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redeadepression · 2 years

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Clemens Point - Chapter 1

Reflections Series: Part 9 of a series exploring John’s seemingly tense relationship with Abigail.

Relationships: John Marston/Abigail Roberts Marston

Prominent Characters: John Marston, Abigail Roberts Marston, Susan Grimshaw, Arthur Morgan, Jack Marston, Dutch Van der Linde

Summery: John has a serious decision to make after being faced with a revelation the night before moving camp to Clemens Point. Abigail is trying her best to be a better person but her suspicious and persistent change of heart makes John fear it’s all part of her long con.

John has been beginning to doubt Dutch since Blackwater and with the Pinkertons relentlessly on their tail and Dutch seemingly going off the deep end; John begins to worry that none of them will live long enough for decisions about his family to matter.

Words: Chapter 1 - 22033

AO3 Link: To be added

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of self harm, Suicidal thoughts/tendencies, Domestic abuse, Past Gaslighting, Toxic relationships, Dubious consent, Fighting scenes, Mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of rape, PTSD, BDSM exploration, Dom!Sub! Dynamic.

Other Tags: Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Some fluff, Canon compliant, Canon interactions, sex, blow jobs, grinding.

Author Notes:

This entire fic is way too long to post in one part so I will post all the chapters (4 of them) separately and link them all together once they’re all posted.

I hope you guys like this one. It was hard to write but I am really happy with the way it turned out in the end. I’m so sorry I only seem to post this series once a year!

I hope I’ve done a good job of conveying John’s myriad of mental illness’s and the fact that in this time period there was not really much known about mental illness and no help available for people that suffered from them. John’s slow slip into realisation that even when things are good for him he seems to still be suffering is a sad but necessary plot point for this series. I’ve tried to highlight his pain due to depression/anxiety and PTSD in this story and not just the things happening in his relationships. I hope I did his slow decline into depression justice over the course of this series and it doesn’t come off as him being sulky and overreactive for no reason.

Please remember that if any conversations seem a little jarring or like a long monologue it is generally a canon camp interaction that I've fit into the story. I tried to fit as many of John's in as possible!

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The road to the Van der Linde Gang’s new campsite was long and hot. The chill that had hung in the air around Horseshoe Overlook had long since abandoned them and was replaced with sticky humid air.

Blow flies the size of raisins plagued them and their horses throughout the entire journey. Disgusting things. Small, black buzzards that would make a beeline for any open orifice on the human body and to John’s dismay, fresh scars.

He batted the bugs away from his face irately. Huffing forcefully through his nose to try and deter the stubborn creatures from bothering with his face any longer.

A chuckle along-side him caught his ear and he turned to meet Karen’s gaze as she shook her own head, blinking wildly as a buzzed tried to land in her eye.

“Ah, bloody things!” She exclaimed, shoeing them away from her face with her palm and staring at John incredulously for a moment before turning back to the trail when he didn’t reply.

He couldn’t bring himself to smile at their shared plight. His features were locked in a permanent scowl for fear that letting himself relax his face would end in disaster.

He hadn’t slept at all the night before. Rising before the others and packing away his tent without being asked. Before Susan could wake him herself and demand he get it done.

John couldn’t help but feel a little slighted by the fact that Arthur’s tent had been packed away for him. The hard work had been done by the time John had gone to bed.

He wondered briefly where the other man had slept before remembering he hadn’t even hung around at all after the shootout in Valentine. He and Charles were long gone by the time Abigail had come to talk to him.

He supposed Arthur had slept at the new campsite. John wondered if he would stick around long enough to help them set up or if he would lead them in and disappear once more.

He seemed to be gone more than ever these last few weeks.

Probably a good thing.

John considered as his eyes rose toward the back on the wagon he was following. Abigail and Sadie were sat on either side. Both leaning against their respective walls and chatting quietly. Jack was sitting in between them, playing with his little horse figurine and mumbling to himself.

John sighed quietly, eyes shifting to an upcoming tree as the wagon passed it closer than it probably should have.

“Here!” He commanded, pulling on the rope he had attached to Old Boy’s saddle and directing the other horse he was leading to walk closer to the gelding. She did as she was told, her tummy brushing up against John’s calf as he moved the two horses to the right slightly and avoided getting their rope caught between the trees.

Once clear of the shrubbery, he let the rope go and leant over to give the spare horse a quick pat for being so obedient.

His eyes wandered to the seat of the wagon in front of him. Spying Uncle’s hands on the reigns through the boxes beside Abigail.

He glared at the back of the old man’s head, knowing the drunkard was probably already several bourbons deep at this early hour. He’s only just missed that tree and yet he carried John’s most precious cargo in the back of his wagon.

He should have offered to drive. But he knew Old Boy wouldn’t listen to anyone else. From what he’d heard, the gang had a terrible time getting him to follow them from Blackwater to Colter and again from Colter to Horseshoe when John had been too injured to ride.

Susan had been happy that John was up and about and could ride his own horse and he wasn’t about to rock the boat so early after spending so damn long off his feet.

John shifted in his saddle, feel stiff and sore from all the physical activity the days before. He’d really pushed himself a lot farther that he should have. His body was still heeling and his emotions still a little too raw for his liking.

Abigail’s confession the night before had broken him a little harder than he’d expected. His heart was firmly in two and he wasn’t quite sure how to go about stitching it back together or if that was even possible.

His eyes flicked upward, meeting little Jack’s as the child watched him from the back of the wagon. John was surprised to see him staring. Feeling uncomfortable about being looked at while he felt so vulnerable, even if was just Jack.

The kid smiled at him, holding up his little hand and waving it eagerly in John’s direction.

John looked on sadly, feeling bad for the kid. His own hand rose slowly, flicking hesitantly at Jack in a small wave before he pulled it back to his reigns.

He watched as the kid’s smile widened and he turning to Abigail excitedly. His toothy grin and little finger pointing back towards John as he gushed.

Abigail nodded enthusiastically at Jack. Turning to face John momentarily and locking eyes with him. A weary smile on her lips as she looked to him sadly.

John felt the need to turn and check on the other horse as an excuse to look away.

He felt a clench in his heart at the interaction. Unsure if it was caused by Jack or Abigail. He couldn’t tell anymore. Everything hurt him in one way or another. He was so tired of trying to put rhyme or reason behind the things he was feeling when he knew deep down none of it mattered.

He had learned the hard way that knowing the truth didn’t make it hurt any less.

Swallowing thicky he bowed his head, staring at Old Boy’s mane. Letting the gelding walk at his own pace behind the wagon without needing to direct him.

He couldn’t bring himself to look up again. To know for sure if she was watching or if she had looked away just as fast as he had.

It didn’t make a difference anyway. Even if she was still observing him it was just to sate her own guilt.

Pretend.

John reminded himself, hands trembling against the reigns as he clenched his teeth against the burn behind his eyes.

He found himself grateful for the fly that landed on his nose. Affording him a distraction and a reason for him to swipe at his face.

He was pathetic and they all knew it. He wasn’t sure he had any pride left at this point. Didn’t know why he kept trying to hold it together when everything around him was falling apart.

He pulled on Old Boy’s reigns. Slowing him before veering to the left and pulling him to a halt completely out of everyone’s way.

Slipping down from the saddle, he fumbled with the rope attaching the other horse and waved the rest of the caravan onwards while he feigned trouble securing her as his reason to fall behind.

He stood there for a long minute, hands rolling the rope through his fingers as he stared through misty eyes at the chestnut fur under his hands.

He waited until they had all long passed before mounting Old Boy once more and continuing at a slow pace behind them. Ears pricked for signs of trouble now that he was bringing up the rear.

He didn’t want them to see him like this.

Although he supposed everyone already had to some extent. He hadn’t been able to control himself at Colter. At least that was what he told himself now that it was over.

Emotions had been running high and he had made a fool of himself openly. What was left of his dignity was torn to shreds and he wasn’t sure anyone really respected him as an outlaw anymore.

Part of him wished he still had the excuse of being injured to fall back on so people would assume his pain was physical. The wetness on his cheeks was due to the unrelenting aching of his wounds and not his heart.

He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for only a second before opening them and vowing to keep himself together.

He mounted up again, spurring Old Boy into a trot to catch up to the caravan.

Charles waved them off the main road and down a little path through the forest. Coming to a clearing with a large tree in the middle, the caravan finally stopped.

John rode around the wagons and hitched his horses to some spare trees off to the side and out of everyone’s way.

Moving to the wagon Abigail had been situated in, he started to unload his own things as well as hers. Placing all the crates and boxes to the side of the wagon for easier distribution.

He worked fast. Only stopping to wipe the sweat from his brow before he fell into his eyes. He hated setting up camp. It was his least favourite chore of all.

The women were usually pretty good about setting up their own lodgings. But as a man John felt obliged to help them after he’d finished his own. He often found himself working long into the night to make sure everyone had a place to sleep while other men like Bill, Uncle and Pearson sat around and got drunk.

John picked up the last of the boxes from the first wagon and jumped back down to the ground with a thud. Placing it atop the rest of the pile he paused to knead his knuckles into the small of his back momentarily. He was already starting to feel the burn of exertion and he hadn’t even started on his own tent yet.

“Alright John?” Charles asked as he approached, causing the younger man to stand up straight in response. John nodded stiffly, refusing to look Charles in the eyes as he returned his attention to the boxes in front of him. He lifted one against his chest and began to walk towards the campsite.

Charles watched him go without a word. Looking over the boxes briefly before grabbing one filled with John’s things and following behind the other man.

He didn’t know John too well. But he had seen enough suffering in his life to know when someone was in pain.

He wasn’t the kind of person to bring attention to the fact. Make John feel inadequate and weak. Instead, he helped where he could in a way that he hoped wasn’t being perceived as pity by John himself or anyone watching.

John stopped under the large tree in the middle of camp. Eyes wandering across the land as he tried to decide where would be the best area to set up his tent.

His eyes settled on a shady spot not too far from the tree. Flat ground, not too much grass and no room for water to pool around the tent if it rained. He smiled to himself, taking a step towards it and stopping suddenly as he watched Dutch stride forwards right into the perfect plot.

“Mrs Grimshaw!” He called enthusiastically, gesturing to the ground where he stood. “Here is perfect, thank you!” He shouted, tapping the ground with one boot to check the firmness before striding away as quickly as he came.

John’s fingers flexed against the heavy box he was holding. Watching as Susan dragged a heavy tent pole over the grass and dumped it hard into the place where Dutch had just stood.

John rolled his eyes as the scene. Of course Dutch had taken the perfect spot for himself. As if John should have expected anything less from their leader.

He sighed, repositioning the box in his grip as he took another few steps forwards and veered to the right of Dutch’s tent.

“I’m setting Arthur’s wagon up there John!” Susan called to him as he bent to place the box down.

“Seriously?” He asked in annoyance, turning to face her with a scowl from his position halfway to the ground.

“There’s a spot to the left of Dutch for you.” She replied without looking at him as she struggled with another heavy tent pole.

“For Christ’s sake.” John mumbled, straightening up again and stomping to the other side of Dutch’s spot. “He ain’t even here.” He grumbled, dumping the crate down heavily in the dirt. Watching the dust that rose from the uneven ground before spinning around and bumping into Charles.

“Oh.” He yelped, regaining his balance and grabbing at the box in the other man’s hands to stop it from tumbling. “Sorry.” He said shakily, feeling embarrassment creeping onto his cheeks as he side stepped the older man and headed back towards the wagon.

John turned slyly as he walked to watch Charles place his box down next to the one John had dumped before turning himself and following in John’s footsteps back to the wagon.

John turned back quickly, feeling grateful for the other man’s help but sick at the thought of needing it.

He sighed heavily as he reached the cart and leaned down to pick up another crate. Charles appeared beside him once more and before he could be stopped, helped to levy the weight in John’s arms until it was tight against his chest.

John stared at the other man for a second. Feeling he should say something but instead nodding softly as the bigger man smiled.

Charles knew he was weak. Knew he needed help despite his blatant refusal to ask for it. He still hadn’t fully recovered after weeks of rest. It was humbling to say the least. He wasn’t as spry as he used to be. Bouncing back from a scratch or a bullet within days and back out on the job.

He wondered cynically if this was just what getting older was like or if it was specific to him and his injuries.

“Coming?” Charles asked, startling him from his thoughts as he was overtaken by the other man who had stopped to look back at him. John blinked himself back to reality, nodding again at the other man and following behind him sheepishly as they headed back towards his designated spot.

Charles seemed like a nice guy. John hadn’t really had much to do with him since he’d arrived. The other man wasn’t much of a talker and John struggled with making friends in the best of circumstances. They hadn’t really conversed in the six months Charles had been running with them, but John had heard from others that he was friendly and trustworthy.

“Thanks.” John said hoarsely as they both placed their crates down simultaneously.

“No problem.” Charles replied, placing his hands on his hips as he looked back towards the wagon. “Still got a few there to bring over.” He remarked casually, head gesturing toward the boxes.

“They’re Abigail’s.” John responded, following the other man’s gaze and then turning to look around the area. He spied her across the way, helping Tilly to attach some wire to one of the caravans to make a drying line for their clothes.

“I’ll ask where she wants her things.” Charles said after a moment of silence, making John inhale sharply. Charles had never known the two of them to share a tent. The entire time he’d been with the gang they’d been sleeping separately. John supposed the other man had no idea how such an unassuming sentence like that could hurt his tired heart.

He nodded a third time, unable to speak as he turned away from him and began rummaging through his crates for the tools he would need to erect his tent.

Charles watched from the corner of his eyes. Feeling strangely as though he had said something wrong. He took his leave shortly after. Heading towards the two women struggling to do a three person job alone and stopping to help them both before asking Abigail where she would like her crates.

John watched from under his lashes, fumbling as he pretended to tie two support beams together with straps of leather. Charles retreated from the conversation, gathering the left-over boxes and settling them down not far from where Abigail was helping the other girls. John winced as the crates hit the ground with a heavy thump across the campsite from him. She would never choose to voluntarily set up near him.

He sighed to himself, standing and inspecting his shoddy work before moving on to the next set of beams.

By the time he had finished setting up the frame of the tent it was already mid-afternoon. The sweltering heat and encompassing humidity were not a welcome change from the brisk winds on top of the Overlook.

John stumbled back from the last tie and wiped the sweat from his brow. Briefly pondering how rapidly the climate had seemed to change after only a few hours of riding from their previous camp.

He licked at his chapped lips, wondering if they would finally heal properly in the hotter climate or if they would instead blister and peel from the heat of the sun.

He took a second to breathe in between finishing the frame and moving on to draping the tarp. Retreating to the shade of the large tree in the middle of camp and leaning heavily against it as he took a moment for himself.

He was still exhausted from the shootout in Valentine and even if he wasn’t, not sleeping at all last night had him feeling unsteady on his feet.

John felt his gaze shift unconsciously towards Abigail as his mind wandered back to the night before. Unable to stop himself from getting lost once again in the turmoil of his own feelings.

He watched idly as the woman he loved wrestled with the covering on her lean-to. Grunting in protest as she tried and failed to drag it across the poorly held together frame. John could see from his point of view that it had snagged on a nail, and he wondered absently how long she would keep pulling before thinking to check why it wasn’t moving with her.

Without too much thought he took a few steps towards her. Noticing her demeanour change almost instantly as she spied him approaching from the corner of her eyes.

Standing up straight she wiped at her eyes with her forearm. Shaking her head to reposition her hair and staring intently at the fabric she was working with instead of in John’s direction.

He reached her and stood silently for a second as if waiting to be acknowledged. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but he supposed the silence seemed right for whatever they were in this moment.

John reached down to untangle the cover from the loose nail and tugged his side of it up into place. Abigail stayed still, watching him with confused eyes. Jumping to help as the tarp began to move with him. She grabbed a hold of her side. Smiling at finally being able to spread the fabric in the way she intended and lifting it up high above her head to hang it roughly against the wooden support.

“That won’t stay.” John said after a moment, flinging his own side up over the wood and moving to rummage through her things for some straps. Abigail watched silently, unsure what to say or if she should even speak. She hadn’t expected him to help her. Hadn’t expected anyone to help her really. Since she had been unceremoniously removed from John’s tent she had been dealing with the tarp repeatedly falling off the support and leaving her exposed to the elements or landing on and scaring her and Jack in their sleep.

Abigail watched silently as John fastened the corner of the tarp to the stand and moved passed her to start working on the corner she had neglected.

She felt uncomfortable in his presence.

Awkward.

She realised, sadly. Things with John were never really comfortable for her, even in the beginning when they would talk for hours. There were still silences that made her feel uneasy and kisses that felt her feeling strange.

But at the very least she could usually refrain from calling their interactions awkward with accuracy.

Her mind flicked back to the last conversation they’d had. She’d dropped some pretty heavy things on his plate and they hadn’t spoken since. She wondered solemnly if their tense relationship would repair itself in time or if she had forever changed their dynamic by giving him all the power.

“Hey, Jack.” John spoke softly, pulling Abigail from her thoughts as he greeted the young boy approaching behind her. “Hand me that hammer, would you?” He asked, gesturing passed Abigail and ignoring her astonished look.

“Okay!” Jack squealed excitedly, leaping into action and racing toward the hammer. Little feet tripping him up in his enthusiasm and almost sending him stumbling.

“Careful!” John shouted tersely before stopping to amend his tone. “Don’t want you to hurt yourself.” He explained gently as the boy nodded in response.

Abigail held back a smile, turning to busy herself in a crate of their belongings to avoid commenting on the situation. Perhaps John was coming around. The thought of Jack finally having the Father figure he’d pined for brought her close to tears.

She shook her head quickly, grabbing their bedding out of the crate and working on their bedrolls. She was getting ahead of herself. She’d only spoken to John last night. He wasn’t the kind of man to forgive and forget so easily. But maybe if she just kept her mouth shut they would be okay in time.

“There.” John said, finishing up with her lean-to and turning to walk away.

“John!” Abigail called, standing quickly and brushing the dust off her skirt. John turned stiffening as he prepared himself for some sort of critique. “Thank you.” Abigail said softly, causing his brows to raise in surprise. “For…” She paused, hand gesturing towards her tent before landing softly on Jack’s small shoulder. John looked between them knowingly. A tight smile, more like a grimace gracing his face as he nodded.

“No problem.” He said quietly, continuing back to his own tent.

It had seemed natural to help her. Something he wanted to do rather than an obligation. But that thought didn’t stop the overwhelming sense of dysphoria he felt at the notion that it wasn’t his responsibility anymore. If he didn’t want it to be.

He could walk away.

“Fuck.” John whispered under his breath as he returned to work on his tent. Struggling to throw his own draping over the top of his frame and yet pretending with all his will that he didn’t need help.

After what felt like an eternity, he managed it on his own. His bad leg aching as he forced himself not to limp between the finished tent and the box that contained his belongings.

He picked it up with a grunt and dropped it just inside the door. Moving on to setting up his cot so that he could rest in private.

“Let me help you.” A voice said from behind him. Startling him as he stretched out the thin mattress across the base.

Abigail smiled at him from the doorway. Shooing him away from the bed and stepping in between him and the mattress. John took a step back and watched in surprise as she flattened the old foam down before slipping a sheet out from under her arm and expertly tucking it in all the right places.

John watched in awe as she made his bed. Finishing up by taking his pillow off the top of his crate and slapping it against her hand a few times before placing it down at the end of the cot.

She turned to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm and nodding meaningfully. He nodded back, unconsciously following her to the doorway and watching as she returned to Jack.

His heart felt light at the gesture. Although he didn’t really understand it. Something was pulling in his chest at the thought that she had taken it upon herself to help him do anything at all.

He wondered if that was what having a family felt like. A happy one, he meant. One where helping each other wasn’t an obligation but a given. Something everyone did because they loved one another and not because they felt like they needed to, to be loved in return.

John ground his teeth, biting at his lip as he moved back inside the tent and slumped down on his freshly made bed.

He hated himself for daring to hope he could have that one day. But he hated himself even more for the hope that he could have that here, with her.

As far as camps went, Clemens Point wasn’t as bad as John had anticipated. The way his clothes had been tacked to his body within the first few minutes of arriving had put doubt in his mind about how comfortable the spot would be. But all in all he didn’t find it too unpleasant.

He wished he had been able to enjoy Horseshoe Overlook a little more. The few times he had sat near the cliff and looked out over the view it had been nice physically even if he had been suffering mentally at the time.

It had been a day or two since they’d arrived and set up. John wasn’t sure if he was honest. He was having trouble keeping track of things like that since the wolves. Although he refused to admit it to another person. Lest they accuse him of being too foggy to work.

John clenched his fists, cracking his thumbs and then his other fingers one by one as he stalled himself from walking closer to the main fire. He’d been hoping to speak to Arthur since before they’d left Horseshoe. But he hadn’t had a chance to catch the other man before Dutch had sent him out to find a new camp. Then once they’d arrived here Arthur was nowhere to be seen.

He’d ridden back in early this morning while John was asleep. The younger man had sighed at the sight of his horse tied to the hitching post closest to his tent. He needed to speak with him but that certainly didn’t mean he wanted to.

“Arthur.” John managed curtly as he approached, situating himself in front of the older man and blocking his view of the fire.

“Jesus Marston, that time on the mountains break your body thermometer?” Arthur asked grumpily. “Move.” He ordered, shooing John to the side with his free hand. The other holding a steaming cup of coffee close to his chest.

John furrowed his brows at the order, feeling defiance rise in his chest as he stood still for a second longer before squelching the urge to retort and stepping aside in silence.

Arthur watched him sceptically, eyes narrowing as he realised John was there to speak with him and wasn’t just bidding him good morning.

“What?” He asked flatly, irritation in his tone already. John pursed his lips to keep the choice words behind his teeth. He took a calming breath, letting it out slowly before speaking.

“I’m headin’ back to Valentine.” John answered. Arthur scoffed into his coffee, shaking his head before taking a long sip and looking up to John with a smirk.

“Why in the hell would you do that?” Arthur asked with a tone that implied he thought John was an idiot.

John felt his eye twitch at the question. He hoped it wasn’t noticeable from an outside perspective. He hadn’t really expected Arthur to think it was a good idea. But a small part of him still hoped he would come along for the ride anyway. The older man pissed him off to no end, but nothing had really changed in that regard. They’d been pissing each other off mutually for as long as they’d known one another. That had never stopped them from riding out together in the past.

Arthur chiding him about what a stupid idea he’d had while simultaneously gearing up his horse to join him on his dumb excursion. It was their dynamic.

But those days were gone. John realised with a pang of something he couldn’t discern. He watched bitterly as the older man waited for an answer to his question.

“Got no choice.” John answered finally. “I need the money.”

Arthur nodded thoughtfully and for a small moment John dared to hope he had reconsidered what an idiotic idea it was.

“A’right. Well, good luck then I guess.” Arthur replied half-heartedly. John nodded once, already knowing there was nothing else he could say to convince the other man to ride along.

He left the fire and headed for Old Boy. Greeting the horse affectionately before saddling up and riding out of camp.

He hadn’t told anyone except Arthur where he was headed. Figured he didn’t really need to. No one would ask after him anyway. Except maybe Dutch if he suddenly decided he needed someone to take his anger out on. By that time he would be long dead anyway, if things didn’t go as he planned.

Staring out over the vast lake as he rode along the trail beside it, John let his thoughts wander to the heaviness he felt in his chest. It hadn’t really left him since long before Blackwater. But it had retreated momentarily at times. Leaving him feeling a little lighter and like things might be okay.

Today it was different. Not like the other times he’d been alone to think and his mind had automatically brought him to thoughts of Abigail and Jack.

Today it was Arthur, he realised with a wince. The older man hadn’t even pretended for a second like he was considering joining him.

Despite all they’d been through since John’s return, the older man had still not fully forgiven him for his absence. Despite the long talks and the intimate ways Arthur knew John’s pain, the other man hadn’t let it go. He’d fucked up too badly by having the year away. It was unforgiveable and even though it hurt to think about it, John understood.

“Guess it really is done then.” He whispered to himself, staring at Old Boy’s mane and running his hands through it lightly.

He hadn’t just lost his wife the day he’d left. He’d lost his best friend as well. His brother. Even when things had seemed a little more normal here and there John knew deep down it was done. Arthur was finished with their friendship.

John was sure the only thing that kept the older man civil was the deep sense of pity he felt over the things he’d seen before Blackwater.

John remembered vividly the look in the older man’s eyes the night he had grabbed John’s wrist to stop him from pressing the cigarette into his skin once more. There was pity but it was outshone by concern. Despite his embarrassment a part of John had dared to hope that Arthur had really seen him. Heard his torment and in that moment decided to forgive.

But he could never be so lucky.

Over time anger had turned to sadness and the sadness had turned to resentment.

Mostly.

He admitted to himself, as the sadness helped to fuel the ever heavy, ache in his chest.

John was surprised that he hadn’t needed to use his escape plan. He’d simply waltzed into Valentine, collected his money and walked back out as though he’d never been there before. He kept his head low, and no one recognised him. He supposed Cornwall’s men had moved on when his gang had and the ones that were still hanging around didn’t get paid enough to remember his ugly mug.

Arthur was going to feel silly for worrying when John returned home with a fist full of cash and no scratches to show for it. No new ones anyway.

The trail back to Clemen’s Point was long and John could feel his skin sizzling in the sunlight. There was barely any tree coverage travelling over the Heartlands. As hot as it was he regretted not wearing a coat. His forearms were going to be tender from the burn for a few days.

It wasn’t until he was just passed Emerald Ranch as the crow flies that he finally found himself able to trot under the shade of some trees. A short-lived relief that was suddenly no longer needed as the sky began to grow dark and the wind devolved a chill.

He’d been hoping to make it home before dark. But he’d underestimated the ride. Although Valentine and their new camp were both relatively close to the border, it was still quite a journey between them. Judging by the distance he’d covered already he estimated that if he camped the night he would be home by lunchtime the next day. Depending on when he awoke.

It wasn’t safe to be riding around Lemoyne alone at night. They’d only been in the state a few days and some of the guys had already suffered run ins with the local gang. They called themselves the Raiders and John shuddered to think what they could do to one lone man from the stories he’d heard already.

John veered off the path and into a patch of trees. Far enough that he would not be spotted by passer-by and hitching Old Boy to a tree with a smooth enough patch of ground next to it.

He set about unfolding his small tent and placing a blanket on the ground inside. Just enough to keep him out of the weather. He just hoped it didn’t rain.

Cold canned beans had never been John’s favourite meal. In fact, he was certain it was no one in the world’s favourite meal. He’d bet his life on it.

Grimacing as he shoved the last slimy spoonful into his mouth and forcing himself to chew. He placed the spoon back in his pack and tossed the can aside. Lost in the dirt for future generations to marvel at.

Old Boy knickered softly in his direction and John apologised softly that he didn’t have any food for the horse. He had been grazing with the other horses before they’d left that morning, but he was sure the poor thing would be hungry again by now.

“You can eat grass you know.” He commented wryly, earning himself what sounded like a sigh of defeat from the animal.

John laid back on his blanket, shifting himself to try and get comfortable on the hard ground as he stared up at the holes in the roof of his shelter. The darkened sky only visible through them because of the brilliant array of stars scattered across it.

He’d loved looking at the stars as a kid. Even if it was because he was forced to. Living on the streets without a roof over his head. They made him feel hopeful. He wasn’t quite sure why.

He supposed he should be grateful for the flimsy shelter he had in this moment and the slightly nicer one at camp. There was a time in his life where he really had to worry about the rain. Planning ahead by scouting each area he moved through for abandoned buildings or at the very least hollow front steps to hide under.

That was before Dutch had ‘saved’ him. Brought him into the gang and somehow managed to fill his life with a whole new set of anxieties.

Money, women, children. He listed. Wolves, if he was gonna’ get real’ specific.

He sighed loudly to himself, a growl escaping at the end of his breath as he tried in vain to push all of that aside for just one minute.

“That bloody woman.” He muttered, referring to Abigail. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since she’d helped him make his bed. Such a small gesture of kindness and asking for nothing in return. It had him frothing at the mouth wanting more.

He was going to cave in. He’d known it since the words had left her mouth that night at the Overlook. There was no scenario where he actually walked away and tried to make it with someone else. No life for him outside of the gang. He’d already tried once and failed miserably. Only able to think of her even when face to face with a naked working girl.

He felt like a fool for pining after her. Always had. But something about her always managed to draw him in and string him along in the most beautifully painful ways.

All she’d done was tuck a sheet to a mattress and she’d been on his mind for better part of three days. He didn’t dare imagine what she’d be able to get him to do if she fucked him.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

He wondered bitterly if this time would be different or if she’d actually changed her tune. The chance he was a pawn in a long con was much higher than the possibility she’d suddenly made a very dramatic change for the better.

He pondered if he was to let her squirm for a while under his indecision would she be able to keep up her facade of kindness and care or would she revert to her toxic self after enough time in limbo.

He knew he’d never find out. Not until his stupid ass had begged her to take him back and pledged his blind, undying loyalty to her and Jack. Then she’d be free to act as she pleased and there wouldn’t be a thing he could do about it.

He shook his head, trying to physically shake the bad thoughts away as he begged himself to think of something else.

Abigail lingered in his mind and while at first that was frustrating, he realised he didn’t seem to mind it all that much in the end. He could be stuck thinking about much worse people. Reliving some of his more terrible memories.

Despite her quick temper and penchant for calling him an idiot, Abigail was a beautiful woman. He’d spent many nights wishing he was lucky enough to be the centre of her attention. Even after their relationship began, he still spent many nights wishing.

The thought made him sad. But memories of their earlier days were nice. Back before all the crap when he didn’t have to work quite so hard to convince himself that they loved one another equally.

She would hug him back then. Kiss him, if he was lucky enough. Those small intimate moments shared even in public were the ones he missed the most. More than the sex or any form of sordid touching. Just good old fashion affection that made his heart swell.

Although right now if he was honest, the sex was sorely missed. It had been a damn long time since anyone had touched him, including himself. He’d been too sick and injured and even after he’d begun to heal up there was always something happening that had him too on edge to have time to care about his neglected cock.

It had been so fucking long. He realised suddenly. He wasn’t sure on the exact time frame. Blackwater and then the wolves had seemed to blur time for him. It was fuzzy and slurred. If he was being truly honest, he had no idea how long it had been. At least two months, maybe more.

Longer than he’d ever gone before.

Perhaps that was why he was in such a state. So high strung that he jumped at the slightest unexpected movement. Frustration at small tasks making his hands shake and his jaw clench impossibly tight.

John took a long, calming breath as his hand ran down his front. Lingering on his chest and dragging a burning trail lower until it finally settled on the bulge under his fly.

He swallowed thickly, feeling a nervous tingle deep in his belly as his palm pressed against his hard member. Squeezing it once and gasping at the feeling beginning to build inside of him.

He’d been so ready without even realising it. Being alone in the woods triggering him into wanting something he hadn’t even been thinking about.

It had been so long since he’d felt truly alone and strong enough to touch himself.

He moved quickly; decision made as he unbuttoned his fly. He slipped his hand inside his pants. Pre-cum slicked the fabric of his union suit and spread to his fingers as he slid them against his length. Curling his digits around his swollen cock, he huffed lightly, eyes fluttering closed at the contact.

“Fuck.” He whispered breathily, affording himself one long stroke and swiping his thumb tantalisingly against his head. “Uh.” He gasped, erection jolting in his fingers as pleasure shot through him and caused him to squirm against his own movements.

His free hand fisted in the blanket under him as he began to move his hand at a steady pace. Back arching as he grunted and groaned under his own hand.

He breathed heavily, hitched breaths that restricted his air intake and added to the building pleasure. Light-headedness creeping in on him and making him feel as though he were floating in a pool filled with nothing but his own pleasure.

His toes curled and flexed as his hips began to move. Bucking up to meet his hand as he began to grow frustrated with the pace he’d set.

He grunted in annoyance. Free hand coming up to move fabric out of his way as he pulled himself free. Panting as the cool air surrounded his heated member and it pulsed against his hand in response.

He stroked himself with abandon, free of the restrictions of his clothing.

“Fuck.” He mumbled again, lips barely moving as he furrowed his brows involuntarily. His free arm coming up to rest across his eyes as he thrust up into his palm. Moaning languidly as the sensation began to build towards its peak. “oh, fuck.” He repeated, louder. Making sure to swipe his thumb against his purpling head with every stroke.

He was so close. Forgetting himself and all his problems for one tantalising moment as he pushed himself closer to his climax with every stroke.

It started deep in the pit of his stomach. A familiar tingling making him tremble as the sensation began to spread. Slowly at first, his rhythm faltering as stuttered moans began to leave his lips. The warmth spreading down towards his cock and seeming to eb away slightly before bursting forth in an explosion of ecstasy that had him shouting out, unable to keep himself quiet.

He palmed himself furiously as he reached his peak, coming hard against his own hand and feeling his hot seed fall against his chest. Rolling waves of pleasure making his entire body feel fuzzy as he began to slow his movements until eventually his hand fell away. Cum covered fingers laying delicately against the blanket as he worked to even out his breathing.

“Jesus…” he breathed, removing his arm from across his face and slowly opening his eyes. He craned his neck to look at the mess he’d made of his shirt and sighed before letting his head fall back against the thin mattress dramatically.

He’d learned at an early age that all good things must come to an end. Sadly, orgasms were not the exception. But despite that being the case for all humans, John still felt that he, himself had once again been handed a raw deal.

He often heard men talk liberally of their dalliances both with women and themselves. They spoke warmly of the post-coital glow that seemed to follow them around for hours, sometimes days afterwards. But all he’d ever seemed to experience was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. A kind of gnawing guilt that tugged at his insides and made him want to immediately get rid of any evidence that he’d ever touched himself in his life.

He could feel it now. Sadness, nibbling at the edges of his chest and threatening to close in on his heart. Affecting his lungs and making it hard to breathe.

It was suffocating.

John sat up abruptly. Shaking his head as if doing so would clear his mind of the dark thoughts that threatened to take over. Reaching for his satchel with his clean hand and pulling it towards him so he could rummage.

He pulled out a grubby length of bandage. Wiping his hands on the fabric and doing his best to clean up the shirt he was wearing before unbuttoning it and slipping it down off his shoulders.

He wiped at his spent member, cleaning it to the best of his ability as well. Wincing as the course fabric irritated his over-sensitive head.

He threw the bandage aside. Tucking himself back into his pants and lying back down hastily.

He crossed his arm against his chest, taking another deep breath and letting it out slowly as he stared at the dainty roof of his tent. Blinking furiously against the burn in his eyes and the bad thoughts at the edge of his vision. Sucking on his teeth and silently begging himself to just be fucking normal.

To just enjoy the fuzzy, heavy feeling throughout his body and let it carry him off to sleep without anxiety about money, parenting and love forcing his eyelids to remain open for hours. Staring aimlessly at the ceiling as he huffed and sighed about his lot in life.

John grumbled softly, forcing his eyes closed. Pushing himself to listen to the small sounds of the forest. The flutter of wings and the small shuffle of little animals scuttering through the grass. The soft snorts of Old Boy hitched just outside and the sound of running water from a creek not too far away.

After several minutes, he felt his body begin to relax, sleep taking him painfully slow as he faded into unconscious.

He rose early the next morning. Feeling more rested than he had in a long while. Usually sleeping outside of camp left him feeling over-tired and sore. But this morning he had a small spring in his step. The emotional energy he needed to deal with their current situation had been renewed and he thought maybe he was feeling a little bit clearer than he had in months.

His foggy mind being laid to rest by a firm hand on his cock.

Who would have thought?

He mused sarcastically as he made his way back into camp around midday and hitched Old Boy at one of the posts.

Maybe now he understood why single men frequented brothels. No man in the world was making good decisions with a hard pecker.

But he wasn’t single. He reminded himself as he slung his saddle bag over his shoulder and sauntered back into camp. His eyes wandering on their own in search of his dear wife’s figure.

I might be soon.

He thought dully as he caught sight of Abigail standing around the kitchen fire with Tilly. Coffee in hand, as was standard for her several times a day. She loved her coffee.

She caught his eyes as he passed her. She nodded in his direction, his mouth forming into a pained smile in response. He turned away from her, ashamed to be caught staring. He ducked his head subconsciously, heading straight for his tent and dumping his bag down on his cot.

He flipped it open, raking through it for the money he had gotten from the auction house before slipping back outside and to the lockbox outside Dutch’s tent.

The older man didn’t seem to be present and John wasn’t sure how he felt about that. On the one hand he could place his cash in the box without scrutiny. But on the other, he knew from experience that Dutch never read the damn ledger. He often accosted John for not contributing and refused to back down when John very plainly pointed out his signature in the book.

He hesitated as he reached for the pen. Seriously considering hiding his share until Dutch was around to watch him donate.

He decided against it. Counting out his cash and placing his share in the box. He signed the ledger for himself and Arthur, stuffing both of their shares in his back pocket and trying desperately to ignore the way his hands trembled as he did so.

“Have you seen Arthur?” He asked the first person he came across. Uncle blinked at him lazily from his place under the big tree.

“He’s out, I think.” He answered after long second of contemplation, making John groan in frustration.

“Course he is.” He grumbled, turning away from the old man and heading towards Arthur’s wagon. John entered the lodgings, knowing full well he was not welcome. Frowning when he spied the other man’s wallet sitting openly on top of his blankets. “Huh?” He muttered in surprise. Shrugging at his luck as he picked it up and stuffed Arthur’s share of the cash inside.

It wasn’t like the older man to leave his things behind when he left camp. But if John was honest, he didn’t really care enough to dwell on that fact.

He exited Arthur’s make-shift tent. Placing his hands on his hips as he looked around the camp and sighed at the next item on his to-do list.

“Abigail.” He muttered, eyes flicking in her direction and catching her shaking out the last of her coffee before saying a goodbye to Tilly and heading back towards her lean-to.

He found himself following her without much thought. His feet carrying him in her direction much more readily than his brain.

“Hey.” He said simply as he walked up behind her. Making her jump as her knees hit her bedroll. She turned to him with wide eyes, looking annoyed as she turned away again and continued to settle herself down at his feet.

“Hey.” She returned a little shorter than she’d meant to. He hadn’t meant to scare her and she supposed she should be grateful he was even talking to her at all.

John stayed silent as she settled herself cross legged on her bed. Swallowing against his dry throat and regretting his decision to speak to her as all his anxieties returned almost instantly at the irritation in her tone. He watched her without speaking. Waiting for her to let him know it was okay to continue and feeling uncomfortable as she stayed silent.

“Uh…” He started, not really sure what to say anymore as doubts plagued him.

Abigail watched him intently, eyes lingering on the pink tinge of his cheeks. The strain in his jaw apparent as he clenched his teeth. She softened slightly at the realisation that he was nervous. Letting out a long breath as she made sure she had his attention and patted her bedroll in an invitation for him to join her.

John looked from her hand to her face, eyes flicking apprehensively back and forth before he finally understood. Wiping his boots on the grass as he slipped down beside her and made sure to keep his feet off her sheets.

“You’re back.” Abigail said obvioy after a tense moment of silence. John nodded uneasily, hands clasped together almost formally in his lap as he stared at the ground in front of him.

“Yeah.” He replied dryly, unsure what he was thinking.

“Arthur said you went back to Valentine. Wasn’t sure I’d see you alive again if I’m honest.” She said with a small a wry chuckle.

“Went back for that money.” He said after some contemplation, reaching into his pocket and counting out what was left of his share. “Here.” He said, holding the cash out toward her and waiting for her to take it.

Abigail looked between him and the money, pursing her lips before slowly pushing it away from her.

“It’s okay.” She said softly. “You keep it. Buy yourself something or… save it.” She said awkwardly, feeling guilt bubble in her chest at how rude she’d been toward him about money in the past.

“What?” John asked bluntly, hand dropping to his lap as he looked her over sceptically. She was always first in line for a handout when he returned from jobs. Always waiting to ask for more damn money and now he was offering it to her freely and she wasn’t taking it.

He didn’t understand her.

“Why don’t you want it?” He asked, a flicker of anger igniting in his chest. The only time he could ever remember her refusing his money in the past was when she had gone back to working without his knowledge. He’d thought it was strange at the time but never questioned it until after the fact “You already borrow what you need from someone else?” He asked heatedly. “Or did you make it yourself?” He added before he could help himself. Watching as her eyes narrowed and her face turned sour.

“John Marston.” She began dangerously, trying and failing to keep her cool as she spoke. “How dare you?” She snapped, arm coming out to shove him roughly as he stared at her with an angry frown. “I was tryin’ to be nice!” She shouted, watching as his fist clenches against the crumpled bills. “Why do you have to ruin it every damn time?” She asked in exasperation. Shoving him roughly again and making him place an arm in the dirt to steady himself.

He didn’t have an answer for her. Part of him always wondered if deep down he just liked being miserable.

“All you ever do is ask me for more money…” He countered clumsily. “I was just tryin’ to get ahead of it.” He explained. “Why don’t you want it?” He asked a little more desperately. He very much doubted she was just trying to be nice. More likely she’d changed her mind about everything after a couple of days to think. “My money ain’t good enough for you now that I know your secrets?” He asked against his better judgement. Emotions welling in his chest as he spoke.

Abigail glowered at him crossly, gritting her teeth.

He had a point.

Perhaps she should have explained herself better before refusing him. It was John she was speaking to. Of course he was going to think she had spilled her secret and then decided he wasn’t worth her time.

She felt like an idiot for not realising it sooner. Working on herself and changing her mindset to be more aware of his feelings was going to be harder than she had anticipated.

“Just…” She began, pausing to calm herself before continuing. “Just, get out of here for a bit John.” She said evenly, making him tilt his head in question. “I don’t wanna’ fight.” She explained gently, making John feel like he’d been punched in the gut.

The air in his lungs was gone. He stared at her open mouthed for a long minute before remembering to take in a breath.

“Okay.” He said finally, unsure where to go from here. He couldn’t remember a time where she had been first to back down and he didn’t know how to handle it. He had been ready for an all-out shouting match and the adrenaline that had dredged up swirled inside of him as he forced himself to stand and walk away to stop himself from speaking further.

His heart hammered in his chest as he retreated to the beach and sat down in the sand. “Jesus Christ.” He whispered to himself as he rested his face in his hands. Scrubbing at himself with his palms before leaning back and using them for support while he stared out at the lake. “The fuck was that?” He asked no one in particular, blinking in the light of the afternoon sun.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about what had just happened. By all accounts he should be jumping for joy. He got to keep his cash for himself and didn’t have to endure a vicious fight for it. The situation should be a win, win. But something inside of him was holding back the happiness. Like he was scared to be excited about what it meant. Terrified of letting his guard down and having his world shattered once more.

His wounds were still too fresh to consider she was serious.

“But we care for our merchant men who, do our states contain.” Voices rang out from beyond the lake shore.

John turned at the faint sound of song. Brows raising as he spied a small boat heading towards camp, looking like it was going to dock at the jetty.

“To them we dance this, round, a round, a round.” The song continued.

As the vehicle drew closer John could make out the figures of Dutch, Hosea and Arthur. He frowned at the sight, feeling a sting of jealously deep inside him as he spied the discarded fishing poles.

They hadn’t been out on a job like John had suspected. They’d been fishing for the afternoon.

He picked himself up off the sand as they approached. Dusting off his ass and legs as Arthur jumped out to tie the boat to the dock.

The song long forgotten as the men began to load up their arms with their impressive catches.

John tried his best to seem nonchalant as they walked towards him. Arthur passing by without a word. John couldn’t say he was surprised.

He looked down at the sand as he began to feel the sting of being left out. He hadn’t been at the camp when they’d left, he reminded himself. They would have asked him to joint them if he’d been there.

Perhaps they had thought he wouldn’t want to touch the fish because he was allergic.

Even though they knew he never minded fishing. Enjoyed it, actually. Touching them never bothered him. It was eating them that was the issue.

A large hand rested on his shoulder, shaking it roughly as John looked up in surprise.

“We’re eating well tonight my boy!” Dutch exclaimed excitedly, holding up his prized catch and making John’s heart sink.

He wasn’t quite sure how Dutch could ever forget his ailment after the way the realisation had come about. Twelve year old John screaming and writhing in discomfort as he swore black and blue he was going to die after a roasted fish supper.

Dramatic, he admitted now. He had been itchy as hell but in retrospect he’d rather eat a thousand fish and morph his body into one giant hive than endure half of the pain he’d been through from that point forward.

John watched as Dutch kept on. Hosea following close behind.

The older man nodded at him as he passed. Holding up another large fish with a grin and ignoring the way John’s face fell at the sentiment.

Perhaps they never did forget. Just, didn’t really care in the first place.

It hurt.

John followed them back to camp dejectedly. Finding something to do as he watched Pearson prepare the catch for a fish stew.

As dinner time rolled around he heard the cook call out that it was ready. John slipped passed the line of people piling up their plates, sneaking some food from the kitchen wagon while Pearson’s back was turned.

He wasn’t sure if he was allowed it or not.

He had brought back some money after the train but it wasn’t enough to pay off what he owed. The money he had given to the camp earlier that day just covering his debt.

He supposed it was better to ask forgiveness than permission.

Sitting down at the beach with another disgusting, cold can of beans and a spoon, he was surprised to see a shadow by his side. He had retreated from the camp for fear of being caught with food he wasn’t supposed to have.

Didn’t feel like sitting with a bunch of happy campers with bellies full of fish when he wasn’t even sure if he should be filling his own stomach despite its persistent growl.

He probably should have gone further.

“How come you ain’t eatin’ the stew?” Sadie asked as she dropped down beside him. Holding her plate near his face and watching as he recoiled from it.

“Allergic.” He says simply, staring at her in surprise. If he’d had a million guesses he would have never picked her to be the one sneaking up on him.

“Ah.” Sadie nodded, pulling her food back to her lap with a chuckle. “Sorry, ain’t trying to make you sick.” She smiled, taking a large spoonful of the food and shovelling it into her mouth gratefully.

John moved his head in a stiff nod. Unsure what to say or do as he watched her eat. The sloppy sounds of liquid swishing around her bowl the only sound between them.

John looked away eventually, feeling rude for staring and going back to his own food. Taking a mouthful, he pondered how nice it felt to have company, even if he didn’t really know her.

“I’m… sorry.” He began after swallowing his food. “About your husband.” He added, quieter. Sadie smiled weakly, not looking up from her spoon as she considered what he’d said.

“He was a good man.” She said after a moment. “I think you’d have liked him.”

John frowned, confused by the sentiment. They had never really spoken before now. But he supposed, she had been spending a lot of time with Abigail. Perhaps she knew him better than he realised.

“Thanks…” he replied, not really sure how to take it but desperately wanting to. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever called him a ‘good man’ in his life.

“Name’s Sadie by the way.” She added, making John laugh. They probably should have covered that first.

“Nice to meet you Sadie.”

John blinked slowly as he stared up at the roof of his tent. Tired lids felt like they were scraping over glass as he tried to blink away the exhaustion of a bad night’s sleep.

The nightmares had never stopped. Time stretched languidly between the wolf attack and now. But as the weather changed and the distance from the mountains increased, the nightmares became his constant. Snapping teeth and snarling jaws accompanied him from Colter to Clemen’s Point. John wondered bitterly if they would join him on his death bed.

He pushed himself up slowly. Despite all his wounds being healed he still found his body stiff in the mornings. It took a long time to wake up and even longer to be able to move around without sore muscles and aching joints.

He wondered if this was what it felt like to get old. If Hosea and Uncle felt like this all the time. Unable to escape from the aching as he could after a few minutes of moving.

He’d probably not live long enough to find out.

After a quick stretch to try and soothe his broken body he headed for the kitchen fire. Coffee kept him going during hard times and he had missed it dearly while he was recovering. Forcing himself to forgo it most days so he could get some sleep to let himself heal.

He nodded to Tilly and Mary-Beth as he approached. They nodded back from their place by the fire.

“Mornin’ John.” Tilly greeted as he dove for the pot and filled his cup greedily.

“Mornin’.” He replied, straightening himself and burning his tongue on the gritty liquid as he forced it down his throat.

The women exchanged worried glances as they watched him chug his beverage. A sly smile appearing on Mary-Beth’s face as she stifled a laugh at his expense.

“Rough night?” She asked as he pulled the cup from his lips and wiped at them with the back of his hand. John looked to her tiredly, refusing to reply as he bent down for a refill.

“No, he always looks like that.” A voice interrupted, pulling a chuckle from the other women as Abigail bent down in front of John and held out her hand.

“Very funny.” He replied sarcastically, looking from her to her hand before realising she wanted the coffee pot. He handed it to her, standing once more and this time taking a small sip from his drink before sighing softly and watching her pour her own.

A silence fell over the small group as they collectively watched Abigail replace the kettle and stand.

Tilly shuffled awkwardly between the two before making an excuse to leave. Tipping out the remainder of her cup and heading to the wash bin.

John felt bad for breaking up the conversation. Well aware that it was his presence that caused the awkwardness. Abigail often stood with the other women to have her coffee in the morning. Chatting idly and exchanging gossip. It was probably the most adult interaction she managed to have throughout the day and he supposed he should probably leave to let her have that.

“Well… anyway…” He began uncomfortably, making to leave but being stopped by Mary-Beth.

“How do ya’ll like it here?” She asked, looking between them both. “It’s hot as hell but I like it better than the mountains.” She answered her own question, pausing to wait for them to reply.

“I liked the other camp better.” Abigail responded, staring into her coffee as she thought on what she’d said. “But I suppose it ain’t safe there anymore.” She added with a shrug. “Not that us ladies get let in on any of the how or why.”

Mary- Beth hummed in agreement.

“Would be nice to be told about the in’s and out’s every now and then wouldn’t it?” She asked with a bitter chuckle.

“In a perfect world.” Abigail replied with a small smile.

John watched them quietly. Contemplating what they were saying from an angle he’d not considered before. He was frustrated as hell by Dutch’s constant dismissal of him lately. He hadn’t ever considered the fact that some of the other gang members didn’t ever have the luxury of briefings.

“After Cornwall showed up in Valentine it weren’t really safe there no more.” He said after a moment of contemplation. “He owned that train Dutch robbed up in the mountains. He’s been lookin’ for us since then.” He explained, arms held tight against his chest as he stared at the fire.

Abigail scoffed audibly, drawing his attention as she shook her head in exasperation.

“What?” he asked, feeling defensive. He didn’t have to tell them anything. In fact, he probably shouldn’t have.

“Nothin’ ever changes.” She complained. “Dutch pisses someone off and we have to run.”

“Well...” John began. “To be fair it weren’t just Dutch.” He said, feeling a sudden urge to defend the other man against ridicule despite his own doubts about his recent behaviours.

“That ain’t the point.” Abigail sighed. “It don’t matter what we’ve got goin’ on. We just have to up and move and never go back all because Dutch made another bad decision.” She lamented, grip tightening on her cup as she struggled to keep herself from getting riled up.

John frowned, eyes drawn to the pale blush on her cheeks as she brushed a stray hair out of her face irritably.

“What exactly did you have goin’ on in Valentine?” He asked sceptically, feeling his stomach drop at the thought she was once again running jobs behind his back.

Abigail stared at him for a moment. Eyes softening as she caught his drift and shook her head to dispel his concerns.

“Nothin’.” She replied softly. “I never left camp remember.”

“But I had a con I was workin’ on.” Mary-Beth interjected, glancing around to make sure no one was listening before continuing. “It’s frustratin’ working hard on something and then just havin’ to up and leave without seein’ any money.” She lamented.

“And you had yours.” Abigail added, a finger lifting from her cup in John’s direction. “The sheep thing. Then you had to risk your neck goin’ back to get the pay for it. You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“We’re lucky.” Mary-Beth said thankfully. “We can wash some clothes and earn out keep so we don’t have to put ourselves in danger like that.”

Abigail hummed knowingly. She hadn’t commented when John left but she had assumed where he was going and was worried for his safety. Frustrated at Dutch for making them leave before he’d been paid and angry at Arthur for not going back with him.

John looked between them for a long moment, taking in everything they’d said. He had been bothered by being forced to pack up and leave but after almost having his throat slit in town he hadn’t dwelled on it for too long. Figured there were worse things than moving camp.

“I guess.” He said after a tense moment. Thinking back to all the times he’d ever had to abandon something due to Dutch’s whims. He’d never really thought of it that way. But they were right.

“Sometimes it’d be nice to stay in one place for a bit.” Mary-Beth said wistfully. Almost sarcastic with amount of air she added to her tone. Knowing full well it wasn’t a possibility.

“This gang ain’t the place for wishin’ things like that.” John replied simply, taking a sip of his coffee and watching Abigail over the rim of his cup.

She chuckled softly.

“Wishful thinkin’ ain’t never got me nothin’ but disappointed.” She said openly, placing her free hand on Mary-Beth’s shoulder and squeezing gently.

John watched them silently. It was nice to see them getting along. Even nicer to have a conversation with Abigail without it being strained or revolving around their relationship.

It was a small reprieve that he hadn’t needed to ask for. It was nice.

Perhaps she really was trying for him or maybe she was just at her best while she was drinking her morning coffee. He honestly hadn’t spent enough time with her lately to know which.

For a second John dared to hope that things were starting to look up for him. Before Mary-Beth sighed lazily and brought him back to their conversation. Reminded him that even if things with Abigail began to get better, their lives were still in danger.

A comfortable silence descended upon the group as they finished their drinks. Each of them soundlessly contemplating their conversation without knowing it. John personally nursing an ever-growing list of concerns about his own and his family’s wellbeing.

“Say whatever you damn well please but I tell you, if I don’t get out of here soon, I’ll kill somebody!”

John looked up from his drink in time to catch Sadie brandishing a knife at Pearson. Her tone dangerous as growled at the older man.

“If you don’t stop hissing at me I’m gonna’ kill you!” Pearson bit back, holding out his own knife in warning as Sadie dared to retort.

“You come near me sailor and I will slice you up.” She spat, the tip of her sharpened blade glinting in the morning sun.

John watched on in fascination. When he’d spoken to her the night before she had been nice as pie. He hadn’t picked her to be the killing sort.

“You put that knife down now or you’re going to be missing a hand lady.” Pearson squawked.

“John.” Abigail whispered hurriedly, catching his attention. “Do something.” She urged, gesturing towards the argument.

John looked to her for a moment, sighing tiredly before tipping out the rest of his coffee and dumping the cup on the ground. He really didn’t want to get in the middle of it. But he did like Sadie and she had been nicer to him than most others usually were. He supposed he should protect her. Although if he was honest, it didn’t look much like she was the one that needed protecting.

He took a step towards the disagreement, stopping at the sound of Arthur’s booming voice.

“What is wrong with you too?” He asked loudly, appearing out of nowhere. The older man walked up between the fighting pair and watched as Sadie slammed her knife down into a chopping block.

“I ain’t choppin’ vegetables for a living!” She shouted angrily.

“Oh I’m sorry madam was there insufficient feathers in your pillow?” Arthur asked sarcastically, pulling a chuckle from Pearson.

“Look I ain’t lazy Mr Morgan. I’ll work. But, not this.” Sadie explained, calmer.

“Well ain’t cookin’ work?” Arthur asked dubiously as John turned away from them and returned to the kitchen fire.

“I thought they was gonna’ kill each other.” Abigail whispered as he returned to her side.

“They threaten it enough.” John mumbled, bending to pick up his discarded cup.

“Well thank goodness Arthur was here.” She replied softly, making John bristle.

“I woulda’ handled it.” He said defensively, causing her to raise her brows.

“I didn’t mean…” She began, being cut off as the three of them turned at the sound of Pearson shouting.

“Watch your damn mouth you crazy Goddamn fishwife!”

Sadie lunged without warning. Being caught in mid-air by Arthur’s strong arms and physically held back from her attack as he shouted.

“Enough! Both of you!”

John turned back to Abigail.

“Yeah, seems like he’s doing a fine job.” He smiled sarcastically before taking his leave.

Figures.

He thought to himself as he walked away.

She probably loved watching Arthur be the hero.

Abigail watched him go, a knot in her stomach as she thought about how she must have sounded.

She hadn’t meant it that way. She knew John could have handled it or she wouldn’t have asked him in the first place.

She was simply glad to see him safe. Happy Arthur had taken care of it so John didn’t have to risk his own health.

Abigail watched as Arthur led Sadie out to one of the wagons. Amused at how readily he had taken her with him when the women around there usually had to beg him to take them anywhere.

She moved over to the wash bin, rinsing her cup in the water and leaving it on the rack to dry as Pearson appeared beside her with a large pot ready to be cleaned.

“Don’t suppose you feel chopping vegetables is above you?” He asked with a chuckle as he dumped the pot in the water and began to scrub.

Abigail watched him for a second, mulling over the question.

She hadn’t been lying when she’d stated that John risked his neck to sneak back into Valentine and Mary-Beth was right. She was lucky to have the luxury of earning her keep by washing some clothes.

Or perhaps, chopping vegetables.

“No, I don’t suppose I do.” Abigail answered casually, folding her arms as Pearson turned to look at her in astonishment.

“Well…” He stumbled, gesturing towards the abandoned cutting board. “Knock yourself out.”

~~~

John had spent a few long hours stewing on Abigail’s admiration of Arthur. Glowering to himself and giving the logs he was chopping a few extra swings just to try and get out some of that bottled up resentment.

A part of him hated Arthur for always getting involved. But deep down he knew that most of his feelings were irrational. Arthur hadn’t actually done anything to earn his ire besides teasing him on a daily basis. His own paranoid concerns about Arthur stealing his family while he took his time making decisions were just that.

Paranoid concerns.

John swung the bag of firewood he’d just chopped up onto his shoulder. Grunting as muscles that had been rested too long protested at the way he held his arm to support it.

He pushed forward. Having decided he’d been weak for long enough and forcing himself to do the things his body protested. Knowing they were the things that needed to do to improve and get himself back into his best shape.

As he passed by the galley on the way to the main fire he spied Abigail chatting idly with Pearson as she worked a knife over some carrots. He frowned, looking around himself for a moment to see if anyone else was watching. Unaware that this was only strange to him. No one else cared what Abigail was up to like he did.

He opened his mouth to ask but closed it again quickly and continued on to dump out his firewood.

He was still annoyed at her for the comment she’d made about Arthur and if he was being honest, he was trying to change as well.

If Abigail’s confession had taught him anything, it was that not everything needed to be questioned.

He continued with his chores, wondering silently if her choices had anything to do with him.

By nightfall he was ready for an early bed. Retreating to his tent while the others gathered for dinner and slipping off his worn boots and socks.

He prodded at a foot with his thumb, feeling a stab of pain shoot back at him in reward and doubling down on the knotted muscle. Grimacing to himself as he worked away the lactic acid.

There was a shuffle outside his tent, pulling his attention away from the pain as he looked up to see Abigail entering backwards, turning to him to reveal her hands were full.

He watched as she moved to the chair next to his bed and sat down, placing one bowl of food on the crate containing his belongings and sitting the second in her lap.

“I brought you dinner.” She said softly as John looked at her blankly. “Thought we could eat together.”

“Uh…” He said dumbly, unsure how to reply to the kind gesture. He wasn’t planning on eating again until he could pay a little more into the camp funds. He had been pushing his luck lately and he knew Dutch’s patience was about to run out.

“You wasn’t gonna’ eat?” Abigail said, phrasing it like a question but not expecting an answer. It was a statement more than anything.

John just nodded, not sure where or when she had gotten the notion that he wasn’t eating. Perhaps she really had been paying more attention to him than he’d realised.

Abigail’s eyes trailed down from his face, stopping on his protruding collarbone and remembering the way he had looked the last time she’d seen him topless. Jutting ribs framing his hollowing tummy.

His clothes fit a little better than they did then. He had finally started to put on some weight and she was grateful to see it.

John watched her studying him. Feeling uncomfortable under her gaze and clearing his throat as he picked up his meal.

He wondered what she was thinking about. But he didn’t dare ask, guessing he probably didn’t actually want to know.

“Saw you workin’ with Pearson today.” He said instead. A lingering question going unasked but hoping for an answer all the same. Abigail nodded, smiling at him as she took a bite of her dinner. John watched her chew, hoping when she swallowed that she would offer more information to satisfy his curiosity. “What’s that about?” He asked when she didn’t speak.

Abigail cocked a brow as she looked to him warily.

“Just wanted to help take the load off you I guess.” She said with a shrug, making John balk.

“Oh.” He said softly, barely a word. He stared at her; eyes narrowed in suspicion as he waited for the punchline. Abigail furrowed her brows, tilting her head in question as she waited for him to say something.

“You okay?” She asked with a chuckle. Pretending as though she didn’t understand what had rendered him speechless.

She had been less than helpful to him since Jack was born. Mothering was a fulltime job but she couldn’t deny Jack needed less of her attention these days. She wanted to change her mindset.

To change for the better.

For him.

John stayed silent for a long moment.

Waiting.

“Uh, yeah.” He answered eventually. Voice soft and tone sceptical. “I just... I don’t know what to say.” He admitted, feeling foolish.

“Thank you might be a good start.” Abigail replied casually, only half joking. She might have chosen mutely to work on herself but that didn’t mean she would refuse the praise it afforded her.

“Thank you.” John said quickly. Looking away from her and staring down at his dinner intently. He hadn’t meant to leave her hanging but if he was honest, he had been stunned into silence.

The thought of Abigail willingly taking on extra chores to try and alleviate the strain on his wallet was…

He wasn’t sure what it was really.

Nice. Maybe.

“You’re welcome.” Abigail replied with a soft smile, placing the last bite of her food into her mouth and sucking the spoon clean before placing it back in the bowl. John watched the spoon closely. Feeling something akin to jealousy swirl in his stomach as he examined at the cutlery. “You need anything tonight before I go to bed?” Abigail asked, lips quirking as John looked to her in disbelief. Wide eyes shimmering in the lantern light as he searched her face for signs of deception.

“No…” He answered, voice small. “No, thank you.” He corrected, shaking his head briefly at his own stupidity. Abigail smiled once more, placing a hand on his knee and squeezing it softly before standing and bidding him goodnight.

John nodded dully, unsure how to respond as he watched her disappear around the canvas door of his tent.

He looked back to his untouched dinner, suddenly not feeling as hungry as he had earlier. He pushed his food around his plate absently as he reflected on the strange interaction. Feeling confusion swirl around his mind like a fog that refused to lift.

What was she playing at? Being so kind. He felt sick at the thought. An excited spark at the prospect of her sincerity being genuine flickered in his belly and he grit his teeth to push it back down. Knowing from experience it was futile to let himself become hopeful.

Hope always ended in more pain.

He sighed heavily, placing his food back on the crate next to his bed and resting his head in his hands. His stomach unable to handle the heavy meal on top of the anxiety. Knowing full well he was being ungrateful and should be stuffing that meal into his mouth without a second thought. He would regret it in the morning, after sleep when his stomach had settled somewhat and the gnawing hunger felt it fit to return to him.

He bit at his lip. Forcing away the small flutter of hope that Abigail’s concern for him was anything but another long con. Reminding himself of all here past transgressions until he’d successfully convinced himself that she only asked after him out of pure obligation.

She wanted to sway his decision. This was what she did. Give him a small taste of the life he longed for. Just enough crumbs to keep his stomach from growling without actually feeding him a meal.

A bad analogy he supposed. Given the fact she had literally brought him dinner not ten minutes earlier and now it sat by his bed, going cold. While he instead chewed on his choice to insist, she was being cunning.

She’d done the same thing when she’d somehow caught a whiff of another woman sniffing around. Making sure to keep him happy and sexually satisfied until he’d gotten rid of the threat. Then callously breaking his heart over again. Breaking him down to nothing. Watching him hit rock bottom and struggle to rebuild himself.

He’d hoped at some point that he would become numb to it eventually. But the stings just seemed to keep coming and even if she was being sincere, he didn’t have it in himself to trust her yet.

He needed more time.

Needed to wait until it had been long enough for her to start to sweat. Leave her hanging on his word long enough to see if she unceremoniously returned to her old ways or if this change of heart was permanent.

~~~

“John, you busy?” Hosea asked, a heavy hand slapping down on the younger’s shoulder as he approached from behind.

John tried his best to hide the fact he had been startled, lowering his paper and taking a second before looking up to the older man and answering.

“No.” He said simply, narrowing his eyes at the smirk on Hosea’s face.

“Come with me.” He ordered, gesturing with his head towards the woods on the edge of camp.

“Sure…” John agreed slowly, folding the newspaper and placing it on the table before jumping up to follow the older man. “Where we going?” He asked after a moment of walking. Sweat already beginning to form under his arms at the small exertion in the morning heat.

“Arthur hid that wagon full of moonshine in the woods here somewhere.” Hosea answered, pointing ahead of them at the tree line. “We’re going to sell it.”

“Oh.” John said in surprise. No idea which wagon Hosea was talking about but more than happy to be asked on a job. “Okay.” He agreed readily, exited at the prospect of some simple work and easy money.

He followed behind the older man, boots slipping on the leaf litter as they reached the tree line and were rewarded with flickering moments shade.

“John!” Dutch called as they began into woods, making them both stop and turn abruptly.

Please no.

John thought to himself as he watched the other man gain on them with a hefty stride.

“Son.” Dutch greeted as he reached the pair and stopped to place his hands on his hips. “I need you to look into something for me.” He explained.

“John was just helping me with the moonshine.” Hosea said with a smile. “Can it wait?”

John looked between them silently. He really hoped it could wait.

“You two go ahead and I’ll send Arthur to help you.” Dutch ordered, clapping his hand against John’s arm and gesturing towards Old Boy. “Take your horse son. I need you to ride out to the Braithwaite’s manor and see about them fancy horses they’re hiding in those stables.”

“Fancy?” John scoffed, raising a brow. “How fancy are we talkin?”

“Word around town is there are some purebreds in them stables worth at least five thousand dollars a pop.” Dutch replied, folding his arms over his chest as Hosea shook his head in John’s periphery.

“That’s a lotta’ money Dutch.” John said sceptically.

“It is.” Dutch said simply. “Which is why I need you to go and confirm that for me.” He added bluntly, making John feel uneasy.

Silence descended on the trio as Dutch looked to him expectantly. John turned to Hosea, watching as the man shrugged at him and waited for him to speak.

“Sure.” John replied woefully, turning back to Dutch. Feeling deflated at being ripped away from the prospect of easy money. He wasn’t even sure he would get a cut off the horse money if they decided to do something about them.

Dutch often had him scout out jobs and then put other people on them while John sat back at camp lamenting how hard he’d worked on the reconnaissance.

“Go on, get your horse then.” Hosea sighed, gesturing back towards Old Boy. “You can wait with me before you go.” He said as he began back into the woods.

Dutch nodded approvingly, patting John on the back roughly before returning to camp.

John dragged his feet through the tips of the long grass. Legs dangling from his place on the back of the moonshine wagon. He watched as small petals fell from the weeds he scraped with the toes of his boots.

The birds chirped loudly in the trees above him and filled the comfortable silence between himself and Hosea. The other man leaning coolly against the back of the wagon as he puffed on a cigarette and stared out into the wilderness.

“You’ve been a sorry sight since those wolves nipped your heels.” The older man commented playfully, taking a long drag on his cigarette and letting the smoke billow from his mouth as he spoke. “Haven’t quite recovered yet, have you?” He asked after John didn’t take the bait.

“I’m fine.” He replied after a moment of thought. Hosea was never one to beat around the bush. Always speaking his mind, even to Dutch when most didn’t dare.

“You sure?” Hosea asked, dropping the butt of his smoke onto the ground and squelching the lit end with his boot. “You don’t seem yourself.”

“It’s nothin’.” John lied, not making eye contact.

Hosea watched him thoughtfully. Placing a comforting hand on the younger man’s knee.

“No one ever says it’s nothing if it’s actually nothing.” He offered.

“I mean I don’t want to talk about it.” John clarified; palms clamped against the edge of the wagon.

“Well, I’ve been hearing whispers of speculation around the camp these last few weeks.” Hosea began as gently as he could. There was no easy way to tell someone they had been the subject of gossip.

John balked at the statement, staring at the older man with a scowl before turning his frown on the trees in front of him.

“It ain’t no one’s business but mine.” He grumbled, flexing his hands and running the pads of his fingers against the rough wood.

“My boy, you have a lot of strengths but subtly isn’t one of them.” Hosea chuckled as John rolled his eyes.

“Look…” John began, trying to find his words. “Abigail…” He hesitated, the name falling from his lips in a frustrated growl. “I just…” He paused again, feeling flustered.

Hosea remained silent, watching intensely as John fumbled to gather a thought. He’d known something had happened with Abigail since John had vented around the fire at Horseshoe Overlook. But John had been acting strange and erratic ever since they’d arrived at The Point and Hosea knew deep down there was something more going on.

John was like a son to him, and he cared for the boy deeply. It was hard to see him in such obvious distress without understanding the reason behind it. Whether it was his business or not was another matter entirely.

“Abigail, says she wants to be a family.” John explained finally, pulling Hosea from his thoughts and furrowing the man’s brows.

“Alright.” He replied simply, waiting for more context.

“Yeah.” John said, waiting for some insight.

“I’m not sure I understand.” Hosea admitted after a few seconds of silence.

John huffed in displeasure. Not really wanting to say any more than he already had but knowing he had to give a little more for the older man to comprehend his predicament.

“Well, how do I know if she’s being sincere or not?” He asked, alarmed and frustrated by how whiny he sounded.

“What reason would she have to lie?” Hosea asked with a shrug, folding his arms over his chest and leaning his back into the rear of the wagon.

“Well… What if she just needs me to be able to stay in the gang?” John asked awkwardly. The discomfort of talking about something so private to him so openly was making him squirm.

Hosea looked to him with tired eyes that had seen too much in his years. He was probably the wisest person John had ever met. Not that he’d ever dare speak such things with Dutch around as he was sure the other man believed himself to be the Sage of the gang.

“Abigail and I have spoken many times and John… I’m not sure she wants to stay in the gang if I’m honest.” Hosea said plainly. Abigail had made no secret of the fact she was scared. Things were taking a turn and even Hosea could see that if they didn’t pull up soon it might not end well for them.

Abigail was a smart woman and Hosea gathered from their conversations that she was hoping to get herself and Jack away from this mess before it got any worse.

Whether or not John joined them on their journey was yet to be decided, it seemed.

“Well, what if she just needs me…” John asked, feeling suddenly desperate for an answer that would satisfy him. “To provide for her and the boy.” He added, looking at the older man for some clarity.

“As a Father should.” Hosea chided lightly, watching as John’s face fell at the statement. He raised a brow in the younger’s direction. Watching as he pouted.

“What if… What if the boy ain’t mine?” He asked quietly, not making eye contact as Hosea scoffed in his direction.

“Don’t talk like that John, it makes you sound ungrateful.” He admonished as John exhaled a small sigh.

His heart felt heavy as he contemplated telling Hosea the truth he had learned before they’d left The Overlook. He hadn’t told anyone and wasn’t sure he ever would.

“Sorry.” Was all he managed. Knowing deep down he wasn’t able to confide something so huge in the older man.

He’d spent many days over the years wishing he could prove that he wasn’t the kid’s Father just to be able to shove it in the faces of everyone that doubted him. The irony did not escape him at the fact that now he had that proof he wanted; he wasn’t sure he would ever share it with anyone.

He never wanted to be right. He just wanted people to get off his back.

“Do you have some reason to believe you shouldn’t have to provide for the boy?” Hosea asked quietly, almost scandalous in the way he spoke. Seeming to sense something in John’s demeanour that told him there was more to the story.

“No.” John lied, keeping his head down as Hosea shrugged.

“Then what is it that’s concerning you, my boy?” He asked with a dry laugh. Making John feel as though he had grown tired of the conversation and wanted to move on.

John hesitated, unsure how to ask the question he’d been stuck on since Abigail had revealed her truth to him.

“What if, it’s all a long con?” He asked, a whisper as he tried to keep his voice from wavering. He didn’t want to let his emotions show in front of Hosea. The thought hurt but he had to keep it together right now. He had a job to do. He needed the money and he wasn’t about to be sent back to camp because he wasn’t of sound mind.

“I don’t think so.” Hosea answered earnestly. “Abigail is a good woman. She doesn’t have it in her heart to be malicious.”

John scoffed aloud before composing himself. The many times he’d known Abigail to be purposefully malicious whizzing through his brain like a slideshow before finally settling on the fact that she’d trapped him into being a father.

He knew no one would understand. Trying to open himself up about how she had hurt him would only result in people seeing him as a monster. Everyone seemed to think she was a Saint. She could do better than him and he should be grateful that she even looked in his direction.

“Need I remind you I’m a con artist my boy?” Hosea asked with a laugh. “I can sniff a con from 10 miles away.” John smiled weakly at the statement, staring at his own knees. “That woman loves you.”

John sighed

Hosea was probably the only person he had ever met that had experienced real love in his life time. Not only had he experienced it. He had lost it as well and John suspected losing it permanently was a lot more painful than anything he had ever gone through. Including the wolves. He supposed if he should listen to anyone’s opinion, it should be his.

Dutch had claimed to love Annabelle before she was also taken from them too young. But he had spent his time of mourning being angry instead of sad. Plotting revenge for her death until eventually a few months down the line he found someone else to keep him company. John had always secretly wondered had Annabelle lived, would she had been discarded like poor Susan as soon as this new woman came along.

“Maybe.” John offered, not sure what else to say as the patter of hooves and the sound of crunching sticks caught their attention.

Arthur rode towards them at a slow pace, careful to help Frankie navigate the uneven terrain as he reached Old Boy and hitched her by his side.

John supposed the conversation was over. That was all the reassurance he was going to get from the older man now that Arthur was here.

“Hey Arthur.” John greeted as the other man slid down off the horse’s side.

“What are you doing?” The older man asked as he nodded towards the wagon full of moonshine.

“Selling it back to where it came from.” Hosea answered with a smirk.

“Why?” Arthur asked, as he stopped in front of them both.

“Well I ain’t got a market for it?” Hosea said frankly as John pushed himself off the back of the wagon and landed heavily on the moist ground. “They made it; they must have someone to sell it to.” He groaned as he leaned down to pick up a large jug by his feet.

John rushed forwards, taking the weight of the jug to save the old man’s back. Hosea nodded in thanks.

“Stuff looked kinda’ lonely out here. I think we’ll cut ourselves a deal.” He said with a smile, one hand on the small of his back as he turned towards the front of the wagon.

“Ah, I get you.” Arthur said slyly, moving passed John and heading towards the passenger seat.

John moved towards Old Boy, mounting up as the other men spoke and waiting for his turn to say something.

“You and Dutch was just doing your duty when you requisitioned it. Now I’m doing mine.” Hosea said as he climbed aboard the cart. Arthur nodded in agreement, turning as John rode up beside them and shouted in their direction.

“Alright, I should get going now.” He said with a nod, waving with his free hand as he steered Old Boy towards the main path. “I’ll leave you fellers to it, Good luck!”

It hadn’t taken John long to find the horses Dutch had been talking about. They were beautiful creatures alright and after posing as a farmhand and casually speaking with another worker, he had confirmed their worth.

He’d rushed back to camp, excited at the prospect of taking home at least a grand in earnings. He had lamented the fact that Dutch had pulled him from Hosea’s job. But as it turned out, he stood to earn more from this one mission alone than he would selling the moonshine several times over with Hosea.

He had spoken with Javier immediately. The other man was quick on his feet and good partner in crime. He had agreed straight away and was keen to discuss the plan in detail as soon as Arthur returned from Hosea’s job.

“Arthur?” John asked blankly. “No, it’s just you an’ me.” He clarified, making Javier hesitate.

“For three horses?” The other man asked with a chuckle. “No, we’ll need another man.”

“I don’t want another man.” John said hurriedly. “I…” He trailed off. “I need… the money.” He ground out, making Javier nod in understanding.

“I get it.” He replied after a moment. “But trust me John, we need another man on this or you might end up with nothing.” He offered gently.

John considered his words. Groaning in frustration as he conceded that the other man was right.

“Fine.” He spat, a little too venomously. “But just Arthur.”

“You Goddamn idiot, Marston!”

Arthur’s voice rang in his head the entire way back to camp. He had split off from the others as soon as the job was done. Taking the long way back to Clemen’s Point and using the time to grieve the money he thought he’d be returning with.

$120 each.

That was it.

So much for the $5000 horses. He knew it was too good to be true, but greed had blinded him.

“You are a fucking idiot.” John grumbled to himself amidst Old Boy’s hooves clicking against the rocks along the edge of the lake. “A fool.” He muttered. Feeling hurt and embarrassment bubble up in his chest.

He hadn’t even wanted Arthur on the Goddamn job. The idiot should be grateful for any money John’s job earned him.

He supposed he should feel the same for himself. He had enough money to earn himself a few nights of food without Dutch losing it on him. Enough money to feed Abigail and Jack.

If he wanted to.

He remembered bitterly. Throat tightening at the thought.

Abigail would be embarrassed by the take he was bringing home today. Unhappy that once again he had failed to provide for her in the way she wanted.

While her doing some work around camp was a nice gesture. It didn’t do much overall for his self-esteem. He should be able to keep her fed and clothed. She shouldn’t have to work just to keep herself afloat.

At least she hadn’t returned to prostitution. He forced himself to be reminded. At least she wasn’t borrowing money from Arthur.

Things could always be worse, and he was sure they soon would be if he didn’t get himself sorted out. With the way Dutch was acting. Moving them further and further south instead of making a plan to get them back to the west.

John approached camp at a steady pace. Speeding up a little as people began to come into view and he realised he could be noticed moping along the bank.

Hitching Old Boy, he thanked him for the ride and promised he would get a cut off the profits as well. Vowing to buy him a juicy carrot the next time he ventured into a town.

John placed the camp share into the lockbox and wrote his name on the ledger. Leaving behind him a scribbled mess of a word in his hurry to get as far away from Dutch’s lodgings as possible.

He headed towards his own tent, intending to grab a quick bite to eat before finding some busy work that would take up the rest of his afternoon.

In the old days, after he returned from a job he would use that as an excuse to sit on his ass and drink. But lately he had too much to think about and the weight of his problems were too heavy to be lightened by a swig of alcohol.

Working kept his mind busy, even if he hated it.

“Hey.” Abigail greeted from somewhere to his left. “How’d you go?” She asked as he turned to face her.

John swallowed as he stared into her cool blue eyes. He’d lived this moment a thousand times before and it was never pretty.

“Fine.” He lied, looking away from her and continuing into his tent. He knew she would follow and was unsurprised when he turned to close the door and she was already halfway through it.

He sighed, closing the canvas flap anyway and shrouding them in darkness.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust before he knelt to rummage through his things.

“You okay?” Abigail asked after a long silence. The ruffling of John’s clothes and tools the only sounds between them.

John stopped what he was doing, looking up to her sadly as he wondered if her question was heartfelt or a steppingstone to get to her point.

He stared at her in the darkness, the sharpness of her features illuminated by the small flecks of sunlight streaming through the holes where he had not secured the tarp tightly enough over the frame.

“I…” John began, pausing. He felt compelled to tell her the truth but the last thing he wanted was to start a fight. Arthur had reamed him hard enough about his failures. He wasn’t sure he could handle Abigail piling on right now. He was still so fragile after everything that had happened to him in the past few weeks.

Without warning, Abigail knelt by his side. She placed her hand gently on his arm and through the darkness of the tent he could make out a soft smile.

“Come with me.” She said softly, giving his arm a squeeze before rising once more and holding out her hand for him to take.

He stared at it warily, taking it in his and rising to his feet without her help.

She let him go, walking through the door of the tent and up towards the horses hitched on the hill beside camp.

He followed her dumbly. Unsure where the hell they were going or why but hungry to find out.

Abigail led him beyond the horses, stopping just shy of the edge of camp and holding out her hand once more. John looked around them, realising that from where he was, he could just see the tips of their tents. They were out of sight of the rest of the gang and Abigail’s insistent hand grabbed for his in a way that told him that’s exactly where she wanted them to be.

He let himself be pulled forwards a few steps before she stopped abruptly, letting him go and turning towards him with a strange look on her face.

She lunged towards him, shoving him hard in the chest with both hands and watching as he lost his balance. He yelped in surprise, hands flailing as he grabbed for anything to stop him landing on his ass.

He felt his back land hard against something and realise he was leaning against the trunk of a tree.

“What the hell?” John shouted, staring at her in shock as she smirked at him. She had known the tree was there, she had never intended for him to fall.

“Shush.” She directed, bringing her finger to her lips and flicking her head in the direction of camp. “Wouldn’t want anyone to hear you out here and think you’re in trouble.” She leered, walking towards him with a powerful stride.

John felt like a small animal watching a predator descend upon it.

She reached him quickly, placing a tender hand on his face before leaning in and placing her lips on his. He felt his eyes flutter closed at the contact, breathing heavily through his nose as she pulled away. He opened his eyes again after a second and watched as she seemed to study him.

She moved her hand from his face, placing it on his chest and letting her other join it before running them both down and out along the sides of his body. She could still feel his ribs under his shirt.

It made her sad.

John watched her hands, his skin burning under her touch as he waited to see what she would do next.

“What’s the matter John?” Abigail asked suddenly, his eyes shooting up to meet hers at the question. He considered her for a moment, remembering when she’d asked if he was okay inside his tent minutes earlier.

It felt like hours ago right now.

“Nothing.” He whispered, forgetting himself and all his anxieties as her hands seared the skin under his shirt.

“You seem unhappy.” Abigail said softly, hands petting softly against him as he subconsciously leant into her touch. “What happened?”

John shook his head, not trusting his mouth to answer. He didn’t want to think about that right now. Didn’t want to stew on the horses when whatever this was, was right under his nose.

Abigail stopped moving her hands, tilting her head in question as she waited for an answer. John watched her, eyes begging her to drop it before finally giving in at the realisation that whatever this was would not continue without a satisfying answer.

“I… I didn’t make as much cash as I… As I thought.” He admitted, the words sour in his mouth as he spoke them. “and Arthur called me an idiot.” He added, blushing as the words forced themself from his throat. He felt like a kid, tattling about his older brother being mean to him.

Abigail nodded in understanding and John braced himself for her to pull away. Now that she had the information she wanted, she could stop pretending to care.

“Maybe I can make you feel better.” She said instead, fingers tickling a hot trail down the sides of his torso. John frowned, unsure what she meant as she beamed at him wickedly.

“What are you…” He began to ask, trailing off as her hands dragged down his sides and over his hips. She knelt on the ground in front of him. He stared at her, heart racing as she lifted her head to lock her piercing blue eyes onto his.

She looked to him for permission. Long lashes fluttering as she waited for him to speak.

John licked his lips, inhaling a stuttered breath as she moved her thumb to caress just below his abdomen.

He was hard in an instant, confusion turning to burning lust as he clenched his jaw and nodded once, eager to see where this was going.

Abigail smirked, hands moving fast to unbutton his fly before leaning forward to press her lips against the union suit covering his member.

John gasped, erection pulsing as the shock of her movement made his heart leap into his throat. He swallowed thickly, breathing heavily with parted lips as he watched her nip at the fabric, grabbing it between her teeth and tugging it away from his body. Hands busy with the buttons above her nose.

Pre-cum leaked freely from his swollen cock, making the fabric under Abi’s hands tacky and wet. She grinned to herself, jerking her head violently to the side and ripping his suit firmly away from his member. Relishing in the small gasp John let forth as his tip freed from its cloth prison through the buttonhole she had undone.

“Jesus Christ…” John mumbled, watching in awe as Abi swiped her nose against the wetness on his head. Moving her face upwards to kitten lick his tip, making his legs begin to shake.

She’d only ever done this for him once in the past. The first time they ever slept together. She’d taken him in her mouth and afforded him a few good sucks before pulling away and asking him to fuck her.

He’d found himself pining after the feeling for years to come. Unable to replicate it himself and not brave enough to ask her to repeat it.

His heart was in his throat. Disbelief surged through him as readily as his arousal. He couldn’t believe it was happening again. The surprise alone had him on the edge. Her persistent tongue edging him along the precipice with small laps before she’d even taken him fully.

“Fuck, Abi.” He breathed, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders as he gently pried her away from him. Cock twitching in disappointment as his orgasm ebbed away and arousal pulsed almost painfully through his shaft.

Abigail looked up to him, questioning him with her gaze, eyes flicking between him and his leaking cock as she wondered if he hadn’t liked it.

“I…” He whispered, scrambled mind unable to vocalize anything he wanted or needed to say.

“You want me to stop?” Abigail asked softly. Her tone tender, making his heart flutter.

“No.” He answered simply, biting at his lip as he watched her eyes flash playfully. She sat back on her heels, removing her hands from his hips and placing them on her thighs. John felt regret flash through him at the gesture, closing his eyes and letting his chin fall against his chest.

“Just a quick break then.” She whispered kindly, hand coming out to caress his thigh as she realised he had thought she was stopping completely. She knew he was easily riled up. Knew him well enough to know he was seconds away from coming. One more lick away from exploding over her face and then apologising profusely. Being overwhelmed with embarrassment as his body betrayed him.

She hadn’t spent many nights with him overall, considering the length of their relationship. But every time they had fucked it was the same old story. Barely in and over in less than a minute. John unable to shake the shame of his eagerness.

At first, she had tried to reassure him it didn’t matter. But over time she had grown tired of that game. Hoping her honestly would push him to try harder. It wasn’t until recently she had realised how much her callous attitude had hurt him. How she should have been working with him instead of against him. He did always try so hard to please her afterwards. It wasn’t his fault that she was bad at instructing him.

He deserved this for everything he did for her and Jack. Deserved to enjoy something guilt free and for longer than 10 seconds. She had been so harsh with him over the years, despite knowing how hard he pined for her and how hurt he’d been after her betrayal. She’d put herself and her own hurt before his and the support of the gang had spurred her into believing she was right to do that.

John looked down at the hand on his thigh as she spoke, eyes flicking away as he subconsciously tried to hide from her. Shame setting in as his arousal began to fade and he became overly aware of his exposed cock, inches from her face.

Abigail smiled sympathetically, feeling guilt bubble in her chest and push her towards him. Her lips closing over his shaft and tongue swirling against the head as John’s knees buckled under the feeling. He groaned loudly, fighting to keep himself standing as pleasure shot out like lightning throughout his body. He’d been caught off guard, having been staring at anything but her and wondering how the hell he was going to walk away from this with his dignity intact. He hadn’t truly believed she would continue.

She took it slowly, pulling back and letting him fall from her mouth for a second before slowly nibbling a trail along the side of his shaft, making him gasp and mumble incoherently. She licked a long line back to the tip, hand coming up to gently massage his balls as she kissed his head softly, making John whimper.

“Fuck.” He whispered, eyes fluttering closed again as she took him in her mouth and began a slow rhythm, pushing forward until her nose was in his curls and then pulling back even slower to let her tongue swipe over his tip.

John’s head hung low; brows furrowed as sweat began to bead on his forehead. He could feel the pleasure building again, slow and steady before it began to stall. The long drawn-out strokes of Abigail’s lips keeping him in a constant state of arousal without pushing him over the edge.

It was bliss.

His jaw clenched tightly as she continued to move against him at a snail’s pace, a small suck every couple of strokes making him gasp and groan but not quite enough to get him there.

Frustration began to build as he felt his orgasm begin to close in on him again and then eb away once more as she seemed to sense it and pause her movements.

“Fuck.” He growled, unable to come up with another word as he moved his hands to her hair, pulling her roughly against him and thrusting his at the same time. A surge of pleasure making his head fall back and quickly snap forward again when Abigail pulled herself from his grip roughly.

He panted heavily as she pulled her mouth away completely, confused and searching her face for any signs of pain.

“Let me tease you.” She said firmly, an instruction and not a suggestion.

“What?” John asked dumbly, blinking at her as she spoke.

“Let. Me. Tease. You.” Abigail said again firm but kind. “Don’t cum until I tell you to.” She added, making his dick bob helplessly as a small whine left his lips.

He’d tried to tease himself in the past, but his self-control was severely lacking when it came to anything even remotely sexual. Once he was close it was all over. He was unable to stop himself before the point of no return. Always desperately searching for his climax despite resolving that this time would be different.

He had never purposefully drawn out a session in his entire life. The closest he’d come was being interrupted midway through and having to wait until his company had left to continue.

“Okay…” he replied breathily. Excited but a little unsure at the same time. He wasn’t convinced he could hold out if she moved even slightly faster than she had been before.

“I know what you’re thinkin’.” Abigail smirked, raising a brow at the blush forming on his stubbly cheeks. “Yes you can.” She whispered, the hand that had been gently teasing his balls coming up to tug on his member firmly, placing John right back where he had been seconds before. Head falling back against the trunk of the tree and legs feeling like jelly as Abigail took him in her mouth again.

“Abi…” He whispered, feeling suddenly daring and letting himself acknowledge it was her that was making him feel this way. It was really her with her mouth around his cock and not just some fantasy he’d cooked up alone in his tent. “Jesus, Abi.” He groaned, lips trembling as he let himself enjoy the moment. Really live in it and relish in the fact that she wanted him to feel good. She wanted him to enjoy it. She wasn’t just trying to get it over with as fast as possible. Quickly fucking him into submission and moving on with her day. “Abigail.” He grunted, repeating her name like a mantra as she moved leisurely, letting the tip of his cock hit against the back of her throat every second thrust just to tease him a little further.

Abigail hummed in reply to her name, his hands shooting to fist in her hair as she struggled not to smile at his response. Keeping her composure and steadying her rhythm as she watched his abdomen convulse under the strain of keeping him on the edge for so long.

She wondered absently if this was the longest he’d ever managed to hold out. Knowing deep in her core that he wasn’t far off being pulled over that threshold he was precariously balancing on. She wondered if it was her pace or his desperate need to please her that kept him at bay.

“Okay.” Abigail sighed softly as she pulled back and let him fall from her mouth. “You can cum now.” She instructed, making him whimper and press his leaking cock against her lips. She turned her head, letting him swipe a trail of pre-cum against her cheek as her eyes flicked towards him and her tone became serious. “Do you want me to take that back?” She asked dangerously, making him shake his head almost violently in protest. She watched him, eyes trailing over the deep blush running down his neck across his chest. He was so close and yet she continued to tease. Daring him to disobey her. “Answer me.” She ordered, watching as his adam’s apple bob and he swallowed dryly.

“No.” He huffed, straining as he forced himself to stay still while every fibre of his being was screaming at him to keen against her cheek.

“No Ma’am.” Abigail corrected, making John whimper, his fingers pulling in her hair so hard she failed to conceal a wince.

“No Ma’am.” John echoed, desperate for her to continue. Anything to feel her hot mouth around him once more.

It was Abigail’s turn to swallow, tongue darting out to lick at her own lips as she inhaled sharply at his reply. Something deep inside her stirring and sending a jolt of pleasure through her. Wetness gathering between her legs at the way he’d called her Ma’am.

“Good boy.” She croaked, feeling iffy of the reply but something inside her telling her it was the right move. John’s erection pulsed at her words, leaking against her cheek and making him grumble as he clenched his jaw so tight his teeth threatened to crack.

Abigail moved quickly, taking him in her mouth and sucking hard as she pushed forward, taking his whole length and moaning loudly as she pulled back. Making John cry out she plunged back in again, tongue working the underside of his cock as she continued her brutal rhythm, fucking him with her mouth as he lost his battle with his restraint and thrust forward to meet her mouth.

Abigail continued to moan despite the discomfort, letting herself melt into his pace and relaxing her throat to the best of her ability in preparation for his seed.

“Fuck, Abi.” John growled, short, uneven thrusts pulling him over the edge as he began to tremble violently. Pleasure hitting its peak and shooting out to roll in waves over his weakened body as he continued to move inside her lips. Feeling himself pulse and twitch as he spent himself against the back of her throat. Hips slowing as the feeling began to wane and he started to feel lightheaded from his ragged breathing.

He stopped completely after his last few very shallow thrusts. Still moaning softly, almost whining as he came down from his high. The warmth of her mouth comforting him and making him feel whole in a way he hadn’t for months now. His head fell low, chin touching his chest again as he began to loosen his grip in her hair and realised he was placing a lot of his weight against her in an effort to get as far into her mouth as he could.

“Shit.” He whispered, pulling back quickly and leaning himself against the trunk of the tree. His member fell from her mouth unceremoniously and he waited to watch her spit his seed at his feet.

Abigail took in a large breath as he removed himself from her mouth, sitting back on her heels once more and letting her own head fall back as she began to smile widely.

John frowned, releasing her hair and letting his hands fall to his side as he watched in confusion before stifling a gasp at the realisation that she had swallowed his cum.

“Jesus.” He whispered, silently cursing his limited vocabulary as he realised that must be the fourth or fifth time, he’d taken the Lord’s name in vain in the last ten minutes.

Abigail chuckled at his singlemindedness. He was cute when he was randy.

John felt himself flush at the sound of her giggle. Shaking himself out of his stupor and hurriedly tucking his spent cock back into his pants as he caught Abigail look between it and his eyes.

He positioned himself as best he could in his pants, buttoning up his fly and wiping his wet hands on the sides of his jeans before realising himself and quickly pulling them away; hoping they wouldn’t stain.

He already had a cum covered shirt hidden in his saddle bag that he needed to discreetly wash at some point.

“Uh…” He stammered, unsure what to do now as Abigail held out a hand and waited for him to help her up. He grabbed it swiftly, pulling her to her feet and following her lead, helping as she began to brush the debris from the ground off her skirt. “Thank you.” John said huskily as she stood straight. Feeling suddenly very exposed in her gaze and hanging his head so he couldn’t see her as she responded.

He jumped as a hand moved up to cup his face, thumb gently caressing his unmarred cheek.

“Thank you.” Abigail said firmly. “For… all… you do.” She stammered awkwardly. “For us.” She finished, quickly pulling her hand away and crossing her arms over her chest. Feeling uneasy at the thought if being vulnerable with anyone.

John swallowed thickly, a lump appearing in his throat and a burning pinch at his eyes as he replayed her words in his mind. Struggling to process what he had heard her say. He nodded, unable to speak as he felt the hand move away and saw her feet take a step back.

“I’ve ought to… get back… to Jack.” Abigail said clumsily, feeling suddenly self-conscious and needing an excuse to leave. John nodded again without looking up, his heart thundering in his chest as he waited for her to go. Desperately trying to hold back his vulnerable tears as to not sully the moment with more weakness.

She’d seen enough of his indignity in the last few weeks.

He watched as her boots turned and retreated. Keeping his head down until long after he’d lost track of the sound of her footsteps crunching on the forest ground.

“Fuck.” He repeated, his voice hoarse as he finally looked up and made sure he was actually alone.

He let himself slide down the trunk of the tree. Planting his ass on the ground and resting his arms on his knees. He clasped his hands together, wringing them unconsciously as he reflected on what had just unfolded.

Abigail had taken it upon herself to touch him without being propositioned first. She hadn’t done that since before Blackwater.

Since… Maggie.

But this time he hadn’t fucked up. He hadn’t given her a reason to feel envious or like she had to work to keep him or he would leave her for someone else.

But that was the point he supposed.

To seem genuine.

Affection that came out of the blue and was presented as a gift that didn’t require reciprocation.

But that wasn’t the case.

He reminded himself, biting at his cheek and wishing he had a cigarette.

The reciprocation was his loyalty to her and Jack.

To the child that wasn’t his.

John sighed, bringing up a hand to wipe at his eyes irately, refusing to let any more tears fall over this situation. He had cried over this woman enough for two lifetimes.

He was a man Goddammit.

He had become accustomed to the twinge in the back of his throat and the stinging in his eyes. They followed him everywhere just as the dull ache in his chest had followed him for years. But these new symptoms were harder to ignore. More obvious to others and very telling of his state of mind.

He was sick of sitting in his tent, watching the mirror and waiting for the redness around his eyes to dissipate enough to resurface without people giving him knowing glances.

Sympathetic looks.

“Fucking… fuck.” He whispered to himself once more. Leaning down to place his head in his hands and wishing he had the intellect in this moment to vocalise any word other than ‘fuck’.

His mind was a mess.

He wished he could be like Dutch and think positively about a good thing for once in his miserable life instead of just waiting for the inevitable ugly truth to reveal itself. Always looking to the future and dreading the end, spoiling his fun before he could begin instead of enjoying it while it lasted as others did.

He sighed once more. A huff that left him feeling breathless as he raised his head and let it fall roughly onto his fist. Just barely managing to convince himself it was an accident, and he didn’t mean for it to hurt as much as it did.

“Why are you like this?” He asked himself bitterly. A sentiment he’d had repeated to him by others just as often as he’d asked it of himself. “Idiot.” He admonished, glaring at his boots as if they’d just insulted him. “You are a fucking idiot.”

Abigail felt the anxiety in her chest lessen at the sight of John trapsing back into camp. She’d been back more than an hour and if she was honest, she had started to worry he wasn’t going to follow her. He had taken his sweet time and she couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he had been doing out there all that time after she’d walked away.

She watched as he slunk back to his tent. Weaving expertly away from the sound of Dutch’s voice and slipping inside before being noticed. She supposed he didn’t feel much like facing the older man after the morning he’d had.

She had already made it back to camp in time to hear Arthur lament the mission to Dutch. He’d complained enough about the lack of money for the both of them.

Part of her had been glad John hadn’t followed after her immediately. He didn’t need Dutch on his case about the horses as well. She silently hoped the other men just let it go and gave John a pass on this one. He couldn’t have known the mission would be a bust. He had tried his best and she was quietly annoyed that Arthur had made such a huge stink about it.

But she was even more annoyed at herself. Knowing full well if Sadie had never given her a peak into John’s heart that she would have been the same towards him about the money.

Perhaps worse.

She realised with a pang of guilt. Shaming him for not keeping them afloat when he had done all he could to make sure they were paid at least a little money.

She’d been terrible to him.

She wouldn’t blame him if he walked away. But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt.

Although she loved John, she knew it would probably hurt less in the long run than the pain she had caused him over the years. The things she had taken from him with her lie.

He was still young when they’d met. He may have had a future other than this one if she hadn’t named him as Jack’s Father. But she had been selfish. Playing on his crush and taking advantage of his kindness.

She’d never really seen herself as one of the gang but she supposed if she really thought about it she fit in here perfectly. She’d came into John’s home and taken from him something that she wanted for herself in the name of survival.

That’s what they all did wasn’t it? The way that they lived. At the expense of someone else.

She was just like them all. It had just taken someone pointing it out for her to realise.

Abigail rubbed tiredly at her eyes as she tried to shake away the negative thoughts.

Regardless of what she’d done in the past, she was determined to make up for it now. At the very least if she couldn’t make up for it she wanted to try and make the future bearable for both of them. Instead of fine for one and insufferable for the other.

She had to try, not just for herself or Jack but for John.

He deserved to be happy.

~~~~~~

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Please please let me know if you liked this fic!! I am so inspired by comments, they keep me motivated and make my day more than you could ever know. ❤

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