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Perfect Candor

|| RDR2 || Rated T ||

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(Sean x Karen; implied Mary-Beth x Kieran) "For a man who insisted that he loved her the way flowers loved the sun, he sure as hell didn’t seem too keen to share his troubles."Karen finds herself torn at the idea that Sean is keeping secrets from her, but can't quite put her finger on why. However, a forced confrontation may leave her with more truths than she bargained for. (Takes place during Chapter 3.) (2/2)

The sun hung low over Flat Iron Lake, painting the sky with the first broad orange strokes of dusk. The water rippled as fish leapt up to catch the insects flitting over its calm surface, sudden splashes in an otherwise peaceful evening. The camp was settling down for the night, with chores finished and supplies restocked. Those who remained wandered to and fro along the lake’s edge, searching for something to fill the idle hours before bedtime.

Jack tossed sticks into the water for Cain to chase, shrieking with delight as the dog splashed through the shallows. Abigail kept a close eye on him from the fallen log that served as a bench, fanning herself with a scrap of newspaper. Farther away, John leaned against a tree, a silent battle waging on his scarred face as he watched his son. Dutch and Hosea stood side by side on the old dock, pointing out facets of the shoreline and arguing—as always—about whether the best direction to head was east or west.

Bill, Arthur, Uncle, and Ms. Grimshaw were engrossed in a low stakes poker game, laughing about old times and accusing one another of hiding spare cards up their sleeves. Pearson played his accordion to an audience of none, the warbling notes accompanied by a chorus of tenor crickets and bass bullfrogs. Mary-Beth reclined in the soft grass, her soft voice almost inaudible as she read a passage from her favorite novel. Kieran sat on a crate at her side, his face set in an expression of intense concentration as he listened to the heroine’s plight. Tilly knitted a new shawl nearby, her infrequent glances suggesting that she’d appointed herself as a wary chaperone to the readers.

Karen wound her way between the wagons and makeshift furniture, searching every last nook and cranny for any sign of Sean. He’d been running laps in her thoughts all day, her mind stuck imagining all the ways a bounty hunter might torture a man without leaving too much of a mark. Finally, she’d decided that the only course of action would be to force him to tell her exactly what they had done to him. The truth would help to settle her frayed nerves; if nothing else, she might at least have a moment’s peace.

Trouble was, she couldn’t find the Irish bastard anywhere.

“Ain’t that just like a man,” she grumbled, ringlets bouncing around her face as she scanned the clearing. “Has anyone here seen Sean around?”

“Sean?” Arthur glanced up from his cards, jerking his chin towards the shadows of the forest. “Last I saw, he was headed that way… though I’m not sure why you’d want to find him, of all people.” He shook his head in clear annoyance, rapping his knuckles on the worn hide of the table to check.

“Aw, let her have him!” Uncle wheezed, leaning his weight onto his elbow as he tried to peek at Bill’s hand. “Keep him busy, so the rest of us can have some peace and quiet around here for a change!”

“That’s funny: I seem to recall you singing a different tune at his party.”

“I said I wanted some peace and quiet, Morgan! That ain’t the same as wantin’ the boy dead!”

“In any case… listen to me,” Arthur began seriously. “I’m not trying to get into your business, Karen, but if the two of you get up to that same mess you started in John’s tent, try to keep it down.” The corner of his mouth quirked in the ghost of what might have been a smile. “There’s boars in these woods, and I’d hate to see Sean gored because you had him squealing like a piglet.”

Karen felt her cheeks begin to burn as the table roared with laughter. Had Arthur been close enough to overhear them, that night? Had he heard the way she’d…? No, it was better to stop thinking right then and there. She wasn’t sure she could handle that sort of mortification without a drink in her hand.

“Oh… shut up, all of you!” She stormed off towards the tree line, trying desperately to ignore the renewed chorus of laughter from the poker game.

The world dimmed to twilight as she passed into the forest, orange beams of sunlight illuminating the moldering carpet of fallen leaves. As she passed deeper into the trees, the sounds of camp became muffled; the leafy canopy rustled in the soft breeze, pines whispering as they swayed back and forth. The lake was a distant shimmer between the branches, water lapping at the crumbling embankment. All around her, small things scurried in the brush: squirrels, raccoons, any number of rodents. Every so, a short burst of sound alerted her to the presence of bounding deer just out of sight.

Karen walked slowly, keeping one eye on the lake and the other peeled for any sign of him. It didn’t help that he dressed in the colors of the forest, with hair the shade of a startled fox and coat the same mottled tones of tree bark. As usual, she heard him long before she saw him, his voice carrying above the back-and-forth of birdsong.

Following the sound, she climbed up a steep gully and found herself on the precipice of a natural overlook. Centuries of rain and wind had torn the soil from the trees, leaving behind a maze of exposed roots across several feet of craggy earth. Along the edge, mossy stones lined a creek that tumbled its way down to the lake in a series of waterfalls. The larger trees stretched up overhead, oaks and elms reaching out to shade the forest floor from the harsh sun.

Karen paused a moment to admire the scene, taken aback by its natural beauty. She could only imagine what it must look like in the daytime, with the creek sparkling in the sunlight and brightly colored birds flitting from one tree branch to the next.

She found Sean propped up against the side of a large boulder. A fallen log had wedged itself into the craggy landscape, laden with vines and hanging moss; the tangle of green had been draped across the back of the boulder to create a natural sun shade. It was clear that this was a favorite haunt of his, from the threadbare blanket in the corner to the empty bottles stacked in a neat pile against the rock face. She could imagine him stealing away at chore time, sneaking out of camp to hide in this little corner of the world he’d made for himself.

“Oh Mollie, oh Mollie…hmm mm… n’ my home—” Sean half-sang to himself, entirely oblivious to her presence as he carved away at an old piece of wood. Partially hidden behind a tree, Karen took a moment to watch him. While he didn’t have Arthur’s rugged looks, or Javier’s effortless charm, he was handsome in his own way; even she had to admit that much. The dappled light filtering through the vines caught the wiry stubble on his neck, dying it red-gold. Her hands itched with the urge to touch, to feel the scratchy tickle of bristles against her fingertips. Without the hat to hold it out of his eyes, his hair fell across his forehead in a way that practically begged her to card her fingers through it. Her heart beat a rapid tempo against her breastbone, feet carrying her towards him before she fully realized what she was doing.

“Sean?” His head jerked up at the sound of her voice, eyes widening as he searched the encroaching darkness. At the sight of her he visibly relaxed, flashing his signature grin.

“Ah, there she is. Can’t bear to spend an evening without me, eh?” he teased, patting the rock at his side. He seemed to think better of it, stretching out his legs and offering his lap with a lascivious expression that tried—and failed—to be subtle. “Here’s a seat ready for the takin’.”

“Sean, I—” Karen steeled her nerve, unsure of what reaction her request—no, her demand—was about to incite. There was a good chance he’d put up a fight; after all, he’d refused both Abigail and Ms. Grimshaw’s help. For all his natural cheeriness, he could be pigheaded, obstinate to a fault… then again, so could she. “I want you to show me what they’ve done to you.”

“I— eh?” Karen stopped within arm’s reach, looming over him with a frown. “I, erm… I’m not sure what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Ike’s bounty hunters. Show me what they did.” She’d learned long ago that when it came to Sean, the easiest way to trap him was to say at little as possible. While he was no Hosea, the man had slipperiness down to a science. The more a person said, the more ammunition it gave him to find a loophole to wiggle out of. He knew how to spin a yarn, to break into longwinded tangents so that it was just long enough to exhaust a saint’s patience. Then, while his unwilling listener was trying to find their own escape route, he’d bolt before they could remember that they’d asked him to do something.

“What does that have to do with anythin’?” He shifted uncomfortably, fidgeting under her hard stare. “It’s not like I’m—” His words fell apart with a startled gasp as she straddled him, pushing him back and cutting off any chance of escape. Sean fell back onto his elbows, jaw dropping as he stared up at her in complete shock. “Kar—I—you—what—?!”

“Be quiet.” Karen shoved the coat off his shoulders, letting it pool beneath him as she fought the buttons on his vest with single-minded determination. It was open in a flash, falling to either side of his narrow waist as she turned her attention to the dingy union suit that lay beneath. Too many goddamn buttons….

“H-Have you lost your bleedin’ head?!” he yelped, finally coming to his senses. His attempts to stop her were halfhearted at best, nervous fingers tangling with her own only to be batted away with growing impatience. “Don’t get me wrong, this is a dream come true, but now’s really not the time for— I mean, I do love a woman who knows exactly what she wants, but— it’s not a pretty sight—”

“Would you shut up?!” With a grunt, Karen yanked apart the unbuttoned fabric, exposing him from the waist up. Her breath caught in her throat, lips parting at the state of his body.

Sean was a wiry man at the best of times, with a body built for tight squeezes and fast getaways. But times had been lean, even before Blackwater, and the bounty hunters had clearly not wasted extra food on their prize. John’s tent had been dark, the night of his party, and neither of them had undressed more than was necessary for their hurried coupling. She hadn’t noticed the way his ribs stood out in stark relief, or the sharp curve of his hipbones jutting above the waistband of his jeans. His stomach was little more than a hollow dip, rising and falling with every uneven breath.

From collarbone to hips, every inch of pale skin was a mess of angry welts and half-healed bruises. Ghastly, Mary-Beth had claimed, and yet that wasn’t good enough of a word to describe the jaundiced yellows and gangrenous greens of weeks-old bruising. Some of them were clearly footprints, the overlapping outlines of pointed toes and blunt heels where he’d been kicked repeatedly. Others were duller, broader, made with fists or weapons. They’d burned him here, too; his chest, his stomach, even the soft skin beneath his arms held a constellation of circular marks. Some of them were deep enough to blister, white and peeling at the edges.

Karen lifted her eyes to meet his. Sean’s face was slack, cheeks bright red and something like shame in his gaze. Even now he tried to smile, hiding his thoughts under that bright expression. The gap in his front teeth felt like an accusation. Her stomach turned at the thought, full of disgust for herself and pity for the man currently pinned under her thighs. Each missing tooth, every last bruise and burn—they were unvoiced confessions, proof of his loyalty to those he considered family.

Proof that his captors had failed.

“They….” She reached out a faltering hand, wanting to touch him but unsure of how to do so without causing him pain. The freckles scattered across his chest called to her, as did the sparse trail of hair that vanished beneath the leather holster. “Those bastards beat you this badly?” It seemed a stupid question— or, rather, a pointless one.

“Y-Yeah.” His breath hitched as her knuckles grazed his sternum, throat bobbing nervously. “They did, at that.”

“And burned you…” A muted shiver ran through him as she turned her attention to his ribs, counting each one-by-one with a featherlight touch.

“It’s torture, darlin’.” It seemed he had found his voice once more, flinching away from her touch with all the twitchiness of a trapped squirrel. “They didn’t exactly prop me up in front of the hearth with a nice whiskey and the morning paper. A comfy man doesn’t go spillin’ his innermost secrets.”

“You didn’t go spilling yours, either,” she pointed out. “Even after… everything.”

“Ha! ‘Course not!” he preened. “I’m a MacGuire! I’ve a family name to uphold. It takes a lot more than a little prickin’ and pokin’ to make a MacGuire squeal.”

“But why?” Sean stared at her a long moment.

“Why… what?”

“Why not end it?” Karen insisted. “Those men were going to kill you regardless, and you know that Arthur was going to kill them regardless, so why not save yourself the trouble of—”

“Now see here!” He sat up with a jolt, wincing through the pain until they were nose to nose. “I’m nothin’ if not loyal!” he scowled, offended. “All this was a walk in the park compared to the thought of them stormin’ the camp and… and….”

“And what?” Sean didn’t reply immediately. He seemed to be staring at her, through her, seeing the future that he’d prevented by managing silence for once in his life. “Well? Spit it out!”

“Doesn’t matter.” He cleared his throat, swallowing back whatever emotion had him in a chokehold. “Anyway, it’s self-preservation in the end, isn’t it? If Dutch though I was a rat, he’d have my arse strung up faster than a whole team of bounty hunters. And Mr. Matthews—” He broke off with a shudder. “I don’t want to think about what he might’ve done. I’m more afraid of him than I am Ike Skelding any day.”

“Even so….”

“I’m not asking you to kiss it better,” he teased gently, seeing her eyes fall back to the angry wounds. “Not unless you want to, that is.”

“Eugh. I’d rather pull a fish outta the lake and kiss that.”

“Ha! Suddenly superior again, I see!” he laughed. “Ah, I can’t help but love it. That’s what kept me going, in the end.”

“Huh?” Karen frowned. “What’re you talking about?”

“Sometimes it was bad enough that I couldn’t help but think to myself, “Well, you sorry son of a bitch, this is it!”. But then I’d think about how I was keeping the lot o’ you safe, and I’d find it in me to hang on just a little longer. All the people that I care about in this shitty life: Dutch, Lenny, Arthur… and you.” He peered into her face, gauging her expression. “It… it was almost always you.”

“Sean!” she scoffed, feeling the flush rise up her neck like the tide. Their eyes met once more, and she found that same indefinable emotion that had compelled her to drag him to John’s tent on the night of the party. In the daylight, in her soberness, it was… soft, and warm, and practically begging her to melt into it like candy on a summer’s evening.

It was… sweetness. Affection.

Infatuation.

So, so different from the toying smirk he flashed whenever he dragged her in for a kiss! So removed from the taunting curl of his lip when she knocked some sense into his thick skull! Different, yes… but no less real. That thought frightened her far more than the idea that he’d withstood torture for her sake.

“But your feet— Tilly said—”

“Ah, what of it? They weren’t that pretty to begin with, I’ll admit.”

“And your teeth—”

“I ought to have thanked them, really. I dare anyone who calls themselves a van der Linde to have half as charmin’ a smile as mine.”

“Is everything a goddamn joke to you?!” She pushed him away, ignoring his yelp of pain as she stumbled to her feet. A hot burr lodged at the base of her throat, pricking her eyes with unshed tears. “Ugh! I can’t stand you, Sean MacGuire!” she snarled, rubbing her arms hard enough to chafe. “I don’t even know why I ever bothered feeling sorry for your miserable behind!”

“What’d I do now?” he laughed helplessly. “Tell me: am I supposed to go around all mopey, just because a couple of bastards tried to beat me to death? I’ve got all my limbs n’ my wits, don’t I?” he pointed out sensibly. “Some teeth and a few scars are a fine price to pay, all things considered.”

The fact that he wasn’t entirely wrong only served to frustrate her even more. He could have just as easily ended up like Jenny, or Davey and Mac. As far as he was concerned, he was simply joining the ranks of those who had earned their scars for the benefit of the gang. In their line of work, an unmarked face was almost synonymous with greenhorn. Theirs was a harsh, unforgiving lifestyle that had the habit of taking more than it gave in return. In his eyes, being at the mercy of bounty hunters was no different than being snatched up by a rival gang or caught unawares by local lawmen.

“Tch… whatever.” She shook her head. “I’m going back to camp.”

“Wait!” he called after her, trying to scramble to his feet. “You know, the night I came back—”

“What?!” Her patience had, unfortunately, ran out for one evening.

“The night I came back,” he tried again, fumbling with his union suit as he buttoned it back into place, “that… that was the happiest night of my life, honest.” He trailed after her, shrugging the coat back onto his shoulders. “Wait! Don’t you want to know why?” The burr blossomed into something truly painful, like stepping barefoot on a cactus leaf: the sharp sting of disbelief, followed almost instantly by a hot wash of shame. Karen turned on her heel, pointing an accusing finger in his face.

“Don’t you dare say a damn word about anything that happened in that tent!” she spat, feeling herself puff up like an angry cat. “It only happened because we were both too drunk—”

“Jesus alive, woman!” Sean backed off, hands raised defensively. “That wasn’t even what I was going to say! Give a man a moment to collect his thoughts!”

“You got thirty seconds before I push you off this cliff and finish what those bounty hunters started.”

“I only meant…” He chewed anxiously at his lower lip, a gesture very unlike the loud, boasting man she knew him to be. “I meant when we were by the campfire, you and me, and singing together. You sat on my lap, and I had my arms around you, and I… I could….”

“You could what?”

“I could….” He took a shaky breath. “Pretend.”

“Pretend?”

“Just… just for a bit. I could pretend that you were my girl, and no one else’s.”

“Your what?!” He blanched at the sight of her face, putting another two steps between them.

“I-I mean in the way that Abigail is John’s girl, y’know?” he stammered, the words spilling out so fast that she barely had time to pick them apart. “She’s his, and he’s hers, and… that sort of thing. Agh, fuck— I’m not saying it right, I know, but—”

“Abigail is John’s?” she repeated, infuriated. The anger bubbled up inside her. It was aimed partly at Sean, at his stupid naiveté, but mostly at the main in question. “And John is hers?” she added, her voice breaking on a high-pitched laugh. “In that case, someone ought to go and explain that to him!”

“N-Now, don’t get all up in arms—”

“Maybe you weren’t aware that John tried to pull me on his lap not two weeks ago!” she exploded, throwing up her hands. “Seeing as you’ve decided that’s what girls do to their beaus, what do you think that says about him? About me?!”

“But you rejected him, didn’t you?” he pointed out, blithe as ever. “John’s a handsome enough man, even with those new scars on his face. Not to mention that tent of his… so why’d you say no?”

“Well, because of—” Karen stopped short, lips pressed tightly together. “Because of Abigail.”

“There, see?” Sean judged it safe to close the distance between them, that damned cavalier smile back on his face. “John is hers, even if she wouldn’t claim him to save her life. As for myself… well, I’d be yours, if only you’d have me.” He reached for her hand, holding it loosely in his own. “Karen.”

Her heart gave a little thrill at the way her name sounded on his tongue, the same way it had ever since the first time he’d said it. Ka-ren, that soft lilt, the mischievous glint in his eye, as though her name was a secret the two of them shared.

Karen glared up at him, fighting the urge to pout. The last rays of sunlight shone full on his face, highlighting every last freckle, all the places she secretly wished she could kiss without his knowing. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him… she liked him too much for her own good. But she also didn’t feel like dealing with his ego, should he find out just how much she cared. There was that pitying, cloyingly sweet look again, his head falling to the side as he graced her with a set of beaten puppy-dog eyes that would have better fit Mary-Beth’s little O’Driscoll.

“I love you,” Sean insisted softly, drawing her close. He reached out, calloused hands caressing the mole on her face before trailing down her neck. Her heart raced in answer, pulse thrumming in her ears. This, too, was just another part of the game they played. Attack and retreat, maneuver and counter maneuver, just like the chess Dutch always spoke of. “I’m head over heels for you.”

“You always say that.”

“I always mean it.”

“You do not. You think I’m superior.”

“And you think I’m a clown.” His lips brushed her cheekbone in a fleeting kiss, light enough that he could argue it was accidental, and she realized just how dangerously close she was to being his girl after all. “Doesn’t matter none to me, though. I’m still in love with you, Karen Jones.”

Water on a cookfire.

“Don’t say that.” She pulled away, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What? What’d I do?”

“Just don’t say it like that!” He could love her all he wanted, love her until the end of time, but to be in love… that was something else entirely. This wasn’t one of Mary-Beth’s romances, where the swooning maiden is spirited off to a happily-ever-after on the back of a white stallion. Sean was no knight. He was no brooding gentleman with a vast fortune, or a wealthy rake stealing the hearts of young debutantes. He was an outlaw and a scoundrel, through and through. He was a shooting star, destined to burn brightly before the inevitable.

Women like her, who dared to love men like him, always had their hearts broken in the end. That was simply the way of things.

“But—” His face crumpled, and for a moment he looked as though it would have hurt less to punch him in the gut.

“C’mon,” she interrupted, unwilling—unable—to stomach any sort of reply. “Let’s head back before they send out a search party. Any longer, and they’ll start to think we’ve been nabbed by one of these feud-crazed families.” Karen set off without another word, picking her way back down the incline and heading in the direction she’d come.

Sean followed behind her at his usual pace, loping right on her heels and keeping quiet for a change. She forced herself to keep her eyes on the trail, not trusting her heart to be strong should she turn and find him anything less than cheerful. He overtook her as they neared the tree line, bursting into camp and practically tackling Lenny with one his loudest devil-may-care laughs.

“The night’s young, my friend!” he crowed, flinging an arm around the startled man’s neck and half-dragging, half-leading him towards the provisions wagon. “There’s whiskey to be had, and I’m dying of thirst!” Had she not seen it with her own eyes, she would have never guessed that he’d been so crestfallen only moments before.

Was it that easy to shrug aside his own feelings, or… was he that good at hiding them?

Karen turned towards the lean-to she shared with the other girls, feeling as though the world itself rested on her bent shoulders. The burr had festered into something that wasn’t quite anger, but wasn’t quite not, either. She found Mary-Beth seated on her bedroll, scribbling away in that journal of hers as though her life depended on it. The young woman glanced up at the sound of her approach, her smile fading once she caught sight of her friend.

“Karen! What on earth is the matter!?”

“Sean—” She paused, surprised to hear tears in her voice. “Sean said he loved me.” She began to undress for bed, her chest hot and tight.

“Well, that…” Mary-Beth sat the journal down, chewing the inside of her cheek. “What’s that got to do with anything?” she finally asked. “That’s nothing to be upset over. He says it at least twice a day, if not more.”

“I know,” Karen agreed dully, flopping face-down on her own bedroll. She turned so that her back was to the camp, drawing her knees up to her chest with a watery sigh.

“It’s just… this time, I think he actually meant it.”

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