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Arthur Morgan was never a man to let himself go through headaches; he already had enough as it was. Dealing with debts, making sure Micah wouldn’t get killed, putting food on the table, and money in Dutch’s pocket, and keeping an eye on the girls and Jack. So if he could avoid any misunderstandings, anything that looked overly complicated, trust, he would. On the other hand, Molly O’Shea still looked out for things like that, fighting to the end for problems that others would’ve given up on by now.
They seemed like opposite poles, one rough and sharpened by life, used by now to the blows, and the other delicate and prim, like a princess from a book that had become real. However, they had one specific thing in common: both had fallen victim to the words of the one and only, Dutch Van der Linde.
Dutch had practically raised Arthur, along with Hosea. Twenty-two years together, there was no way to blame the poor man for staying like a loyal lap dog– son. No way to blame. Neither with Molly, a woman who yearned for love, craved for something new, and was very impressionable.
Arthur would do anything he was asked to; he’d rob, he’d shoot, anything. However, when you love and care for someone, when you truly do, sometimes questioning their motives isn’t bad. It just means you are concerned enough to know if what’s happening is worth the hassle. And that, that was Arthur’s defect, or advantage. It truly depended on how Dutch felt that day, although most of the time it was a flaw in his eyes.
It was the same with Molly; she cared too much, she loved too much. She felt too much, to Dutch at least she did. That only got her in constant trouble, bickerings back and forth that totally contrasted the man who had once sweetened her ears. The man who had stolen her heart like a thief in the night, swiftly and easily.
“I’ve always been a good girl… Did… Did I do something wrong?”. Molly fidgeted from side to side, the rag in her hand twisting and turning with her fingers.
“Nothing is wrong, what could be wrong?”. — Dutch sat up, annoyed already with the very small interaction. — “We escaped, did we not? Life is amazing once again” —.
“Yes, but well, you have been so distant”.
Molly felt beyond embarrassed and desperate. She wanted to know what was happening, if she did something wrong, or if he was mad. She missed the old Dutch, the one that she encountered at first. The one who gave her the world with just his words, no need for more.
She wasn’t asking for much, was she?
“This is just delusions from your head my dear”. Dutch stopped smoking and threw the cigar somewhere nearby. He already looked irritated at Molly’s words, like hearing about some robbery going sour.
“But”. Molly sighed in resignation, throwing her hands in a never mind gesture. She didn't feel like doing this today; it burned, it did, but she had barely slept the night before and felt like she would not make any sense if she spoke much longer.
Molly, like always, walked away and sat down on a rock. Looking off into the distance. Asking herself over and over again if she had been bad, if she needed to cover more to appeal to him. Any answer right now would be taken into her heart and transformed into actions.
However, her train of spirals seemed to come to a stop as she heard a familiar voice behind her.
“Mornin’ Miss O’Shea”. Arthur said, walking over to be next to her, the smoke from the hot coffee covering his eyes for a moment.
“Good morning Arthur”. Molly gave him a tired smile, not up for pretending. She did notice something; lately, there seemed to be a very noticeable difference between how Dutch talked to her and how Arthur did.
Arthur seemed to be softer, less aggressive to approach. He didn’t mind when she talked with him, and didn't wince at her voice. When she was quiet, he’d still keep her company, keeping himself busy with the journal he always carried.
“Everythin’ good?”. It’s as if he knew that she was mad. Like if someone handed him a book he had memorized from reading it one too many times.
Molly felt for a moment as if she was just imagining things; maybe she just looked tired and furious enough. And maybe he wasn’t being overly nice, he just pitied her. Eventually, the birds seemed to chirp loud enough to drag her out of over-analysis, and she nodded.
“All good”. A sad chuckle got released from her lips, and she fixed her shawl to somehow cover up more.
“You know… It is pretty humid here, that’s just going to bother ya”.
“I look pretty though”.
Arthur just hummed at her words and eventually left to start with his day. Somehow, though, that small interaction seemed to make up for the fight that happened earlier with Dutch. Molly wasn’t sure why. He was always there anyway, so what was different now?
Arthur knew about Dutch’s history with his last lover, Annabell. He was sure that they would stay together, even with all the questionable things he had pulled. But, she got killed over a business that didn’t involve her, falling, like a piece of a puzzle that was never meant to be in the bigger picture. Nevertheless, the thought of Annabell seemed to be pushed back when Molly stepped into their life.
She didn’t do much around camp, and it bothered some at times, especially if it was a busy day and extra hard work was required to pull through. But Dutch didn’t seem to care; he just kept her around. He indulged her with sweet words, kissed her hand, danced with her, and treated her as if she were the muse of his crazy ideas.
At first, Arthur didn’t care, nor did he pay much attention. Yes, it felt like Dutch was overcompensating; after all, Molly came from a wealthy family, and now she was living in a nomadic style, but it seemed to work between them. However, as time went by, he noticed some changes; they were small at first. Like how Dutch would play music the moment Molly approached, or how he just coincidentally lost himself in a book when all she wanted was a smidge of attention.
It was a bit odd to Arthur; he had grown up watching Bessie and Hosea. They seemed like a normal couple, yes, they’d bicker here and there, but it didn’t seem bad. Just two people who happened to be in love and had years of history together. So shouldn’t Dutch know better? It didn’t seem like a hard thing to do.
On the other hand, Arthur felt like he shouldn’t be the one to comment. He failed before, not as grossly or dick-ish as Dutch, but failed nonetheless. He still carried that weight with him, how he was unable to change for Mary, or how he felt completely impotent after he found Eliza and Isaac. It made him sick to the bone, and if he was honest, he was surprised he even lived after what he didn’t do and what he saw.
Arthur wasn’t meant for softness; he didn’t feel like he had earned it. So he shouldn’t be one to talk or meddle, but sometimes the words would just slip. Nothing grand, yet it always seemed enough to get under Dutch’s skin.
It shouldn’t be this hard for Arthur to stay out of the picture; he had, after all, kept comments to himself years prior. But god, the way Molly would get so small, so defeated, how her emerald eyes would get misty. Completely contrasting the high and mighty way she tried to prop herself day to day made his stomach churn, and the strings of his heart strum.
He just had to be nice for a while, put a smile on her face as he had done with the other girls at camp. Maybe bring her something from one of his trips. That should cheer her up enough.
It should be simple, easy, not complicated at all.
Yet here he was now, drawing something new in his journal as Molly contemplated the lake. It was something recurrent now– her watching the lake, of course.
“So Arthur… Is it true about the bad luck?”. Molly shifted, looking down at Arthur’s hand that held the pencil.
“Hm? What bad luck?”.
“I broke my pocket mirror, and I remember me old ma saying that a broken mirror brings seven years of bad luck”. It was sweet how worried she actually looked over something her mom said. In fact, it was probably one of the few times she even brought her up.
“Seven years? Oh don’t be ridiculous, we ain’t seein’ more than seven years”. — Arthur chuckled, but as soon as he saw Molly again, he fixed his posture and cleared his throat. — “But if I ever see a mirror, I’ll bring it for ya” —.
“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver”.
A few days passed, and Arthur was in a cabin, looking around to see if someone left something good behind. Cabinet after cabinet, he looked, he checked every nook and cranny of the main area and the kitchen before getting into the bedroom. In there, next to the bed, was a nightstand. It was white with some designs engraved into it.
Inside the cabinet were a few dollars he could use. When he rummaged a bit more to see what else he could find, something gold shimmered. Arthur moved the scraps of paper that covered the object, and once it was in his hand, he realized. It was a small gold pocket mirror, and as the sun made its way to the window, filling him with warmth, he remembered Molly.
He let out a sour laugh as the mirror went into his pocket. Remembering the conversation with Molly shouldn’t have made him feel so strange. As if he suddenly discovered some newfound feelings, it shouldn’t be like that.
“Don’t be a fool, Morgan”. — He muttered to himself. — The floor creaked as he walked around to get out of the cabin. His horse was nearby, eating some grass that she deemed okay. — “She’s just a good friend, ain’t that right?”. — After a few seconds of silence, his horse neighed and moved its head. Of course she wouldn’t understand; she’s a horse, but even with that knowledge, that never stopped Arthur from talking to her. It was like a routine by now, every time something happened, he was by his horse, telling her how he felt —.
If only things weren’t so complicated, or maybe they weren’t and Arthur was getting himself tangled into an unnecessary mess. Whatever it was, he felt pushed to care, no matter the day, the hour, or the week. But she was a good friend, only that, nothing more.
Molly wasn’t some sort of forbidden fruit, nor was Dutch some sort of barrier that isolated her. These thoughts circulated over Arthur’s head over and over, along with the awful attempt to convince himself that the heat was getting to him. Even when the breeze couldn’t be more gentle with him. When the shadows that the trees made covered his face. It was the heat making him think these things, not him.
Once he reached Lemoyne, where the actual heat would bother even the toughest of men, he fixed his shirt. A part of him wanted to look presentable. Because, while yes, he might be a fool or roughed up, he still held some sort of manners.
This shouldn’t be so hard. He was just giving someone a mirror, yet he was looking around the camp when he reached it, like some lost child in the heart of a big city. Eventually, his eyes landed on Molly. She looked a little under the weather, probably over yet another discussion with Dutch that was led by his frivolous words. Arthur marched forward anyway, and he sat down across from Molly.
“So… I think I solved your bad luck problem”.
“You got the mirror? Oh you remembered Arthur. Thank you”.
Arthur got the mirror out of his satchel and placed it on the table, pushing it with two of his fingers so that Molly could grab it. His eyes moved from Molly to the mirror, and then again. There was something so beautifully tragic about how she was now. Old Molly was slowly slipping away into a void.
Even Colter, in the cold mountains of the state of Ambarino, had more mercy. Even the freezing shacks that made up some sort of home for some time seemed to fit her better. And for a slight moment, the crazy idea of making everything nice for Molly popped into Arthur’s mind. It tempted him, like a man seeing water in the desert.
But oh, the guilt, it came as quickly as the temptation, as quickly as those thoughts that would rummage and litter his mind whenever he crossed a mirror.
“Guess you proved yourself wrong, Arthur, we are going to live more”. Molly joked, but was it truly that funny? Or did she just feel more at ease with Arthur than she had with Dutch for the past couple of months?
“I better go”. Arthur’s breath hitched as he stood up, his eyes avoiding Molly at all costs as he walked away.
And there was Molly again, alone, her hand moved quicker than her mind, and she reached out. But it was too late already. Besides, it was wrong; she was for Dutch, even if that was killing her from the inside out. Maybe one last fight for “love” was worth a chance.
That moment should’ve been the end, the dam that stopped the furious river. But it didn’t feel like it. Arthur would sometimes write in his journal, and before he knew it, he was almost on autopilot, drawing things that reminded him of Molly. And Molly would always look for him when she heard him coming, just to make sure he was fine, of course.
Another move, still in Lemoyne but in a house this time. Well, some of the members were inside the house. Arthur seemed to be busier now, between the whole situation with Jack and the constant back and forth from the city to the camp, it seemed almost impossible to encounter the man without him being tired to the bone. And for some god forsaken reason that Molly couldn’t quite understand, her days seemed to be more gray.
Everyone looked at her funny, everyone talked, but everyone also declined these said allegations she threw. But she knew better, she knew, she knew, she… knew. Her eyes would be swollen at times from the tears, and her face was tinted pink from the pressure. Her head throbbed as badly as the first time she drank until a blackout. And she was somehow convinced that someone told Arthur about this, and that was why he was in such a disposition to be constantly working. In her head, he finally saw how broken Dutch was making her out to be, how her confidence was plummeting as quickly as leaves falling in autumn. In her head, Arthur finally saw what she saw: nothing but someone's mess.
Just when everything seemed to be turning from gray to black, when the trees and the heat no longer bothered because neither made a difference, Arthur had a break.
He walked around for a while in camp until the sound of soft sobs caught his attention. Arthur looked around until his eyes finally landed on Molly’s back. The way her shoulders were slumped, and her body shook would make even the hardest of men and women feel bad.
Arthur had an idea of how hard things had been for her lately, but he wasn’t aware they were that bad. In a very idiotic attempt to approach her without scaring her, he crushed a twig, and that was enough to make Molly turn around.
“Arthur… I”. Molly cleaned her tears and tried to recompose herself, but it was far too late for that now.
“I know you was cryin’ just now. No need to act all tough”. Arthur took a few more steps and bent down to be on her level. He thought that maybe that way he wouldn’t be as intimidating.
“I look awful right now”.
Arthur felt like he needed to hug Molly. This was probably going to kill him a little on the inside, at least he felt like that; maybe it was an exaggeration, and his feelings would not grow. So, without thinking much longer, he hugged Molly. It felt nicer than it should have felt, as if she fit perfectly in his dirty and calloused hands.
Everyone, without exception, gets tired at some point. Everyone's spirit breaks if you bend them enough. Molly broke. There was no strength left in her to fight Dutch, she felt insane, strayed. Worse of all, she felt disposable and the jester of the gang. She left everything she knew, and for what? For this tragic state that felt like it was some sort of punishment in the first place.
What would her mother think of her? Would she still be her little girl if she returned, or would she treat her with the same disdain everyone did here? No. She felt undeserving of either of the options. No treatment would be better than to be pushed into a corner and make her meditate on her decisions.
That felt more adequate to the situation. So why did Arthur hug her? Why didn’t she push him away, and instead melt into him? Suddenly, the suffocation really was annoying, the heat felt real, the shadows existed, and the humidity seeped under her clothes.
It burned, it was scary, but it made her feel alive. Arthur was careful; his words felt like the sweetest of syrup falling into a delicious breakfast. His touch, while still hesitant and scared, made Molly feel secure enough. Nothing else was needed now, no amount of speeches from Dutch could patch or cover what was happening in that moment.
“I’ve nothing left, I gave my all. Just leave me alone”.
“I ain’t leavin’ ya alone, Molly, I’ve been a bad man, but I ain’t cruel”. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to hug her this friendly, to let that warm vanilla-like scent fill his lungs and fog his mind. But who is to say what’s wrong from right in a moment of such delicate cruelty?
“You probably think I am crazy”. Molly, in a feeble attempt, tried covering her face. To hide the last of her tears from the world.
Arthur, on the other hand, didn’t want her to do that again. She had spent so long secluded from everyone, so long hiding and frail. It wouldn’t be fair that yet again, she hid her feelings in a box and shipped them off to the end of the world.
He removed Molly’s hand from her face and replaced them with his. Thumbs swiping over the burning tear that stained her freckled features. Molly felt like a deer standing in front of a hunter, and Arthur felt like he was seeing the most delicate flower wither away due to poison.
Just then did they realize they had yet another thing in common: fear. Molly felt so unsure that she was practically going insane from the treatment she was getting; the neglect covered all of her reasonable logic. And Arthur was apprehensive and full of self-loathing. Did they really come down to this? Two adults who picked the wrong path yet felt rewarded with each other's company.
“I think, Miss Molly O’Shea, that you are such a beautiful woman, and you deserve many good things in life”. — Arthur's thumb was now entering a red zone; he was getting closer to her lips with every move he did. — “And, I think that… Dutch just… He don’t know what he want no more, ain’t your fault or your job to fix that” —.
“It is not?”.
“No”.
An idea popped into Molly’s head, a crazy one at that. Except it wasn’t daffy because it was revenge, it was crazy because she was choosing herself for the first time in so long. She leaned toward Arthur, took a deep breath, and kissed him on the corner of his lip, staining him with a red tint.
“Molly… I ain’t exactly partner material, you must know that by now. I failed Mary, my son, his mama. Can’t ruin ya either”. Arthur cleaned the red stain, but his eyes seemed to stay put on her lips.
“I’m not exactly wife material right now, either”. Molly’s eyes glistened, those emerald pieces that left Arthur sleepless at night. This time, though, they seemed less sad, less dimmed.
“So we is both a mess then”.
After that confession, more exchanges between them resurfaced. The occasional fight with Dutch was there, from both Arthur and Molly, but nothing worth angering for too long. Molly respected Arthur for not putting his hands on her; after all, she was still in a weird position with Dutch. And Arthur respected Molly for not being pushy to make a quick decision that was going to definitely affect her.
The yearning for each other felt like hell, though. The stares from afar, the unsaid words, the small “I remember”’s. Even if it was hard, it somehow seemed to keep them together, to make every interaction, no matter how small it was, worth more than the millions and the travels that were constantly promised to them.
One of those days, however, something inside Arthur snapped. He saw how Dutch was ignoring Molly when all she wanted was to warn him about something she heard in town.
“I believe Miss O’Shea was talking to ya”.
“No need for attitude, Arthur, my boy, she’s just being demanding like always”. Dutch warned.
“Well I think that you need to hear her”.
“Is that… An instruction? Arthur”. Dutch got rid of his cigar and walked over to Arthur, standing just a few steps away from him.
“A recommendation”. Arthur said, toning his voice down.
“That’s what I thought”. Dutch pat Arthur on the shoulder and walked away, leaving Arthur with a simmering rage on the inside.
That night, Arthur was in his room, sitting in his bed. His hands were on either side of his legs; he just couldn’t find it in him to fall asleep. The sound of the crickets and other nightly creatures seemed to be interrupted by a knock. Arthur stood up to open the door to see who it was, only to find Molly standing there. She approached nervously to say the least, fingers fidgeting with a rag that Arthur was too familiar with by now.
It felt a bit odd to him because Molly had never reached out to him while being in his room, much less at night, Arthur however, let her come in anyway. Curious as to what she had to say, he walked over back to the bed, turning on a second lamp to make the space more lit.
“I wanted to say thank you, for what happened earlier today”.
“It’s the least I could do. Now if you don’t mind my question, what are ya here for? You never come in”.
There was a moment of silence, one that, in comparison to other times, felt heavy. Molly opened a tiny bag she had. In there, laid all of her jewelry, beautiful gems that cost way more than any clothes the other members of the gang could afford. “I want to run away”.
“Alone? But, Molly that ain’t safe, you don’t even know how to use a gun”. Arthur grabbed the bag and closed it, placing it in an empty chair. Then, he sat Molly on the bed, right next to him.
“No I mean, us, together”. Molly held Arthur by his calloused hands, giving him a sweet look that would make it impossible for almost anyone to say no to.
“Are you sure you want that? I don’t have a lot to give, I could get you in trouble or”.
Before Arthur could continue, Molly pulled him into a hug. Similar to the one he had given her a while ago. Arthur hesitated for a moment; he was even holding his breath as his hands barely touched her back. Eventually, Molly’s warmth won over, and he caved into the hug, one hand lying on her hand as the other cradled her head.
Maybe this time it was worth it to get into a mess and complicate things. To finally be selfish and choose a path that didn’t feel like it was set in stone felt like growing wings; it tasted like a bittersweet freedom that should’ve been given a long while ago.
“I am frightened, I do not know how life would be if we ran, if Dutch knew... But I do know, I’m tired of this– this trash”. It took a great amount of courage from Molly to admit that, to finally let that inner turmoil out. But once she did, she felt lighter, less choked up.
There was a moment of dead silence, but it was noticeable that Arthur was thinking long and hard. Every minute, weight, sound, and quickness would need to count in order to leave at that very instant, to leave everything he knew for the past two decades behind him. He never gave much thought to leaving before Molly gave the suggestion; the idea alone seemed preposterous and unrealistic. He owed these people his life, his loyalty. On the other hand, maybe it really was a sign from above to finally leave, to abandon the guilt and bad life behind and start anew.
It was an inner turmoil that lasted a few minutes, but for Molly, it lasted hours. Eventually, Arthur agreed; he trusted Charles enough to take care of the girls if anything were to happen. And John was slowly proving himself to actually be a good father and partner, to be more than what he lacked growing up.
If Molly finally had the courage to leave, to say that enough was enough, Arthur could too. For once, he would be selfish; he would try to stop being so hard on himself and just be happy and plain. Like his mother would have wanted, like how he wanted the other members to be.
“All right, I need you to listen to me. I’m getting my boots, and my guns, and we’ll leave on my horse”. —Arthur stood up, getting his boots on as quickly as he could and then he grabbed anything that was essential. It was going to be an uphill situation; he already felt like his heart was about to burst through his chest, but change was always scary. — “We will leave Lemoyne, go to New Austin, and see where we move to from there” —.
As soon as they got out of the room, every noise just seemed to feel louder than usual. Every creek from the floor echoed, the snores traveled through the walls, and the wind outside shook the trees enough to spook someone at the right time. Even with all the accumulated tension that Arthur felt, he grabbed Molly’s hands tightly, making sure not let go of her.
This was for the greater good, a better life; there was nothing more they could do for the gang except stay to see them fall. Because like every empire, like every mask, like every monster that lurked in the shadows and stole years of joy, of wonder, of freedom, it must come to an end. As soon as they stepped foot outside, Arthur looked back one last time at the house, then at the tents with the cots that were lying outside. One last look at the only thing he knew as family and had as friends.
Then, he walked hastily towards his horse, helping Molly first to get on, and then he followed. Arthur tried as best as he could to keep the noise to a minimum, but once there was a considerable distance between the camp and them, he clicked his tongue, signaling the horse to go faster.
It had been about a week now since their impulsive escapade. They had sold all the jewelry that belonged to Molly and rented a room in Armadillo; it wasn’t grand, but it kept them warm at night.
One evening in particular, Arthur returned to the room very late. He had been searching all over the area for a deserted cabin they could restore so that they could move there, instead of having to pay every single day to not be kicked out. There was one small detail, though, Molly worried a lot. So as soon as Arthur stepped into the room, she looked up at him quickly.
“Arthur, are you okay? Did something happen? Are you hurt?”.
“I’m fine, sweetheart, just lost track of time s’all. I‘m sorry that I got you all worried”. He cooed while approaching her. The sensation still felt strange to Arthur, like a sick and twisted dream he didn’t trust yet, one where he got everything and then woke up with nothing but a gained pain.
“Sorry, I was being intense”. Molly chuckled awkwardly, her cheeks reddening.
“You wasn’t, I get it. You were worried that I hadn’t made it back, ain’t nothing wrong with that, Molly”. One of Arthur’s hands traveled from her arm to the side of her neck, his thumb rubbing her jaw in a way that felt more intense than the usual comfort.
“Arthur?”. Molly whispered, her eyes travelling down to his lips.
“Yes, ma’am?”.
Not a word was uttered afterwards; the only noise that escaped was a hitched breath from Molly before they both leaned into a kiss. It was sweet and innocent at first, the end of a weary chapter in their heads and the start of something new. The sensation it provided was like an angel touching one's soul, comforting yet nerve-wracking in the most gracious way ever.
Once they took a short moment to look at each other, Arthur asked with his eyes for permission to keep on going. Something he never thought of doing again. The kiss was more fervent now, filled with the same passion and intensity that Arthur lived with, but with the most delicate of touches that showed just how much this meant to him.
This wasn’t a reward; this wasn’t a trophy he gained, it was grace fallen upon him for whatever reason there might be.
He slowly walked Molly until her back reached the wall, and then, his lips travelled to her jaw. A praise with no need of words, a desire that transcended his dark side. Arthur couldn’t fathom how anyone could fail to see her worth, a woman who couldn’t be more perfect, because it would genuinely make him hurt more. Once he scattered enough kisses on Molly’s jaw, he went down to the neck.
He could feel how her pulse was fast, he could hear how her breath seemed to become deeper, and how her hand tightened around his shirt. Life had been the most utterly cruel to Molly, and now Arthur had the opportunity to soothe it out.
The room fell quiet around them, except for the low creak of the building and the distant hush outside those four walls. No one calling out to Arthur, no one shaming Molly, no plans, no gunpowder smell or bullets waiting outside. Arthur rested his forehead against Molly for a moment, a bit longer than he meant to. He wanted to memorize her right then and there, afraid that if he let go too soon, the world would come rushing back in.
Their feet guided them to the bed. Molly laid down on the pillows as Arthur stayed on top. He trapped her mouth in yet another kiss as his body served as a shield from the outside world. He had felt unsure before, thinking someone above hated him enough to haunt him with a dream as sweet as finally having someone, but right now, just for tonight at least, he’d embrace the fear and lose himself in her arms. Because for once, no one could punish him for the one thing he had left deep down. Love.