Hello Sunshine

Adam Driver Favourite Scenes [29/?]

She usually wasn’t the type to settle in thoughts like this. Maybe back then, when she was alone and tired of loving after someone that wasn’t hers. But, that wasn’t the case because she did have Kane now. And she was happy and sickly in love and all the things she hoped for.

Her sad smile widened at her words, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I know. God, do I know.” He never ceases to tell her. And she loved him, fuck, she loved him.

Her head tilted as Kendall admitted to not knowing what to say. Boy, have they all been there. “Well, you can always audit a couple of classes. See what you like. Can start with…I don’t know. Business. Communications. Maybe psychology. There’s child development. Tons of options.”

Kendall smiled at Eloise’s confirmation. She was glad that Elois seemed to know just how much her boyfriend loved her. Eloise probably knew Kane better than anyone, so it was good that his feelings for her weren’t in some blind spot. She chuckled softly through her nose. “You two are cute.”

She shrugged when Eloise started listing off study options. “Or, you could just start having babies, and I won’t have to worry about losing my nanny job for a good long time,” she joked with a wink. Then Dylan kicked the ball to his friend who scored a goal and the adults around them all cheered and clapped. Kendall joined in. “Great assist, Dil!” she called out to the boy who beamed over at them.

Her jaw dropped at the quip, coughing out yet another laugh. “Hey, at the rate that we’re going, I wouldn’t too surprised by the next year.” Her eyebrows rose and fell, continuing to laugh. It was mainly a joke, but she already moved in, the next steps felt far too natural to not just fall into place. “We’d make cute babies.” Stuffing a fruit snack into mouth, the thing practically flew out of her hand as she cheered.

“Yeah, bud! That’s my guy!”

Her eyebrows raised and fell and a joking matter, continuing to chuckle softly. “Oh, trust me. I’ll savor this moment for as long as I can.” Though she joked about it, she honestly loved how organized Jamie was. It might be an extreme to some people, but it kept people like her in check. There’s nothing she’d change about it.

“Can’t wait to hear it.”

“Oh yeah, did I not mention that I am the whole package?” Jamie teased. He was in no way smooth when it came to relationships and flirting, but every once and a while a playful flirty comment would slip out of him. He didn’t get embarrassed because he was so convinced that he was the only one with feelings. If Eloise played back, that’s when the awkwardness would shine through once more. 

He frowned in thought when Eloise mentioned a song choice for the two of them. “Oh, that is a good question… I mean, of course we could always go for Sunny and Cher, but there is also Grease, a little Summer Lovin’, or I’m sure we could think of another good duet.” Were there any good platonic duets? None that he could think of off the top of his head. The idea of singing a love some with Eloise, made his heart flitter a little bit in his chest.

Her eyes widened and a sharp gasp left her lips, shaking his arm in excitement. “Are you kidding me? We are so Sonny and Cher. No question. Done.” Though Summer Lovin’ was a classic and she couldn’t help but laugh at the image of Jamie in some greaser jacket and sleeked hair, pulling out a whole Danny act.

“Well, now I can’t choose. Whatever you want, partner, I’ll sing it with you.”

“Nah, I’m just in for the money.” She smirked, chin high and mighty, which a face she made when she was joking around. He knew this. Of course. Knowing since day one that she was never attracted to the lifestyle, just the one living it.

“I have this…like…whole plot to overtake your company and utterly drown in assets and riches.” Hell, she barely understood the true excess of went down in his family’s company.

Her eyebrow raised, trying her best to keep this rude, ducking half her mouth underwater as she sputtered a giggle. It was impossible to keep character.

Kane laughed, “Wow, this is a really long con, Ells.” He smiled down at her, watching her sink a bit in the water. “If that’s the truth, then you can have all the money you want. You have my heart, and that comes with my bank account,” he joked. It was true, he knew that Eloise was joking, but if she hadn’t been, he would have given her everything anyway. Because he wasn’t joking about how much he loved her.

“I’m only in it for you, Kane. That’ll never change, ya hear me?” Coming in close, her arms wrapped around his neck and peppers his face with kisses before settling on his lips. “In it to win it, baby. You’re stuck with me now. Your trailer is about to be hitched to mine. You sure you’re still up for that, Booker?” The question was a no brainer, mostly kidding in just asking.

Thankful of everyone’s distractions for the night, El finds refuge in a pencil and paper, etching what was on her mind–a one, Samuel Silas. She daydreams of going back to that moment, playing it differently as she never takes from the man that has nestled his way into her heart. Or if she did, she’d call him before he makes it to far, able to return what was his to keep and have the opportunity to steal something else – a kiss.

She sighs at the thought as it knots herself in her stomach, practically about to stand and find her house to find him herself, no matter how long it takes. The guilt leaves a bad taste in her mouth and she needs to get rid of it.

Though, the moment she looks up to even start such a motion, a hand clasps over her mouth and a silent scream exits her lips as she dragged into the woods. This is it, karma being a cruel mistress and taking what was rightfully hers. They’ve been found. But, then his voice fills her ears, maddening and dangerous and the very sound leaves goosebumps littering her skin. 

Sam. He found her. 

Her eyebrows furrow at his words like the cutting edge they are. Of course, he’s hurt, she fucking robbed him. But, if he knew what that did to her. If he could know what he means–

She nods, gripping at his hand to let her mouth free. If he wanted an outlaw, she’ll give him an outlaw. “Miss me already, Marshall? I knew you’d find me.” Speaking at all was stupid and reckless, but the very man made her do such things.

“You can have it. Won’t do much for me.” Her words sting as even tears brim in her eyes, wanting so much to take away the pain she had caused. He had her wrapped around his finger.  

He didn’t want excuses, but she was gonna give him everything she had, some sort of solace—a sinner begging for repentance at the altar. “I wasn’t fuckin’ lyin’ to you when I gave you my name. That was my first mistake.” He tells her to walk and she does, leading him around the perimeter to where her part of camp is without finding wandering eyes. “I would’ve given you everything.” She whispers, hurt, barely meeting his gaze as its scorn burned, wanting blood. They make it to her chest where she crouches and picks the lock, never having found a key as it wasn’t hers to begin with. She lifts the trunk, fishing for the watch until her hands fist and rustle behind blankets and papers, searching vigorously. 

“No, no, no–” The act is dropped, genuinely concerned and terrified. “No, it was here, Sam. It was here! I was gonna–return it–tom-” Her head drops, letting a soft cry. “I swear to you. I ne’er gave it to them. I didn’ tell nobody. I hid it…for you.” She knew that he probably thought that she was still playing with him, toying with his heart that was seemingly in her hand–though not truly knowing how deeply. But, for someone who lies and cheats her entire life, she was never so desperate to tell the truth. “I swear.” 

========================

Her words are cutting and not in the least contrite and yet, in the face of her cruel teasing, Sam’s expression remains stoic and stony; he won’t respond to any of her obvious attempts to incur his wrath. Should he strike her across the cheek for her thievery and insolence, it will only give her cause to scream and alert the others. No; better to take back what belongs to him and leave with what little dignity he has left.

Her remark that she would have ‘given him everything’ is interpreted by Sam’s ear to sound like the kind of proposition a saloon girl looking to make a quick buck might make him and in response he flashes her a look of abject disappointment. He wouldn’t want her like that…she’s worth so much more than that. 

As they enter her small tent, he stands in silence, watching as she wrestles to get the trunk open with shaking hands, though when it finally opens it is clear there is very little left inside and definitely no sign of his Father’s watch. Her distress, which he instantly imagines is feigned, just like her earlier affections, does nothing to move him – fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.

“Enough of this mockery.” He growls, reaching for the nape of her neck, to wrench her up to her feet. It is there he stands, in her cramped little tent, listening to her friends sing as he holds her flat against him, his fingers now wrapped tightly around her throat; all he would have to do is squeeze. It’s a cruel dichotomy, to be holding her so close to him like this, so brutally and yet to still feel so tenderly towards her. He had wanted to call on her on Saturday, to take her dancing, to hold her closely against him, but not like this, never like this.

“You have no idea what you’ve done…” He whispers bitterly, refusing to relinquish his hold on her, though it is not long before his malice gives way to his compassion. Sam may be a man with rough hands and dirt ingrained in the creases of his palms, a man who makes his money through violence and the spilling of blood, but regardless, he remains a good man and not the kind to ever feel comfortable threatening a woman.

Dropping his hands to his sides, making it clear he holds no further ill intent towards her, he releases a frustrated groan, one thick with self-defeat. This was a mistake; he should never have come here, if anything it’s only made him feel worse about the whole sickening affair.

“I wish I could believe you.” He admits, with more honesty than he suspects she deserves. “I wish…”

Falling silent as he hears the distinctly shrill whine of a bullet passing them, Samuel grabs Eloise’s shoulders, forcing her down to the ground, just as another loudly embeds itself in the bark of a tree right next to them. For a moment there is an eerie silence, the sounds of singing and jeering halted as the situation immediately turns on its axis, from celebration to all out war.

“Pinkertons!” The cry goes up, moments before the five agents ride into camp, shooting indiscriminately at anything that moves; something that to Sam, seems like bloodthirsty madness given the fact he’s already seen a woman with a child resident in this camp.

Undeniably there is a choice to be made here, a side to choose and little time for deliberation. Normally Samuel would naturally find himself on the side of the law, but in this case, what the Pinkerton’s are doing, feels a whole lot more like lawlessness.

Easing his rifle from around his back, without really thinking about it, Samuel thrusts his pistol into Eloise’s hand. She may choose to shoot him in the back with it, of course, but surely a girl as smart as she seems, already knows he’s her best chance of making it out of here alive.

“Stay behind me.” He instructs, grabbing her wrist, to pin her to his back as they hurry out of the tent. “Any of those Pinkerton bastards get close, shoot them in the face.”

Gritting her teeth, she leans viciously close and maybe that digs her grave even deeper, knee-deep, but it doesn’t matter, he’ll kill her anyways after he gets his watch back. “You wish that’s what I meant, but it isn’t.” You know me better, she wants to say, but he’d never believe her. Or maybe he wants to believe, but every word that comes out of her mouth may as well be an outright lie. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

But, she so desperately wants him to believe her, to allow her to beg and weep at his feet for forgiveness, one that she’s never thought to ask of anyone else. There’s no forgiveness in this place, but yet it’s all she has left at her disposal. One last plea before she’s left to rot in the dirt. Even if he rips her heart out, it would still be his.

The puddling mess she leaves is unlike the visage she claims, a glimmer of the one he hoped he found at that road--of Eloise Bennett. It wasn’t all a ruse to her; hardly, if she thinks about it, the only lie being her family name and Arthur’s involvement. God, Arthur—would he find her same fate, driven to the ground six feet under or would they not even be granted that luxury. A straight shoot to hell—it’s what she deserved, but not Arthur.

“Mockery? You don’t get to have my mockery! You don’t believe me, fine—“ Her own rageful breath is stolen as his hand wraps around her neck as she stares into the eyes of what could’ve been the devil himself, pressed against his body as their breath scatters into amalgamation. Her neck cranes, giving him the access, daring him to finish what he so desperately wanted; her own hand goes to meet his wrist, granting permission. She doesn’t need it anymore—her heart—if he wouldn’t have it—and she hated that she so willingly gave it to the scum of the law. They’re no better, she tells herself.

“Do it.” Tears stream down her cheeks, hot and flooding, as her voice stutters. “There’s nothing left for me here.” And when she thinks he will, she’s surprised to be met with the kindness this man continues to bestow, a kindness she doesn’t deserve as his hands drop to his side, inhaling a stark breath.

“I’m sorry.” She murmurs with a pitiful, contrite gaze, a far too simple thing that didn’t fit everything that it meant. But, it’s genuine to her at least, whether he believes her or not—a pathetic attempt to clear her conscience as the guilt that wrecks within her is soon becoming unbearable.

“I will find-”

The sound that whisks past is unmistakable and Sam is far quicker than she is able to act, bringing her to the ground as the liveliness of the gang’s night is silenced. The name called rings in her ear, blood run cold. He brought them here? To punish her? Why let them finish the job when he could do it himself?

But this man—this bounty hunter—continues to enthrall her as he tells her to stay behind him. He didn’t bring them? 

Why? Why take the risk when he could just run and leave them to die? The harsh reality strikes her cold, fearful of ones deemed far more innocent of the gang than the rest. Abigail. Jack. Sadie. Mary-Beth. Molly. Ms. Grimshaw.

“No...” Eloise whispers in fear, paralyzed as the images of death of her friends intercept every sense of bravery and capability she thought she carried. Bloodied bodies that will litter the ground, soaking the grass in their blood as it too will die by her neglect. A pistol is shoved into her hand, immediately looking toward the one that gave it to her. What are you doing, she wonders.

Part of her wants to knock him out right there like she should’ve before they even made it Strawberry, but again, not wanting to bruise such a pretty face. And the fact that he’s her only hope of getting out of here alive--for now.

The roar of gunshots erupt as they exit the tent, bleeding into a warzone. Women shout, most cursing as she hears John call for Abigail and his son. Her heartbeat batters in her throat, back pressed to his as her gaze darts around the darkness. 

“How the fuck did they find us? How did you find us?”

One is chasing the pair, seeing a tall, slender figure in a billowing dress and one far smaller in tow. Two shots. The movement is quick, not even a thought as her hands raise, the gunshot echoing, ringing in her ears as the attacker slumps onto his horse, before leaning to the side and falling painfully to the ground. “Go, Abigail! Hide!” Eloise pleads as they run past, now Jack in her arms as she holds his head, barely able to see the thankful glint in her eye. 

“Eloise, thank you.”

The sun is a welcomed friend as it lingers above them now, finally feeling its warmth in entirety rather than limited and sliced behind wood barriers. There’s a laundry list of things to be done in order to fortify the house, though sleep nips and gnaws at their eyelids, clawing for relief. The empty house remains so as they re-enter, having been left for desolation, much like them, but it holds such promise–a safe harbor for their lives together–forever conjoined, never to be separated again.

Joined at the hip, continuously feeling each other’s touch with held hands and forehead touches, El aimlessly, yet happily follows her love as they retreat to the upstairs bedroom, first aid kit in hand. Cheeks stretch, widening as a bright smile lifts from her lips at his assurance of their safety as she silently nods, leaning to kiss the corner of his mouth and a hand caressing his bearded jaw. It was a custom she was never going to get used to, but delighted in nonetheless. Her now favorite thing.

Following suit, she sits beside Samuel on the edge of the mattress, gaze following each movement as he tends to her hand. She winces as the alcohol stings in contact with the wound, pressing her forehead into his shoulder to mask her whimper. A deep inhale exits her nose, air hitting his skin as the tip glides itself softly over his shoulder before lifting her head as he begins bandaging it. Once finished, a finger traces its material as a soft smirk leaves her lips, meeting his gaze. “I kind of like it when you play doctor.”

Her head tilts, watching as he lies down into the mattress, almost jealous of the position as all she wants to do is nestle into his side and sleep for days. How often she dreamed, lying in a mat of hay, pressed against the wall as his voice is just inches away, seized by the barrier between them. But, if she closed her eyes, it felt like they were laying together–now, that dream can become their reality, every night for the rest of their lives.

She nods at his request, having done many times since the fall. It’s almost second nature at this point, stitching up a wound almost becoming as common as knowing how to ride a bike. Now seeing the injury in full view, she frowns, lightly grazing the surrounding skin with her fingertips. “Ouch.” Honestly, it’s a miracle they didn’t fare worse after escaping a firey battlefield that now was left in smoke and rubble. Despite the emotional trauma that’ll brand itself in their mind and dreams for eons to come, a grazed bullet wound and sliced hand feels feasible. 

Placing a kiss at his hip and side, she turns to find the illustrious tool on the dresser, her eyes light up like fireworks at the jubilant sight and a gasp exits her lips. “Are you serious?” There’s near tears in her eyes, softly squeezing at his jaw as he kisses her bruises. “Oh my God…” She reaches for it, finding the sweet, syrupy goodness in its containing as a tearful laugh bursts. “Peaches.” Though nothing in that place was a delight, that conversation was a fond memory as dreams and promises felt so far away and now? It felt like a sign. 

Eloise takes both, handing him the can before tasting its sweetness, so, she can focus on stitching his hip. “Maybe it’ll be a good distraction.” She quips, adjusting herself for a clearer view. “Only hurt for a second.” Knowing that he’s been stitched a multitude of times, she coos anyways, a hand rubbing at his thigh for support. It doesn’t take long, glancing up whenever he makes a sound, truly trying not to hurt him, but it’s sealed. Another laugh erupts, this one in triumph as her head turns side to side in pride. “See? Easy peasy.” Clapping his stomach softly, she leans forward for a kiss for good measure. A reward for both.

====================

He holds the can of peaches in his hand as she stitches his wound, his knuckles whitening against its cold metal edges each time it begins to sting and ache. The sweet smell of the peach segments soaked in syrup already have his mouth watering, but Sam won’t indulge himself yet, no; the first taste belongs to Eloise – he wants to feed it to her, as if it physically represents the fruits of their labours.

When she announces she has finished, he can’t help but smile with love struck awe as she laughs triumphantly; it’s a joyous sound, he’s never actually heard before and it’s one he hopes to hear over and over again – from this day on, he will make it his life’s mission to give Eloise reasons to laugh and to smile.

With a bandage set firmly to keep the wound secure, Sam shuffles over to make room for Eloise on the mattress. Dipping his fingers into the can, he plucks out a segment of fruit, smiling as he slowly brings it to hover near her lips, grinning as it drips sticky syrup all over her chin.

“Now ain’t that about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He teases with a raised eyebrow, his heart now feeling so God Damn light, he feels like he could almost float away. Exhaustion, blood-loss, relief and joy have all combined to make him feel downright delirious. Finally slipping the peach onto her tongue he wastes no time throwing one back into his own mouth, followed immediately by several more.

In truth, he can barely believe it – the two of them sat together on a bed, clean, soaked in sunlight which is muted by the drapes, smiling at each other as they hungrily chew on sweet pieces of peach. Feeling a tear spill down his cheek, Samuel laughs, shaking his head, embarrassed that he’s becoming so obviously emotional over a piece of fucking fruit. Course it’s not just the fruit is it - it’s everything; everything he’s ever wanted or needed, sat beside him in the form of another person, his missing piece; his Eloise.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, wiping the tear from his cheek with that back of his hand, though he instantly feels others spill hotly down his cheeks to collect in his beard; physical signs of his happiness and relief; tears he feels he has been holding back not just for days, but for weeks. He’s had to be so strong, for so long that it is only now that feels he can truly allow himself to let go of it; of the dread in his stomach, the furrow in his brow and the tension in his muscles; that fight of flight instinct that has kept him alive. Without it, he feels lighter than air, as if he himself is as ethereal as the shards of sunlight that are now cutting across the top of Eloise’s beautiful thighs.

Placing the can down on the bedside table, Sam shuffles further down into the bed, his arms reaching for Eloise to pull her to him, unable to stifle a laugh as he finds himself momentarily smothered by her golden curls. In his mind’s eye he can’t help but picture the brittle wooden barrier that once separated them, that bore witness to all of their whispered conversations as they huddled against it, wishing they could reach just beyond it, to find comfort in each other’s arms.

Her mouth opens instinctively as he brings the slice of fruit to her lips, a hand cupping beneath her chin as it begins to drip, lips enveloping the sweet euphoric taste. If that wasn’t the best thing she ever tasted. Cheeks tinted pink, there’s a spirited giggle at his quip, muffled with her mouthful, but bright and ethereal nonetheless, nipping at his fingers with a puckish grin before swallowing the fruit. A light moan gripes in her throat at its sweetness. “I’d eat this everyday if we had to. I’ll die a happy peach.” Licking at the remains on her fingers, she gladly goes for another, drinking in every moment of this dream-like moment.

She can’t stop staring at him—her Samuel—everything good in her life was because of him. Her very life was because of him. “How did I get so lucky?” The question warms her chest, scattering down her ribs and stomach, spreading through the veins of her arms and legs as it practically tingles at her fingers and toes, constantly in awe by the strength and adoration of one she was allowed to call hers. What did she do to deserve such love? And even if it were just for this one moment, to lie beside him, drinking sweet syrup with him, to be seen and loved by him, just for now, it would’ve been worth it.

Her eyebrow quivers at his apology, immediately alarmed with tender concern before pressing her face into his neck as she coos and shushes his cries. “Hey...” She whispers tenderly, though the words barely match a whisper, pressing her lips to the skin there before pulling away to make sure Sam looks at her. “No sorrys. Not with me. Okay?” A hand rises gingerly to brush away the tears before taking his hand to intertwine their fingers between their chests. “You don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders anymore, Sam.” The glint in her eye is nothing, but absolute, pure, unbridled love and utmost compassion. “Let me help. You’re allowed to let go...to breathe.” She kisses each knuckle, lingering there as her own tears begin to pool--overwhelmed with gratitude and she will spend the rest of her life making it up to him...for everything. 

Slowly, the couple both decline into the mattress, the sensation feeling like clouds and airy things, but that’s just the way Sam makes her feel. Butterflies and rainbows and the entirety that joy can offer. Her heart soars beneath his pelagic gaze, relishing in its light as she could drown in those blues--drinking in his gape. And when he laughs, she wants to be able to take the sound and bury it inside, carry it with her to hear of its splendor for eternity. God, she loved his laugh. “Sorry.” She laughs brightly, combing her hair away and readjusting as it now laid beneath her on the other side.

And she just gets to look at him and the very act is worship in itself. Teeth scrape over her bottom lip, biting down to keep from any more tears from falling as she is once again vanquished with exhalation, continuously asking what she did to deserve him once again. Sam speaks her hearts pang, feeling as though the stars aligned for this moment to happen. For them to be here together. 

Finally.

“Promise?” It was the same question she asked that night he whispered through the crack before she even felt the opulence of just his fingertips. Before everything burned for them break out of hindering chains. What they fought for, sacrificed, endured for this moment--for the rest of their lives.

“Now sleep.” Eloise adoringly swipes her hand over his face, fingertips bringing his eyes closed as her smile widens, settling a chaste kiss between his eyes, down his nose and landing on his lips. “I ain’t going anywhere.” Despite the light that lingered, filtered by sheer drapes, her body aches and yearns desperately for the darkness of sleep, craving its heaviness.

The drift is nearly instant, planted safely by his side, hip to hip, heart to heart, shoulder to shoulder, nestled into his chest.

------------

It’s dark, veiled in nothing but blackness. But, the air that fills this place is heavy, weighted down like swallowing thick tar with each forced breath.

“Sam?” She calls, though it’s as if the word isn’t allowed to leave, not allowed to exist. Nothing exists.

But, a presence lingers that leaves her paralyzed, frozen despite the torrid heat that idled, its temperature only rising. The walls, wherever they are, are closing in as this feeling, this misery and dread grows closer, bearing its teeth.

“Heartless...bitch.” The grueling voice echoes, piercing her skin as the sound burns.

“...Kill him for what you’ve done...” She can feel its breath, centimeters from her face though not baring its own as a whimper tries to leave, but remains trapped inside her throat.

“Stop.” 

“Rip your heart out with my teeth.”

“I said stop!” She begs, aggravating the beast as the sound is stolen, air stripped; an invisible force grips at her throat, no breath allowed to exist.

“Brave little lamb...”

The tears are thick, too, burning her skin as she’s not even allowed to cry out its pain, though she tries--pleading. 

“P-p-pl--ease.”

“Romeo isn’t here to save you now.” 

There’s no time to scream before it engulfs her.

--------------

Yet, here, she screams, the sound bone-chilling, trembling as it leaves her throat raw, hands clawing at the turmoil left that stands mighty as a reminder against her throat. His prints. His stain. 

There’s no light, as they had slept through the tender sun’s stay, only the moon’s shine beading through the curtains-- just past midnight. 

Maybe she missed the tint of his gaze as it fell on the one known as Arthur Morgan, far too caught in her own that found themselves a bounty hunter. If asked by the stable hand later, she’d play it off as part of the ruse, though there was a harsh reality that even shook her tainted core–she was smitten. 

“Lookin’ forward to it.” Snatching her hanging boot from his saddle, she waves with a quick wiggle of her fingers, unable to smear the doe eyes off her face. The pair watches as the lawman disappears into dust, a predator that lost its prey.

“You have damn near lost your mind.” Arthur chuckles, mounting his own horse before offering his hand to her to follow behind.

“Oh, like you don’t give your name to half the fuckin’ province, Arthur. He was a nice man that happen to stop and lend me a ride home.”

Arthur continues to laugh, smirking in disbelief as she settles, hands holding onto his shoulders for balance–a far different position than the one that was only saved for certain bounty hunters. 

“A nice man who’ll have your head on a poster.”

She is quiet, disregarding the very fact that left her with the pillage that now settles in her hand. Though, what she assumed was just some hunk of silver was in fact much more than that. The value was far more sentimental than a pretty penny, kissed and carved by gifted hands. This too shall pass.

Her heart sinks, head rising in hopes that the bit of dust is still in view. She could return it, a prize unearned. But, the horizon remains empty, along with the gut wrenching feeling that pitted itself within her stomach. God dammit, Sam. Somehow, within some magic within him, he had done something that no man of law had managed to do–make an outlaw go soft. Regret retches the lining beneath her ribs where her lungs should be, where her heart sits that seemed to run on a whole other rhythm as Morgan’s horse follows the familiar track back to camp.

“Did you at least get anything out of it?” Arthur asks without even turning his head as her hand grasps the watch tightly before hiding it away for safe keeping. In the morning, she decides, she’ll take her own horse back into town, find where he settles and return the watch and say it was a mistake. Must’ve dropped or somethin’ and deserved to be returned to its rightful owner. Maybe she’d be able to explain herself before being outright shot for thievery. Though a man like him would never forgive even a pretty face like hers. One thing’s for sure, there will be no dinner Saturday night. 

“Posterity.” She chimes softly, the tone audibly shifted, but nestles gaze back onto the horizon. Come find me.

——————

The lecture Dutch has rehearsed for her is brief, thankful that the reprimand of coming home empty-handed is merely a mild scolding. She’s twice as thankful for Arthur neglecting to mention that her mark ended up being a bounty hunter of all sorts.

“You’re young, you’ll learn.” Was the final marks of his speech, nodding off to let her know she was free to go.

“How’s the ankle?” Micah calls from outside the tent, a dangerous warning relying behind her eyes. 

She ignores him, bee-lining to her little corner that she calls home, plopping on the cot as all she can think about are two bright blue eyes and red hair covered by the rim of his hat. Samuel Silas truly lingers on her mind, holding her fare of the exchange in her hand. This too shall pass. The words replay in her mind like a broken gramophone, holding it to the heartache that leaves a gnawing ache at her chest. She should feel proud, having fooled a man of such rapport right under his nose. But, yet, all she thinks about is his hands that pulled at her boot to relieve the bit of pain that still made its presence across her skin. His lips that pressed against the top of her hand, ones she didn’t see such a delightful action, but felt nonetheless. A missed future.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the patter of little feet as Jack ducks under the sheet she uses as a means of privacy. Her hand immediately shoves the watch beneath her pillow, giving the boy a smile.

“Heya, kiddo.”

“Hi, Miss Ellie. My ma said to come fetch you for supper. They’re planning a big ol’ bonfire with music tonigh’”

“Thanks for the headsup, Jack, I’ll meet you there in a second, alright? Can play a bit of cards and teach you a game with your pa.”

The boy nods excitedly before disappearing off. Another sigh leaves her lips, still holding onto the watch before she tucks it into her wooden chest, locked and safe until the morning before she returns it. El wonders if he noticed by now, probably beat red with anger that shakes her faith, hoping that his wrath will defuse once she admits her mistake. 

———————–

It’s been an hour or so now, belly full of stew that Simon whipped that evening, though she didn’t have much appetite, convincing herself not to take the horse that very second and ride off to find her bounty hunter. Everyone’s a bit tipsy at this point, throwing down songs of old around the campfire. Micah makes his round, teetering past her as he asks Eloise for the time. She pays no mind to such a comment. “No clue, old man.” He smirks to himself, moseying on to go bother someone else. 

She sits in a farther corner on a lone log, a bit away from everyone as she resides in her thoughts, hoping to remember the smile on his face as he left. 

“Damn you, Silas, you made a darn fool out of me.” She mutters to herself into the empty cup, tossing it to the ground.

========================

When it becomes too dark to spot her tracks, it’s the smoke that draws him, billowing up to the heavens as clouds of dusky grey, that are only just visible against the dark black of night. Catching sight of the bright glow of a campfire, Samuel carefully tethers his horse, pulls up his neckerchief, draws his pistol and proceeds softly on foot – he has spotted men patrolling the boundaries of this part of the forest and Samuel has no desire to attract their attention.

In truth, he hasn’t yet decided how best to handle this, does he reclaim his watch and leave these outlaws to their celebrations, or does he release all hell and try to bring the pair of them in; Eloise and the man Samuel’s taken to imagining may be her lover; the man who the others are clearly calling Arthur. It’s hard to believe she blatantly used the outlaw’s real name in front of him, she must really think he’s a dumb fucking fool. In truth, that is what is burning him up the most right now, the thought of the pair of them laughing behind his back.

What the bounty hunter doesn’t realise, however, is that he isn’t the only one who has been tracking Arthur Morgan tonight, nor the only one who has found their way to this camp on this decidedly dark evening. While Samuel, slowly and silently makes his way to the fridges of the camp, he has no idea that five Pinkertons are settled close by, out of sight, waiting for the perfect moment to attack. Their sights, of course, are set on Dutch Van der Linde, the gang leader; a man Samuel has never met, but like all in the territory, has definitely heard of.

Crouching down beside one of the tents, remaining hidden, Samuel watches Arthur drink from a bottle of whiskey. He’s a quiet man compared to the rest, Sam notices and from this distance, Samuel could probably shoot him straight through the head, though in doing so, he imagines it would be likely he wouldn’t make it out of this camp alive. There are women by the fire too, laughing, joking and singing, but none of them he recognises; she must be here, somewhere nearby, in one of the tents perhaps.

Continuing to search, Samuel freezes as he hears a man near his feet suddenly snort and loudly grunt. On closer inspection it appears the man is a Reverent and is clearly blind drunk, so drunk that he waves to Samuel and offers him a drink before falling back into his bed, practically comatose.

Continuing on, pistol in hand, it is then he sees her; Eloise, if that’s even her name. For a moment, he stays still, watching her – even after her betrayal, she still remains the prettiest girl he’s ever set eyes on, the sight of her however no longer stirs the same warmth; she lied to him, used his good will against him, worked her way into his affections and robbed him. That’s what he needs to focus on now, retrieving his Father’s watch and frightening the girl so she never, ever tries anything so God Damn stupid again. That kind of behaviour is likely to get her hung and while deep down Samuel knows he shouldn’t care, he still does and he resents himself for it; she doesn’t deserve his concern, not now.

Silently shifting up behind her, he clasps his hand against her mouth, hard, before dragging her backwards into the trees, the muzzle of his gun now pressed roughly against the small of her back. He’s not here to play games, though as he catches the now familiar scent of her hair, he finds his eyes slowly closing, entirely against his will. He hates that she still has this effect on him and he feels powerless to stop it.

“Don’t you make a God Damn sound.” He warns, his tone low and harsh, now stripped of affection and dangerously rough - a stark contrast. 

“Don’t need to hear any of your fuckin’ excuses, I know what you are.” He spits into the dust to further illustrate his distain; distain which is currently concealing his hurt.

She sighs at the thought as it knots herself in her stomach, practically about to stand and find her house to find him herself, no matter how long it takes. The guilt leaves a bad taste in her mouth and she needs to get rid of it.

Though, the moment she looks up to even start such a motion, a hand clasps over her mouth and a silent scream exits her lips as she dragged into the woods. This is it, karma being a cruel mistress and taking what was rightfully hers. They’ve been found. But, then his voice fills her ears, maddening and dangerous and the very sound leaves goosebumps littering her skin. 

Sam. He found her. 

Her eyebrows furrow at his words like the cutting edge they are. Of course, he’s hurt, she fucking robbed him. But, if he knew what that did to her. If he could know what he means--

She nods, gripping at his hand to let her mouth free. If he wanted an outlaw, she’ll give him an outlaw. “Miss me already, Marshall? I knew you’d find me.” Speaking at all was stupid and reckless, but the very man made her do such things.

“You can have it. Won’t do much for me.” Her words sting as even tears brim in her eyes, wanting so much to take away the pain she had caused. He had her wrapped around his finger.  

He didn’t want excuses, but she was gonna give him everything she had, some sort of solace—a sinner begging for repentance at the altar. “I wasn’t fuckin’ lyin’ to you when I gave you my name. That was my first mistake.” He tells her to walk and she does, leading him around the perimeter to where her part of camp is without finding wandering eyes. “I would’ve given you everything.” She whispers, hurt, barely meeting his gaze as its scorn burned, wanting blood. They make it to her chest where she crouches and picks the lock, never having found a key as it wasn’t hers to begin with. She lifts the trunk, fishing for the watch until her hands fist and rustle behind blankets and papers, searching vigorously. 

“No, no, no--” The act is dropped, genuinely concerned and terrified. “No, it was here, Sam. It was here! I was gonna--return it--tom-” Her head drops, letting a soft cry. “I swear to you. I ne’er gave it to them. I didn’ tell nobody. I hid it...for you.” She knew that he probably thought that she was still playing with him, toying with his heart that was seemingly in her hand--though not truly knowing how deeply. But, for someone who lies and cheats her entire life, she was never so desperate to tell the truth. “I swear.” 

The water drinks away the red of the blood that sticks to her skin, erasing the carnage of violence that gnaws in the remnants of her mind like a consuming fire. Dirt, and soot swirled with white soap paints and disappears, revealing a pale canvas of ivory, greens, yellows and purples. The gelidity of the water burns as it licks their wounds, grasping onto the other body for its warmth. Her head had turned the moment he entered the water, unveiling a final grace of vulnerability they had yet to embrace. And yet, in his embrace she feels complete, whole, full, one. 

A hand rests against his chest, the other splayed against his bicep as he washes away the shards their captives left, relishing in the worship beneath his lips as they stand at this altar to be cleansed. 

She leans into every kiss, chest rising and falling with each stark breath, a soft wheeze echoing behind from residual turmoil. 

“I know, my love.” Eloise whispers, thin, skeletal arms wrapping around his neck, taking away the visage of the crimes done to them away from his gaze, hiding the raw, cracked and flaked skin that caved beneath her binds. Even worse from the tug and pull and clawing with a knife as she can almost still feel the burn of the fire that enveloped her car. Her eyes close tightly at the image, halting the whimper that seizes in her raw throat, sore from cries and the noose that held there, its imprint still remaining. 

Her eyes flutter at the soft touch of his lips brazing her skin as if they were meant there, only opening when he speaks again, again praising her for a thing that felt so detached from her in this state, tainted in detonation. How could he find this beautiful? This cadaverous, emaciated form?

“I can’t–” Unable to finish the words, unsure what exactly they mean to say. She can’t understand–how they survived, how lucky they were–she is–to have him, how he finds her entrancing.

Tears pool in her eyes, hiding its surge as her cheek presses against his chest, burrowing herself as close as physically possible as if she was trying to dig her grave inside. She’s slightly embarrassed, far too long since anyone’s referred to her in any way without it holding repulsive intent. He’s so gentle, feeling unworthy of his adoring gaze, clinging close. She places soft, open kisses there where she can reach across his chest, trying to convey emotion and desire that words couldn’t articulate. She was wholly and profusely, madly in love with him. 

“This doesn’t feel real.” She whispers into his skin, eyes tight as she’s afraid that this moment of solace will disappear if she opens them–awakened from an unconscious state that’ll be met with flames. “I’m afraid that this isn’t real.” 

Though it was the most real thing she had ever experienced, unable to weave and draw such perfection in human form. His eyes were a blue that she had never known, drowning in its tow as its gaze remains fierce yet merciful. And she finds its pull, looking up at their piercing lure.

She touches his face again, slowly washing away what displacement remained until she is holding at his jaw, matted by his beard as she must remind herself that such a touch is evidence of its reality, entranced by his gape. “So…blue.” 

Tugging softly, she pulls him into another amorous kiss, the only thing she can communicate to him. How she feels, and wants and loves to the point she must gasp for air once again–just like the first time.

“I love you…” The cry is stripped and broken–clinging. “-with everything that I am.” Reaching for his hand, she brings it to her chest–her heart–and presses, so, she can feel its pain. “I was made for you, Samuel. And I am now…wholly yours.”

Wiping away her tears, now extensively clean, she focuses on him, the painful gaze of what they done to him. Her chest rises again and falls, swirling in a storm of fervid rage and guilt. She should’ve done more to distract their clawing gaze. But, the wrath that pits in her stomach scatters, replaced by absolute adore and compassion. 

“How could they do this to you?” She whispers, bringing his hand to her face as she sweetly kisses his palm. Slowly, she nods for the bar of soap. “Let me see.” It was now her turn to tenderly care and tend to his wounds, hoping there’s supplies to bandage his hip at the house.

It’s a slow process, mirroring his actions as she kisses his skin where she washes–the veins in his hand, the cracks in his wrist, up to his shoulders and across his chest.   

================================

He can understand her difficulty and indeed, he shares it too; this difficulty found in expressing themselves in words. The irony of course, is not entirely lost on him; only yesterday, they had only words and nothing more; no other way to reach for one another or comfort each other. Perhaps that’s why words feel so inert now; because they simply cannot capture what it is to feel their bodies pressed against each other like this; naked, vulnerable and yet unfathomably strong because they are together. There is pain yes, but it is easily overcome but the comfort and protection to be found in this embrace as, they cling tightly to each other, as if holding on for dear life.  

It doesn’t feel real and she is right to fear it, Sam fears it too; the fragility of this happiness, of this freedom neither have yet adjusted to. The only thing assuring Sam that this is real is the warmth of Eloise’s kiss and the sensation of her arms around his waist, grounding him. When she finally finds her words, they are almost enough to buckle Samuel completely; there is so much pain in her voice, so much loss and yet so much hope too. He has never heard anyone assert their love with such conviction and passion and he is so grateful for it, it shakes him to his very core, causing him to shiver in her arms.

“…and I am yours…” He assures solemnly, bowing his head, to press a kiss against her forehead as he rocks her in his arms, her cheek pressed against his chest, in a moment that feels akin to sharing vows.

Painstakingly, they tend to each other, taking time to wash away all signs of their abuse that can be removed with soap and water. Only time will heal the rest, only time and love – Sam will kiss each of Eloise’s bruises, every day, until they turn from blue to purple to dampened yellow before fading away; a gradual metamorphosis that will one day see their skin coloured with nothing more than the flushed heat they create within each other.

The wound at his hip isn’t as deep as he worried, though once washed, he realises it will likely require a couple of stitches. A needle and thread will do, if they can find one back and the house. Sitting on the bank of the creek, Samuel takes his time to wash Eloise’s hair, marvelling at how it’s colour changes from dirty grey to golden blonde, as he detangles her curls with his fingers. The water is warmer now, heated by the rising sun and it is comfortable, though a headache is beginning to set in, one that reminds Sam how long it’s been since he’s had anything to eat or drink, his blood loss too, will soon become dangerous and so, without any further delay, they bundle up their dirty clothes and head back to the house.

With the truck moved behind the house, so it cannot be spotted from the road. Samuel locks the door before shifting a cabinet in front of the lounge window. It will need new panels hammered across it tomorrow, to keep it safe, at least until he fixes the perimeter fence, but that is a concern for another day.

Satisfied that they will be safe to sleep until morning, Samuel grabs the first aid kit, he located under the sink in the kitchen, takes Eloise’s hand and leads her upstairs to the bedroom.

“We’re safe now.” He assures, knowing these are words he’s wanted to say to Eloise a million times over, that only feel really true now.

Upstairs, the house has not been so affected by the dust that has blown in through the open door and so much to their relief, they find the bed is in a fit enough state to sleep in with a large blanket and pillows they find stuffed in the closet, that remarkably still feel fairly fresh and clean. Perched on the edge of the mattress, Samuel opens up the kit, applying an alcohol wipe to Eloise’s hand, before gently wrapping a bandage around the cut and securing it with a safety pin. Shifting onto the mattress, Samuel lies on his side, hissing air though his teeth as the cut where the bullet grazed him, starts to sting, though at least for the moment, it looks like it is beginning to clot.

“There’s a needle and thread on the dresser, would you mind trying to seal it?” He asks, aware that the wound is in an awkward position and so not one that can be easily stitched himself.

Joined at the hip, continuously feeling each other’s touch with held hands and forehead touches, El aimlessly, yet happily follows her love as they retreat to the upstairs bedroom, first aid kit in hand. Cheeks stretch, widening as a bright smile lifts from her lips at his assurance of their safety as she silently nods, leaning to kiss the corner of his mouth and a hand caressing his bearded jaw. It was a custom she was never going to get used to, but delighted in nonetheless. Her now favorite thing.

Following suit, she sits beside Samuel on the edge of the mattress, gaze following each movement as he tends to her hand. She winces as the alcohol stings in contact with the wound, pressing her forehead into his shoulder to mask her whimper. A deep inhale exits her nose, air hitting his skin as the tip glides itself softly over his shoulder before lifting her head as he begins bandaging it. Once finished, a finger traces its material as a soft smirk leaves her lips, meeting his gaze. “I kind of like it when you play doctor.”

Her head tilts, watching as he lies down into the mattress, almost jealous of the position as all she wants to do is nestle into his side and sleep for days. How often she dreamed, lying in a mat of hay, pressed against the wall as his voice is just inches away, seized by the barrier between them. But, if she closed her eyes, it felt like they were laying together--now, that dream can become their reality, every night for the rest of their lives.

She nods at his request, having done many times since the fall. It’s almost second nature at this point, stitching up a wound almost becoming as common as knowing how to ride a bike. Now seeing the injury in full view, she frowns, lightly grazing the surrounding skin with her fingertips. “Ouch.” Honestly, it’s a miracle they didn’t fare worse after escaping a firey battlefield that now was left in smoke and rubble. Despite the emotional trauma that’ll brand itself in their mind and dreams for eons to come, a grazed bullet wound and sliced hand feels feasible. 

Placing a kiss at his hip and side, she turns to find the illustrious tool on the dresser, her eyes light up like fireworks at the jubilant sight and a gasp exits her lips. “Are you serious?” There’s near tears in her eyes, softly squeezing at his jaw as he kisses her bruises. “Oh my God...” She reaches for it, finding the sweet, syrupy goodness in its containing as a tearful laugh bursts. “Peaches.” Though nothing in that place was a delight, that conversation was a fond memory as dreams and promises felt so far away and now? It felt like a sign. 

Eloise takes both, handing him the can before tasting its sweetness, so, she can focus on stitching his hip. “Maybe it’ll be a good distraction.” She quips, adjusting herself for a clearer view. “Only hurt for a second.” Knowing that he’s been stitched a multitude of times, she coos anyways, a hand rubbing at his thigh for support. It doesn’t take long, glancing up whenever he makes a sound, truly trying not to hurt him, but it’s sealed. Another laugh erupts, this one in triumph as her head turns side to side in pride. “See? Easy peasy.” Clapping his stomach softly, she leans forward for a kiss for good measure. A reward for both.