'You are unfixable. I can't break
through your world,
'cause you live in shades of cool.'

-

The atmosphere that morning returning back to camp was not dissimilar to the abundant chill in the open air.

Yourself and Boxer plodded slowly behind Arthur and Phantom. You allowed the shire horse a long rein as you slumped tiredly into your saddle, breath pluming out on the air in front of you, your mind trailing backwards constantly to the events of the last night – how the mad mixture of things seemed as if they would cross the expanse of a few weeks, not just one evening.

Boxer's hooves thudded passively in the long grass, as you eventually entered the thicket of forest surrounding Horseshoe Overlook The morning light danced and dappled between the canopy of green leaves, that swished and swayed on the breeze. The movement cast perfect flickers of light across the muddy forest floor from last night's downpour.

"Who's there!" came the shout of Charles, who stood squinting through the trunks of the trees at the pair of you.

"Just us." Arthur called out on behalf of the pair of you, gesturing his hand flippantly and coaxing Phantom on those last few steps to reach the camp.

Reaching the other side of the trees, the camp right in front of you – you felt disheartened that you suddenly felt no joy returning here. There was a grey-cloud feeling hanging over your very being, something that shrouded you in doubt and seemed to whisper 'there is no place for you here'

Swinging his legs over the saddle, Arthur jumped down from Phantom who now had his hungry head down, grazing the sweet green grass by the tethering post. Like some kind of alien visitors, yourself and Arthur were greeted with curiosity by all the members of the Van Der Linde gang – especially when they saw your bandaged leg.

"Oh my, miss (name)" Miss Grimshaw gasped, as she approached you. Your current seat on Boxer's back made your leg the perfect height for the woman to fuss and flurry over. The look Arthur must've received from Miss Grimshaw could only of been deadly, by the way Arthur's eyes seemed to widen and he raised his hands in defence.

"Don't look at me!" he protested, shaking his head to the black haired woman. Miss Grimshaw scoffed loudly, hands on her hips as she watched Arthur remove the heavy leather western saddle from Phantom's sweat-covered back.

"You were meant to be lookin' out for her, Mr Morgan!" she scolded, her lips pursed in an annoyed fashion. Arthur continued untack Phantom, draping his saddle over the post – it was as if he was going about busying himself to avoid the matter at hand.

"What happened?" Dutch quickly interjected, dark brown eyes furrowed as he smoked slowly on his first cigar of the day, with surely more to follow.  His question made you falter, for some unknown reason. You felt guilty – like if you opened your mouth to answer one tiny detail – then you'd accidentally spill everything that had happened between you and Arthur.

"Wolves." Arthur quickly exclaimed in your place, and from your right you heard a bemused bit of laughter, from none other than Mr John Marston.

"Wolves? Join the club!" he joked, still sniggering along as he looked over at you with that uniquely scarred face. "You let yourself get attacked by a wolf in front of Arthur? Be careful, he might rib you for it for the rest of your days." John winked playfully, and then smirked slyly at Arthur. Mr Morgan just huffed to himself, clearly not in the mood for any jokes. Shamefully, you felt you were rather to blame for his sour mood.

"Oh come on Miss... you need to get some rest," Miss Grimshaw finally sighed, ushering Bill and Kieran over to you. "Boys, get her down off that horse – and help her to her bed."

A deflated feeling pitted in your stomach then... You didn't know what was worse, the fact you were sure to be condemned to bed rest for weeks on end... or the fact you were about to be man handled unceremoniously by Bill Williamson.

The men helped you from Boxers back, and then supported you towards your tent, your arms propped over their shoulders as you hopped towards your bed, hobbling past Arthur on the way, who had stopped untacking Phantom's bridle to watch you go past.

Little to either of your knowledge, a certain decked out Gang leader had been watching, twiddling his brown cigar between his fingers. One thing about Dutch; he didn't miss a trick in his gang.

Lifting the cigar to his lips for a slow puff, he set course in Arthur's direction, a hidden smirk on his lips.

"Can I have a word with you, son?" Dutch said in a low tone of voice, laying his decadently-ring covered hand on the shoulder of Arthur's muddied coat.

"Uh, sure." Arthur replied with a level of sceptical uncertainty. Dutch simply smiled, and pulled Arthur to the side- walking him over to the very edge of the camp, a small cliff that overlooked the beautiful countryside landscape. Gorgeous green hills that seemed to roll on forever, grand mountains imposingly painted against the dreamy blue backdrop of the sky.

"I need to ask you 'bout something." Dutch started, and quickly patted Arthur's shoulder, "And I'd like you to be honest with me, Arthur. 'Cause I'll know if you aint." His low tones stated. Arthur swallowed the gathering lump in his throat, really not sure of what Dutch had pulled him aside for.

"Course I'll be honest with you." Arthur said, trying to read Dutch's expression – but the man gave nothing away. It was part of his speciality, how he was so able to play people like a deck of cards.

Dutch's lips parted, a hesitant moment as he drew in a breath of the fresh air. "Do you take a fancy to that (name) girl?" Dutch asked, and Arthur's guard shot up like a castle moat bridge under attack.

"Wha-! No." Arthur frowned, already conscious Dutch may be able to see right through him, "She's an alright kid, but that's all she is." Arthur added just to try and further sell his story, but unfortunately – Dutch wasn't in the market that day for buying bullshit.

"Arthur." He pressed in a tone that you would usually associate with a pet owner scolding their dog.

"Whatchu want me to say?" Arthur hissed quietly, lurching forwards a little. Dutch had already known, but Arthur's little temper tantrum had only but confirmed it.

"I'm not blind, you know." Dutch smirked, watching as Arthur paced a circle, a distasteful look on his face for being found out. "I see you two constantly lookin' at each other. One looks on, the other tactfully looks away..." Dutch started to laugh, finding it all rather amusing. "You two are likka' pair a' kids." He added.

Arthur by now had stopped in front of Dutch, there was no use in hiding it anymore, as his mentor already knew.

"Okay, so I... like her, don't most of the boys here?" Arthur defended himself, not liking to be the one for open affections. "It's... well... You know best of all people how romance turns out in this life." Arthur scorned, watching as Dutch's previously sneering expression had dropped a little.

Dutch too had lost a love to this constant war of a lifestyle... his dear Annabelle.

Arthur could see from the way Dutch's glance had flickered to the horizon, that he was deep in thought about this.

There were a few passing moments of nothingness, just silence. Dutch eventually took another long draw on his cigar, and then slowly turned to face Arthur once more.

"I'm gonna let you in on a secret, my boy." Dutch started, that wise voice about him as he put his arm around Arthur's shoulders briefly.

"I hurt everyday over what happened to my Annabelle..." he started, a brief sigh escaping his lungs. "But... I don't regret any moment I spent with her. They say's it's better to have loved and lost, than to not have loved at all." Dutch explained, and the smallest smile crept back onto his lips again, like sunlight appearing from behind a grey cloud.

The gang leader could see Arthur's gaze creep over his shoulder, in the direction of your tent, where you sat looking miserable on your bed.

"If you like her, Arthur... show her." Dutch encouraged, patting Arthur on the back in a dismissive manner. "Cause one day it might be too late." He uttered finally as he walked off back to join everyone at the centre of the camp.

Casting over Dutch's words, Arthur was figuring the puzzle pieces in his head, trying to discreetly look over at you.

Could Dutch of been right? Arthur wasn't sure if he was ready at all to risk being so badly hurt again... but another part of him was very upset with the turbulent course of the previous night. He knew he had done wrong by enticing you and meeting your desires... and then deciding after all it wasn't what was best.

He sighed in a regretful manner, he wasn't even sure if you would want to forgive him just yet, let alone try from where you'd left off.

Trying to focus on the positives, Arthur just assured himself your time alone would give him some space also to think exactly what he wanted to do. A couple of wise words from Dutch were not some quick fix.

---

A few days had passed at the camp, and your boredom was only increasing spending time only leaving your bed for the bare necessities.

You were just forced to watch the world of the Van Der Linde members lives' go by... Reverend Swanson drunk singing, Dutch and Molly having their usual spat – and of course, Arthur.

He made a point of keeping his distance, and didn't seem to be making an effort like everyone else to want to come over and talk to you. In fact, it was only the kindness and consideration of the other people in the camp that had stopped you from just upping and running from Horseshoe Overlook and never coming back. The more time that had passed, and the more Arthur was acting like some kind of grouchy aloof cat, the more you felt like an embarrassment.

You cringed on how you'd acted around him, so openly flirtatious and lovelorn.... The very memory made you wish the ground would swallow you up. You'd made yourself look a fool for a man who was so built up in his guarded ivory tower that he wasn't ever going to come down, you were sure of it.

"Getting stronger yet, little lady?" you were suddenly alerted when someone's foot gently kicked at the sole of your boot, jarring your leg and causing a painful pang to shock through your healing wound. You gazed up into the sun's light that was silhouetted around a large hat and untamed facial hair. You took a moment for your squinting (eye colour) eyes to adjust.

"Getting there, Micah." You replied a little stoutly. The man repulsed you, he was so false and hid his real vindictive nature behind niceties. He caused nothing but trouble around the camp – no one liked him... you weren't even sure why Dutch let him stay.

Your insides turned slightly when the man lingered beside your tent, setting himself down on one of the barrels used to hold the tent's cover sheet down. Great, it looked like you had some company.

"Good. You know, when you get stronger – you're always welcome to come and ride with me." He said, his tones slimy and suggestive, the guy just oozed sleaziness and it really wasn't your thing. You couldn't even imagine yourself remotely close to him, and when you did – you were sure you felt the burning acid of sick creep up the back of your throat.

"It'll be a long time before then." You excused yourself with a nervously wry laugh, hoping he'd get the message and clear off. But he just smiled at you, this half crazed look that was too overly keen. You were one of the youngest of the women at camp – and clearly he was taking a liking to the thought of a much younger woman.

"I'm willin' to wait, miss." He purred, his tones wavering in seduction. You could only manage a gone out look at him – did he honestly think that he was god's gift?

You'd rather willing walk into a pit of hungry lions that go out on a date with Micah Bell.

"Micah." Those strong, confident tones rung clear in your eyes and rhythmically increased your heart rate beneath the top layer of your angry feelings towards him currently. Arthur.

Gazing up to where Micah had been sat on the barrel – your gaze had been all to keen to avoid the spot until Arthur appeared beside Mr Bell.

"Lenny thought he spotted some O Driscoll's up on the ridge, lingerin'." Arthur started, cocking his head a little. "Why don't you go and check it out for me?" the suggestive question was really more of a command. Micah was sure to make a right show of his contempt, as he raised himself from his seat on the barrel.

"Whatever, cowpoke." He drawled in a bored fashion, making his way  over to his mount.

Your gaze was fixed on Arthur, who was watching Micah to make sure he did as he was told.

As you drew your eyes over that gorgeous side profile, you grew angry and frustrated at yourself... why! Why?? Why these feelings for him. A man so tucked beneath several shades of cool that he was inaccessible, unfixable....

You wanted to ask him so desperately in that moment, why he had been evading you like a fleeting shadow. Making you feel so distant and stupid.

Arthur simply looked back at you for a few seconds, he didn't make his gaze linger for a given amount of time – and wordlessly wandered back across the camp to talk to Hosea.

Why was he acting like such a jerk!? That's all it appeared to be to you- standoffish behaviour all for the sake of keeping that outlaw reputation riding strong.

It didn't cross your mind to think it might just be a man biding his time, and waiting for the right moment...

---

~ a few days later

Thursday, 26th April, 1899

(name) was up and about today, helping the girls with the chores. I see them all fussing over her, telling her she needs to rest and she's not ready – but she's a fighter, and she gets the job done either way.

I don't feel like now is quite the right time to talk to (name) about affections... she still glares at me across the camp like a gator eyeing up it's prey. I wish I could just talk to her casually, but I know with this intention in mind to speak to her seriously.. about romantic stuff... I'll just muck up.

I'm still thinking about what would be the best approach to go for, would (name) want something romantic? Or something casual and downplayed so the whole thing doesn't feel like a big deal?

I don't know if I'm dumb for doing so – but I put a word in with Marston for some advice. At first he thought I was joking, which was real embarrassing. He just couldn't believe a 'grumpy bastard' like me could ever want a relationship. But all in all, Marston seems to think that a gentle and not too loud approach would be best for (name)... and that taking her somewhere from the camp to talk would be the best.

He also told me, that if the chance happens along – I should take it. Rather than forcing the moment if it ain't there.

I'm trying to remember all this advice whirring around in my head, and just hoping it don't get mumbled up when I actually have to speak to her.

Arthur quietly closed his journal, perched on a fallen log at the edge of the camp. Slipping the leather bound book back into his satchel, he quietly watched you arguing with Pearson over some potato peeling duties – and Arthur smiled to himself in quiet pride, dropping his head so if anyone happened to look, they wouldn't see.

Hearing you'd won and got your own way, Arthur lifted his gaze up carefully, a few rogue strands of gun-grey hair perfectly falling into his face. His cool eyes set on you, busying away peeling the potatoes – keen to do your share of the work.

He smiled at your resilience, and snickered to himself as he rubbed his hand over his jaw thoughtlessly.

"She's more tough than Marston was." Arthur chuckled to himself quietly, standing from his quiet perch and perfect spot to watch you – to make himself look busy around the camp.

He didn't want you to catch him looking... not just yet.