When Rane woke the next morning, it was to the dulcet tones of Arthur Morgan letting Dutch Van der Linde have it.

She sat up, pulling her sword on and looking toward the sounds of their voices. Dutch, Micah and Hosea were standing outside Dutch's tent, and Arthur had one finger in front of his face and was shaking it like all hell. Rane felt a touch of amusement. She wondered if anyone else could have gotten away with talking to Dutch like that, and rather doubted it. Buckling her belt, she made her way over.

". . . shoulda listened to me when I told ya it was a goddamned setup, Dutch!" Arthur was saying heatedly. "What the hell was you thinkin', meetin' up with Colm like that! Hell, even Hosea here said -!"

"We couldn't have known nothin', Morgan!" Micah said. Arthur rounded on him.

"And you got this bug in your goddamned ear, fillin' your head up with these stupid damned ideas, no wonder we keep gettin' into bad trouble like this -!"

"You watch your mouth!" Micah snapped. "I'm just tryin' to do right by Dutch, Arthur!"

"Yeah, sure you are!"

"My son. I am sorry. Truly I am." Dutch lifted both hands up, shaking his head. "I cannot say it enough. If anything woulda happened to you -"

"Somethin' DID happen to me!" Arthur roared. "I got a shotgun to the chest and strung up like a Christmas turkey, Dutch! Hell, if Rane hadn't been there I'd probably still be in that damn shed today! You lot sure as hell wasn't payin' attention -!"

"Did Arthur wake you, Miss Roth?" Hosea asked with grim humor, looking over at Rane as she drew near. Arthur and Dutch both turned toward her. The anger seemed to drain out of Arthur's face as he looked at her. Dutch, meanwhile, placed both his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes from beneath his hat, his expression almost comically mournful.

"Are you alright, my dear? Are ya hurt?"

Rane shook her head, laughing. "No, no. No harm done."

"Thank you for savin' my boy," said Dutch solemnly. "He told us what ya did. Thank you for bringin' him home."

Rane waved this off, feeling a touch uncomfortable. "It's nothing. Seriously."

"No, it's somethin'," said Dutch, and shook her gently. "It's somethin'. And I cannot thank you enough. That's two of my boys you've rescued, now."

"Speakin' of which, where the hell's John?" said Hosea suddenly. Dutch turned from Rane, looking at him. "I've hardly seen hide nor tail of him since Abigail and Jack rolled in."

"I sent him and Lenny into Saint Denis," he said. He sighed, then added, "I believe he's strugglin' a bit with it all."

Arthur scoffed, folding his arms (and wincing a little at the twinge in his shoulder). "What the hell's there for that boy to struggle with?"

"Don't act so stupid," said Hosea, looking at him chidingly. "You know exactly why."

"Listen, forget about Marston," said Arthur, brushing this off and looking irritable. "We got bigger problems. Them O'Driscolls were plannin' on bringin' the law on us, Dutch, and judgin' by the fact that Abigail and Jack had no trouble findin' us, I'm guessin' they won't, either."

"The law?" Hosea looked sharply at Arthur, concerned.

"Yeah, Colm said there was a price on Dutch's head, and he was aimin' to get us all together and then sell us out." Arthur looked at Dutch. "You know what that means, don't ya?"

"Yeah. Means we gotta move." Dutch passed a hand over his face, looking weary, and sighed. "Damn that son of a bitch. Nothin' but trouble."

"Maybe he'll run scared," Micah suggested, stroking his mustache and looking at Rane thoughtfully. "Arthur says he was pretty shook up by what she did back there."

"No. It ain't like Colm O'Driscoll to run. It ain't like him to leave it be."

"Well, I sure as hell wish you'd thought of that before I got pistol-whipped yesterday, Dutch."

"I said I was sorry, Arthur." Dutch glanced at him, his face betraying a touch of impatience. "What we gotta do now is move ahead. You boys got any ideas?"

"There's a little hideout on the other side of the marsh," said Arthur. "Me and Lenny lifted some dynamite outta there not long back. Think them Lemoyne raiders mighta set up there."

"Alright, good. Go see if it's clear enough for us to get everybody out there, Arthur. Take Rane here with you," he added, giving Rane an approving smile. "Seems she ain't bad at gettin' you outta trouble. Take one of them spare morgans."

"We are gonna have to get you a horse," said Hosea speculatively. "I might know where to dig one up, too."

"Well, you would." Arthur looked none too pleased with this assignment. "Why can't ya send Charles or somethin', Dutch, I'm tired and busted up."

"Oh, shut up with your moanin' Morgan, you're as spry as a damn cricket," said Micah, laughing.

"Hey, I got plugged with a double-barrel yesterday night," Arthur said roughly. "Try it sometime before ya -"

"Charles ain't goin' because he's workin' on a lead with Javier," said Dutch loudly, glaring between them. "And I don't need Miss Grimshaw blusterin' over you all damn day."

Arthur rolled his eyes, sighing. "Goddammit. Fine. Come on, Rane."

"Hey, Morgan!" Micah called after him, cupping his mouth with one hand. "Try not to get caught this time!"

"Grab a horse," said Arthur, ignoring Micah's laughter behind them. "Let's get this done.

THEY rode out in silence, the hooves of the horses thumping beeath them. The day was gorgeous and bright, all birdsong and fat, fluffy clouds. Arthur didn't speak until they'd nearly come upon the little house he'd spotted with Lenny.

"You still ain't said nothing," he said. His voice was easy enough, but Rane could hear the strain beneath it, and her heart cramped a little bit at the sound of it. Here they were.

"About what?"

"About last night."

"What about last night?"

Arthur wasn't playing this game today, though. He had dismounted in the space of a second and snatched the lead on Rane's mare, making her slow so quickly that she rose into a half-rear, whinnying. Rane grasped at the saddle horn, arms flailing a bit as she tried not to fall off, giving him a shocked look.

"Arthur, what the hell are you -?"

"Get off. Now. You ain't gonna do me like this." Arthur was glaring up at her from around the mare's neck, his eyes hard. "Come on."

"We're supposed to be -"

"Get down, I said."

Rane slid off the saddle on the opposite side, and Arthur strode around the stamping mare, looking down at Rane with real animosity. She backed up a pace, a little dismayed.

"What the fuck, Arthur?"

They were standing on the border of the trail, Rane backed into the thick brush, Arthur advancing on her. All the levity and patience had departed from his face, and he was glaring down at her with a tight, cold expression that bordered on fury, his blue eyes flintlike beneath his hat. Done fucking around, Rane thought grimly. Her sidestepping and fleecing wasn't going to cut it anymore, not with this guy.

"Listen." Arthur leveled a finger at her. "I bared my goddamned soul to you last night, now the least you could do is level with me, Rane -"

"Get your fucking hand out of my face, man!" Rane said sharply, batting it away. "I don't know who the fuck you think you are -!"

"I think I'm the dumb bastard that told you he loved you eight hours ago!" Arthur replied, undaunted.

The same fear that had appeared on Rane's face the night before flashed in her eyes again at this, and Arthur saw it at once.

"Why the hell do you look like a hen that's spotted a fox every time I say it, huh?"

"I don't want to talk about this," said Rane, and her voice was so low and uncharacteristically defeated that Arthur might not have recognized it if he hadn't been looking right at her. "I don't want to talk to you about this shit anymore."

"Well, that's just too goddamned bad, because I wanna talk about it." Arthur took her by the shoulders, meeting her eyes. Forcing his gaze. "You gotta tell me one way or another, Rane. You gotta keep me or turn me loose. It's cruel if ya don't, and you know it."

Rane glared up at him with real enmity, the brush scraping at the back of her shirt. Her eyes were cold and hard.

"You don't understand it, Arthur. You've known me for half a fucking week -"

"I understand that I love you," Arthur said, and shook her gently. He felt a strange combination of shame and fear at the sound of those words and pushed it aside. Hell, he might as well be hung for a lamb as for a sheep at this point. "I understand that, and that's enough.

"You can't know that."

"Sure I can. You tellin' me I'm too dumb to say whether or not I feel somethin'? I ain't sixteen, Rane, and neither are you."

"It's been four days -!"

"Yeah, well four days is long enough, apparently." Arthur was glaring at her, uncompromising. "I can't deny it's there, I won't."

"Why are you doing this, Arthur?" Rane turned her head away from him, glaring into the brush, her brow furrowed. "I swear to God, if I said it once I said it a hundred fucking times, I don't want to talk about -"

"Is it John?" The words were out of Arthur's mouth before he could stop them. "You as sweet on him as he is on you? That why you don't wanna say one way or another? You can't decide between the pair of us?"

The effect of these words on Rane was immediate. She turned her eyes back to him in a flash, and now she didn't look frightened or timid, she looked livid. She placed her hands on his chest and shoved him off of her so hard he staggered backward, wincing as the wound in his shoulder sparkled with pain.

"If one more FUCKING person brings up John FUCKING Marston, I swear to God -!"

Arthur, clutching his shoulder and glaring at her: "Well, spendin' two nights with him, people are liable to -!"

"No, Arthur. No. It isn't fucking John Marston." Rane's voice was broad and cold and absolutely furious, and she glared at him from beneath her brows, her hair wavering around her face. "I told you that last night and I'm saying it again today. That's not it."

"Well, what?" Arthur stared at her, the horses pawing anxiously behind him, his face contorted with anger and bewilderment. "What, then?"

Rane was silent for a moment, glaring at him, breathing quickly, her fists clenched at her side.

"You wanna know what I think?" Arthur pointed at her. "I think you're scared to let yourself feel anything for anybody. That's why you're toyin' with John Marston and that's why you're toyin' with me. I think you're a chickenshit."

"That's an ugly thing to say," Rane breathed, low.

"Well, that's it, ain't it?"

"No."

"Well, what is it, then?" Arthur asked her loudly.

"SIRIUS!" Rane shouted suddenly, glaring at him. "SIRIUS! OKAY? SO LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE ABOUT IT!"

"HE'S DEAD!" Arthur shouted back, his eyes hard. "WHAT THE HELL HAS HE GOT TO DO WITH ME?"

"I SAW HIM KILLED DEAD IN FRONT OF ME!" Rane cried, her face contorted with rage and hurt, the cords in her neck standing out. And for a wonder, Arthur saw a glitter of tears in her eyes. "I WATCHED IT. AND I LOVED HIM. AND I CAN'T FEEL THAT AGAIN, ARTHUR! I CAN'T! I SPENT THREE YEARS JUST . . . DRINKING AND BEING SAD ABOUT IT, AND I -"

Rane stopped, seeming to catch herself. She sighed roughly. The tears were falling from her eyes now freely, rolling down her cheeks with impunity.

"I can't. I can't feel that again. I can't let it happen."

A ringing silence fell between them. Arthur looked at her, saying nothing. Rane, breathing hard, glared back at him.

"You're scared of me," he said at last.

"Yes," said Rane, very soft.

Arthur moved toward her and grasped her face in both his hands. She looked up at him, her eyes glimmering with fear.

"I ain't gonna leave you, and I ain't gonna die," he said gently, meeting her gaze with deliberation. And when she tried to turn her head away, he tipped her chin back up to him, looking into her eyes. "No, you look at me. I ain't gonna hurt you, Rane."

"You don't know that," said Rane, and a sob racked through her chest, heartbreakingly harsh. "You can't tell me that."

"Sure I can. Sure I can." Arthur's eyes flicked between hers. "I ain't him, and I know that, but you gotta understand . . . you gotta. I won't hurt ya. I love you. And even if you don't want me, still it'll be."

Rane looked up at him, tears glistening on her face in the morning sun.

"Tell it back to me," said Arthur steadily, looking at her. "I know you feel it. I know you're scared of it, but . . . come on, girl. I know it's there."

Rane looked at him for a long moment, then her face crumpled. Terror and shame, Arthur thought. She wasn't so different from him, after all, trying her damndest to deny this.

"Yes." Her voice was low and defeated.

"You do?"

"Yes."

"Then why are you cryin', love?"

"Because I'm scared to death," said Rane, looking up at Arthur nakedly. "I'm scared to fucking death."

Arthur looked down at her for a moment longer, then bending pressed his mouth against hers. He felt her fall into him helplessly, not resisting, her tears wet against his cheeks. This battle-hardened woman who had slaughtered with abandon was frightened about halfway to death of Arthur Morgan, of all things. He could feel her trembling against him. He drew back and pulled her to his chest, closing his arms around her.

"I don't even know where I am," she said, low, her voice rough. "Or when I am. Or where my girl is. Fuck, I don't even know who I am half the fucking time."

"We'll manage. We surely will." Arthur shook his head. He could feel her heartbeat, frightened and hummingbird-quick, against his chest. "Rane, I swear to Christ, I love you so damned much I don't even know what to do with it. If I can help ya, I will."

"I know. I love you, too."

Arthur's eyes fell shut at the sound of this. He'd never heard a woman utter it before, and the emotion that washed over him, the flat need of her, was incredibly strong. He realized with a touch of panic that he was in way over his head here, and if she decided to make a run for it, he'd be years in recovery, no question.

"You know I'm about as scared of you as you are of me," Arthur muttered, and kissed the crown of her head.

Rane pressed her face into the fabric of his shirt, giving herself over to the moment between them. She was a fool for having said it, but it was done now, and she couldn't take it back. And truthfully, she wasn't sure she wanted to.