her, but stopped myself.

 I don’t want to push her, but every part of me was fighting not to hold her tight and tell her how she was safe and how much I love her, to push away those nightmares, but I don't have a single clue how to do that. She didn’t eat again today, even when I begged, but she did at least drink from my canteen again.

Honestly, she looks like she’s wasting away, no food for over four days. Her cheeks are starting to look a little sunken, like her weight is dropping rapidly. I don’t want to force-feed her or something like that, but it is getting harder each day to watch her starve.

I brought her stew again, and yeah, it ain’t the best tasting thing in the world, but still, it’s something, but she didn’t even look at it.

Day three

Belle ate something today, I left a bread roll by the bed, and I returned to half of it gone, she was still curled up facing the wall. But at least she had eaten something, I laid beside her all night again.

She didn’t cry last night, but she was still unmoving, still curled up in a ball all night. I thought about trying to talk to her again, but I don’t even know what to say anymore. I’ve all but begged her speak so far, and the last thing I want to do is push too much.

Day four

She sat up today and ate half the stew, but even sitting up, she still had her knees drawn to her chest. Arms wrapped around them and staring straight ahead.

I still think she’s the most beautiful woman who ever existed, but I can’t lie, she looks half dead. Her hair is matted, and the bags under her eyes are getting deeper.

Her skin is so pale, she looks like a damn ghost, and the light is still missing from her eyes. I wish I knew how to help.

Day five

Abigail visited her today, ran a comb through her hair and spoke about tales of the gang. She told me that she didn’t say anything in response.

 Just nodded at the right times and kept staring straight ahead. Abigail said she offered to help her get changed, but apparently, she recoiled, like the idea of someone touching her terrified her.

It made me thankful I’d not reached for her at night; I can tell she’s not ready for another person.

Day six

Belle still sat in the bed today, but at least she glanced at me every so often, however I’ll be honest, the look in her eyes every time she caught mine.

 It made me feel like my heart had been ripped out. It was like she is terrified she’s disappointed me, like she feels she’s failed me. I can’t describe it, but god it was painful. Especially when I don’t have a goddamn clue why she thinks she’s done that.

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

Isabella woke up as the sun broke through the window, blinking bleary-eyed as she heard a soft snore beside her. Turning as silently as she could, she looked up at Arthur’s face. He looked tired, as if he’d tried to stay awake as long as possible last night.

 She knew he’d done that the whole time she’d been like this, when she’d been drowning in the pool of misery. He had looked exhausted, as if he’d barely got a wink of sleep, and she knew he hadn’t.

When she herself had lain awake in the early hours of some of the nights, she’d felt him watching her, those ocean eyes fixed on her, as if he was terrified that if he closed his eyes she’d slip away again.

His brows were furrowed despite being asleep, there wasn’t that look of serenity she had grown to love when he slept beside her, because even with her there, it was like he still couldn’t fully relax.

One of his hands was behind his neck, keeping his posture tense, she could see the vein there straining against the pressure of his hold. The other hand lay beside him open-palmed, as if he’d been fighting against touching her all night.

He was so good, deep down in his soul, he was such a good man, and he deserved so much, he deserved a life outside this.

A life of peace and love, a life where he wasn’t looking over his shoulder at every single moment. A life where he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders, a happy life with a woman and a family.

The thought of a family made her insides twist, placing her hand on her forever-empty womb. What kind of woman was she if she couldn’t give someone that? What use was she to the world if she couldn’t have children?

She’d never thought about them until she and Thomas had been together, then again, she’d never really thought about a future at all. Hadn’t honestly expected to make it past thirty, never mind raise a family and grow old.

But when she’d been with her late husband, she’d marvelled at his nieces and nephews. They’d made plans, picked names for when they did have children, but every time, even the time that her stomach began to grow. She had woken up with that familiar pain in her stomach, the blood slick between her legs.

Her and Arthur having children had never been an idea she’d entertained, but knowing that she’d had a little him growing inside her, and they’d never have a chance at that life, that the child would never get the chance to live. It shattered something deep within herself, broke that last piece of her heart.

 She heard a deep inhale from Arthur, his eyes fluttering open, and suddenly she was met with those azure irises she’d stared into so many times. That looked at her with an amount of love that it made her dizzy.

Dropping her gaze instantly, arms wrapping around herself as if to guard her body, almost like she could hide the fact that she could never give him that opportunity of that kind of future.

“Do you think you can get up today?” Arthur’s asking, his eyes still focused on her, despite her dropping her gaze. Nodding, she allowed him to climb out first, and once he was free from the cot, she followed.

 Slowly standing up, groaning as she felt a shot of pain through her limbs, caused from being tangled up within herself for so long, she stumbled slightly.

Instantly, Arthur was at her side, helping steady her. It made her heart ache, how he’d always be there to catch her when she fell, both physically and emotionally.

Even when she kept shutting him out in both ways, even though she kept pushing him away the minute he got too close, like she always did, he was still there. Letting herself regain her balance again before he let her go, his touch was something Isabella found herself missing instantly.

“Can you walk?” She nodded in response, moving to let him walk out of the room in front of her. But then she’s grabbing his wrist without thinking, stopping him in his tracks, turning he looked at her with quizzical eyes. Isabella swallowed her throat dry from days of barely drinking and not speaking.

 “Arthur.” She croaked out her voice, sounding alien to her ears as it seemed to echo around the room. “I’m sorry.” She dropped his wrist and looked down again, folding her arms over herself. “What for Belle?” His own voice is quiet, almost barely there, so unlike how his baritone timber usually boomed around the room.

 She didn’t respond, just shook her head, like she was having an inner battle about even saying what she already had, never mind saying anything further. Arthur stood for a moment longer before he turned back around, opening the door and allowing her through first.

She slowly made her way down the stairs, her eyes fixed on the ground, holding onto the bannister so tight that her knuckles were white, and her hands were cramping. Trying to steady herself, her legs still feeling like she was a newborn foal, unable to find solid ground beneath them.

 Brushing past the gathering of gang members, she heard at least one or two muttered hello’s and glad you are feeling better's. She didn’t respond, just kept her eyes on the ground, almost staring a damn hole through the aged wood of the floorboards.

Instead of stopping to greet anyone, or even catching the worried gaze of Hosea, she’s heading straight outside and towards Florence, letting Arthur follow behind, once she reached her mare. Isabella pushed her face against her, wrapping her arms around her neck and just breathing, feeling the heaviness of the last few days being lifted slightly against the horse’s strong frame.

Florence responded straight away, leaning against her owner, her huge head sitting gently on Isabella’s shoulder. It looked as if they’d done this before, Isabella seeking comfort from her close companion. Arthur almost wished he had his journal, so he could sketch this picturesque scene, keeping it forever.

 But soon it was over, and she turned to mount her horse, looking down at Arthur, she gave him a nod. As though to ask for him to join her without words, like she often did, when you’d spent so much of your life with each other, you got that ability to communicate silently, and he didn’t hesitate to whistle for Valour.

Climbing onto him with practised ease, one that showed he’d done it hundreds of times. Isabella didn’t speak, instead just clicked her tongue to indicate to Florence leave the camp, Arthur following in a breath. He’d follow this woman to the end of the earth if she asked him to.

The ride had been silent, just the sound of horse’s hooves hitting the dusty road and the combination of their breathing. As they made their way into Valentine, Arthur was scanning around them, always on the lookout for danger as the protector of the gang.

They’d caused a decent amount of trouble around here, and the last thing he wanted was for things to kick off, especially whilst Isabella was still so vulnerable. She climbed off Florence at the hotel, hitching her up, pulling off her saddle bag and making her way into the hotel in silence.

Arthur’s brows creased with confusion, but he followed without comment, watching as she approached the desk clerk. She placed some money on the counter, tapping her blunt nails against the bath option on the sign.

The receptionist gave a nod of agreement to her request, but then she reached for Arthur’s hand and pulled him behind her. The man behind the counter cleared his throat, the raven-haired outlaw turned, returning her emeralds to him and rolling them.

Not dawdling, she was placing down some more bills on the counter and then continuing her previous actions. Arthur let her drag him along, staying silent, just allowing her to do whatever she needed.

As they entered the bathroom, she slipped through first and waited until he clicked the door closed. Not hesitating before she’s starting to peel off the clothes she’d been wearing for the last week, aware of the dirt and grime stuck to her skin.

Yet she didn’t have the energy to care about how she looked, even when she noticed his eyes drop to the blood that had long dried on her legs and lips pressing into a firm line. Still no words left her though, instead she’s climbing into the steaming bath, allowing the hot water to soothe her aching joints and swallow her under.

Arthur leaned against the door, arms crossed, unsure of what he was meant to do with himself at first, but then she finally spoke. “The first time it happened, I couldn’t figure it out, I thought it was my monthly’s, but the pain was different, it felt like someone was twisting a knife deep inside my stomach.” She explained, emerald orbs focusing down on the rippling water around her.

“Thomas all but carried me to the doctors, despite my protests because I continued to keep getting sicker. I’ve always known you can lose a child, but knowing about it and experiencing it. That’s something that changes you inside.” Her heart sat in her throat as she gave her admission.

“We spoke about children, thought it was a one-off, I guess I was swept up in the dream of a family.” She tugged her knees up to her chest just as she had many times over the past few days. Disregarding the pressure she felt in her back, from returning to that position that she’d been all but frozen in.

 “But then it happened again and again and again. And every single time something broke in me just a little bit more.” Arthur didn’t say anything because, honestly, he didn’t know what to say, all he could think about was Isaac.

He had lost his own chance at a future, and although he denied sharing it, knowing that she’d now lost his child. It caused his heart to twist with pain he in a way couldn't quite explain, once more, another chance had been lost. He wouldn’t push it though, he would grieve silently, not asking her to do so until she was ready.

“I know we never spoke about children, about a future. But the moment that I felt the blood running down my legs, I just felt it disappear. Any sort of future, for us, for me.” She’s swallowing, her green orbs prickling with tears that went unshed, as emeralds finally meet those aquamarines.

 “You deserve so much Arthur, you deserve a wife and a family. And it doesn’t matter how much I love you. I can’t give you that, so I am giving you a chance to walk away. To find a woman you can have that with, to find a family. I know you once had that, and you think you threw it away. But that doesn’t mean that can’t be your future.” She was so caught up in saying such heartbreaking words that she didn’t even realise her admission of love.

Even though she knew she should allow the two of them to share the grief of the loss of their child, she couldn’t mourn them yet, she couldn’t deal with that. Not without once more falling into that dark hole, one that she’d only just begun to claw herself out from.

So instead, she kept her thoughts on her offer of freedom for him, she didn’t want to say that, of course, she didn’t. More than anything, she wanted a forever with him, she wanted to never let him go. But she knew she had to give him an out, it was the only fair to offer him that. She could be selfish as hell, but right now, she couldn’t allow herself to be, instead she dropped that emotion. Focusing on kindness and love for the man who stood before her gave instead.

Arthur had noticed those words she’d admitted, something he’d never expected to hear again, and despite the heavy topic, those three words still made his heart flutter. He didn’t say anything, he just walked around the tub and picked up the sponge. Starting to work it in circles on her back, trying to formulate the words.

“When I rode up to see Eliza and Isaac that day, I still saw something, a maybe. Maybe I could do this, leave this life, join the two of them as a family. But the smell of their blood in that cabin, the scent of fear that still lingered despite the time they’d already been dead. They were killed like they meant nothing, like they deserved nothing, like despite them being just some innocent woman and child, their fate was set in stone. And that was because of me, I thought I was protecting them, but instead, I brought about their death.” His words were almost apprehensive, speaking about the two of them still felt like opening a fresh wound, no matter how long it had been.

Every time he thought of them, that wall of guilt and regret hit him like a ton of bricks. That sight of the crosses on top of their graves would never leave them him, the fact that, because of him that they were dead, it increased his already overwhelming self-loathing to an unimaginable level.

“I thought about it a lot after that, if I could have that again, if I could watch a woman grow with my baby, if I could watch a child run through the fields laughing and playing. The idea of teaching them to ride a horse, how to read, the innocent things that Hosea taught us. Without the violence that was so common in our younger years, of course. But every time I thought about it, all I could think about was Isaac and Eliza. About the fact that their lives were taken so many years before they were due to,”

Turning slightly so he could capture her chin with calloused fingers. “I don’t know what the future holds, not for a single moment. I could live until I’m old and grey, or I could die tomorrow. But whenever I think about a future, it ain’t with kids running around, hell, it ain’t even thinking about a wife.” Arthur sighed, wetting his lower lip with his tongue before he continued.

 “It’s you, you are my future, you are my forever. No matter where we go or how long we’ve got, whether there are ever to be children or not. None of that matters.” Eyes unmoving from hers, trying to let every world settle.

“I don’t deserve that future.” Isabella finally confessed, worrying her lower lip. The confession was painful to give, but it was true, happiness was something that was made for other people. Love was something the innocent deserved, not someone like her, not someone who had caused so much destruction in the world, not a monster like she was.

“Hell, neither do I Belle, but no matter what we’ve done in the past, we deserve at least one moment of happiness.” He didn’t break eye contact with her for a minute, and when Isabella focused on him, she could see that his words were what he truly believed.

There was a conclusiveness behind them that it didn’t matter what their future held, he was promising her his forever, which made her want to cry with gratitude.

Neither spoke any further, because what more was there to say, the outlaw leaned forward, his lips gently meeting hers, touch barely a whisper. A beat or two passed before Isabella placed her hand on the back of his neck, pulling him into her.

The kiss lasted for moments, just them sharing the words they couldn’t say, the feelings they weren’t able to vocalise. Isabella was the first to pull back, but her hand moved to his cheek, touching him with such gentleness it made him easily forget the lives those hands had taken

“Make love to me Arthur.” Words hushed, barely above a whisper and yet they cut through the ever-tensioning air in the room.

“Ain’t you sore?” Concern written on his face. “Yes, but I need to feel alive again, and that’s what you do for me.” Words honest, from deep within her heart, and Arthur could only nod.

“Okay, but we are gonna have to rent a room cause I’m pretty sure they ain’t gonna be happy to have the floor soaked with water.” Isabella rolled her eyes, but there was a small smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Her emeralds were still dulled with the weight of her loss, of their shared loss, which they weren’t ready to really speak of, but at least a little sparkle had returned.