#((anyway after a morning of struggle i decided when the crate gets opened it's gonna get me the f.oreseer))

[roscvcins]

imma be real the only problem with playing this game in chinese is that i now can't read JACK SHIT for the core descriptions

[kaleidoscopeminds]

I’m going blind from this sweet craving

This came about because I wanted to write some Cake and my brain just went bakery!!! au!!!! Anyway this is very self-indulgent and driven by my own baking obsession. Please enjoy 6k of me talking about cake (literally) and a cheeky bit of side mashton because I couldn’t resist. For the club because everything I do is for the club <3

Warnings: horribly tooth rotting fluff, too many baking metaphors

Title from Cake by the Ocean by DNCE because I think I’m funny

Luke places the last piece of broken Oreo carefully atop the whirl of buttercream and wipes his hands on his apron, reviewing the set of cupcakes in front of him. He knows he’s hypercritical of his own work; he gets called a perfectionist by Michael at any opportunity (and not in a complimentary way), but he still maintains that it’s the only way to be to make anything good.

 He deems this double dozen of the Oreo chocolate as close to perfect as he’s going to manage this morning and slides them next to the strawberries and cream set with mini meringue topping he just finished. He goes to the walk-in refrigerator and pulls out the layer cake that he made before he left yesterday, and then crosses over to dry storage to wheel out the trolley containing the carefully wrapped crates of bread that Ashton, their bread supplier, had dropped off about an hour ago. 

He pulls the trays of croissants, pain au chocolat and pain aux raisins out of the oven deftly, and slides them onto a cooling rack to leave for a couple of minutes, before he can transfer them to the cabinet in the front of the bakery, and checks the clock. It’s 6:40, so he’s just on time to get everything stacked up in the front if he has a bit of help. 

He hears the door at the front of the cafe slam, handle jangling ominously as it closes again and Luke smiles to himself, grabbing the trays of cupcakes and heading out into the front, opening the swing door with his hip.

“Hi Mikey,” Luke calls over as Michael struggles out of his jacket, pushing his glasses up onto his nose and grumbling incoherently.

“I’m not late,” Michael starts, attempting to pull his apron out of his backpack and hang up his jacket on the hook at the same time.

Luke doesn’t say anything, just turns his head to look deliberately at the large clock hanging over the coffee machine behind the counter and raises his eyebrows, smiling slightly.

“Well, barely,” Michael responds defensively. “You’re not the boss of me, Luke Hemmings.”

Luke laughs, “Unfortunately for you, I am. Supervising baker remember?” He opens up the display cabinet and slides the cakes carefully into place.

“Promotions gone to your overly large blonde head already, I see,” Michael says, struggling with his apron ties where they’ve got tangled around his belt.

Luke laughs again and goes over to Michael, untangling him and turning him round to tie his apron for him. “Go and drink your coffee Mikey, I made one for you about 10 minutes ago, should still be hot. I’ll get the rest of the stuff out to the front.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” Michael says genuinely, quickly walking behind the counter and finding the insulated travel mug Luke had filled with a latte earlier that morning. He pulls off the lid and Luke watches him practically inhale it, smiling fondly as he makes his way back into the kitchen.

“Remind me again why I always seem to be making coffee for you when you’re the trained barista?” Luke calls out as he carefully lifts the 4 layered cake onto a stand and carries it back out to the front.

“Ooh that looks fucking good what’s in that?” Michael asks, eyes lighting up at the sight of the cake in Luke’s careful grip. “And it's because you won’t admit it but you’re in love with me too,” He adds, putting his coffee down so he can take the cake off Luke to put on top of the cabinet.

“Chocolate hazelnut with Nutella and praline,” Luke replies with a smile. “Sorry to disappoint you Michael but we would never work, I couldn’t be with someone who hates mornings,” He says solemnly as he returns to the kitchen, lightly checking the pastries to make sure they’re cool enough before tipping them onto another tray.

“You’re going to be on your own for a while then!” Luke hears Michael call, and he laughs as he comes back through the swing door. “No one likes mornings,” Michael continues crabbily, downing the rest of his coffee in one gulp. 

“You know who does like mornings?” Luke asks as he passes over the tray to Michael. “Our lovely bread baker.”

Michael blushes and ducks his head at the mention of Ashton. “Why don’t you ask him out then,” He grumbles, lining the pastries up neatly with the tongs in his hand. 

“Not my type.” Luke wiggles his eyebrows at Michael. “Plus I think he might be more interested in barista types than cake-making types.”

“Shut up Luke,” Michael groans back. “I’ve told you before, he barely knows who I am. I only see the man for about 5 minutes every day when he comes to pick up the crates.”

“And yet every morning. I have to tell him that ‘No Michael’s not here yet, sorry,’” Luke smirks. “Honestly Mikey, you’re missing out not being here at half past five, lots of Ashton content.”

“Yes but that would involve, you know, being here at half past five,” Michael replies sarcastically. “Did Em make any tarts for today?” He asks. 

“Yeah they look great, she’s done a new orange curd one with chocolate pastry which I’m excited to try.” Luke accepts the change of subject and goes back towards the kitchen. “Do you want to come and grab your boyfriend’s bread? Think that’ll be the last of it then.”

Michael glares at Luke and pretends to trip him up as he walks past, then follows him into the back.

“You’re such a dickhead sometimes you know that,” Michael says grumpily, pulling out the loaves of bread and stacking them on the counter.

Luke laughs, it’s too easy to get a rise out of Michael, particularly first thing in the morning and especially when it comes to Ashton. He opens the fridge again and as always sends a silent thank you to the angel that is Em, their evening baker, and the only reason they’re able to produce enough goods for the cafe. It honestly changed his life when his boss decided to employ an extra baker, now he can actually leave when the cafe closes; she picks up anything that Luke doesn’t manage to finish, as well as shaping the pastries to chill overnight and producing a few dozen tarts for the next day. He checks the new orange curd tarts and their customer favourite, the strawberry ones (perfect as always), and slides them off the shelves. 

“You were literally declaring your love for me not 10 minutes ago I believe,” Luke says, checking the fridge to make sure he’s not missed anything. 

He turns around frowning at the lack of a bitchy response, but Michael’s distracted by something in one of the crates. 

“You okay there?” Luke questions.

“Yes,” Michael mumbles, blushing furiously, attempting to pull the crate out of Luke’s view. Luke quickly walks over, interest piqued, and grabs the crate out of Michael’s hands, ignoring his noise of protest. 

In the bottom of the crate there’s one of Michael’s favourite chocolate chip hot cross buns, but instead of a cross on top there’s a carefully shaped ‘M’. Luke laughs delightedly.

“He barely knows who you are, hm?” Luke teases.

“Its..” Michael coughs embarrassed. “It’s probably just a friendly thing.”

Luke rolls his eyes. “Come off it Mikey, that’s the most obvious display of affection in enriched dough form that I’ve ever seen. Where’s my L eh? Nowhere to be seen.” 

“Shut up,” Michael says, but he reaches into the crate and pulls out the bun, wrapping it in some baking paper with utmost care, before walking out into the front of the cafe. 

“You’re meant to be stocking the actual breads!” Luke calls after him, grabbing the tarts and following Michael out. 

Michael just raises his middle finger at him as he gently slides the wrapped bun into his backpack, still blushing. 

Luke laughs and goes to fetch them himself, stacking them in the baskets at the side of the counter, ready to be sold or to be sliced for their toasties.

“Right I’m gonna start on tomorrow’s cake, let me know when you need a hand.” Luke says, turning to Michael who’s absentmindedly filling up the coffee grinder with beans and not looking like he’s heard Luke in the slightest.

“Earth to Michael, come in Michael.” Luke nudges Michael’s arm with his elbow and Michael looks up with a start.

“Oh yeah, sorry. That’s fine,” Michael replies quickly.

“Are you going to be okay out here on your own?” Luke jokes. “You look like you could burn yourself on steam or tip grounds everywhere at any minute.” 

“Yes Luke,” Michael replies testily. “Now go and make some cake and let me do my job, I’ll call you when it gets busy.”

This is the way it works with the two of them in the morning, Luke getting a head start on his batters while Michael deals with the dribs and drabs of the early customers. When it gets to 8am and the little cafe starts getting really busy, Luke will step out to the front to help, and they will work seamlessly together; Michael tamping coffee and steaming milk expertly, whilst Luke takes orders and fills bags with breakfast pastries and muffins. After the rush dies down, Luke will retreat back into the kitchen and start the doughs for the next days’ croissants, until lunch time and he’ll be back out to give Michael a hand with slicing bread and toasting sandwiches. 

He enjoys the buzz of service with Michael, moving round each other with a well practised air and smiling at customers, his favourite bit is getting glimpses of the joy they get from something that he’s created. He’s most comfortable in the kitchen though; in the sweetly calming clouds of icing sugar and the reassuring warmth of the ovens, most at ease on his own with slightly sticky hands, flour perpetually dusting all of his clothes and with a speaker quietly playing his favourite songs into the vanilla scented air.

 X

“Luke!” He hears Michael’s voice float through the door, just as he’s closing the oven door on 3 sandwich pans of fresh raspberry filled sponge. 

“Coming!” He responds, setting his timer for 30 minutes, and pinning it to the top of his apron, before washing his hands and heading out of the door to join Michael. He sees there’s a queue building up and quickly steps behind the counter and smiles at the next customer as Michael pours milk into 3 flat whites in quick succession, a perfect leaf in milk foam appearing in each of them with an artful flick of his wrist.

“Hi, what can I get you?” He smiles at the man who’s just approached the counter.

“A small black Americano to take away, and make it quickly, I’ve already been here 15 minutes and some of us have actual jobs to work you know,” an older man in a suit barks at him, not looking up from his phone. 

“So sorry for the delay Sir, we’re very busy as you can see. Can I take a name for that?” Luke grits his teeth but maintains the smile on his face with some effort.

“It’s Richard,” the man says pompously. “And maybe you should employ more staff if you’re this busy.”

“We’ll take your feedback on board,” Luke replies, his smile coming forced. He writes the man's order, and “Dick” in tiny writing underneath on a cup before turning round and putting it on top of the coffee machine, rolling his eyes at Michael as he does so. Michael smirks in return, pressing his lips together to quell a laugh and slotting the portafilter into place under the grinder.

“That’ll be £2.00 please.”  

“Actually I think I’d like to speak to the manager about the poor service before I pay,” The man says brusquely.

“She’s not here at the moment unfortunately,” Luke responds, not bothering to maintain the smile.

“Well then I’d like to speak to the most senior person here,” The man continues.

“You’re looking at him,” Luke replies coolly, crossing his arms. He’s never been good at dealing with difficult customers, which is why he prefers being in his quiet domain in the kitchen, but he’s dealt with men like this before, all talk but no action when pushed. 

“I think you’re being incredibly rude, you’ve made me wait a ridiculous amount of time for a coffee which is priced extortionately, and now you’re going to be disrespectful to my face,” The man snaps.

“Maybe if people like you just paid and left then nobody would have to wait as long.” A calm voice comes from behind the man.

Luke looks around the rapidly reddening man in front of him to see the source of the voice and sees a man around his age in a suit, with a pair of headphones slung around his neck. Luke tries not to stare but the man is gorgeous, all deep brown eyes the colour of rich dark chocolate ganache, and swooping dark hair, his eyebrows raised and plump lips pursed slightly.

The older man starts spluttering angrily, “And who do you think you are to say something like that to me?”

The younger man just shrugs and continues to look at him calmly, not bothering to elaborate. Luke takes the opportunity to hold out the card machine towards the older man.

“£2.00 please,” He repeats.

The man scowls and taps his card against the machine. 

“You can wait at the end for your drink,” Luke says with a dry smile.

The man grunts but moves away to the side with a glare.

“Thanks,” Luke says quietly, smiling at the younger man as he approaches. 

The man’s lips spread into a genuine smile and Luke thinks they look even better that way if that were possible. “No worries, I think you were handling it fine, it was just an observation.” His voice is warm and deep, reminding Luke of a buttery caramel sauce. 

Luke bites his lip and tries not to blush. “What can I get for you?”

“Flat white, please,” The man says, still smiling at Luke.

“Name?” Luke attempts to hide his face behind the cup he’s just picked up.

“Calum,” He says. “But I think I’ll take that to have in if you don’t mind?” 

“Of course!” Luke says quickly, fumbling his pen slightly as he switches the paper cup for a ceramic one, peeling a sticky note so he can write Calum’s order. “Anything to eat?”

“I’m new here, what do you recommend?” Calum says, cocking his head slightly before looking over the display case. “It all looks amazing.”

Luke definitely blushes this time and clears his throat. “Well the pains au chocolat are quite good I think,” he says nervously.

“Let’s go with that then.” Calum smiles again and Luke thinks his legs might have melted into his shoes but he can’t seem to move them to check if that’s true or not. 

“Or if you wanted something sweeter you could go with one of the lemon muffins, or the strawberry cupc-”

“Luke,” Michael interrupts from behind him. “Please stop flirting with this nice man and get on with serving the other eight nice people we have waiting?” He begs.

If Luke thought he was blushing before it's nothing compared to the heat he feels in his face now. He turns to Michael and throws him daggers.

“The pain au chocolat sounds perfect.” Calum fishes out his wallet. “And your colleague’s right, I’m being a bit of a hypocrite after telling that twat to hurry up aren’t I?” He pushes a hand through his hair and smiles apologetically.

“No, you’re fine it’s no problem at all,” Luke manages to get out. “That’ll be £5.60.”

Luke lets Calum tap his card on the machine and then busies himself with pulling the pastry out and onto a plate which he places on a tray with a napkin, ready for Michael to put the coffee on when it's been made.

“Why don’t you go and sit down, Luke will bring it over in a few minutes if you’re not in too much of a rush?” Michael suggests, pressing the buttons on the coffee machine and sliding a cup underneath to catch the espresso starting to stream out. 

Calum looks bemusedly at Michael for a second before shrugging. “That’d be great, yeah. My office is just round the corner so I’ve got a few minutes. Thanks… Luke.” He says Luke’s name like he’s deciding how he likes the taste of it in his mouth, before quirking his lips once more, and heading to a table in the corner of the cafe.

“What are you doing?” Luke hisses at Michael as he takes the next customer’s order, writing quickly on another cup and fishing change out of the till when the woman hands over a five pound note. “You were just making a point about how busy we were!”

“I’m not telling you to go and sit down with him,” Michael whispers back, only just audible over the sound of the coffee grinder. “But he’s obviously into you, just take his coffee and flirt a bit and then come back and help me!”

Luke takes the most recent batch of completed coffees and distributes them to the waiting customers, smiling slightly when the rude man snatches it off him and storms out on his phone without even checking the name on the cup. He takes another order and passes it to Michael, just as Michael finishes off a flat white with a perfect heart.

“There,” He says in a pleased voice, setting it down next to the pain au chocolat on Calum’s tray. “Now off you go.”

Luke smiles at the woman he’s just served then glares at the tray and at Michael. “What have you put a heart on it for!” He yelps.

“It’s called flirting!” Michael starts steaming another jug of milk. 

“He’s going to think you like him not me!” Luke protests.

“Just go!” Michael hisses, finishing up another coffee and handing it to a waiting customer. “Hi, how are you?” He intercepts the next person waiting at the counter before Luke can do anything about it.

Luke huffs noisily and picks up the tray reluctantly. He wouldn’t go over at all, but Calum did help him with the arsehole customer so the least he can do is actually provide the service he came in for and give the man his coffee. He heads over to where Calum is sat, with his headphones on and jiggling his knee as he types something into his phone. He looks up at the sounds of Luke putting his plate down on the table and smiles gratefully. Luke then sets down the coffee next to the plate and tries to tamp down his instinct to run away immediately. Calum looks at the coffee and then up at Luke, eyes twinkling and a blush in his cheeks. 

“Hope you have a great day!” Luke squeaks out and speed walks back to the counter.

“So?” Michael asks as he fishes out a croissant and places it in a bag, tapping the end of the tongs on the glass.

“Uh, I told him to have a good day then ran away before he could respond,“ Luke mutters, snatching the bag off Michael and handing it off to the customer in front of him. 

“Luke -” Michael starts.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Luke snaps. “Make coffee.”

“Okay boss,” Michael says, barely repressing a giggle. 

Luke spends the next 15 minutes regretting every life choice he’s ever made and resolutely not looking towards the corner Calum is sat in, focusing entirely on the rush of customers. At about 8:45 he sees out the corner of his eye that Calum has stood up, brushing a few crumbs off his knee and patting his pockets. Luke turns around and busies himself with writing the next order on a cup for Michael so that Calum can leave without making eye contact with him. When he deems that it’s been long enough, he turns back to the counter, but standing just off to the side is Calum, scuffing a hand up through the back of his hair and smiling shyly at Luke again.

“Just wanted to say, an inspired choice on the pain au chocolat.” He says. “Send my compliments to the chef,”

“Oh erm, thanks, I will.” Luke stutters out.

“Bye, Luke,” Calum says. “Maybe see you tomorrow, and... Hope you have a great day too.” His face breaks out into a wider smile that reminds Luke of the feeling of getting just the right consistency for macaron batter, or a perfectly smooth finish on a cake or the way good puff pastry flakes into the perfect fragments when you cut through a mille-feuille. Or something.

With that Calum slips his headphones back onto his head and leaves the cafe. 

“You are a useless sack of shit you know that,” Michael scoffs at him.

“Fuck off,” Luke mutters under his breath. “Two words. Ashton. Irwin.” Michael glares back at him.

They get through the last half hour of the rush as normal, Luke pausing only briefly to pull the sponges out of the oven, and he’s twitching more than ever to get back into the safety of his kitchen with some dough in his hands and the comforting whirr of his mixers.

“Okay I’m all good here, you can go,” Michael smiles at him shaking his head.

Luke basically runs through the doors into the back and inhales deeply. God, he needs to get a grip.

X

It continues like this over the next few weeks. Calum will come in most mornings, and sometimes he’s in a rush, smiling apologetically as he orders to take away. Most mornings though, he will appear earlier, choose something to eat on Luke’s recommendation and sits at the table in the corner for 20 minutes before complimenting what he’s eaten on his way out. Luke never speaks to him short of suggesting a new pastry or muffin (and maybe he’s also developing new options everyday just to be able to give Calum something else to praise), but he does spend quite a lot of time looking at Calum sitting in his corner, long fingers wrapping around his mug of coffee and mouth chewing thoughtfully on whatever Luke’s provided him with whilst he jiggles his knee to his music.

Luke swears that sometimes when he chances one of these looks over to him whilst he’s serving a customer, Calum is looking back at him, but his brown eyes always blink away as soon as Luke’s catch them. 

Predictably, Michael is absolutely insufferable about it.

“Loverboy’s looking at you again,” He smirks, checking the most recent order Luke has written for him.

“Shut up, Mikey,” Luke says petulantly. “He is not.”

“He’s always looking at you, Luke,” Michael laughs. “You’re actually driving me mad, please just ask him out or something, you two have the most obvious thing for each other ever. ”

“We do not, he doesn’t like me like that,” Luke protests. “He could be looking at you for all we know, you were the one who put a heart on his flat white,” he adds, sourly.

“You should see his face drop when he comes in here and you’re already in the back,” Michael responds knowingly. “He looks like someone’s pissed in his coffee every time you’re not here to stammer at him about what cakes you’ve made.” 

Luke’s face flames red and he turns his back on Michael deliberately to serve the next customer, as he hears Michael’s suppressed giggles behind him. Look, he knows Michael might have a point and that he could just talk to Calum, but Luke doesn’t really know how, unless he’s talking about pastry or ganache or sponges words just don’t come that easily to him. Especially when faced with someone who looks like Calum does. He sighs and closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, as if summoned by Luke’s thoughts, there Calum is at the edge of the counter.

“Blueberry muffin was particularly good today,” He says quietly with his usual smile. “Have a good day, Luke.” He gives a small wave and exits the cafe. Luke opens his mouth to say something before he can leave, but nothing comes out so he just closes it again. He kicks the edge of the counter grumpily.

“I’m literally the worst ever,” He groans, spinning round and going through to the kitchen, swinging the door behind him, Michael’s laughs following him through. 

X

Luke is having what he thinks might be the most disastrous day ever. It’s after 5pm, the cafe has just closed and he would normally think about going home soon but Em’s got the day off and he’s not been able to make half of the stuff he needs to for tomorrow. Every ganache he’s attempted has split, he’s burnt one batch of cupcakes and under-cooked another so they’ve sunk in the centre, he’s crystallised his caramel so its unusable, and the chocolate he tempered for the triple chocolate layer cake he has planned has come out mottled and dull. He hates to admit it but the worst part of it was that he didn’t even see Calum this morning, he worked out the front much longer than he normally does in the hope of seeing the other man, but he never turned up. Michael had just raised his eyebrows and given him a knowing grin as he had slumped back into the kitchen at well past half-nine. He sighs at himself as he pushes a hand through his curly hair which he’s had to pull back into a tiny ponytail at the nape of his neck, and tips another set of cakes into the bin. 

He hears a knock on the back door of the kitchen, and the door opening. A curly brown head appears round the door frame. 

“Hi Luke, Is this a bad time?” Ashton says, surveying the disarray before him, bowls and utensils on every surface, half finished cakes and fillings littering the other available spaces. 

Luke huffs out a laugh and wipes his hands on his apron. “No you’re fine come on in, just having one of those days. Sorry for the state of it in here.”

Ashton smiles at him and steps into the kitchen, going to the store where he knows they keep the empty bread crates. “No worries at all mate! Oh I brought my flatmate with me, hope you don’t mind. Calum had the day off today and I roped him into helping me do the pick-ups.”

Luke’s mouth drops open as Calum Calum sidesteps into the kitchen and smiles at Luke embarrassed. “Uh, hi?”

Luke just gapes, spatula limp in one hand.

“Just going out the front for a sec, Cal, just need to check something with Michael!” Ashton calls quickly exiting the room. Luke thinks he spots a smirk on Ashton’s face and his eyes narrow in suspicion. 

“Uh, sorry for barging in on you like this,” Calum starts, standing awkwardly by the door still. “When Ash said he did deliveries for cafes in the local area I didn’t know he meant yours as well.”

“Missed you this morning,” Luke blurts out, then promptly feels himself turn red, again. Jesus Christ where did that come from? He wants to disappear like, immediately and wonders whether he could shut himself in the walk-in without Calum noticing.

A small pleased smile appears on Calum’s face and he blushes slightly. “I thought it might be a bit desperate to also turn up when I’m not even in the office. But I guess I’m here anyway.”

“Well I’m glad,” Luke says quietly, ducking his head and biting his lip. 

Calum’s eyes twinkle at him. “So this is where the magic happens?” He asks, examining his surroundings.

Luke groans. “Don’t look at it like his,” he begs. “I’m usually such an organised worker I promise, I’m just, having a few issues.” 

Calum smiles and comes over to stand next to Luke. Luke inhales sharply and thinks that Calum smells like the freshly baked bread in Ashton’s van but also something else, sweet and spicy, like a hot cinnamon and apple cake or a warm speculoos biscuit just out of the oven. 

“Can I help with anything while I’m here?” He asks softly, reaching out hesitantly and barely grazing Luke’s elbow. Luke focuses on trying to regulate his breaths which is proving almost impossible with Calum standing so close to him, the feeling of his warm hand through his sleeve and the sight of the concerned smile on his face.

“It’ll be okay I think,” he manages to get out breathily. “Thanks though, that’s very sweet of you.” 

“No, I think that’s you,” Calum says quietly, reddening a bit but looking up to meet Luke’s eyes. 

He reaches out and brushes a hand gently through an escaping curl on Luke’s face.

“You’ve got a bit of flour here.” He says quietly, tilting his head to one side and twisting Luke’s hair around his finger briefly. “And here,” Calum continues, skimming his fingers across Luke’s cheekbone. “Here too,” he murmurs, stepping even closer to Luke and dragging his fingertips under Luke’s chin and down the side of his neck, leaving them to rest curling slightly into the collar of Luke’s shirt and looking at Luke in the eyes. Luke’s not sure if he can breathe, lost in the gentle stroke of Calum’s hand and the swirling chocolate of his eyes, feeling the pink blush dusting across his skin, left in the wake of Calum’s touch. His eyes flicker down to Calum’s lips, and he sees them curve into a smile, before he leans forward slightly and catches Luke’s own lips in a soft kiss.

“Hm,” Calum murmurs as he pulls away slightly. “You taste sweet too.” 

Luke honestly thinks this might be the best moment of his life so far, and slides his hand over Calum’s shoulder to pull him back towards him, but just as he does he hears a scuffling sound from outside the swing door into the main cafe.

“Mikey is that you?” Luke asks suspiciously, stepping away from Calum slightly and turning towards the door. Calum steps back too, but loops an arm loosely around Luke’s waist, fingers playing with the ties of his apron. 

“No,” a voice comes through the door.

“Get in here,” Luke says bossily, “You too Ashton I know you’re out there.”

The two of them appear in the doorway, Michael having the good grace to look a little ashamed but Ashton doesn’t even bother, a huge shit eating grin on his face.

“What is going on here?” Luke demands, narrowing his eyes at the pair of them. He’s trying to stay stern but it's proving very difficult when he can feel Calum’s hands skim along his side and him gently nose his shoulder blade as he huffs out a giggle behind him. 

“What I think is going on is that you, Lukey, and dearest Cal Pal might have been having a moment?” Ashton smirks at the two of them.

“I don’t know how you two are involved in this but I know you are and I want you to explain yourselves,” Luke says petulantly. He then looks at Ashton and Michael closer and catches sight of their hands clasped, hidden slightly behind Ashton. 

“What is going on here?!” Luke repeats again, gesturing at their hands. He sees Michael (and Ashton come to think of it) every day, how has he missed this? Probably because he’s been lost in thoughts of Calum for the last 3 weeks he reasons with himself.

Michael blushes to the roots of his hair and pulls away from Ashton slightly but Ashton just tugs him into his body, curving his hand around Michael's hip and pressing a kiss into his neck before releasing him. 

“Well Michael and I started talking the other week, and we found out that by some miracle that the Calum that happened to be coming in everyday to stare at Luke for 20 minutes and leave, was the same Calum who lives in my flat and won’t stop talking about the gorgeous cake maker who works at the cafe round the corner from his office.” Ashton says, laughing, as Calum makes a wounded noise of protest and hides his face in Luke’s shoulder. “And this very Luke that Calum wouldn’t stop talking about happened to be the Luke that I deliver bread to every morning and apparently won’t stop throwing longing glances at Calum from the other side of the counter when he thinks he’s not looking.”

Luke squeaks, and feels Calum giggle behind him, both arms coming round his waist and dropping his chin onto Luke’s shoulder.

“And you two thought you would mastermind a plan then I suppose,” Calum says amusedly. 

“Why aren’t you more annoyed by this,” Luke gripes, turning his head to try to glare at Calum but managing only to brush his nose against his cheek. 

“Because I got what I wanted out of it, regardless of the method,” Calum says sweetly, and Luke blushes again.

“That doesn’t explain.. This!” Luke gestures at Michael and Ashton, he doesn’t know quite why his brain has fixated on this development when he has Calum basically draped along his back but what has happened in the last 10 minutes has been too much for his brain to handle.

“Well we had to come up with a plan so I asked Ashton if he wanted to go for food,” Michael finally pipes up, a small pleased smile on his face.

“You did?” Luke asks in what he acknowledges is probably quite a rude way but this was a turn of events he was not expecting.

“Well maybe watching you pine so disgustingly made me want to do something about it,” Michael retorts, but there’s no heat in it. 

“I knew the hot cross bun would work,” Ashton says solemnly, and Michael jabs him in the ribs with his elbow.

“Okay, I’ve decided that’s enough of the two of you,” Calum says. “Go and scheme elsewhere now please.”

Ashton laughs and salutes them before tugging Michael out of the back door.

“I honestly can’t believe this,” Luke begins, “they think they can just meddle in our business and force us into the same room together and that we’ll just kiss and they can pat themselves on the back for a job well done?” 

Calum is quiet beside him and Luke turns to look at him. “Well?”

Calum smiles at him, that one that makes Luke feel like he’s floating in sweet mallow clouds and tips his head slightly to the side. “I mean I’m sorry Luke but that’s exactly how it happened, so yes I suppose they can.”

Luke begins to make a noise of protest but Calum just grabs the front of his apron and pulls him back towards him. 

“You can carry this on later, but can we stop talking about Michael and Ashton for one second? I was sort of busy before they came in,”  Calum whispers over Luke’s lips.

“Yeah okay,” Luke responds, leaning into Calum and catching his lips back against his own. 

Calum pulls away after a couple of minutes and brushes another rogue curl out of Luke’s face. “So about that help you turned down earlier, I’m not taking no for an answer. I’ll start cleaning some of these things up and you can get on and do what you do best.” Calum leans in and gives him one last peck before heading over to the sink and starting to run the tap.

Luke smiles, slightly dazed and runs his fingers over his lips, thinking Calum tastes pretty sweet himself, a little bit like the warm vanilla air in his kitchen and a lot like home.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Second Chances - Ch. 29

Unfinished Business

Warnings: swearing, blood, angst

Word count: ~6800

Masterlist

Read on AO3

The morning finds you, Sadie and Arthur camped out in Big Valley. Arthur has been relatively quiet since your discussion, not that you blame him. The end seems to be coming sooner than you thought, and the prospects of the future frightens you. 

You get up just as the sun is rising over the mountains. The other two are still asleep. You take the opportunity to wander into the large meadow on foot, feeling at peace finally. Something about this valley, the forest and the meadow seems so pure and holy. You used to go to church as a child with your parents, but the thing everyone else claimed they felt inside of it never came to you. That feeling of peace and of having found your place in the world comes here, though. You wonder if maybe when Arthur finally decides it’s time to leave the gang and Dutch, he’d be willing to live here. Perhaps you and him could build a small cabin. Strawberry’s close by, which is ideal for when you need to visit a shop or a post office. 

You sit down in the meadow near the thin winding river and study the scenery. A herd of pronghorns and a white tail buck graze nearby without any fear of you. In the distance, you spot three elk and even a herd of wild horses. If Heaven is real, it must look something like this. You pull out your journal and begin to sketch the view, finally feeling happy with the strokes of your pencil.

Nearly an hour passes and Sadie wanders towards you. “Hey, what you doin’?” she asks.

“Just enjoying the view.” You close your journal and stand up. 

“Come on. Arthur ain’t up yet, but you and I can go scope the place. Try and get a count of how many of those bastards are there.” 

You nod and follow Sadie over to Hanging Dog Ranch. It’s a relatively short walk and you both hide behind a boulder and look through your binoculars. Sadie counts over a dozen men, but you point out there could be more in the house and the barn. Plus there are tents set up and it’s possible that there might be more sleeping in them. 

Sadie suddenly gasps. “That bastard is here.” 

“Who?” you ask quietly. 

She points out a fat man with a bushy brown beard walking around near the barn. He pulls out a cigarette and begins chatting with another man. 

“He’s the feller who shot Jake. He left before Arthur and Dutch showed up, but I told him he’d see me again.” 

“He’s yours then, Sadie. Now come on, let’s go get Arthur.” 

Sadie growls and lowers her binoculars, grinding her teeth. You both head back to Arthur, who’s just stirring awake. He sits up and rubs his eyes. Sadie picks up her rifle and slings it over her shoulder. 

“Fine mornin’ for a killin’,” she says to him. 

He nods and stands up, picking up his own rifle. “You two seen anything down there?” 

“Yeah, there’s a bunch of them,” you say. 

“One of them,” Sadie snarls. “Fat feller with a beard. He’s mine.” 

“Okay,” Arthur says and gestures for you both to walk with him. As you do, Sadie and you fill him in on what the ranch is like. 

“I’ll take the lead once we get there,” Sadie says as you walk out of the cover of the trees.

“So no real plan then?” Arthur points out. 

“Oh I got a plan. Now come on, get in cover.” 

You and Arthur hide behind a large boulder near the perimeter fence while Sadie continues walking. She goes up to the front of the ranch where two O’Driscolls stand, keeping guard. They spot her and one says, “Hey. I think I know her! She’s one of Dutch’s-” 

He’s suddenly cut off by Sadie’s bullet plunging into his skull. The other one falls as she shoots. You and Arthur stand up and aim, firing upon more of the men. Sadie begins screaming like a wild cat and runs into the ranch amidst the returning gun fire.

“Damn it, Sadie!” Arthur growls and he runs out from behind the rock. You follow him and together, you run into the ranch after Sadie and continue shooting. The loft doors of the barn slam open and a man with a gatling gun opens fire, sending you and the others diving behind stacked crates. Sadie takes cover behind an outhouse. 

“Take him out, Arthur!” Sadie yells.

“I can’t get a good shot at him!” he yells back, reloading his gun. You peak around your crates and you can get a shot at him, but he’s directed the gunfire at you and Arthur. 

“Arthur!” you yell over the thundering shots. “Can you direct his fire? I can get him, but it’s too much where he’s at!” 

“Fine!” he hollers back. He takes a breath and then darts over to where Sadie’s at, successfully taking the man’s fire with him. You dart out quickly, aim and breathe out. Pulling the trigger, the gatling gun fire suddenly stops as your bullet strikes him in the neck. 

The O’Driscolls begin hollering in anger as Sadie and Arthur leave their cover and the three of you advance on them. After a few more moments, the shooting stops. 

Sadie lowers her gun. “There’s more in the buildings. You two take the barn, I’ll take the house.” She doesn’t wait for a response and runs to the house, kicking the door in as you and Arthur head to the barn. You see a wagon sitting near the barn with crates in it, creating a perfect platform to get to the upper floor of the barn without going inside of it. You do so as Arthur smashes through the front doors, firing on more of the men. You take cover outside of one of the windows and then aim inside, taking out two men. Another man yells in anger and aims his gun down at Arthur. Before he has the chance to fire, you take him out. All is quiet at last. 

“You okay up there?” Arthur yells. 

You climb in the window and look down at him, waving to signify that you’re fine though a bit out of breath. “Good. I’ll help Sadie, you loot these bastards, see what you can find.” 

You nod and take the chance to catch your breath as Arthur heads over to the house. As you’re looting the men you shot, you hear Sadie’s shriek and then silence. If you didn’t know her, you’d think she was being murdered, but you know she must have found her quarry. 

A few moments go by and you’re about to go into the house when the door opens. Out walks Arthur and Sadie, who’s covered in blood. Her eyes are watery and she sniffs loudly. Arthur whistles for his horse.

“I think I need to be alone for a bit,” Sadie says as you walk up to them. 

“I understand,” Arthur replies. He looks at her and then gestures to her clothes. “You, um, might wanna get cleaned up.”

She smiles a bit and then thanks him and you before hopping onto her horse and galloping away. Arthur puts a hand on your shoulder as you both walk over to your horses.

“You okay?” he asks. 

“Of course. Sadie?” 

“Ah, she found that bastard she mentioned. Anyways, we probably need to head back.” 

He hops onto Artemis and looks at you as though waiting for you to argue with him about returning to Beaver Hollow. Instead, you sigh and hop onto Rannoch. 

“Can we just walk there?” you ask. “I know the station ain’t far, but… this place is so pretty, Arthur.” 

“Fine,” he says. He’s still been acting strange, even cold and distant. 

The two of you run the horses in relative silence. The forest changes from the thick, close pines to clusters of aspens. Just as you’re approaching the army fort, you hear someone calling.

“Help me!” the voice calls. “And I shall help thee.” 

You pull Rannoch to a stop and look around for who the voice belongs to. You see a figure near the road leading to the fort, slightly hunched and using a walking stick. You call Arthur’s attention to the figure and trot Rannoch up to the person.

The figure turns out to be an old man, a wild gray beard hides most of his face. He doesn’t seem to see you or Arthur as you approach, but he must hear you. He calls out, “Penny for the blind.” He shakes a tin cup.

You dismount with Arthur and approach him, neither of you saying a word. The man must know you’re close to him as he stretches out the arm holding the cup. “Help a blind man,” he asks, his white eyes blinking. 

You and Arthur pull out a coin and drop it into his tin. He rattles the cup and then pauses. Although he cannot see, he faces Arthur.

“Be warned, sir, be warned. Surrounded by fields of burning fire and flesh, the devil shall make his sacrifice.”

“Uh, okay. Thanks, I guess,” Arthur says. 

The old man shakes the tin again, listening for the clinking of your coin with Arthur’s. His head, which shakes slightly, turns to face you. 

“When the golden stag lifts his head, that is when you must go backwards rather than forward.” 

“Um, okay. Appreciate it.” 

You both stand in front of him, waiting to see if the blind man will say anything else. 

“Please, I need to be alone with my thoughts,” he says. “They say old blind man Cassidy is crazy, but I see what others do not.” 

Arthur shrugs his shoulders and returns to Artemis, hopping onto her and continuing on. You do the same. 

“Hey,” he calls back to you. “You mind if we run up to Charlotte’s? I, uh, wanted to check on her. Make sure she’s doin’ alright.” 

“Of course. And what about Hamish?” you ask. 

“Oh, he’s fine, I’m sure. We’ll go huntin’ with him soon but we need to check in with camp again before we do that. Dutch mentioned somethin’ to do with the army and Eagle Flies. I’m worried he’s gonna try somethin’ real stupid.” 

You sigh and agree. You’re beginning to get tired of Dutch and his warped plans, using the complicated struggle between the Indians and the army as a means to his ends. Arthur is getting tired of them too, but he still seems to want to stick around, try to help Dutch clear his head. Whenever you mention the possibility of you both leaving, Arthur brings up John. While you agree that John and his family need the chance to escape, John doesn’t seem interested in taking it. You wonder how long Arthur will wait for him before he decides he’s done. Although he agreed that if, by a month, he’d leave with you, he didn’t seem taken by the idea. Part of you wonders if he truly wants to leave, even though he says he does. 

Arthur still says little as you both head up north towards Willard’s Rest, passing by a loft on a cliff which overlooks the sweeping expanse of New Hanover and Lemoyne. The trees return as you head down the mountain and rejoin the railroad tracks which will lead you right to Charlotte’s home. 

The falls come into view and Arthur diverts Artemis off the train tracks and up the rise. He slows down just before reaching the cabin. As you do the same, you hear a gunshot and trot Rannoch up the path. Once the cabin is in view, you see Charlotte with her back to you, aiming a rifle at bottles she’s placed on a crate. She shoots again, but none of the bottles break. 

“Darn it!” she calls out, lowering her rifle. You and Arthur walk up to her and she smiles when she sees you.

“How you feelin’, ma’am?” Arthur asks.

“Much better than I’ve felt in a long time. If we hadn’t caught that rabbit, I don’t think I’d have made it another day.”

“Well, you sure look better,” Arthur says, smiling. You nod. Now that you can see her face properly, she has more color and her face is clean, her eyes brighter.

“Better and determined, thanks to you two.” She pats the rifle in her hands. “If I’m going to to hunt, I figured it was time I learn how to use this.” She aims the rifle again.

“How’s that going?” you ask, watching with a smile. 

“Well, let’s just say my prey is looking rather unscathed.” She takes in a deep breath and shoots, the bullet going nowhere near her target. “But the end of labor is to gain leisure, isn’t that what Aristotle said?” She places the butt of the rifle on the ground, the barrel pointing up past her. 

Arthur grabs the barrel and points it away so she doesn’t accidentally shoot herself. “Well, I don’t know much about Aristotle, but I do know guns. Come on, I’ll show ya.” 

You smile as he shows Charlotte how to stand and properly hold the rifle. It reminds you of when he taught you how to do the same all those months ago. 

“Hold steady,” he says softly, “breathe slowly and always pull the trigger on empty lungs. I’ll show you.”

He pulls out his pistol and aims it, shooting at one of the smaller bottles on the crate. 

“You make it look so easy,” she says. 

“It is,” you say, pulling out your revolver. You point at another bottle and shoot it, the glass shattering. “You try now. Remember to breathe.” 

Charlotte clears her throat and aims the rifle again. “Wait to breathe out,” she says to herself over and over. After a few seconds, she fires again, the bullet striking the corner of the barrel.

“Would you look at that?” she says happily. “I haven’t hit one that close all day!” 

“Not bad,” Arthur says. “Focus on the inhale, shoot on the exhale. My turn.” 

Just as Arthur is about to shoot, something scurries out from behind the shed. 

“Oh no, that wretched rat is back,” Charlotte says. “It’s been a thorn in my side since we moved here.” 

Without hesitation, Arthur pulls the hammer of his gun down and shoots the rat. With a sly smile, he looks over at Charlotte. 

“Show off,” she says, a light blush on her cheeks. 

Arthur chuckles and shoots a bottle. “Alright, Y/N’s turn.” 

You clear your throat and shoot another bottle. Something about Arthur’s behavior is beginning to make you feel unsettled. He’s been distant with you the past two days, and now here he is being friendly with Charlotte. Helping people isn’t unusual for him, but something about their interactions seems different. You hope Charlotte isn’t growing something for him. 

Charlotte nods in approval of your shot and then aims again. She hesitates once more and then pulls the trigger. A bottle explodes. 

“I hit it! Did you see that? I hit it!”

Arthur chuckles and smiles at her. “That you did. You’re already gettin’ better.” 

“What can I say? Thank you.” She pauses for a moment. “Listen, I still have some of the rabbit left. I’ve salted it up. Would you both join me for a meal? It’s the least I can do.”

You and Arthur thank her and follow her inside her cabin. The majority of it is a long, single room for the kitchen and dining, but two rooms lead off to the right side, their doors shut. Charlotte sets the rifle down behind the door and heads over to her stove where a pot of stew is boiling. She gestures for you and Arthur to take a seat. 

You and Arthur do so and Charlotte brings the pot over to the table. “Well, it’s hot at least.” She grabs some bowls and spoons some stew into one, handing it to Arthur. “Bon appetit.” 

“Huh?” he says. 

She smiles at him. “Please enjoy.” 

He smiles back at her and dips his spoon into it as Charlotte hands you a bowl as well. You thank her and taste it. It’s surprisingly good, better than Pearson’s anyways. 

Charlotte sits down opposite you and begins filling up her bowl. “I really am grateful to both of you. You’ve already helped me so much.” 

“It was nothing,” you say.

She smiles at the pair of you. “You’re good people.”

“Awe, I wouldn’t say that. Least not about me,” Arthur says. 

“I know enough. There’s always more to find in ourselves. You helped me to see that. My husband Cal was such an optimist I found it to be very contagious. But if I’ve learned anything out here, it’s that there’s a fine line between optimism and naivety.”

She starts telling the story of how she and Cal had lived in Chicago. It’s very different from your life in Blackwater. While you had been able to enjoy the perks of civilization in Blackwater, it was nothing to compare to Charlotte’s life. Your father had enough money to keep you and your mother comfortably living, but Charlotte and Cal must have come from wealthy families. 

“It turned out to be very crushing,” she continues. “My father could be overbearing. Then we came out here and I got crushed by this. When Cal first came up with this idea, I pictured myself picking vegetables from a garden, sipping homemade wine, writing a great novel. Instead I turned out to be a far more pathetic anti-heroine than I ever imagined.”

Arthur smiles at her. “I reckon you’ll do just fine, ma’am. I think you’ll find you have more strength than you realize.” 

She smiles at him and then catches herself. “But listen to me. Throwing my worries and burdens on you fine people. I barely know anything about either of you except you’re familiar with guns and hunting.”

“There ain’t much to tell, to be honest,” Arthur says. It’s clear he doesn’t want Charlotte to know too much about the gang, nor do you simply as part of the code. He does tell her about his mother and father, the same story he told you. When he gets to how he was on his own until Dutch and Hosea found him, he makes it sound as though they lived fairly normal lives and depended on nature to survive. 

 Charlotte listens politely as he tells his story. “Well, they must be good men to have taken you in the way they did, this Dutch and Hosea.” 

“They are, or were. Unfortunately Hosea passed away not long ago and Dutch, well. He’s changed since then. Been more rash and impulsive.” 

Charlotte sighs. “Must be hard for him. Sounds like he and Hosea built quite a family and lifestyle together. Grief does strange things to people, and no one deals with it the same way. I myself have done things I never would since Cal died. There’s been times when I’ve become overwhelmed with anger and just want to… hurt someone or something so they can feel even a bit of my own pain. Perhaps that’s what is happening with Dutch.” 

“I don’t know. He’s always been the more impulsive of the two, but it’s like now that Hosea’s no longer there to be the voice of reason, Dutch just goes around destroying everything in his path.” 

Charlotte stands up and takes your empty bowls. “Well, he’s lucky to have you there for him at least. Maybe while he’s processing this situation, you can try and help steer him.” 

“Oh I been tryin’. Things are… just goin’ from bad to worse.” 

“How so?” 

“Awe, it… it’s complicated.” Arthur looks at you and pats your knee. “Charlotte, thank you for the meal, we really appreciate, but we need to get back.”

“Of course,” she says, clasping her hands. “I understand, and thank you both again for all your help. I never thought I’d be saying this, but I’m going to try hunting today.” 

“Good,” you say, standing up. “I’m sure you’ll be just fine.” 

She smiles at you again. “Listen, if either of you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call. Anything I can do to repay you for your kindness.” 

You both thank her once more and head back to Beaver Hollow. Once again, Arthur’s uncharacteristically quiet. It’s almost the way he was when he first asked you to marry him, he has that same distance about him. You think back to what was last said before he starting being this way, and you recall your discussion about setting a date to leave the gang if things haven’t progressed or if John hasn’t left on his own. 

You both arrive back at Beaver Hollow and Dutch walks over to Arthur, his arms spread. “There you are, Arthur. Listen, I need you to come with me. We are going to help our friend Eagle Flies give the army a final tweak on its nose.” 

Arthur hitches Artemis up and looks hard at Dutch. “You really think that’s a smart idea, Dutch? We’re already in the army’s bad books, you think this is going to help us or the Indians?” 

Dutch puts his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “This is the right choice, Arthur. We need noise, and a lot of it to get those Pinkertons off our backs.”

“I thought that was the whole reason behind blowin’ up the bridge?” 

“Yes, it was, but it didn’t create enough. Now come on.” 

Dutch hops onto the Count and looks at Arthur expectantly. Arthur sighs heavily and gets back onto Artemis.

“You want me to come along?” you ask, hoping that perhaps you and Arthur can talk Dutch out of doing something stupid. 

“No,” Dutch says. “The fewer of us involved, the better.” 

Without another word, he kicks his horse into a gallop and Arthur doesn’t even have the chance to say anything to you. You watch them until they disappear beyond the horizon. As you’re turning to head to your tent, you suddenly bump into Javier.

“Shit!” you say, jumping a little. “You scared me.” 

“Y/N,” he says without any other greeting. “I need your help with something. Heard of a stagecoach coming up to Annesburg. Big mailing stage going through Van Horn. Arthur says you did a good job a couple months back on one just like it.”

“Oh, okay.” You’re taken aback by this. Javier has never done a job with you nor asked for your help with one. It’s even more curious that he’s doing so now with how hostile he’s been with everyone in camp. He seems to sense your hesitation. 

“It could have a lot of cash, Y/N. The more we get, the sooner we can all get out of here. We all need to help Dutch in order to help ourselves. Now let’s go.” 

You sigh and begin following him when Micah calls him back. “Javier, I need you for something. Dutch mentioned you might have some knowledge on this train we’re thinking might be coming through.” 

“Can it wait?” he asks. “Y/N and I are going out on a job.” 

“She can do it by herself, can’t she?” he demands, waving a hand in your direction. Javier looks at you and then to Micah. It’s clear he doesn’t want to abandon the job. You pat his shoulder reassuringly. 

“It’s okay, Javier, I can manage this one on my own. The drivers for this mailing company ain’t that tough. I’ll even save some of the cut for you.” 

He pauses a moment and then nods. “Thanks, Y/N.” 

Micah doesn’t look at you as he heads back to Dutch’s tent with Javier. You’re glad for this job as it allows you to get away from this place again. You feel a little bad, you and Arthur haven’t brought any kind of meat back in a few days and Pearson’s stew is probably fairly sparse at this point. You make a note to hunt after the stage. 

Rannoch gallops down the path as you ride east and south in the direction of Van Horn. Your mind is elsewhere as he runs. It’s too late when you realize that things have gotten too quiet on the trail. 

Just as you’re becoming nervous, a shot rings out through the trees in your direction. The bullet doesn’t hit you or Rannoch but it’s enough to make him stop and rear up, tossing you onto your back. He gallops off as two men come out from the trees. 

You gather yourself and stand up, whipping out your guns. At first you think they’re Murfrees as this is still their territory and they’ve continued robbing people despite Dutch stealing their stronghold. However, you notice their clothes are only dirty, but not torn, old and rugged. The men also lack the wild glint in their eyes that Murfrees have. You wonder if they’re just desperate travelers robbing anyone coming down this way. 

“Get her!” one of them yells. He has a flabby, long face with dull eyes and moppy brown hair. The other is a gangly blonde with red cheeks. He laughs loudly and points his gun at you. Before he has a chance to pull the trigger, you shoot your sawed-off at him and he drops to the ground, blood flowing from his chest where you shot him. The other man looks at you with his dull eyes. 

“Let’s drop this,” he says in a slow voice. He throws his gun down and pulls out his knife. “Let’s see who’s the fastest and strongest.” 

“You’re not trying to rob me?” you demand, suspicious. 

He smiles, showing crooked teeth. “Ain’t never wanted to rob you, lady. Just doing my job.” 

Before you have the chance to ask further, he lunges at you. You dodge out of the way and begin lifting your gun to shoot him, having no care to fight on his terms. He slams into you, his large body knocking you on the ground and your guns flying from your hands. He lifts his leg to stomp on you but you roll out of the way, crawling towards your gun. He swiftly kicks you in the ribs and then picks you up, throwing you to the other side of the trail. 

A second passes and you’re on your feet again, spitting your hair from your mouth. Your ribs hurt where he kicked you, but you don’t acknowledge the pain. You pull out your knife and wait for him. He lunges once more and you dodge, but he trips you. As you’re falling, his blade swipes, the tip catching at your left cheek and gliding across your eye and up to your forehead. The knife misses your eye luckily and you clutch your face, pull your hand away to see it covered in a thick line of blood. The man chuckles and you get up to your feet again, determined despite the blood that’s dripping into your eye. 

“Got you good, looks like,” he smiles when he sees the slash across your face. 

“It’s nothing compared to what I’m gonna do to you!” You square your shoulders. 

He adjusts his grip on the knife, clearly expecting you to come at him. Instead, you dive to the other side of the path, grabbing the sawed-off. You roll onto your back, aiming it. His eyes widen and he runs into the trees as you shoot, your aim off due to the blood in your eye. You blink several times and shoot more, but he’s long gone. 

The sounds of his footsteps fade, alerting you to the fact that he’s not coming back. You clench your teeth and put a hand over the left side of your face. You’re glad camp isn’t too far away as you get up and whistle for Rannoch. A few seconds pass and he comes back, neighing. After holstering your guns and knife, you pat his neck and climb onto his back. 

“Take me home, boy,” you say, grabbing his reins in your free hand and guiding him back. 

As you trot down the trail leading directly into Beaver Hollow, Charles sees you. 

“What happened?” he hollers, grabbing Rannoch’s bridle to better guide him into camp. 

“Ambush. Guy caught me with his knife.” 

Charles hitches Rannoch and then helps you climb off, guiding you with a hand around your shoulder to where Grimshaw’s standing. He calls her attention, stating you’ll need stitches. 

“Again, girl?” she squawks. “I swear, you have the worst luck.” 

She marches to your tent and beckons you to lay down on your cot. You do so and Charles hands you a cloth to soak up the blood. You’re beginning to feel a bit light-headed, a result of losing so much. Grimshaw stomps back holding a bottle of whiskey and Strauss’s medical kit, which got left behind. 

She works quickly, sewing your face back together, dabbing whiskey on the cut. As she does, you tell her what happened to try and ignore the pain. 

“He didn’t say why he was tryin’ to kill you?” 

“No,” you say. “Just said he was on a job.” 

Grimshaw grunts in confusion. Charles has stayed close to make sure she doesn’t need anything else. After a while, she finishes and tells you to get up. Just as you’re sitting up, Grimshaw’s hand on your shoulder, Micah saunters by. 

“Get yourself into a spot of trouble again, hmm?” he sneers. “I’m guessing that stage job didn’t get done either. Real way to pull your weight.” 

Without thinking, you launch to your feet and rush at him, determined to punch any part of him you can reach. Grimshaw stops you and Charles gets in the way. He tells Micah to leave before you completely lose control. Micah just glares at you and walks away. 

“You need to calm down,” Grimshaw demands. “Otherwise you’re gonna bleed more. Now you sit down and I’ll grab you something to eat.” 

You do as she says, trying to slow your breathing. She comes back after a few moments with a bowl of Pearson’s stew. She then tells you to take it easy for the night. You’d think she was being kind, but you know Grimshaw too well. She doesn’t want you to cause your cut to begin bleeding again and make you pass out. The pain has come in full by this point and it’s almost overwhelming. Your ribs ache as well from where the man kicked you. You grab the bottle of whiskey Grimshaw was using and start drinking. 

By nightfall, you’ve drunk so much your face no longer hurts but you can’t feel much else either. You sit around the campfire, waiting for Arthur to return. The staring from everyone in camp has resulted in you draping your hair over the left side of your face and using the tip of your hat to hide your eyes the way Arthur does. 

Dutch saunters into camp, but Arthur is nowhere in sight. He tells you he’s fine, just off hunting and he should be back soon. You’re barely able to understand what he’s saying as you’ve become so drunk. Dutch must be able to tell, he tells you to get to bed. You do so with little argument, stumbling all the way. 

The next morning you wake just as the sun is rising. Your head pounds fiercely from the alcohol and your face feels like it’s on fire. Your ribs are sore, adding to the pain. You lie in the cot, wishing you could die where you lay. You flop your hand to Arthur’s side, only to find it empty. Just as you open your eyes to see if he’s in the tent at all, your stomach heaves. You leap to your feet and dash to the river, emptying your stomach of what little is left. 

After a few moments, you splash cold water from the river onto your face, making your cut sting. It does little to cure your headache but at least you can think a bit more clearly. Getting back up the hill is an enormous effort, but you do and head over to Pearson’s fire to get yourself some coffee. 

As your sipping your coffee, trying to ignore the pain, Mary-Beth walks up holding a small bowl. She holds it out to you.

“Here, I, um, I made some of that concoction Hosea made you when your leg was bad.” 

You look in the bowl and see the familiar paste with bits of the crushes plants mixed in it. You take it from her, thanking her. You swallow it quickly, although it tastes awful, and chase it down with coffee. 

By late morning, your headache is dull enough you can pick up chores again. Grimshaw flatly expresses she doesn’t want you going anywhere the next few days, stating you’ve had enough adventures for a while. 

While you work, you think about how horrible things have become in the gang. So many people have died or left, it seems like hardly anyone is left. You observed Tilly and Karen having a heated argument that the entire gang heard as Tilly pleaded with her to stop drinking. The fight ended when Karen nearly struck Tilly but walked away at the last second. 

Your own adventure from yesterday that resulted in your face getting cut open only adds to your worry. You haven’t been able to forget what that man said, how he was attacking you on someone’s orders. The question of who keeps circling in your head, providing no answers. You wonder if it would be best if you and Arthur left sooner than you agreed on. If things have gotten this bad in so little time, you don’t even want to think about how much worse they’ll be in a few weeks’ time. 

As you finish scrubbing a shirt, you hear a horse coming down the path. Looking up, you see Artemis with Arthur astride her. You wave to him and smile, although it quickly disappears because it hurts too much. Arthur half-heartedly returns it. You get up and walk over to him, your face still half covered. 

“Arthur, can we talk?” you ask as he’s hitching Artemis. 

“Sure,” he says. He heads over to your tent. You ask him how things went with Dutch yesterday and he sighs heavily. “Whole thing was a mess. Eagle Flies has been taken prisoner by the army. I’m gonna talk with Charles, see if we can break him out.” 

“And Dutch just let him?”

“Dutch didn’t see. The army came at us hard, even had a goddamn cannon. Dutch and I got split off from the others and had to jump off a cliff into the river. Had no choice, we got cornered. Anyways, after we escaped, I went digging around to find out what happened to Eagle Flies.” 

You nod, biting your lip. “It’s getting worse, Arthur. Maybe… maybe after we get Eagle Flies out, we need to leave. You and me.” 

Arthur turns and looks at you, his brow furrowed. “What about everyone else? We just gonna leave them all behind to suffer?” 

“Arthur, we can’t help those who won’t help themselves. You taught me that. John has shown no desire to leave, to get Abigail and Jack out. I talked to her this morning, she says she won’t go anywhere without John. We need to think about-” 

“Don’t talk to me about gettin’ ourselves out, darlin’!” he snaps at you, taking you back. “I told you I was gonna get as many people out as I can, and that’s what I’m gonna do. If you wanna leave, then I ain’t gonna stop ya.”

“Arthur, I’m not leaving without you. Where you go, I go, remember?” 

“Then I guess you’ll be staying here with me until things get figured out.” He begins turning away when a slight breeze blows through the tent, lifting your hair slightly as you stare at him incredulously. “What’s that?” he asks, straightening back up.

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, pulling your hair back over your face. 

He sighs and brushes the hair away from your face. “What the hell?” 

You pull away from his hand, realizing he must find the slash hideous. You push the hair back over your face. 

“What happened, sweetheart?” 

You tell him everything, including what the man said. “You see what I mean?” you finish. “Things are getting worse, Arthur. Someone is gunning for me and I don’t know who. Please, Arthur, let’s get out of here. Start our life somewhere else like we talked about.” 

He lowers his brow again. “And like I said, I ain’t goin’ nowhere until I can get as many people out as I can. They deserve it.” 

“Arthur, if they wanted to leave, they’d have done it by now.” 

“So we just forget about them, hmm? We just tell Tilly, Mary-Beth, Karen, John and all them to figure it out themselves? All because you’re scared about who’s gunnin’ for ya? I’ll protect you, sweetheart, I always have.” 

“You ain’t always around, Arthur! Dutch has you runnin’ around so much, you can’t possibly do that.” 

“So then deal with it! Go find who this bastard is and put a bullet in him. You took down your goddamn family, this should be easy.” 

You can’t understand why Arthur is saying these things. You know he’s always been loyal to the gang, to Dutch. You thought he’d be willing to let it go if it meant having a new life with you. 

“Arthur, please. Please, let’s get out here. We’ve saved who we can, the rest need to take care of themselves. We keep going like this, we’re all going to die!” 

“Then go! If you’re going to be a coward, then get out of here!” His voice has risen considerably. You stare up at him.

“I- I’m not a coward, Arthur. I’m just trying to be real.”

He lifts his lip to you. “No, you’re just looking after yourself. That’s all you ever done. You don’t give a damn about none of these people. You just want me all to yourself, living in some cabin the rest of our lives like a goddamn fantasy.” 

“No, that-that’s not true. Just listen to me. I’m scared for everyone, Dutch is on a suicide mission and he’s taking all of us with him.” 

“You always blame everything on Dutch, don’t you? He’s workin’ on getting us out, that means all of us. He’s as sick of losing people as we are. But you… you just assume the worst of him. Once we all get out of here, he’ll get better.” 

“Arthur, if he hasn’t gotten any better he won’t ever! Stop lying to yourself!” 

He glares down at you and shakes his head a little. “I can’t believe you’d be so selfish,” he mutters. “After all these people have done for you, you’d just let them all die so you can live. You know what? Asking you to marry me was the worst mistake I ever made.” 

Your heart plummets into your stomach. He clears his throat, looking away. “Y/N, I didn’t mean-” 

“Save it, Arthur,” you growl. “Fine, I ain’t gonna stick around only to watch you die because of the rantings of a mad man, and I won’t hang around as a reminder of your mistakes.” 

You grab your satchel from the cot, ignoring his stammerings. 

“Y/N, I didn’t mean- Let me rephrase that.” 

You stomp across the clearing, trying to keep the tears from falling. You won’t give Arthur the satisfaction of seeing you cry. He follows you a few steps behind.

“Y/N, stop! I didn’t mean that, I’m just tryin’ to-”

“And I told you to save it, Arthur!” you holler, climbing onto Rannoch, painfully aware of the gang’s eyes on you. Arthur stands by Rannoch and grabs the reins. 

“Y/N, please let me explain things.” 

“You said your bit, Arthur, and no matter how much you try, you can’t take back what you said. But I’m glad to know what you truly think about me. Now leave me alone.” 

His brow furrows again. “Fine, then run off like you always do. That’s all you ever done when things go bad. That’s what you did when you killed your family and that’s what you did every time you and I argued. All you ever do is run away!”

You bite your lip and look away, willing yourself not to cry. You look down and see his ring on your finger and your tempted to throw it at him. Instead, you look at him. “Good bye, Arthur.” You jerk Rannoch’s reins from his hand and gallop down the path, refusing to look at what you’re leaving behind.