A/N: This is my lil chance to thank you all so much for 10K reads on this story – to think it came from a simple one shot – and blossomed into a full-fledged story. I am so blessed to have such lovely readers, supportive and kind people who give me the drive and encouragement to write.

That said, let's dive back in.

--

'If you go, I'll stay.
You come back, I'll be right here.'

-

"Yes. Actually."

A smirk worthy of a demon crept onto Bronte's seeded expression, there was a cocksure look in his eyes as he stood there, surveying you as if he could see straight through the brave exterior you were putting up.

Your hands grasped tightly onto the cases in your hands, (eye colour) eyes darting quickly back to address the fact that you had seen Dutch and Hosea. Both men looked stunned to see you, but equally unnerved by the situation that was unfolding.

"(name), sweetheart...." Hosea's voice started unsteadily, it was gentle – like a calming beacon of light through the thick of a storm. You found yourself instantly looking into his direction for some comfort.

Lashing around, Bronte shot a bewildered look at Dutch and Hosea, who were still pinned in by two guards. A questionable look crossed the Italian's face – an irritated expression of awe.

"You know these yankee scum?" Bronte then address you harshly, his derogative tone set you ablaze with anger immediately. Your fiery glare spelled it all, for if you opened your mouth you were fearful of a bullet.

The top-dog chuckled quietly to himself, it was a laughter reminiscent of deviant behaviour – someone of darkness, complete undoing. It reminded you a lot of Micah's irritating laughter. Bronte paced around the landing, his mannerism passive and collected like he had every ounce of time in the world. Your eyes were flickering worriedly to Dutch and Hosea, who were looking about at you with a gaze that seemed to ask a million questions.

"What you doin' with our girl then, Bronte?" Dutch sounded angered now, it was clear to see the gang leader had now very much realised just what Bronte had done – made him look a total and utter fool. Dutch's statement however, despite the fact the man had been so quick to turn you away on that horrible day – set your stomach tightening in knots. Proud knots. A sense of belonging crept back in.

"Your girl?" Angelo sounded totally disgusted, and his berating look over your form made your eyes cower to the ground with the sense of impending doom you felt. You knew where this was going.

"I had no idea she was yours." He made you sound as if you were merely some stray dog off the streets. A short silence followed, and then came the rising rumble of dark laughter.

"She made quite the good fuck toy."

How degrading. The shame dragged you under like a tidal current and drowned you in masses of regret and guilt. It hurt so much knowing that this was the truth they needed to hear – a truth that Arthur was going to have to hear soon enough too.

Bronte snickered louder seeing the way he had caused you to introvert, he clearly enjoyed making you feel small.

"I rather regret this now." Like a card, his side changed – he was no longer laughing. He sounded incredibly ominous, lingering on the edge of violent. "If I'd of known she was mixing with some half-breed American scum-"

All whilst Bronte had been further belittling you, reminding you of all of the bad things you had done – you found the shame turning itself inside out. It flipsided, like a coin – and you were able to see the other side. A side that reminded you that just because you had done these things, to survive – it didn't make you as a person.

Who you were – who you wanted to be. That was all in your hands.

So, as Bronte had been midway through grizzling and growling his nasty, toxic words your way – you snapped your gaze up.

Pink-diamond adorned hand fisted into a ball, and you sent your arm reeling backwards – and then cracked your fist straight into the centre of the Italian's nose. The cry he made as he tumbled backwards into the wall was most satisfying – but also incredibly terrifying.

You had been expecting a showering of bullets, but it seemed as you had made your move to punch the egotistical arsehole of a man – Dutch and Hosea had been planning their next move.

There was a swift cracking of snapped vertebrae, and then Dutch's guard had dropped lifeless to the floor. Hosea had opted for the more humane approach of just knocking the other guard out – and it was rather amusing to see the look of horrified bewilderment from the older grey-haired man as he stared at Dutch.

"Come on, we need to get out of here-" Dutch started, grabbing the guard's rifle and then running to grab your hand, throwing one of your cases at Hosea to carry.

The next moments were a mad scramble, a crazy blur that acted on you like some illicit substance. Bronte was just about picking himself up off the floor, and you could hear his enraged screams whilst Dutch dragged you in the direction of the stairs.

The last glance you ever took back at that monster – you saw the rich red blood oozing from his nostrils, his face crumpled in fury like a paper bag and his fist shaking madly like he was fit to burst with his want to kill all of you.

"Come on, darlin' – I need you to focus." Dutch reminded you, pulling your arm gently to get you to look where you were actually going considering the three of you were running down those stairs fast enough to cause a nasty fall.

In the foyer, guests already looked panic at the chaos that had suddenly bubbled. Bronte was still screaming from up on the landing and it seemed he was aiming on chasing you – so you needed to act quickly.

At the foot of those marble steps, Bill and Arthur rushed to meet yourself, Dutch and Hosea. Reminiscent of the very first day you had met these men, Dutch passed you over to Arthur – who very protectively wound his arms around you, hurrying you out towards the front door.

"Grab that chest, Bill!" Hosea called to Mr Williamson, regarding the wooden box that contained all of their guns. Williamson was leading the charge out of the front door – followed by yourself and Arthur. At this point you were so shook up by what you had just done, what had been said and all that was going on immediately that you were rather relying on Arthur to take control.

"What-!?" the security called by the front gate as Bill made short work of sending his elbow into the chap's chin, smashing his teeth up through his lip. The guy fell back into the bushes with a scream of agony, the loudness of the noise making your insides cringe a little.

"Come on kid, Goddamnit!" Bill called, apparently Lenny thrashing those horses and the carriage up the street to collect you all was not fast enough.

The loud clambering of hooves, chaotic thundering and rumbling of the carriage's turbulent movements all merged into one. The thing had barely stopped at the curb before you all packed in, aware of the fact guard's were now making their way up through the hallway of the mayor's elite home and keen to put the bullet in each of your heads.

"Move it, Lenny!" Dutch screamed, and the carriage volted far too fast from the curb. With a hefty thud, you fell back further into your seat – the breath knocked from your lungs. Your fleeting glance eyed up Bill hurriedly cracking the chest open – and handing each of the men a gun with urgency.

Through it all, you curled yourself up into a ball – reminding yourself to keep your head down whilst you heard the shots being exchanged. There was a rapid rush of wind, carriage doors flung open as Bill and Arthur hung out the side of either door and plucked off Bronte's men one by one.

After a crazed few minute, the gunshots quietened into silence, the carriage slowed – and you felt as if you had melded into another unworldly place in time. It was pitch black outside, no street lights in sight. You were incredibly disorientated as to where you actually were.

"Well that weren't exactly how I planned for that to go." Dutch suddenly exasperated, leaning back in the seat. He looked a mess now, suit unkempt – top hat had been lost in the madness, and a rather deflated look on his face.

"I think we got somethin' better out of it though." Hosea's tones then added, and you smiled softly in the direction of the father-figure who was looking at you proudly. A pleasant silence fell in the carriage for a few seconds, and you were able to recount the utter relief you felt.

You were back where you belonged.

"That's absolutely right." Dutch replied to Hosea, watching the way Arthur now put his arm around you, pulling you in at his side. The comfort and safety that enveloped around you was unmatched, you had missed feeling so protected. Only Arthur could make you feel that way.

"Lots to talk about." Was then added by the gang leader, with a bit of a subtly pressing look in your direction. Hosea's smile seemed to falter, and he looked rather regrettably over at Dutch. The pit in your stomach seemed to swell to the size of a rock – the heavy weight of nerves uncomfortably real.

Yes, there was lots of things to catch up on – but it was incredibly late, you were exhausted and everything just felt incredibly surreal at this point. You would welcome sleep more than anything at this point.

-

Around fifteen minutes later, the carriage slowed to a complete halt – your tired, heavy lidded eyes fluttering open fast.

Your turned your head to the right, and noted a hand extended out to you – soft eyes and a gentle demeanour drew you in.

"Come on, you need to get some sleep." Arthur had said, waiting for you to take his hand. With a slight dazed motion, your dainty hand sought out to take his own. His grip around you tightened, protectively, caringly and with sheer love – assisting you as carefully as a glass vase out of the carriage.

Stepping out into the chill night, you were even more disrupted – you had been expecting to be at Horseshoe Overlook, but this was some large, admittedly rather run down – but charming, grandiose manor house property. Smirking at the utter confusion on your face, Arthur's small laughter rose from beside you.

"We've gone up in the world now." He teased you, keeping tight hold of your hand. Through the fogged curtain of exhaustion, you were so elated to see just how happy he was – it was so evident he had missed you just as much as you had missed him. The pair of you must've been pining for one another like mad.

Yet on the back of this thought, like a ragged corpse dragged behind – you felt imminent dread and disgust of yourself at the mere ideation that you were going to have to tell him what had happened... what you had been doing all these months away.

"You can have my bed tonight – I'll sleep downstairs." Arthur's voice rang through to you, pulling you out of the downwards spiral you had been twisting through. His words made you look over at him, as he walked the pair of you inside the house. It appeared most must have been in bed by now, in a way you were glad – you weren't sure if you could handle them all hounding you after the night's events.

"Thank you Arthur... but I don't mind, I'd sleep just about wherever." You confessed. You weren't lying either, this exhaustion was on another level. You were dead certain that even if you laid yourself down on the cold, distained marble floor in the hallway you'd sleep peacefully.

"Don't be stupid," Arthur scolding, his voice low and quiet out of respect for those sleeping in the house, "You're sleepin' in my bed and that's final." He ushered you with a harsh whisper, guiding you through the darkness onto a set of very creaky wooden steps.

This all felt like such a strange dream, accompanied with your evident fatigue – none of this seemed real. The events of the past few hours felt like a totally separate story, like they could span a few years – not just a night.

Reaching the summit of the stairs, Arthur led the way around the square landing to a room on the other side. Pushing the door open, the room was lit with the modest oil lamp, the chipped paint, exposed plaster and boards were all on show. It was not the room at the mayor's house by a long shot – but you would choose to be here over that place any day.

Standing and mulling in the peaceful silence, you became aware to Arthur's excusing sigh, as he released his grip on your hand and instead laid his large hand to the small of your back in an innocent gesture.

"Well, this is it. It ain't nothin' pretty but it's got a bed shelter from the elements." His voice sounded bashful, worried almost – like he was ashamed to show you to such a room after you had been living in such luxury.

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you recalled the way he had looked at the ring on your finger back at the party – and the dots began to connect.

With a fleeting glance, your (eye colour) eyes drifted to the pink diamond on your finger and noticed now the blood that distained the gems on the gorgeous piece of jewellery – Bronte's blood, having seeped it's way in after you had punched the idiot.

Boring your gaze up at Arthur, you knew it was too late to be doing this to yourself – to be doing this to him. You wrapped your arms around his midsection, pulling yourself in against his chest. Relief gripped you from the moment he reciprocated the gentle hold, his large arms protectively snaking their way around your waist, clothed in your pink finery.

A breath caught it's way in your throat, preventing you from uttering a word for a moment. But you knew you could not keep hindering yourself, this thought would bother you all night.

"I did not marry anyone, Arthur." Your voice suddenly blurted, and under your presence you felt him stiffen up a little. It seemed you had addressed something that had been playing on his mind.

A slow sigh exalted from the gunslinger, and you felt his lean figure underneath you lapse slightly.

"I... I had hoped you hadn't... but...." He uttered, "Just... didn't want to drag you back here if you was livin' some life where you were better off." He informed you, his tone not at all bitter. Suddenly his hold on you once again tightened, his hands smoothing up and down your back slowly. "I just want you to be happy."

'Damn You.'

You cursed yourself internally, the bitter sting of tears in your eyes at how precious this man was. All this had been about... it wasn't for his own feelings, he just made that evident. All Arthur ever wanted was for you to be happy. It struck you right in your feelings like a lash of lightning, and made you want to cry. The more adorable he was proving to be, the more it hurt to think you were going to have to open up to him tomorrow.

He deserved the truth from you, and nothing else. If there was any hope for you to move forward, the aching reality had to be faced.

Crushing your face against his chest, you scrunched your face up to fight the tears and let loose a little sigh – hoping it didn't sound too tearful or shaky.

"The only place I'll ever be happy is with you... wherever that place is." You returned, looking up at him with soft eyes, "From the wild, to the streets... to run down country estate houses." You smiled wryly.

Your words had brought the smile back to his face, and now one of his hands had etched up to your face, cupping your cheek as you happily leaned it into his hand like a puppy craving attention.

"Come on... you need some sleep." He reminded you, seeing the way the sleep hung about in your eyes like clouds on a grey day. A simple sweet kiss to your lips didn't seem to last long enough, as you pulled him deeper against you.

There were a lot of feelings between the pair of you that had been running deep for too long, and even in his state of want for you – Arthur was able to be the responsible adult.

He retreated from what was intended to be his innocent kiss to start, smirking in gentle disbelief at your feverish ways.

"I mean it." He whispered, brushing his thumb over your cheek. "There'll be plenty a' time for that." The outlaw reminded you, heading back towards the door, leaving you feeling rather empty in that room.

His figure gently illuminated in that soft light, a prominent glow of adoration in your stomach – you called out for him one final time, and he stopped, hand just laid on the grass door handle. His cool eyes glanced back at you from over a broad shoulder, sending shivers down your spine which just further enforced why you had to say those three words to him, at long last.

"I love you." Left your lips, clutching your hands at your chest slightly as if you were trying to catch the breaths that were escaping you, leaving you feeling breathless in anticipation of his response.

Arthur waited a few moments- the smile growing wider on his face. The pair of you had never really got to say those words to each other before... it was clear it meant a lot.

"Love you too." He responded, tones thick and honeyed.

One last warming glance from him, and then he'd disappeared through the door and out onto the shadowy landing area. Footsteps thudded as quietly as they could away from the door, dispersing into nothing but silence as you found yourself alone in his room.

Overly tired now, you start to disrobe out of the dress. It was a bit of a job to get out of, various knots and things to unbutton and loosen. You were glad to see the garment in a crushed silky heap on the floor.

Next came the necklace, unclipped and left on Arthur's beside table. You wriggled the ring from your finger and set the down beside the necklace, closely followed by the beautiful earrings that too had glimmered beautifully in the hazy lamplight. You had no inclination to keep these pieces of jewellery, they were just a reminder of Bronte and your awful work in Saint Denis. They'd be getting sold off the moment you had the opportunity.

Your hands rooted tiredly through Arthur's things and found an old French dress shirt to put on, sliding the shapeless garment over your body as you fell into bed then. Your achingly tired body greeted the bed with warm welcome. It wasn't long before you were cradled off into the arms of sleep.

--

The sounds of talking woke you up, alongside loud twittering of morning birds charming the world with their dulcet tones.

You had woken up to talking a lot over recent months – whether it be shouting workers in the streets of Saint Denis, or the Mayor's house staff raging at one another. But this chatter, it was different. Different because it was conversation between people you called your family.

You could hear Jack's laughter, and Abigail's voice too. Oh, how the sound made you smile sleepily whilst your eyes fully fluttered upon.

Your troubles were almost forgotten for those few pleasant seconds whilst your brain kicked into gear – and then you remembered the troublesome talk you needed to have with Arthur. Suddenly your brain could no longer relish the fact you were back, could no longer find simple pleasure in the tender morning light.

A few sharp knocks to the door made you clutch the sheets to yourself in fright.

"W-who is it?" you asked quickly, realising you probably sounded like a foolish frightened child.

"Don't worry dear, it's only me." Those lovely gentle tones were always welcome, Hosea. "Just thought you'd like some coffee." The older man called, voice muffled through the wood of the door.

"Sure, that would be lovely." Your voice called out in response, as the brass handle twisted and the door opened slowly. There was a small smile on Hosea's face, as he crept carefully into the room clutching that steaming mug of coffee. The aroma of the hot drink was most delightful, you couldn't remember the last time you had drank a proper cup of coffee. Hosea also had this fantastic talent for making exceptional hot drinks.

His weathered old hands handed you the mug carefully, to which you accepted with grateful thanks, and clutched the cup tightly and took your first relishing sip.

"You, uh... mind if I sit?" he propositioned, to which you shook your head and gestured out for him to take a seat on the edge of your bed.

There was a couple of moments of thoughtful silence, and the by the look on Hosea's face, you could tell he was worried about you.

"A lot... a lot has changed since you were gone, sweetheart." Hosea started, a gentle sigh mixed with his tone as he braced his elbows on the tops of his legs, bent over slightly whilst he talked, staring out a particular floorboard in the room.

"As you guessed... the truth came out. Micah was shown up – in front of Colm O Driscoll, no less." He said, looking to see the surprised expression on his face – which caused him to chuckle.

"Anyway, we ain't see the man since... and that was a few months ago now." The older man went onto the explain, gesturing his hands here and there with the conversation. His thoughtful eyes shot you another glance.

"I'm just more worried about you... from what Bronte said..." he started, and could see the pain on your face at the mention. The coffee in your mouth soured at the mention, and you swallowed it down as if it was poisonous.

"I... I did what I had to do..." you started, very cautiously looking up at Hosea who was staring at you with empathetic understanding, "I hate myself for it. I am so ashamed... I dread to think what Arthur will think of me." Your voice was small now, and dripping with nerves.

After a couple of moments, Hosea stood up, groaning a little at the motion on his ageing bones.

"Now that's one thing you don't need to worry about," he started, looking down at your timid expression, "That boy loves you somethin' strong. I ain't never seen him this smitten before." Hosea reminded you, and you smiled at the thought.

"(name) – we're a group of people who have done all sorts of bad things... killin', robbin', lyin'." He went on to detail, slowly making his way back towards the door now.

"Like you said, you were doin' what you could to give yourself some stability. Ain't nothin' wrong with that."

Hosea's hand fell upon the handle, as he took one last look at you, hoping his talk had made you feel a little less anxious.

"Just – get it over and done with. I promise, you'll wonder why you worried in the first place."

With that, he disappeared and closed the door behind you with a gentle click, some creak f protests from the floorboards as he walked away.

Hosea had always been such a wonderful figure – he was so wise, so caring and always had a good word of advice. He could be gentle – but also knew how and when to put his foot down. He was a man you had always admired.

Finishing your coffee, you placed the white mug down on the bedside table and then got yourself up – determined as anything now to get out there and expel your worries.

Deep down you still had a small dose of doubts, you prayed Hosea was right.

--

Leaving Arthur's bedroom that morning felt like you were wandering out into a pit of hungry lions.

You had pulled your soft blue dress from your case which you were still yet to unpack, and fashioned your hair simply into a half up-half down style – trying to carry yourself with some confidence even though you felt like a bag of nerves on legs.

Walking slowly down the creaky wooden steps, you reached the foot of the stairs just as someone was walking in through the back door. The pair of you just stopped and stared at one another gone out, it was John – clearly having just been out for a cigarette. He looked absolutely stunned to see you.

"Goddamn! They said you was back!" his raspy tones called in delight, and you were both shocked and warmed when he pulled you into a hug. "It's so nice to see you, (name)." John added, smiling as he pulled away.

"It's so lovely to be back... I have missed you all so much." You started, and then laughed somewhat nervously, "Well... most people."

Realising you were already bumbling off track, you forced another polite smile and shortly lowered yourself off the last step and onto the hall floor – sinking below John's height now.

"Have you seen Arthur this morning?" you asked, trying to sound casual despite the crazed butterflies in your stomach.

"Sure, he was on the front porch with Dutch a little while ago." John informed you, narrowing his eyes at you slightly. Oh no...clearly your relaxed façade hadn't worked well at all. "You sure you're ok, (name)?"

You nodded quickly, already starting to walk away.

"Yeah- yeah! It's just, strange to be back." You excused yourself, "Thank you, John!" you added, making your way through the front foyer of the house. Bars of light poured in through the window, further highlighting how dusty the place was as you witnessed the specs whizzing through the sunlight – turned a hue of murky yellow from the dirtied glass windows.

Gingerly, you pushed the front door open and slipped out onto the front porch.

The place looked incredibly different in sunlight – a large stone fountain in the forecourt of the house, the horses grazing just over a small footbridge. It was a rather grand place, even it's state of dis-repair.

"There she is." Those unmistakeable tones rung from somewhere behind you, making you turn around to see Arthur slouched in a small chair, evidently smirking under the brim of his hat.

He reached out all of a sudden, those strong forearms snaking around your waist as he pulled you into his lap, pressing lots of kisses to your neck. He never used to be this affectionate before you two had been forced apart – it seemed his dire adoration for you erased any feelings of worry he had about displays of affection.

"Good morning." You smiled softly, the gesture alone had brightened your day. Between the peppering smooches on your neck, you turned to face your outlaw and gave him a rather serious look.

"I... I wanted to speak to you about something." You addressed, clearing your throat and looking around you both. There didn't seem to be anyone around, but it appeared Arthur could already see this was what you were worried about and chuckled softly in response.

"There ain't no-one round the fronta' here. They're all round the back, helpin' to set up for tonight's party." He informed you, the arm around your waist pulled you flush against his chest. "So... what was it you wanted to say, darlin'?" he pressed, a loving look in his eyes.

God, he looked so handsome, especially with that infatuated look in his eye as he gazed over at you. Now you were hoping the news you were about to deliver wouldn't ruin that.

"I really want to tell you about what happened to me... while I was away. I don't feel comfortable just going forwards without letting you know." You sighed, looking into your lap, twisting again in his lap as you leaned your back again his chest and peered shamefully in your lap.

"Is it botherin' you?" he pressed you with a concerned tone, his arm still around your midsection protectively.

"Yes.... It is." You replied shortly, letting out a deep sigh, "Because I hate myself for it. I'm worried it will make you think differently of me."

The silence offered wasn't reassuring for you, and you bit your lip as the tension wracked up in your body. You wanted him to say something... anything at all. It was killing you.

You heard him breath out, shifting a little underneath you – whilst the arm looped around your waist held you that bit closer.

"Well... I'm sure that ain't the case at all. Don't think I could ever think differently 'bout you." Arthur offered, whilst your eyes remained down at your hands that were resting in your lap.

It took a few moments for you to pluck up the courage to resume with what you had to say, drawing in a shaky deep breath.

"I... I was a working girl in Saint Denis." You outed it, feeling a weight leave your shoulders just at the mention of it. "That's how... how I knew Bronte. How I ended up at the Mayor's house." You swallowed against the lump of disgust in your throat.

"He liked me... too much. Wanted me to remain for him and his elite friends only... that's why I got moved to the Mayor's place." You explained, rambling over the words so fast because you just wanted to finalise with yourself that you had spoke to him about it.

A silence fell, that lasted probably too long that you would've wanted it to. Your mind immediately assumed the worst, and you turned to face Arthur, on your knees in his lap now- expecting to see disgust on his face – shame and contempt – but he looked so wholly saddened... broken, almost.

"I'm so sorry." You apologised, the tears filling your eyes as you looked fully into his eyes now.

Gradually, he shook his head – a remorseful look on his expression.

"No... No, don't be sorry." Arthur's collected tone assured you, and he pulled you very close – chest to chest, your chin resting on his shoulder. You allowed the tears to escape your eyes and roll down your cheeks, so upset at recounting it all but so relieved he was so understanding.

"I'm just sorry I wasn't there sooner..." he whispered into your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "But don't you ever worry about that now – you're back here where you belong."

Yes... you were back where you belonged. At home, surrounded by the people you cared most for, and with the man you adored more than anything.

"You did what you had to survive, darlin'. Ain't many girls who could been broken like that and bounce back." He comforted you again, whilst you sat back and admired the kind and considerate look on this gorgeous features. "I'm so proud of you."

You relished in his sweet nature like a cat basking in the sunlight, succumbing once again to your absolute desire to be in his hold – melting into his lap once again whilst you cocooned yourself in his arms.

This was all you needed now – the utter relief and perfection of being safe, happy and in love once again. You had been broken far too many times, you just desperately hoped this was the end of all your suffering now. Something told you it was.

"You mentioned about a party...?" you asked after a few more minutes, your mind having been ambling over it a little.

Arthur chuckled at how your voice sounded a little clueless, finding it rather adorable.

"Of course we're havin' a party." He assured you with a cheeky tone, "Gotta welcome you back properly, ain't we?"

You pulled a bit of a playful expression of disbelief to mask the fact you felt flattered... it would be very nice to have a chat with everyone again with a few drinks and some songs.

"Not sure I'm really worthy of a party..." you replied unsurely, biting your lip to hide the huge smile that as threatening to break free.

"That ain't true." Arthur replied, playing with a strand of your (hair colour) hair and twisting it slowly around his fingers, you could hear the smirk in his voice let alone see it on his face as you looked over your shoulder at him.

"You're worth a party and then some." The added response then followed, the pair of you looking at each other with this masqueraded knowing that had you both thinking whether the other person was wondering about the same thing.

Yes... you did want your party.

And then some.