#eliza and isaac i mourn you even though i don't know you

[grymghoul]

"Are you there? Are you coming home? Hello? Is anyone home? ..."

I took a photo of a doe and her fawn, thought I'd doodle them.

Remind you of anybody?

Photo:

[rodeo-boots]

Arthur/ Abigail when John left the gang for a year?

Thank you so much for the request!! I am not entirely happy with the result, but I hope you'll like it <3

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 1760

AO3

Warnings: Angst

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How long had it been since he had left? Weeks, maybe months? Arthur wasn't sure, he had long since stopped counting the days. Even longer ago, he had stopped looking for him; in jail cells, on the line-up for the next public hanging. His brother was gone, and it had been by his own free will that he left them behind; more precisely - that he had left his wife and child.

John had never been one to face up to his responsibilities. When things got hard, he ran with his tail tucked between his legs, ran from challenges as well as conflicts. Like the coward that he was. To him, it seemed like a family was the biggest burden of them all. The man couldn’t understand how much of a blessing they truly were. Or how much Arthur had wished he'd been granted a similar thing.

The family he's made for himself unwillingly, accidentally, was no more. Eliza and Isaac... the people he had wished to keep safe with all he had, the woman he's slept with without thinking of the consequences and the child their actions had brought into this world. What would he have given to still have them around; his possessions, his very own life. But there was no changing what was done, and no way to reawaken the dead.

Right now, he had a chance to make it better, as unorthodox as it may seem. There was a family in need of help, the woman his brother had left with their infant child and little Jack, who didn't resemble his father enough for John's taste.

Arthur released a sigh, running a hand through his freshly cut hair. He set the axe aside, wiping sweat off his brow before turning around, having felt Abigail's blue gaze on him while he had still been at work. "Somethin' a'matter?" He asked, ready to step in should she need help with Jack. The boy was small, sicklish. Almost like Isaac had been. Though he hadn't seen much of his own son in the past.

Abigail had her hands folded in front of her skirts, briefly staring down at them before her gaze lifted to meet Arthur's again. "I– I just... can we talk?" She appeared uncertain, Arthur taking a slow step closer, casually resting his hands upon his belt buckle.

"Sure," he replied, nodding ahead for her to lead the way somewhere more private. Between the tents of everyone else, there was hardly any space for deep conversations.

The gang had grown, with every state they passed only more people seemed to join them, Arthur hearing the rumbling laughter from Davey at the campfire, following Abigail towards a quiet corner she might've set her eyes upon before. They didn't talk too often, not genuinely at least, spoke of Jack and his needs or the weather, but never thought about bringing up John. The topic of him wouldn't help them any, not in their current situation.

Arthur settled down on a log at the outskirts of camp, safely hidden within the confines of nature. Abigail stayed standing in front of him, nervousness in her every motion, picking at her nails until she noticed and stopped. A sigh left her chest. "Be honest with me Arthur, do you– do you think he'll come back?" She didn't beat around the bush, Arthur opening his mouth before closing it again. He had no answer to give her, knowing that there was no reason to believe that John would return from his adventures.

"Abigail, I–"

"You know him better than I. Tell me." Her eyes were fiery, something unreadable behind them, something Arthur had no way to understand. He felt heartbroken about his brother's unannounced departure himself, but it had been months. They had no time to mourn the fool when he's clearly forgotten all about them in a heartbeat.

He thought about telling her that, about voicing the harsh truth he believed to be the only reasonable explanation. But Arthur wouldn't be the one to hurt Abigail all over again. She didn't deserve that. Looking up to her hesitantly, he finally opened his mouth. "I dunno." Which was true. "It don't seem he wants to." It was obvious, at least, that the man hadn't made his way back to them yet.

Abigail inhaled sharply, fingers bunching up the fabric of her skirts. What had she wanted him to say? "Listen, 'm not sayin' he ain't out there no more. What I mean is– he abandoned us, you'n Jack. And that don't seem like a reason to grief for him, does it?" He would understand if Abigail was mad, would understand if her devastation had persisted all those months. But by now it appeared like she wished for John to return, as if it didn't matter that he had dropped all his responsibilities from one day to the other.

"He's an adult, and he'll do what he wants. But you're an adult, too, and you can get through this without him." Even if he had tried to speak carefully as to not to upset her, it was clear his words had been fueled by the anger he felt inside himself. In his eyes, John had never deserved a woman like Abigail by his side, had never deserved a wonderful child like Jack – he obviously didn't want them.

Abigail's knuckles turned white with her tight grip on her skirts. "You're a horrible man, Arthur Morgan," she muttered, turning before marching down the way they had come.

Arthur stared after her for a moment, and another. He swallowed, his throat feeling impossibly tight. Whatever he had been supposed to say, the wrong things had to have left his mouth.

He had never been a great conversationalist to begin with.

*

Arthur continued to work, and Abigail did the same, What else were they supposed to do? Time continued to pass, and Jack grew, much faster than expected. Had Isaac grown so quickly?

Arthur was surprised every time he saw him, was frightened the more the boy's face seemed to shape into his father's. He had known John since he had been a boy, a child of little more than twelve, round-cheeked and wild eyed. His absence now almost made him miss that time. But there was nothing he could do.

Abigail continued to ask things of him, even after their last unpleasant conversation. She acted like it had never happened, kept up her act of a grieving widow, even if she was a free woman most of all. That's how Arthur saw it at least. He was sure John had already found another, scared of commitment as he was.

But Arthur rode out, every time Abigail told him so. He brought back books for Jack, brought him toys and food that suited his stomach better than the plain stew they all had to eat. Some days he brought something back for Abigail as well, dropped it off in front of her tent before turning, unwilling to ask what she would need the herbs for.

She had been a working girl in her past, had changed her ways ever since Jack had seen the light of day, but she still drank that damned tea. It didn’t add up in Arthur's head.

"Arthur? Can you– stay." That was a different demand than most days, the last one Arthur would've expected to hear. He turned back around, already having been ready to go, a heavy sigh rolling off his chest. It was dark and Jack was sleeping, having been read to until his eyelids grew heavy, snoozing by Hosea's side in the middle of camp. The older man seemed to love him like a grandfather would, which was good.

Arthur still didn't think it would be a good idea for him to stay, to risk another fight like the one he's had with Abigail months ago. "I don't–"

"Please," she sounded... odd, it's what she sounded like. Arthur gave in nonetheless, mumbling under his breath as he sat down by her side, gazing out into the darkness surrounding them.

He grasped for the right words to say, aware that in a situation like theirs, there might not be any. "You know I do what I can," he muttered, not yet looking at the woman by his side. "But I can't lie t'you, and I can't replace John, neither." Arthur had an inclination to say the wrong thing, realizing his words when Abigail took a sharp breath. He was ready to apologize all over again, but she stopped him, a hand on his thigh, blue eyes piercing into his.

"I'm not askin' you to," she said, leaning in, closer and closer, the hand on his thigh slipping higher and higher. This is wrong, Arthur swallowed heavily, pulled back.

"What d'you want?" He brushed her hand off his leg, reestablished the distance between them. She was a beautiful woman, no doubt about that. But she wasn't his, and no matter how angry he was at John, he wouldn't do anything he had no right to.

Her expression changed into something pinched, ashamed. "I just... I need you." It was clear that she wasn't proud of asking this from him, but that didn't make it any better.

He shook his head. "What're you askin' for?" He didn't want an answer. Didn't want the truth nor a lie. Abigail was a single woman with a child, her husband had left her with the responsibility, had left her to fend for herself. And he was mad at him, mad at John for throwing away what he never could've had; what had been taken from him with Isaac and Eliza, and what Mary simply didn't want. "I ain't John," Arthur reminded her, as firmly as he could. Of course he wanted to help, wanted to be there for her in times of need, but not like this. "Excuse me," he cleared his throat, stood without thinking twice. And this time it was him who walked away without looking back.

*

John came back. Unexpectedly waltzed into camp like the last year hadn't existed to begin with. And they all welcomed him with open arms; Dutch, Hosea, even Abigail who's mourned him all along, who had almost asked Arthur to touch her to quell her loneliness.

He regretted it, sometimes, watching them reunite all over again, wished he had stepped in when there was still a chance to, had given Abigail and Jack the prospect of something better. But maybe that just wasn't who Arthur was.