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porkchop-ao3 · 5 years

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A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 52)

Just a Social Call

I very nearly didn’t post today. I hated this chapter and the one that comes after it, but after speaking to a couple of friends and sitting my ass down to rework them, I feel much better :) I hope you guys like this chapter even though it’s not too eventful. I do often worry about these kinds of chapters... But anyway, it includes some wound treatment, and lots of conversation with Charles, Micah and John, because hey, conversation is just what I do :’)

Tagging @emily-strange ❤

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

I was reliving it. The screaming and yelling and the gunfire, the searing pain; ice cold, burning hot, ice cold. The blind panic, the total belief that I was going to die, that Arthur was too, and the rest of the gang. That everything was going up in smoke, literally, all around me. And it hurt. Physically and mentally, and my heart was thudding so hard in my chest it ached and soon I jolted awake, my eyes flashing open.

My mouth was dry and I swallowed a couple of times, looking around the tent as my pulse began to return to normal, and my surroundings brought me out of the terrifying landscape my mind had painted in my sleep. I lifted my head and spotted a cup of water that Arthur must've left for me, since he wasn't around; already gone from his bedroll on the floor next to the bed I'd temporarily stolen from him. I reached for the cup and quenched my dry mouth, exhaling loudly as I put the cup back down and slumped back against the bed.

I stared up at the top of the tent and thought about my dream, about how real it had felt, just like the night it happened. I didn't know why I'd dreamt about it. I didn't like that I had. But it was only a dream, and I took comfort in the knowledge that I'd made it out alive and now here I was; safe and recovering.

The fabric of the tent was pinned back just a little to allow a breeze into the space, the sun was beating down and it was stuffy and humid, so the cooler air seeping in from the gap was appreciated. I shifted, peering through the gap into the camp; I spotted John, Arthur and Karen all sitting around the campfire, just being joined by Abigail. I sighed and slumped back down onto my back, resenting my injury from keeping me held back, away from everyone else.

My eyes went out of focus where I gazed at the split in the canvas, from my position I saw trees and sky, though it all blurred into a mix of pale blue and brown as I lost myself for a while in the murmurs of the camp. I heard Abigail laughing, followed by Arthur and Karen, and wondered if John had said something funny. I sighed sadly, then jumped when a mass blocked out the sky through the gap.

My eyes refocused; the mass appeared to be Charles, standing outside the tent.

"Hello?" I called out when he didn't immediately do anything.

"Oh, hey," he responded, "I was trying to listen to see if you were asleep."

"Come in," I invited, and he lifted the canvas and hesitantly peered inside, like he was expecting to find me in my undergarments or something. "Would you open it up fully, please? I feel lonely," I chuckled.

"Of course," he nodded, then set to work pulling back the majority of the canvas that was closing me off from the rest of the camp. "How're you feeling?"

"Pretty good. The burn behind my knee is giving me some trouble, though," I admitted.

"Yeah? That's why I'm here," he began, picking something up from the floor just outside the tent. It was a mortar and pestle, filled with purple flowers. "I went hunting yesterday, brought back some meat this morning, but I came across some lavender."

"Lavender," I repeated curiously. As he approached and moved a crate to sit down on, I caught the scent of the purple flowers inside the mortar, a lovely soft, fresh, soothing scent.

"Yeah, I thought I could mash it up, make a paste. If you want, we could put it on your wounds, it should help with the inflammation, and help keep at bay any infection," he told me. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course,” I nodded.

"I'll be as gentle as I can. Has anyone checked your wounds today?"

"No, not yet."

"Okay, I'll take a look soon," he said, then placed the mortar on his lap, taking the pestle and beginning to grind the flowers down.

The scent became stronger as he crushed the flowers, releasing the oils and fragrance into the air. I breathed in deeply, glancing out towards the sky as I laid back and waited. It smelled incredible.

"How've you been sleeping?" Charles asked me after a moment, over the repetitive sound of the pestle rubbing along the bottom of the mortar. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, watching him add more lavender from a pouch he wore on his gun belt. I hesitated for a few moments before responding.

"Okay. Arthur was in here with me. I sleep better with him around," I told him, and Charles hummed in acknowledgement. "How're you doing? What do you think of the new camp?"

"It's not my favourite place," he admitted. "This whole area feels… dark. I don't like it. I prefer being further south-west. The trees out here; there's a lot of forest. Makes it hard to keep track of your surroundings. When I was hunting, I kept making myself paranoid, always looking over my shoulder. Like there's people everywhere, but they're good at hiding."

"Oh, don't tell me that. You'll freak me out," I chuckled. Charles smirked.

"The girl who grew up in the swamp, getting freaked out so easily?" He teased.

"I guess I got used to the swamp, and all the spooky things you hear at night."

"Swanson seemed to think the swamp was haunted," he pointed out.

"It could very well be. I always wondered. There were stories when I was growing up, 'bout a woman who haunts Bluewater Marsh, telling passing cowboys that she loves them."

"Yeah? Maybe she just weren't interested in me," he snorted. I laughed, shaking my head at him.

"I never heard anything that couldn't be explained away somehow," I told him. "It's probably just overactive imaginations. But it's understandable, it's creepy. You don't know what's out there in the fog, and some of the sounds the wildlife makes, you'd think it was a lonely spirit, crying out."

"Well, a spirit won't hurt you. People, though. The Night Folk? You didn't seem worried about them, so you shouldn't worry too much about the Murfree Brood, as long as you stick around camp or go out with a partner."

I chuckled, "sticking 'round camp should be easy, not sure I'll be going out for a while," I said. Charles hummed quietly, a little guiltily, but I smiled at him to show him I wasn't put out by the comment.

"You'll heal fast if you keep doing what you're doing; lots of rest and regular check ups."

I nodded in understanding.

"I've spent time out here before," I changed the subject, "a little further south. After my parents passed I was looking for work, I came to Van Horn to see if there was anything going. I didn't have much luck, but I liked the place. I used to go up the lighthouse and look at the view, even slept up there a couple times after we lost the house. Never strayed into the forests too much, though."

"Van Horn. That's just a little place, right?" He asked. I nodded my head.

"Ain't much to it, and I wouldn't call it pretty. But it's near the water, and it's usually quiet."

"You like being near the water?"

"Yeah. I always liked that about growing up in the swamps, only in Van Horn, or 'round Flat Iron lake at Clemens Point, there ain't no alligators," I chuckled. "I don't know. The sound of the water lapping up against the shore has always been nice to me. What sort of place do you like?"

"Anywhere that's open," he told me. "I don't like cities. Or even really towns. I liked being out west, before Blackwater. That's the freest place I've been; only it's so damn hot out there. The sun doesn't pull any punches. So uh, I guess The Heartlands, near our camp at Horseshoe Overlook. That was my kind of place. Minus all the O'Driscolls and Cornwall's henchmen."

"Yeah, I liked that place too," I nodded, letting out a soft sigh.

"May I?" Charles nodded to my leg as he put the mortar aside.

"Of course, thank you," I said hitching my skirt up enough to expose my bandaged leg.

"My hands are clean. I washed them before I came in and started working with the flowers," he assured me as he scooted forwards, and delicately began unwinding the bandage.

I glanced over at the mortar, seeing a pulpy, thick paste inside. I pressed my lips together as he peeled the dressing's final layer away from my skin. I didn't look as he inspected it. Each time someone came to check my wounds, I was nervous, half expecting them to discover puss and all sorts, dooming me.

"It looks like it's healing well," he told me, and I released a relieved breath. "I'm going to have to touch it to apply this, you think you can handle it?"

"Yeah," I nodded.

"How's the patient, doc?" Arthur's voice made me jump a little. I glanced towards the foot of the bed to where he was leaning up against the side of the wagon with his coffee in his hand.

"She's okay. She's letting me apply some lavender to her burns. It should help soothe them, and lessen any pain."

"They don't look too bad," Arthur commented. "Still hurting?" He glanced at me.

"A little," I nodded.

"When she says a little, I'm concerned she means a lot, and she's just putting on a brave face," Charles mused quietly in a monotone.

"I might be inclined to share that concern, Mr. Smith," Arthur nodded, his eyes on mine.

"It's… moderate. Hurts worse in the evening, for some reason."

Charles hummed thoughtfully. "The blistered parts don't look as bad, they're going down. I'll avoid those, don't want to risk bursting them," he told me, and I watched him as he scooped some of the lavender pulp onto his fingers, and gingerly packed it against my leg, sticking to the less severe of my burns. He was careful enough that it only hurt a little more than it did anyway.

"You think it'll scar?" I asked.

"I… I'd be surprised if it didn't. But I can't imagine it'll be too bad. Probably only on the worst parts, like here; on the outer part of your calf," he explained, and I nodded in understanding.

Charles was very gentle as he applied the paste, pressing carefully and only enough to make sure it stuck. It caused discomfort, of course, but not a lot. Arthur was quiet, staring down at my leg with a slightly pursed mouth and a look of deep thought on his face, his brow furrowed a bit. I knew him well enough by then that I could tell he was feeling guilty, just like he had the night it happened. Just like he had when my neck was wounded by the O'Driscoll.

"Scars don't really bother me. Just a reminder of how lucky we all are to be alive, right?" I said, and they both glanced at me.

"I guess that's one way of looking at it," Charles said, and I looked at the scar across his cheek, wondering if it bothered him. It shouldn't, I thought, it was interesting, as far as scars went. It framed his face in a way that gave him something extra, rather than take away. Similarly to John's. Perhaps I was odd, thinking that scars made a person more interesting to look at.

I looked at Arthur, then, seeing him thumb the scar on his own chin, and I smiled at him. The smile he returned to me was small but affectionate.

"Okay, just gotta wrap this back up, alright? How was that?" Charles asked, sitting back and reaching for the tin of medical supplies that stayed on the table by the bed while I was recovering. He opened it up and retrieved some fresh dressing.

"It was fine. Thank you, Charles," I nodded, nibbling on my bottom lip for a moment as he began to wrap my leg back up. "Actually, thank you for everything. I never said this, but when it happened, I know I clung to you like a baby; thank you for being there."

"Don't thank me. I just happened to be next to you, I didn't do anything special," he replied, his voice a little quiet and uncomfortable. He stole a glance at Arthur, then added, "I know I wouldn't've been your first choice," he released a laugh.

I wasn't really sure why he said that, or what he meant by it exactly. Arthur was staring at him too, looking about as clueless as me.

"Well, I appreciated your support in that moment. It was scary, I wasn't really sure what had happened but you kept me grounded," I continued, meeting Charles' eyes again. He simply nodded, his lips sealed.

Arthur took a drink of his coffee, screwing his face up. "I think I'll have to bar Mr. Duffy from making the coffee. This is so bitter, it's barely drinkable," he murmured, "you folks want any coffee? Think I'll make a fresh batch."

"Oh, that'd be nice," I nodded, "thanks."

"I'm good, thanks," Charles said, and then Arthur headed off with a nod. Charles finished bandaging my leg, and was closing up the tin when he spoke again, "sorry for the odd response earlier. I know Arthur's been feeling guilty over all this and not being able to keep you safe. I didn't want to make him feel like I was somehow– I don't know. I know he would've liked to have been there for you that night, instead."

I looked at him for a moment, considering. "You didn't want to make him feel worse. Or… inadequate," I murmured.

"Yeah. Didn't take me long to figure out what kind of person he is. I don't think he's the jealous type, I think he's more likely to just feel bad about himself," he said, and I glanced over at Arthur where he was making the coffee across the camp.

"You hit the nail on the head. I weren't thanking you to rub his face in it or nothing–"

"No, I know."

"Did he say something to you?" I questioned. He took a breath as he wiped his hands on his pants, ridding himself of bits of crushed lavender.

"When we were heading up here together, it was a long ride. We talked about a lot of things, about Guarma. About what happened while he was away. About the gang, and of course, you came up," he explained. He paused for a while before elaborating, and I was beginning to worry that Arthur would return before he could finish. "He's scared for you. He's never had a woman he loves in the gang before, he didn't realise how much it was going to worry him. Apparently he invited Mary to run with the gang a couple times, back when they were together. I think he's starting to realise how naive he used to be, now he's being stared in the face by just how fragile life can be."

"Seeing so many people he cares about die in the space of a few months will do that to a person, I suppose," I sighed.

"Exactly," he nodded.

I'd realised by then that Arthur was a nurturing person at heart, but he didn't realise it himself. He took on so much responsibility for the gang, and after I came into his life and we fell for each other, he felt responsible for keeping me safe too. I could see that he felt like somewhat of a failure when for whatever reason, he couldn't.

I hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Whenever I've spoken to him, he seems torn. He keeps saying he wants us to leave, find a safer life together. But he cares for this gang so much– I know it ain't gonna happen until he knows everyone else has a future. And I understand that."

"There comes a point though…" Charles began under his breath, looking over his shoulder briefly, "where he has to realise that all of us? The gang? We've got each other. We'll figure a way with or without him, it ain't hanging on his shoulders alone. But you two? I, uh… I don't know. Maybe he needs to think about what he's putting first. Who really needs him the most. What he needs."

I stared at Charles with slightly parted lips, my mind reeling, buzzing. I didn't know what to say. He had a point and his words forced me to wonder and really question; did Arthur actually want to leave with me?

Arthur returned a few moments later, handing me a cup of fresh, hot coffee once I'd shifted to sit upright. I thanked him, and blew across the top of the cup, waiting for it to cool enough to sip.

"I need to get something to eat, then I'm heading out again," Charles announced, smacking his palms against his thighs before pushing up to his feet.

"Where you going? Anything you need a second gun for?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, it's not always a job for guns, Arthur," Charles told him, a playful sternness in his tone at Arthur's automatic assumptions. "I'm going to the reservation. Bringing them some supplies; food, mostly. I'll manage alone. I thought you had somewhere to be today, anyway."

"Ahh, I don't know if I'm goin'," Arthur waved a hand dismissively.

"Going where?" I asked curiously.

"Got a letter from that Braithwaite girl," Arthur replied.

"Excuse me," Charles said quietly, ducking out of the tent and leaving us to talk.

"Thanks again, Charles. Take care of yourself," I said before he left, and he nodded.

"See you later," Arthur added.

"Penelope?" I asked Arthur, sipping my coffee as he took Charles' place by the bed. He hummed with a nod. "What did she say?"

"She's requested my help. After I helped out with that march of hers I guess she figured I wouldn't mind helping her again, but it's an awful long way away now. Not sure if I wanna head back down south just yet," he breathed, rubbing at his eye with his free hand.

"Is it too dangerous?" I frowned.

He sighed quietly. "No," he admitted a little glumly, "I lost that excuse when I busted John from the state penitentiary. Sneaking into the Braithwaite's place is a little less dangerous than that."

"But you don't wanna go," I noted.

"She wants me to get her out of there, bring her to meet what's-his-face at the train station," he explained, "It's a long way away from here," he reiterated.

"I remember you telling me we'd help them, if we could," I said softly. Arthur laughed through his nose, smirking.

"I thought you might remember that," he murmured.

"I ain't gonna force you, not since I can't come along with you or do it myself," I shrugged, drinking more coffee, glancing out towards the main campfire. Arthur was quiet for a few moments.

"No, I'll go. Who knows, might make us a bit of money," he eventually said under his breath.

"Yeah? Not 'cause you're a hopeless romantic at heart?" I teased. Arthur rolled his eyes at me. "Oh, an eye roll, you've been a real rogue these days. Disobeying orders, showing a little attitude," I smirked at him as I teased, and he huffed a laugh.

"Should I apologise for my transgressions?" He queried, cocking a brow.

"No. Not if this is you realising you're perfectly capable of thinking for yourself," I replied, thinking back to our conversation in his room at Shady Belle, when he admitted that he'd never had to think for himself, he just did as he was told.

"Mm. Maybe it is."

"You seen Dutch this morning?"

"Not really, I think he's still pissed off at me."

"Well then, he's a fool."

"I see Jack playing with his pa and it don't matter much to me what Dutch thinks. A boy should have his daddy around, if it can be helped," he mumbled, staring down into his coffee cup. My lips parted, but I drew a blank; I knew what he was thinking about. I reached a hand to his knee, giving it a squeeze.

"Arthur, I want you to know I'm proud of you. You're harder on yourself than anybody else is, but you have a lot of good in you. It always prevails," I told him, not minding that he kept his eyes down rather than meeting mine. "It's why I love you. One of the many reasons."

"It's when you say things like that, I just picture packing up all our stuff onto this wagon and just getting the hell out of here before Dutch can even tell me what he thinks of the idea," he murmured. I withdrew my hand, cupped my coffee with both hands as I stared at him for a while. Eventually, he looked up at me to analyse my silence.

“I won’t hold my breath, but you know I’d never protest,” I sighed. Arthur looked sad for a moment, but I smiled at him, not wanting to go there. He smiled back and took a breath.

"Alright, princess. I got a love story to meddle in, haven't I?" He smirked.

"You go meddle in it, cross that off your list. One thing at a time," I smiled at him, "I'll be here when you get back, ain't going anywhere," I gestured to my leg with a sigh.

Arthur retrieved his coffee, downed the remainder, then stood up. He cupped the back of my skull and kissed my forehead, then smoothed his palm over my hair a few times before straightening up.

"I'll see you later, sweetheart. Can I get you anything before I go?" He queried, and I shook my head.

"I'm all good, thank you."

"What about a kiss, can I tempt you with one o' those?" He asked. I chuckled at the unexpected offer, and nodded.

"Go on then," I said, then he leaned down again, a finger under my chin to lift my lips to his. The kiss was tame and sweet, just enough for me to taste him and leave me greedily wanting more. Then he smiled at me one last time, and left.

I was excited to hear that Micah needed a button reattached to a pair of trousers. Not that I particularly enjoyed doing chores for him, he always seemed to get some sort of weird, gloating enjoyment from it, like he felt that me doing him a favour somehow gave him validation that he was above me. But I was just bored. Tired of feeling like a useless layabout, wanting to contribute to something, I was restless without productivity. I understood all too well how Arthur had felt during his recovery after his return from the O'Driscolls.

So, I sat on the bed with my sewing kit, doing an especially good job of repairing the garment, making sure that the button wasn't going anywhere any time soon. The monotonous task of looping the thread through the button, pulling it flush to the trousers, securing, fixing, maintaining, was nice to absorb myself in and killed some time. When it was repaired, I did a good scan of the beige fabric, pulling seams, inspecting stitching, searching for anything that might need my attention. I found a row of loose stitching on the inner seam, and so I spent a few minutes more taking some preventative measures in reinforcing it.

By the time I was done they were as good as new. I folded them neatly and handed them back to him when he came over to me in the afternoon.

"Thanks, doll, you ain't left no pins in there to stab me in the nutsack, have you?" He asked when he tucked them under his arm, crumpling them.

"I'm low on pins, ain't worth wasting one on your nutsack," I murmured in response.

"Right. Anyway, whenever Morgan gets back from whatever he's out doing, you let him know Dutch and I are in Annesburg, won't you? Need him to join us, soon as possible," he told me, his tone all serious and authoritative.

"Annesburg. What're you doing out there? I can tell you right now there ain't much worth robbing over there, ain't exactly a rich town."

"Business, my dear. Ain't nothing you gotta worry your pretty head about," he cooed, and I frowned in confusion.

"What business you got? I'll worry my pretty head all I like, when you and Dutch are pulling Arthur out to some middle-of-nowhere mining town for business, when not twenty-four hours ago you was looking at him like he was the spawn of Satan for going out and damning us all," I spat, cocking my head.

"As much as I'm sure he'd love to spend all day hiding under your skirt, we've got wind of Cornwall stopping through there, Dutch wants to go pay him a visit to talk things out like men, try and stop him sending the Pinkertons after us like foxes to a coop," Micah explained, idly picking up the photograph of me standing up on one of the crates along with all of Arthur's other keepsakes. His moustache curled snidely at the sight of it, then he put it back down. "Don't worry. We ain't going out there to bump off old Sparkly Blues Morgan."

I snorted at Micah's attempt at a derogatory name for him, taking it only as proof that even he had noticed how lovely Arthur's eyes were.

I smiled tightly. "Alright. I'll let him know."

"Good girl," he grinned, nodded courteously, and spun on his heel to leave. My gut churned at his tone and his praise. It astounded me how different those words felt whenever Arthur whispered them to me.

“What was all that about?” A gravelly voice startled me and I gasped when John rounded the corner from behind the wagon.

“Jesus, John,” I breathed, and he smirked at me.

“Sorry,” he laughed.

“It weren’t nothing. He just wanted me to pass a message on to Arthur,” I told him with a casual shrug. I looked him up and down, pleased to see him cleaned up and looking slightly less like a delinquent. “How’re you settling in?”

“Good as I could hope, considering daddy didn't want me back,” he said drily, coming and sitting up on the table next to the bed, putting his feet up on the chair. I smiled in amusement at his choice of seat.

“I’m glad you’re back, I hope that counts for something,” I told him quietly and he looked at me from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, it does, actually,” he exhaled, then looked at me fully. “I uh… I wanted to ask you somethin’,” he began.

“Okay,” I nodded, cocking my head.

“Since you’re a woman, I guess I feel like you’d be the best for this,” he said, and I raised my brows a little, curiosity piqued, “do you… really think Abigail and I got a chance?”

“I’m sorry,” I balked, completely astounded as to why he’d think I was qualified to answer such a question.

“Well, she’s been different since I been back, I can't explain it. She’s nicer. I feel like maybe things are looking up, but I don’t quite know where I stand,” he sighed, gesticulating anxiously, “I’m sure you know by now what a shitty man I’ve been to her. I guess I wanna know, do you reckon a woman could ever forgive a man like me?”

“I really ain’t the one to ask this, and I think you know that,” I said, and he sighed heavily, though he nodded.

“At least give me some… reassurance,” he pleaded and I chuckled.

“You want reassurance,” I repeated drily, glancing out over the camp, considering.

“I know I ought to be speaking to her about this. And we have, a little, but somehow I feel like she ain’t being as open with me as she could be. Or maybe I’m not. I don't know, I ain’t ever been good at this,” he grumbled, clearly frustrated with himself. I met his eyes and offered him a comforting smile.

“John, just tell her how you feel. If you want to make things really work with her then she’s gotta know your heart’s in it, and not that you’re just going through the motions because it’s what everyone expects of you,” I told him, leaning closer to him, “is it what you want?”

He was quiet for a few long seconds, his eyes dropping down to his feet. “Yeah. Yeah, I reckon it is,” he said under his breath.

“Then tell her. She’ll appreciate that. Transparency is the most important–” I caught myself, realising I was sounding far more knowledgeable than I really had any right pretending I was, “if being with Arthur has taught me anything, it’s that being honest and transparent is a lot easier than holding things back.”

“You two seem to have it figured out. Relationships, I mean, you seem to just work,” John mused, and it put a smile on my face.

“Arthur and I… we’ve got our own stuff,” I told him softly, “but we talk, that’s all.”

“I don’t know if talkin’s gonna solve all me and Abigail's problems, talking usually turns into shouting,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

“Well, maybe not, but it’s a start. Just… try not to let it get to the shouting stage,” I smiled sheepishly.

“That ain’t usually my call.”

“Hey, that’s the kind of flippant attitude that’ll get you yelled at,” I snorted, smacking his knee lightly.

“Alright!” He snickered, crossing his arms over his chest. I exhaled loudly and smiled at him.

“You and Abigail can work if you try, that's my official response; as a woman,” I smirked. “You just need to speak to each other. She loves you, and so does Jack. Don’t squander what you’ve got. You’ll need each other when this all falls apart.”

“You sound pretty confident that this-” he gestured to our surroundings- “ain’t being held together by much.”

“Well, do you disagree?” I queried.

“No. Guess I’m just surprised to hear you validate it,” he breathed.

We both fell into silence for a few moments, each staring off into space and letting the conversation sink in.

“John?” I started, softly and timidly.

“Mm?” He looked at me.

“Work things out with Abigail. Get out of here, both of you, with Jack,” I whispered. His dark eyes widened a bit as he stared, then he blinked and looked away, his lips parting but nothing coming out. “I think everybody knows that it’d be best for you.”

“I…” He tried, shaking his head, fiddling with his hands. “I don't know what’ll happen. We’re all just… doing our best, right?” He met my eyes again, his expression soft, brows arched.

“Yeah,” I nodded, words hushed and coming out with an exhale, “we are.”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #fanfiction #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #atink #rdr2 fanfic #reader insert

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tiny-maus-boots · 5 years

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Wild West AU pt 14

A/N: Anyway my bestie is amaze and i love her lots. she’s responsible for making sure i use knelt instead of kneeled and finds all my fuck ups and posts all my stuff on ao3. thanks a million @chloes-yellow-cup

Chloe

Don’t look at her face. Work the stitch. Just work the stitch.

Chloe’s red stained hands shook as she worked quickly to stitch the bullet hole in Aubrey’s thigh. It had gone clean through but at a wicked angle that had just narrowly missed the bone and vein alike. But there was still so much blood. Aubrey’s blood.

Don’t look at her face. Just work the fucking stitch. Don’t look at her face.

It was easy enough to do with Stacie hunched over Aubrey, the blonde’s head cradled as gently as possible in the tall woman’s lap. But every now and again Stacie would lean up enough to watch Chloe working as quickly and carefully as she could. If she wasn’t careful she’d catch a glimpse of Aubrey’s face in those moments and she just couldn’t see the other woman like that. She just couldn’t. Chlo bent over and bit the end of the thread after tying it off. She could taste the metallic zing of Aubrey’s blood on her lips and her heart stopped.

Don’t look at her face.

If she looked at Aubrey’s face, lips drawn and white from blood loss. If she looked at the slack jaw and closed eyes…

Chloe took a second to blink the tears from her eyes, they were just a distraction she couldn’t afford right now. It was making it difficult to inspect the next wound, this one closer to the hip. When she’d sent Aubrey and Stacie away to the caverns she hadn’t anticipated this. She’d known there was a chance they’d get hurt but…not like this. Not. Like. This.

Not Aubrey.

A bead of sweat started to drip down her forehead and she swiped at it with the back of her hand, leaving a smear of something thicker and sticky behind that she could still feel. It was Aubrey’s blood and her stomach clenched painfully at the thought. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t done this for them all before, it wasn’t as if she’d never had to carefully stitch together skin split open from knives and bullets before. It wasn’t as if she’d never done this for Aubrey, who had more than her fair share of devastating wounds inflicted upon her. But it was different this time.

This time Aubrey’s heartbeat was a bare flutter of a pulse in her neck. A shallow rise of her chest for a short breath. A dying breath.

Don’t you fucking look at her face. Work the goddamned stitch.

So she did, with fingers cramping from holding the delicate needle so firmly between them. The hip wasn’t as bad as she had feared, more of a graze than anything, but she had yet to look at the shoulder that at first glance seemed nothing more than raw meat. Chloe took a few deep breaths through her mouth hoping to avoid the smell of blood that had never bothered her before but now twisted her guts tighter and blurred her vision with more tears.

Don’t. Look. At. Her. Face.

“Bec, bring me that canteen.” Chloe’s voice was soft but steady, none of the quiver of fear she was really feeling coming out. Not yet. She couldn’t yet. First she had to try and save her best friend. Stacie’s sobs fell like blows to her heart and she had to squeeze her own eyes shut to force the broken sound of it out of her mind. Beca’s warm presence at her shoulder brought her back to herself and she gave a grateful nod of thanks. Chloe yanked at the seam at the shoulder of Aubrey’s shirt to rip it open and stifled a sob of her own when the rough action did nothing to rouse the blonde woman.

Don’t look at her face. Work the wound.

Her hands reached around the back of Aubrey’s shoulder, fingers searching delicately to find the exit hole. There wasn’t one that she could feel and Chloe shook her head. The longer that slug stayed in the higher a chance of Aubrey dying from infection before she’d healed from the actual injury. “Can you flush out the entry point for me? I have to see where the bullet went.”

Beca nodded and poured water as gently as she could over the hole torn in Aubrey’s shoulder. The soft sound of shuffling bodies and quiet sniffs distracted Chloe and she glanced up at their crew standing around the platform of the train car. Their girls and some Swansons too, what few survived anyway. All of them half burnt or bloodied. Some with gunshot wounds themselves. They had slowly begun to trickle in after Emily and Kat showed up riding Rowdy and Roan. That was the first moment her heart fell to her stomach and it hadn’t recovered in the slightest by the time Stacie and Bumper rode in on what looked like government issue horse stock.

As long as she might live she would never get over the image of Aubrey slumped in the saddle with a clearly lost in her grief Stacie, cradling the bleeding blonde as if that alone would tether Bree to this world. It had broken her heart in ways that would never recover. She could see that reflected back to her in the faces of their girls.

“Is that good Chlo?”

Chloe cleared her throat and looked back to the body, not the face, of her patient. She nodded once and held out her hand for Beca to pour water over. “My hand too please…” The water was still cool from the inside of the canteen and it seemed wrong, obscene even, that it was refreshing. Chloe shook out her hand and hunched back over Aubrey’s shoulder. “M’sorry Bree…”

Aubrey’s body stiffened and bucked when Chloe dug her finger into the bullet hole, searching for the metal fragments lodged inside it. Her heart squeezed painfully again when the blonde let out a strained wail of pain the deeper she probed. Hadn’t Aubrey been through enough? Hadn’t she suffered more than any one body should suffer? Chloe couldn’t choke back the sob this time as Beca knelt to help Stacie hold Bree down and steady the weak thrashing limbs while she worked at digging out the slug.

She prized it out of the flesh finally and tossed it away as if it burned. “Needle!” Someone, she didn’t know who, handed her the needle already freshly threaded. It was a small mercy for her frazzled nerves.

Don’t look at her face. Work the stitch.

And she didn’t. Her focus narrowed down to the mess of ruined flesh and muscle as she worked to close the gap as neatly as she could. It was hard and the needle slipped constantly. Finally the ragged edges came together and she tied off the thread and cut it off with a snap of her teeth. Her head turned toward Aubrey and she lost her willpower not to look. Her eyes traced Stacie’s bowed back as she cradled Aubrey’s head so tenderly, the tears falling on Aubrey’s too pale face every time Stacie leaned over to press soft kisses to the blonde’s brow, begging her to fight a little longer. Begging her to stay. Another spasm of pain clutched at her stomach and the second she was done she scooted back off the platform to the edge and might have even fallen to the ground had Beca not grabbed her arm to steady her as she climbed down from the train.

Chloe didn’t know where she was going she only knew she had to get away quickly because the hot bubble of acid climbing her throat was going to burst. And it did. The redhead dropped to her knees and spewed out her feelings all over the hard packed earth. Comforting arms wrapped around her once she was done heaving, warmth from Beca’s body soothed the tight muscles in her back and she felt the tremble of her mate’s body as she sobbed along with Chloe.

“It’s okay Chlo…it’s okay. She’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be alright.”

Chloe wasn’t so sure of that honestly. Aubrey was strong as a bull and could just as ornery and stubborn as one too. But this was bad. As bad as she’d seen it. And she just didn’t know and Beca could sense it when she didn’t have anything to say.

Something didn’t feel right in the air but she was too caught up in her worry to notice the shift. It was as though the tension of the moment had kept a tenuous and fragile peace but when it had broken so had that silent understanding.

Her dash to get as far away from the pain of a nearly lifeless and limp Aubrey had brought her and Beca a good twenty or thirty feet from the train, too far to do anything when what was left of Jesse’s crew drew their weapons and pointed them at the women assembled.

“Now that you’ve patched up your crew I expect we best be getting on with this gold.”

He was older than the rest, not someone they had worked with before like Luke or Bumper. Someone that didn’t have any ties to any of them and wouldn’t blink twice before killing them. Beca started to stand but Chloe kept a hand on her arm to keep her from launching herself like a cannon ball only to be shot down after her first step.

“You son of a…”

Stacie started to reach for her gun but he pointed his own at her face and gave a smirk. “Hey! That’s enough out of you. Should be grateful I waited for you all to see to your own. Now get off my train.”

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