Chapter Text
“Paw, Dah, I.. I done fucked up.” Arthur was distraught. Hosea looked up from his newspaper, Dutch paused in his preparation of the stew and John began to laugh.
“Must be real bad, if you fuck up enough to call it that in front of us.”
“Shut up, Marston! I mean it!”
For once, John smirked and continued on, in his gun care, not yapping further.
Dutch spoke up.
“Why, what is it, son?” Van der Linde had turned his attention to Arthur, who hid his face shyly.
“I knocked her up, I did.”
Hosea sat up in alarm “who?”
“Is it that Elizia girl?” Dutch butted in, hands already counting money, just in case the gang needed to pay her to keep the kid alive.
John looks up. “Ya beat me. I thought for sure I was gonna get laid-“
“Shut up, Marston!” The other three groan.
“Does she want money?” Hosea questions. “Do you need to stay?”
Dutch intervenes.
“I don’t wanna leave the kid behind, Hosea. He’s family.”
“You could always run.” John suggests.
“That whore probably as more baby daddies than bounties on your head.”
“He looks like me, and she’s not a whore, John!”
“The kids’ already here?” Dutch yelps.
Arthur nods in confirmation.
“Well quick, boy! Take me to the babe!” Dutch yells.
Hosea stands up. “I’d like to meet your kid, myself, eh Arthur? Makes me feel like a grandpappy. John will come along too and give the poor girl some flowers, right, boy?”
Marston sighs and says “I ain’t pickin’ any flowers for Miss Eliza! If she wanted them she could pick ‘em herself!” Which lands him a swift spanking by old Hosea.
John ended up bringing an entire gift basket for Eliza, complete with his favorite watch- a lesson from Hosea about treating women with respect. As the family approached Eliza’s little home in the woods, Arthur was lost in thought. That baby- his very flesh and blood- had come into the world without him there. Poor Eliza. His heart ached thinking of her struggling through the latter part of pregnancy alone. When the gang fled Strawberry five months prior, she had to have known she was with child- a thought that puzzled Arthur. Why had she not told him?
Then again, who needs to tell a deadbeat outlaw that will probably be killed in some stirrup a few weeks later that he is going to have a child?
It was too late to mull it over in entirety as Arthur now stood at the threshold, ready to knock.
He takes a full breath- best not to overthink it. He knocks once, twice, thrice before the door is answered.
“Arthur… you’re back, and you’ve brought them.” Eliza was a beauty to anyone with eyes. Her soft, dusky skin reflected sunlight like a lake might reflect moonlight on a clear night. Her dark brown eyes never seemed to end. Her hair tangled around her waist, a thick and fluffy dream to Arthur.
How was she a waitress and not a queen?
“Er, yeah. This is m’ family. Apologies um, for their lack of decorum.” Arthur blushed furiously like a little boy with a crush. If only he’d stayed that way.
John holds out the gift basket with a scowl.
“I bet it took him less than a minute-“
Arthur quickly cuts John off.
“This is John. He’s got quite the mouth for an eleven year old, as you can tell. That there’s Hosea, my Pa. And that’s Dutch, my Dah.”
Eliza quirks an eyebrow
“Are they..?”
Arthur shrugs in response, it was mystery to him as much as it was to her.
“Sorry, where are my manners? I’m Eliza, as you know. Please, do make yourself comfortable.”
As the bunch entered the living room, a small wail rings through the air. A baby with Arthur’s eyes and Eliza’s nose grabs at the air, disappointed to find nothing. Sensing the confused despair of the child, Arthur walks to the crib and scoops him up.
“How old are you, dear?” Dutch finally speaks.
“Seventeen, sir.” Eliza replies.
Hosea pipes up. “Christ above, boy! You’re both still kids yourselves!”
“Y’think I wasn’t aware?”
“Arthur. You need to listen. You can’t go fucking ever woman you see. Our life… doesn’t support that kinda behavior. You’re going to have to make a choice. Stay here and raise that boy, or come with us and be free.”
Morgan froze. Naively perhaps he wished they could all stay here, but he knew his family. Gone with the wind.
“Eliza?” He asked, his throat suddenly dry.
“Go. I can hold down the fort just fine.”
Arthur nodded solemnly.
“I’ll visit again. I promise ya. Swear on my heart!”
Arthur hands the baby- his baby- to its mother. Dutch fishes out a large sum from his pocket and places it firmly in Eliza’s hand.
“Take care of the little guy.”
The next time they visited, all that was left was a soft layer of grey ash, blowing away in the wind.
Arthur fell to his knees.
The outlaw made of steel wept.
In the ash, through the tears falling from Arthur Morgan’s cheeks, lay a small watch. still ticking away. The initials “J. M.” still engraved in the silver, the J’s tail so minuscule the letter looked more like an I.
John Marston.
Isaac Morgan.
His son was gone.
But his brother was still here, waiting for him in camp.