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You hurried back to the camp as soon as possible. Hoping that your lover, your partner, will be still out of town on a job Dutch had send him earlier that day. Rushing down from the horseback, your boots hitting the mud. Without even saying something back to John, so he knows it's you who arrived — running to your shared tent. Closing the flaps behind you, letting out a deep sigh, at least something went okay.
“Gettin’ right to keep their eyes away, can’t say I mind”
A deep voice behind you. You didn’t even need to turn around, to know that Arthur smirk written in his face. You cursed at the whole world within yourself. Letting go of the fabric, yet not turning to face him. Like you always would. Jumping onto his neck, not caring if he was prepared, because he was always ready to catch you.
And Arthur was prepared, slowly, almost lazily, he rose from the cot, the domesticity of it always warmed up your heart. Knowing you had this furious, deadly outlaw to yourself.
You heard him slowly walking towards you. And you knew, you needed to think of something, real quick. Or whole world would go into fire tonight.
But before you could even move. His hands were on your hips, trying to turn you around. Yet you held your heels deep in ground, so he wouldn’t face you to him. Yet, your defiance was almost nothing to him, so, he just chuckled, turning you to him. Expecting to find you smiling ear to ear, because why else would you make it like this? You were just teasing him.
Only the quite opposite. Where he expected to meet your sweet smile, smooth skin and glimmering eyes, there was an ugly red handprint on your cheek, red, and soft specks of blue and purple filling the cheek.
You could see the change in him, you could see how he went from the man you loved, to a killer who wouldn't bat an eye.
He stayed silent for a second, then another. After that, he slowly rose his hand from your right hip, moving it to your hurt right cheek. His eyes set on it. Glaring at the wound.
“Who did this.” Arthur demanded to know, holding your face gently. Such a contrast from the upcoming conversation and the look in his eyes. Heavy breathing begun to fill your ears.
Gently, you reached out to caress his shoulder, attempting to calm him. But if you thought you could calm him, you were even more naive.
“Who did this to you?” He grumbled once more, his brow furrowed. With a calloused thumb, he wiped the blood from your skin you didn’t even know you had, the small trace that went from your mouth. You didn’t even register the metallic taste in your mouth. Moving your tongue to the hurt side, meeting with damaged insides. Great.
“No one” you whispered, pleading him with your eyes to let it go. Because you didn’t want him to get involved in it.
His jaw tightens, fingers gripping your chin a little too hard before he catches himself and softens his touch.
"Bullshit," growls, voice low and rough like gravel. "You don't just walk into camp lookin’ like you lost a fight with a damn bear unless someone put their hands on you. So either tell me who I gotta hunt down..."
Arthur leans in closer, eyes dark with that dangerous glimmer in them, protectiveness to the point of madness. "...or I start assumin’ it was everyone, darlin’. And we both know how that ends."
You sighed a bit defeatedly, your hand coming to his.
“Arthur you cannot kill every men” you spoke, but deep down knew, God everyone knew that he would do that. Nothing possible to stop him if he set his mind to it. No one and nothing safe from his fury.
He exhales sharply through his nose, a humorless smirk twisting his lips as he drags his thumb along your cheek again, gentler this time, but the fire in his eyes doesn’t dim even a spark. Eyes set on the mark.
“Watch me,” he mutters, “Ain’t askin’ for permission. Just tell me who to put in the ground ‘fore I lose my damn patience and start makin’ guesses.”
A pause. Then, quieter voice cracking just barely at the edges, so only you could hear it.
“You think I can stand seein’ you hurt? That I ain’t gonna burn the whole goddamn world down over it?”
You sighed, again, begun to feel nervous — even though not for you. Rubbing your fingers with your palm, to ease out the stress buildup.
"…it was just some drunken fool who thought I was a whore, nothing else" you spoke, coating the truth so it became a lie. Because you couldn't tell him the truth. Not now.
At that, Arthur's whole body goes still, fingers curling into fist at his side, but just slightly. The air around him turns thick with something lethal — promises written in blood before they’re even spoken out loud.
“Just some drunk fool,” he repeated your words, voice too calm. Too quiet. “And where’s this fool now, hm? Still breathin’?”
A humorless laugh escapes him as he reaches for his revolver, checking the chambers with slow, deliberate clicks. Checking them, making sure they were in the best condition. His eyes connected with the gun. And after click it back, shooting his gaze straight to yours.
“Gonna make damn sure he regrets ever lookin’ at you wrong.”
"Arthur please, its not gonna happen again-" you tried to plead, trying to touch him, but he catches your wrist as you move, grip firm but not rough, his fingers trembling slightly with the effort of holding back.
“Not gonna happen again?” His laugh is jagged, broken. “That’s what I make sure of. You think I sleep at night knowin’ some bastard out there still draws breath after layin’ a finger on you?”
He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, voice dropping to a whisper, raw and desperate. His voice carrying the unbend-ed roughness.
“Tell me where he is. Let me fix this.”
He spoke harshly. And you knew no matter what. He will never drop the subject. So, you let out a small breath out. Knowing you have been defeated in this. Looking away from his sharp gaze, to your hands, straightening your wrinkled skirt, attempting to spoke the name.
“…it was Bronte, but Arthur, Dutch have a deal with him-"
You spoke, talking really fast, but that didn't stop Arthur. His whole body locks up, the name hits him like a bullet. A low, feral sound rips from his throat as he straighten himself even more.
"Bronte," he snarls, "That greasy rat thinks deals protect him?"
He’s already grabbing his satchel from the table, shoving bullets into his pockets with steady hands, then, refiling them on his belt, one by one.
"Dutch’s deals ain’t my goddamn scripture. You stay here. And if you follow me" He stops short, swallows hard, the warning in his eyes evident. "I'll swear I make you-"
This time you cut him. "You gonna tie me with a lasso or what?"
"If I have to, I will, sweetheart" Arthur reported, eyes narrowing, his eyes sharp as he fixed everything on him. "Don't think I won't" he added. The unspoken thing that lingered through the air, that he will go into the dark, bringing even more darkness into this rotten world.
"Arthur I beg you, if you hurt him, Dutch is gonna kill me" You tried to reason with him once again. He freezes mid-step, shoulders tensing like a coiled spring. Slowly, he turns back to you, eyes colder than you ever saw them, jaw clenched so tight it’s a miracle his teeth don’t shatter.
"Then I’ll kill Dutch first," he growls, "You think I won’t? You think there’s a single goddamn line I won’t cross for you?"
His hand cups your face again, rough tenderness laced with desperation. With the love he cared for you.
"Ain't lettin' anyone touch you. Not Bronte. Not Dutch. Not even me if I ever give you reason to flinch."
"I would never fear you" you whispered to him, feeling how careful he was with you. The exact opposite of his actions and sins. He huffed, grip gentling like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he holds too tight.
“Damn right you won’t,” he murmurs, “‘Cause I’d sooner put a bullet in my own skull than give you reason to.”
He leans down, pressing his lips to your forehead, lingering there like a vow. Like the promises he swore to himself he would say them to you out loud one day.
"But that don’t mean I ain’t gonna paint Lemoyne red tonight."
You sighed, once and again. Began to feel the swell on your cheek.
"…is there any chance I can make you stay?"
His resolve wavers. He lets out a ragged breath, dropping his head to your shoulder. He doesn't pull away, and in fact, wraps an arm around your waist, pressing you against his broad frame as if scared to let go. Being silent for a long moment, just breathing.
"I don't think there's a force on God's green earth that could stop me from going at this point." His touch is almost reverent a man who doesn't believe he deserves to hold something so beautiful.
You nodded, your hands on his shoulder blades, the unharmed cheek touching his neck. "…be careful" you whispered, damn well knowing it was them needing the reassurement.
He exhales sharp, before pressing one last kiss to your temple.
“Careful ain’t in the cards, darlin’,” he mutters, stepping back just far enough to meet your eyes. His thumb swipes over your unharmed cheek like he’s memorizing it. Then, with the quiet certainty of a storm rolling in.
“But I will be back.” And Bronte won't. The words that didn't needed to be aired.
So, without anything else to do, you nodded, kissing him on the cheek. Arthur stepped back, heading out of the tent, letting the flacks fall behind him. Closing and separating the outer world. The anxious feel in your gut made you nervous. What will Dutch say? How will this affect everything-
You shook your head, deciding, that this was the problems of tomorrow, not tonight. Deciding to go and lie down on the cot. Slowly falling asleep with thought thinking of Arthur, because he was the only one to made your mind calm. Some hours passed, moon was in the center of the sky, when you felt the slight, but noticeable shift in the cot. Peaking your eyes slightly open, to see a silhouette.
Then, the scent of gunpowder and blood clings to him and filled your nostrils, but his hands are gentle as they pull you against him.
"Shhh," he murmurs when you stir, voice rough but tender. "Go back to sleep." He tried to coat you back while you were still wrapped in sleep. Feeling his fingers trace your spine, possessive and reverent.
You considered asking, but this gesture told you more than any words could. When you snuggled yourself into him, you felt something wet, something sticky. Groaning, mumbling something before it was understandable.
"…you are not cover in blood, because I don't want to cuddle a dead men’s blood on you"
You huffed, clinging even more to him, so there was no space left. He also huffed quietly, the barest whisper of a laugh as he tucked you against him, cradling you like something priceless.
"You worry too damn much," he muttered, letting your limbs entwine with his —t he need to hold you as close as possible overwhelming his common sense. Arthur's hand skimmed down your back, fingers feather-light against your skin, before they settled on your hip, thumb rubbing slow, idle circles over the fabric of your shirt.
"I don't mind your blood" you muttered "I only mind when it's someone else's"
“Ain’t mine” he murmurs against your hair,dragging his fingers through your curls slow, deliberate, breathing in the scent of you like it might steady him.
"so you are covered in blood? Arthur- "You groaned tiredly in a bit of disgust. Acting like an ol'married couple.
He exhales sharply, leans back just enough to tug his shirt off, flinging it somewhere in the dark before pulling you flush against his bare chest.
"Happy now, princess?" There's a grin in his voice — smug, relieved before he tucks your head under his chin.
"Or do I gotta bathe in creek water at midnight too?"
You smiled sleepily to his chest, placing the not stinging cheek more to his skin, hands hugging his torso.
"I mean…you could if you loved me" you whispered, on the edge of sleep, clearly teasing...or maybe meaning it, you weren't sure yet. His chest rumbles with a quiet, exhausted chuckle as he drags the blanket over both of you.
"Christ, woman," he mutters, "Shoulda known I was signin' up for tyranny when I fell for ya."
He does not move. He will not move. If you asked him to walk into that creek right now, he’d grumble all the way there and do it anyway.
"Just...don't die on me, nor because of me" you whispered to his skin, holding just as dear on him as he held on you.
“Darlin', I ain’t dyin’ ‘til I know you got someone better lookin’ after ya.” And that was a lie, because there was no one better, never will be.
"Mhm..I love’uo" you mumbled at last, falling asleep.
Arthur's breath hitches, just once, something that nearly never ever happen to a man like him, before his arms lock around you like he could fuse your ribs together if he tried hard enough.
"Love you more," he murmurs into the dark, voice rough with something too vulnerable for daylight. He stays awake long after your breathing evens out. Counting each one like a prayer.