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roamingtigress · 23 days ago

Text

Guilt

Chapter Thirteen:

That I Still Love You Dutch visits Hosea and Lenny.

(Ao3 link)

Hosea was fittingly buried next to Lenny Summers in a quiet spot south of Bluewater Marsh, in the shade of a small grove of trees. It was fitting; Hosea had a close bond with the young man. They shared similar philosophies, and had a sort of private book club together, with which Mary-Beth had a special membership into. Sometimes, the friends shared the same frustrations over Dutch's devotion to those books; Evelyn Miller was not their cup of tea. Lenny was not afraid to challenge Dutch on his lofty ideals. Of course, Dutch being Dutch, stayed stubborn, never bending. He had let himself get consumed by his writings, even.

If only he hadn't been so stubborn.

If only he had listened.

"Just up this road, Benj," Dutch spoke quietly, looking down at his feet in the police wagon. "I'm told they were buried in the dappled shade of some trees. Might be easy to miss them."

It seemed a natural place to lay them to rest; both steadfast and grounded, like the trees surrounding them.

Dutch had hoped birds had taken up nest building in those trees; he knew how much they loved their song. They would be good company to him, he thought.

There was a time when he wanted to be buried next to Hosea; soulmates should be buried together, he thought. And Hosea did want to be buried next to friends and family -- and Dutch was certainly both.

But now Dutch thought, after everything, was he worthy of being buried next to him when his time came?

'No.'

He had nightly dreams of Hosea; sweet dreams that seemed to be keeping away the nightmarish ones he had following his death. Dreams where his hair was played with and decorated with flowers, of them skating on a frozen pond. He dreamed of his jawline and belly being stroked as he lay sprawled into his lap, when all Hosea wanted to do was to read. He dreamed of walking under the moonlight, hand in hand, as old men, on some faraway beach.

But were the dreams of what Hosea wanted, or what Dutch wanted, and envisioned their afterlife reunion? Dutch hoped that maybe, Hosea was telling him everything would be alright.

After a long period of silence, Benjamin finally spoke. "I can stay on the wagon if you'd prefer."

Benjamin hadn't wanted to intrude. He knew that Dutch knew he had played a part in his capture. He would understand if he wanted space during this moment, just as he would if Dutch wanted him there for comfort.

Dutch was quiet, in thought. He could smell the brackish water of the Lannahechee River, the raucous call of a passing cormorant, and then another of a spoonbill. A small flock of pelicans flew by within view of Dutch through the bars.

They were closer now.

"I'll leave it to you," Dutch quietly replied. "Whatever you're comfortable with."

The wagon slowed slightly, as Benjamin looked around and behind each grouping of trees he had come by. It had been some time since he had been in the area. The trees had grown much since he was last in the area; the branches of the live oaks along the roads reached across the road, now almost reaching the others on the opposite side.

The easy pace of the wagon, the cushioned clip-clop of the Belgian mare's hooves on the drought-hardened dirt was a contrast with the racing of Dutch's heart.

He felt nervous as if he was expecting Hosea to reach through the ground and drag him down with him. Ultimately though, he felt nervous about his judgment, which he thought he had earned.

"It must have been a good near twenty years since I've last been around," Benjamin spoke fondly. "But some of the prettiest vanilla flowers could be found here. I'd pick them for Alice and put them in that vase by the staircase. It always smelled so nice when we came home from wherever."

He left that vase to stay empty on her passing.

Dutch swallowed hard and let out a slow, slightly shaken exhale at the mention of those sweet blossoms. "I . . . Picked some for Hosea, to put in a glass jar. We had a bad argument the night before and I wanted to butter him up."

Vanilla flowers symbolize luxury and love, a fact that didn't bypass Hosea. They once had a discussion on such a topic. Dutch fell asleep, to Hosea's annoyance.

"And did it work?" Benjamin gently asked, still looking carefully but balancing it well with listening; Dutch was vulnerable, and he needed to lend him his ear.

A small smile appeared in the corner of Dutch's lips, remembering. It was one of his last birthday gifts. "Yes. I think so. If a kiss on the nose when he took it from me is any indication."

"I would say so," there was a reassuring tone to Benjamin's voice. "I know you certainly did a good job at buttering me up. After all the games you've played with me . . . " He shook his head, and then fell quiet, carefully curating his next words.

"But . . . I could see what Hosea saw in you."

Mind games and manipulation aside; Benjamin saw a charming but deeply flawed, tragic man, capable of deep love and affection, a contrast to the destruction and brutality for which he's earned a reputation. With the same hands that he had used to commit wanton crimes, he had used to caress him tenderly. And he had held those hands when he felt vulnerable. He knew Dutch would be considered insane by the doctors of that modern asylum, but sees the insanity within the world. Such is the duality of man.

Tears threatened to spill as Dutch hugged his knees to his chest, burying his face against them in annoyance of his own feelings. He fought them back, though; he had to be strong for Hosea. It was the last time he was going to 'see' him. He wanted to desperately apologize to him, for all the wrongs, for . . . Moving on, they called it.

And he so desperately wanted to tell him how much he had, and still does, love him.

The silence from Dutch hit Benjamin. He had come to know him over time that when he suddenly felt quiet, he was often shutting himself off. "I'm . . . Sorry. Didn't mean to open scars. I was just . . .'

Dutch shook his head, his voice weak and muffled against his knees. Benjamin meant well; his tone was affectionate, not teasing.

"Don't be."

Still, there was undeniable guilt in Benjamin's voice. "I didn't mean to -- "

'Don't apologize, Benjamin. I don't deserve it.'

"You've been too good to me, Benj."

The wagon had slowed further, before finally coming to a stop which had slightly jolted Dutch. His racing heart had nearly jumped out of his chest.

This must be it.

Time to meet Hosea.

Dutch shifted himself to the wagon's door, waiting for the doors to open as he felt the shifting weight from Benjamin getting off of his seat. And when he did, he came out almost cautiously, as if expecting Hosea's rage to come flying out from behind the wagon.

But there was nothing but the gentle song of the Carolina Wren greeting him, and a gentle breeze caressed his face and sifted through his hair. He stood before the opening between the trees, looking wistfully at the simple gravestones. The dirt piled up in mounds over their burial spots still looked fresh and undisturbed, as if nothing dared to.

There was something about the simplicity of the gravestones -- their names etched into the wood by hand -- that touched him. They wouldn't want anything fancier.

It was just so . . .

Them.

And then, Dutch knelt down, bowing his head as he gripped the dried, sun-burned grass.

"I'm sorry . . . " His voice came out as an unexpected whimper; his attempt to be strong, to be stoic, had gone to ruin now that he was before his Hosea's grave, and his dear friend beside him.

"I-I failed you."

With an anguished cry, Dutch slowly crumpled before them, sobbing into the ground. The earth was hard and unforgiving, the grass coarse against his face, but he didn't care.

It was as if he had lost Hosea again.

The raised mounds of earth, and the smell of the river they had gone fishing with Arthur, sent home the finality.

Soulmates never stop being soulmates when their other dies, and when Hosea was torn from him, it was as if a huge part of Dutch's soul had gone with him.

Benjamin stood by his wagon, watching, a hand resting on the strong rump of Evelyn's. He wanted to offer comfort to Dutch but didn't want to intrude. This was a moment between Dutch and Hosea, he thought, with his heart aching. He already felt like he had come between them both, on a spiritual level. Benjamin had his hand in letting Dutch have feelings for him; he offered comfort in a time of vulnerability -- and with Dutch's neediness, his insecurity being enabled -- meant he ate it like a starving cur and came back for more.

Benjamin had captured a ghost that had formed into the shape of a man, with a heart that may never heal.

'I'm sorry, Dutch. I'm sorry.'

And yet . . . Benjamin forced his hand off of his horse, and slowly walked towards Dutch, taking off his hat.

It felt wrong for Benjamin to leave Dutch alone in such a fragile state. He knew he needed to be an aid in comfort, and he left his own feelings in the wagon.

He nodded respectfully to Hosea and Lenny.

'Gentlemen.'

This, the visiting of the grave of an outlaw, was a first for Benjamin. He had signed off on seemingly countless hangings, and shot several dangerous men in his time on the streets, but never had he stood before their graves.

It was unexpectedly humbling.

Benjamin never had a personal connection to either of these gentlemen, but he felt he was in their presence. He hadn't thought much of himself as a religious man, but he felt something distinctly spiritual, even welcomed, before them. It was not unlike the feeling he had received while visiting old churches, not for religious aspects, but to take in their intricate woodwork, the stained glass, details that came about from delicate workmanship.

"Dutch . . . " He spoke softly, bending down to lightly touch Dutch's shoulder.

He would understand it if Dutch pulled away; this was such a private moment, he reminded himself, despite his intentions to volunteer comfort.

But Dutch hadn't pushed him away.

He did the opposite.

Dutch straightened himself up some, feeling a little ashamed of such a show of emotion. He reached up to take one of his hands. His grip was gentle.

"Benjamin, meet Lenny and Hosea . . . " He looked over at his beloved's grave through bleary eyes. "Lenny, Hosea, meet Benjamin . . . " He paused, not wanting to exclude Lenny from the introductions, of course. The two hadn't always seen eye to eye (particularly in the book department), but he had always been a fine member of the gang; level-headed and wise beyond his nineteen years.

And now he was gone, too.

If only he had said 'no.'

If only.

Dutch had been in so much shock at the time of Hosea's death that Lenny's own untimely demise hadn't registered with him; everything became a blur on that fateful day. The gang had not only lost one of the smartest but also a damn good friend.

Seeing Lenny's name etched on that old board sent it home.

"Take care of him, Hosea . . . " Dutch thought out loud, his voice a gentle plea, a respectful whisper.

Dutch knew well of the bond they had; it almost frustrated him at times, how they almost tagged teamed him on Evelyn Miller and his philosophies. 'Can a man just enjoy his favourite author in peace?' He remembered protesting once.

Benjamin knelt down before Dutch and bowed his head, still holding Dutch's hand. A gentle breeze carried the scent of vanilla flowers; he briefly looked up to see if there were trees which had them growing on them, but they were bereft of the yellow flowers.

Dutch rested his cheek against Benjamin's hand as he felt him brushing aside some sweat-slicked hair. "Benjamin's taking good care of me, more than I deserve . . . " He paused. "I . . .I have to leave soon, but . . . " He leaned a sharp cheekbone against Benjamin's finger that gently wiped away a tear. His voice was shaken, even timid.

"Words can't fix for letting you down, and I know that I'm not worthy of it, but, I need you to know that . . ." He absently rubbed the back of his neck, slick with the heat of the day.

" . . . That I still love you."

Dutch's voice was unmistakably pained, strained from it, even. He felt Benjamin's soothing squeeze of his hand, which he squeezed back in acknowledgement, their fingers linked.

" . . . And I forgive you, if you don't love me no more."

Dutch choked back a sob, the sound coming out as something of a grasp. He offered no resistance as Benjamin pulled him close in a warm embrace, and nor did he resist the soothing rub to his back, the kiss to the back of his head.

Benjamin couldn't and wouldn't compare his own pain of seeing Dutch in such a state to the pain Dutch was feeling, but it chased behind. He leaned his cheek against Dutch's, continuing to stroke his back in slow circles.

'If I could tear the pain out of you, I could, Dutch, my kitten, my pet.'

"And I forgive you, if you don't love me no more."

The very idea had chewed up and spit out Dutch heart onto the glorified thatch before him.

And then, stomped on it.

"And I forgive you, for not bein' able to forgive me."

And then, a gunshot was fired.

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