I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord
And I've been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord
Can you feel it coming in the air tonight? Oh Lord, oh Lord.

- Phil Collins

The three of them made camp some half a mile from the bridge, and from the start of it the levels of discomfiture, now that the job itself was completed, rose to fever pitches. Arthur was the worst at coping with it by a long shot, muttering gruffly and shuffling off immediately in search of firewood, leaving Rane and John sitting around the campfire alone.

"He is super uncomfortable," Rane remarked at length. She was sitting cross-legged, leaned against a tree, pulling apart a pinecone idly, smiling a little. "I mean, he's full on out of sorts, that guy."

"Yeah, well, I guess you ain't figured it out yet, but Arthur ain't exactly the smoothest feller in the world," John murmured. He was opposite her, legs stretched in front of him, smoking. "He learned how to kill and steal and swindle, but he didn't never learn how to handle a girl. Probably why he ain't married off by now."

Rane gestured at the roaring fire before them. "I mean, I told him before he left that I could make a fire without any more firewood -"

"Yeah, I know, I heard ya say it, too -"

"So what is he doing?"

John shrugged. "Just let him do it and get it outta his system."

"Is it because you're here?"

"Probably a little bit. More likely he's just . . . bein' awkward. I'm tellin' ya, Rane, he's so bad with women, he's got a reputation for it -"

"He seemed fine when we were alone together." Rane was peering into the woods after Arthur, her brow furrowed. "Totally comfortable."

"Trust me," John told her sagely, brandishing his cigarette at her. "He might be a gunslinger when he's workin' but he's a bull in a china shop when it comes to ladies. Anybody'll tell ya."

"I should go after him."

"Nah, nah." John got to his feet, waving a hand and flicking his smoke away. "Let me. You stay put."

Arthur was squatting some ways off, out of sight of the campfire, peering over the gorge beyond, one hand stroking his unshaven chin, his brow furrowed and his other hand hanging lax against his knee. He hadn't gathered any firewood, and he hadn't come up with an excuse why not yet, either; right now, his mind was elsewhere. On Dutch, on this train job, and - of course - on Rane. He had never seen her behave the way she did on the road back there, and his gut told him that it was not so much a random episode as a slipping of her control over something he could not understand. Moreover, there was this marriage business, which was causing him far more anxiety than he was prepared to let on. He didn't have a ring, for starters - how the fuck did he not have a ring, anyways? How stupid was he? And where was he going to get one?

I still got the one I was gonna give to Mary, he thought, then shook his head. That wasn't right, giving her a secondhand ring. Saint Denis, then . . . there's gotta be a -

"Hey."

Arthur drew his pistol, whirling around and falling back onto his ass. John lifted both hands, looking amused.

"It's just me, you jumpy son of a bitch, calm down."

"God dammit, Marston." Arthur holstered his gun, glaring at John and settling back, resting his hands on the grass. "You keep sneakin' up on folks and you're liable to get shot."

"Yeah, well maybe you oughta quit bein' so skittish." John sat beside him, dangling his hands between his knees. "What the hell are you doin' sitting out here? Rane already made a fire back there, she don't need any more wood. Not that you collected any," he added, eyeing Arthur's empty arms.

"Ah, shit. I dunno." Arthur ran both hands through his hair. "I got a lot on my mind, I guess."

"Like what?"

Arthur rubbed at his chin, fingers roving on the smooth swell there. He'd gone through the trouble of shaving clean and pomading his hair back from his temples in preparation for Rane's arrival, laboring in the little mirror at his bedside, turning this way and that with his straight razor and trying desperately to look presentable. It was something he hadn't done in ages, at least not for a woman, and now he felt a trifle foolish, sitting in the dirt, spiffed up and out of sorts. And how his heart had leapt when she'd noticed, when she'd mentioned it! God, but he was a fool. He hoped John hadn't seen it for what it was.

"I gotta tell ya somethin', and I don't want you to repeat it," said Arthur, very low. He hesitated, then added, "it might not be easy for you to hear, and I want ya to know I ain't doin' it to spite you or to cause you any grief."

John nodded warily, watching him. "Okay."

"I asked Rane to marry me. And she accepted." Arthur coughed roughly into a curled fist. "We're tryin' to get Swanson to ordain tomorrow, if everything goes right."

John looked at Arthur's profile, his brow furrowed, chewing his lower lip. He was aware that his heartbeat had quickened beneath his shirt. "That so?"

"Yeah, just about." Arthur looked sidelong at him uneasily, wringing his hands. "You feel raw about it?"

John shook his head, meeting Arthur's eyes. "Nah. Nah, I ain't upset. I'm glad for you. For you both." He pursed his lips, then added, "she loves ya, Arthur. She don't want me. Even if I want her, which I guess you figured out by now."

Arthur turned away, frowning and awkward. "Shit. I'm sorry, John. Truly I am. I wouldn't have gone after a lady you wanted if I had any other choice. It just sprung up."

"Predetermined."

"Huh?"

"Somethin' she said the other night. Predetermined." John sighed, rubbing at his face. "I guess it is what it is. You always were the high roller when it came to women."

Arthur snorted. "With regards to what? Mary? Shit, she didn't even want me around half the damn time."

"Oh hell." John snorted derisively, leaning back on his elbows. "They all wanted you, you were just too dumb to see it. Always sayin' some stupid shit and runnin' 'em off. Remember that time you had them three girls in that saloon playin' after ya all at once? And I said, 'look at this bunch of lovely ladies?'"

Arthur laughed heartily. "Oh, Christ."

"What'd you say? Go on, tell it back, you old bastard."

"I said, 'I don't see no ladies around here,'" said Arthur, still laughing. "And they all ran off."

"And they all ran off, yep, that's just what they did." John was laughing now, too. "Ruined the damn night for both of us with your big mouth."

"Well, I was only kidding with 'em, they just took it wrong, is all."

"Yeah, well. I guess Rane knows how to take ya."

Arthur's smile faded. "Yeah, she sure does."

John shook his head, rubbing his chin. "I dunno quite what happened to her back on that road, Arthur, but it scared me a little bit. Like . . . I dunno, like seein' a ghost or somethin'. Made my hair stand on end."

"Yeah, I know it. I got a little bit of an idea, but . . . there's so much I don't know about her." He glanced at John, chewing his thumbnail. "Bad enough with all the magic and the Elf shit without throwin' this into the mix."

"What do you mean?"

Arthur shook his head. "Somethin' to do with her mama not bein' an Elf. I don't know that I understand it very well. That thing that happened to her eyes, that ain't all she can do, it's like she can push it out and use it like a weapon, whatever it is."

"It was funny. Like she didn't even remember it none."

"Yeah, I know it. I reckon we might shouldn't bring it up with her just now. We got enough trouble to be getting along with. Dutch, and all."

John nodded grimly, shifting his weight. "Yeah. I had a lot of time to think in that jail, and . . . well, I just don't think I know Dutch no more. And this plan to get us out, it just feels . . . I dunno. It's like he just wants to create more enemies. More chaos."

"Yeah, I know."

"I mean, I love Dutch. He saved me a long time ago. But I feel like, in Saint Denis . . . when I got arrested, maybe he coulda done somethin'." John shrugged. "He just watched, Arthur, just looked at me while it happened. Then he turned around and ran. If it had been you or Rane standing there instead of him, I probably wouldn't have gotten put away. That's what I think. Either one of you woulda fought for me. At least a little bit. Dutch, though . . . " He shook his head. "Nothin'."

Arthur let the silence stand between them for a long moment, deciding how to proceed.

"John, listen." He turned to face him. "I feel like you should take your woman and child and get lost."

"Do you?" John was watching him, his expression a little reticent.

"What reason you got to stick around at this point? It's done, I don't see no way outta any of this."

"Well, what about loyalty?"

Arthur scoffed. "That's long been broken. We've been loyal. Look what that caused." He grasped John's shoulder in one hand, meeting the younger man's eyes. "Listen to me. When the time comes, you gotta run and don't look back. This is over."

John nodded, looking at him. "What are you gonna do?"

"Shit, I don't know." Arthur shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I wanna take Rane and get the hell outta here. She's the only thing I got, I wanna get her away from all this hell. Try and have a normal life someplace for a little while." He shrugged, looking a little sheepish. "I don't know, John. I've been in this gang better than twenty years, I ain't even sure that I remember how normal folk go about it."

John sighed, passing a hand over his face. "Shit. I know how you mean."

Arthur got laboriously to his feet, coughing a little into his fist. "Come on, we oughta get back. She's probably wonderin' where the hell we are by now."

John took his proffered hand, getting up as well, and met Arthur's eyes a moment.

"You ain't half so tough as you make out," he said, low. "You ain't a bad feller."

Arthur pulled his hand away, turning. "Yeah, whatever you say. Come on. Try not to get mauled by a wolf on the way back."

He voiced a low howl, glancing back at John wryly. John rolled his eyes.

"Never mind, you're just an assole. Come on."

RANE was lying on her back at the campfire when Arthur and John strode back up, looking at the sky. Her arms were behind her head, her flat belly exposed a little by the posture, and one of her legs was crossed over the other, her boot wiggling idly.

"So I guess congratulations are in order," said John, taking a seat opposite her. Rane sat up, looking at him in alarm.

"What? What d'you mean?"

"I told him," said Arthur, sitting next to her with a grunt and slinging an arm around her shoulders.

"Oh." Rane looked unhappily at John, searching his face. He waved a hand.

"Quit lookin' at me that way, I ain't upset. I'm happy for the pair of ya. Wait 'til Abigail finds out, she'll blow a damn gasket knowin' she ain't gotta worry about you no more."

Rane looked at him a moment longer, extraordinarily uncomfortable, then cleared her throat, curling her legs beneath her. "Well, thanks." She glanced at Arthur. "So, uh, how long do we wait?"

"Well, I figure the train's passin' through Saint Denis close to dusk, so we give 'er a couple hours, head back and round up the rest of the boys. That'll give Dutch a chance to cool off, anyways, after all that shit this morning, I'm sure he's still back there lookin' for a dog to kick about it."

"I ain't so sure this whole operation is such a great idea right now," John remarked, low. "I mean, me just busted outta jail, Pinkertons sniffin' around, all these magical fellers out lookin' for Rane, hell we're just askin' for a necktie social the way we're goin' -"

"Thank you, John, that's exactly what I said." Rane cast Arthur a vindicated look. "It's a terrible idea for all those reasons, too, but it's a really terrible idea because it's the goddamn Army you're stealing from -"

"How's it any different than robbin' a bank? Or a stagecoach?" Arthur had gotten up and strode to his mount, fumbling with the saddlebags. He glanced over his shoulder at Rane when she didn't answer right away, grinning. "See? You don't even know, do ya? You're just scared of the damn government! All we gotta do is shoot a couple of them military dragoons outta the way, there ain't nobody gonna live long enough to squeal on us!"

"Take it easy there, Son of Sam -"

"I'm tellin' ya, it ain't no damn different." Arthur was striding back to the fire, now carrying the possum he'd shot earlier by the tail. "Hell, we robbed dozens of trains over the years, ain't never had a job go sour on us yet, ain't that right, John?"

John watched him skeptically as he sat back down at Rane's side, placing the possum over his knees. "Eh," he said noncommittally, shrugging. "I guess none of us ever died, anyways."

"See there?" Arthur pulled his pocket knife, readjusting the possum on his lap. Its head lolled lifelessly on its neck, tongue hanging loosely out of the side of its mouth. "It ain't gonna go sideways, we'll be alright. Shit, I bet most of the boys that'll be on that train are barely old enough to grow fuzz on their peaches, they'll be so wet behind the ears it'll be like fish in a barrel -"

"That makes it even worse," Rane remarked. She was eyeing the possum on Arthur's lap warily, leaning away from him a little. "Whatcha got there, sport?"

"Well, I was gonna let Pearson have it, but seein' as how we ain't gonna be back to camp for a while yet -" Arthur plunged the knife abruptly into the possum's scant throat, yanking its matted pelt away with his fist and exposing shiny pink muscle. Rane recoiled, pulling a face. "I figured we might could cook him up for the three of us."

"Pass," said Rane, watching this event nauseously.

"What? How come?" Arthur cast her a wounded look over the carcass. "You think I can't cook or somethin'?"

"Possum's good eatin'," John agreed, lighting a cigarette beneath his closed fists. "Like chicken but springier. Right, Arthur?"

"Ain't no different than rabbit, just a little tougher," Arthur added, and with a quick, brutal motion ripped the skin clean off the possum. The sound was like tearing carpet and Rane staggered to her feet, one forearm slung over her mouth, gagging hoarsely. John and Arthur both burst out laughing.

"Look at that, girl slices a man's head clean off but a dead rodent has her damn near pukin' her guts out," John bawled, slapping a knee.

"IT'S A MARSUPIAL AND THAT'S DISGUSTING!" Rane said loudly, still bent over her knees in the brush, trying to hold her gorge.

"You want me to dice you up some pinecones instead, sweetheart?" Arthur asked her primly, rolling up the shorn possum skin and stuffing it into his satchel. "Maybe a couple woodchuck turds? Season 'em up a little bit, 'lil sprig of parsley and all that?"

Rane cast him a dire look over one shoulder, one hand clamped over her mouth. John was roaring.

"I," she said loftily behind her palm, "will not be eating possum tonight, sir."

She made it about an hour and a half before the smell started to really wear her down. Arthur had field-dressed and spitted the possum rather expertly over the crackling fire, propping up the long, sharp stick that went from throat to tail with two more with what Rane was sure was the ease of long practice, and once the fat had simmered away, it looked like nothing so much as a rotisserie chicken to Rane (the head had been mercifully removed). How long had it been since she'd had a mouthful of slow-roasted chicken? There had been a place near the Ministry of Magic that would make the most incredible Tuscan chicken penne pasta, she'd stopped there once or twice a week for a big, steaming plate of it . . . all spinach and tomato and parmesan and basil, with a big, hot wad of French bread on the side . . .

Rane swallowed thickly at the thought. Arthur, who was leaned back on one elbow, smoking idly at her side, watched her with grim amusement.

"You look kinda hungry," John remarked from the other side of the fire. He was leaning against a tree trunk, both legs stretched out and crossed in front of him, picking at his fingernails with his pocketknife.

Arthur leaned forward and pulled the possum off the fire, inspecting it before his face, the meat steaming in the humid air. He reached forward and tore off a mouthful from the thigh, chewing thoughtfully. After a moment his face fell into exaggerated lax pleasure.

"Oh, boy, ain't that good," he said, rolling his eyes. He leaned toward Rane, still chewing. "C'mere, gimme a kiss, darlin', while I still taste like it -"

"Ahh! No!" Rane leaned backwards away from him, her mouth pulled down. John was laughing.

"Just try a little bit, hell, quit bein' such a chickenshit," John said, gesturing. "It ain't so damn bad as you're makin' it out to be."

Rane sighed, rubbing her face. She beckoned. "Okay, just - a tiny little piece, I'm starving."

Arthur pulled a strip of meat off the possum and handed it to her. She held it between her fingers for a moment, eyeing it distastefully, then crammed it into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, placing the back of her hand over her mouth.

"Well?" said Arthur, grinning.

Rane looked at him a moment, then turned and spat it out behind her, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. John burst out laughing.

"I don't know where you went to culinary school, but I hope you kept the receipt," Rane remarked, laughing herself.

"Oh, hell." Arthur waved a dismissive hand at her, looking quite insulted. "Sorry I ain't got any caviar on hand."

"I'll let it go this one time."

"Oh, that right?" Arthur leaned toward her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, drawing her near, grinning. "You gonna let it go this one time?"

"It better not happen again." Rane was smirking up at him, her gaze flicking between his eyes and his mouth unabashedly. "I don't marry dudes who can't cook for shit, as a general rule, it's kind of a disqualifier -"

"Well, that's lucky, because I don't marry ladies who're too fancy to eat possum every now and then," Arthur growled, lowering his grinning mouth to hers and kissing her. "You better make some changes pretty quick there, darlin.'"

"I don't take orders from handsome men," Rane murmured against his lips, her smile broad, liking the sensation of his grin against her kiss. "You're shit outta luck, kid."

"Yeah, well I don't take orders from pretty girls, so I guess we're -"

"Hey, it's gettin' on," said John loudly, straightening and looking thoroughly discomfited. Rane and Arthur broke apart, both looking abruptly awkward. "We oughta get movin'."

"Yeah, sure." Arthur yanked the rest of the possum off the spit and wrapped it into a bit of cloth, stowing it into his pack and getting to his feet. He paused as he did, bending over to cough roughly into his fist, and Rane eyed him uneasily until he quit, his eyes a little red. "Yeah, we oughta get movin', you're right, it's gettin' on."

It happened again as they were tacking the horses to head back to Beaver Hollow; Rane went away from them. She was halfway to tightening Eli's saddle when both her hands simply fell lax at her sides, her head rolling back on her neck, staring up at the canopy, her shoulders sinking. Eli reached back and nuzzled her, causing her to stumble back a step, but her eyes were bright blue again, and the wind around her was picking up, cold as winter.

"Shit." John was watching her over Old Boy's back, wary. "Arthur, she's gettin' funny again."

"My name is fire," she murmured, her voice distant and lilting. "Nin am'nar . I was not born to die. I will go on. I will leave all else behind."

"Rane!" Arthur said loudly. "RANE!"

She didn't react, only continued to gaze at the sky, muttering under her breath, her eyes pale and strange. Arthur picked up a pinecone at his feet and hucked it at her, not gently. It bounced off her temple, clattering off into the brush. She jerked roughly, staring at him, shocked.

"What the fuck, Arthur?" she snapped, rubbing her head ruefully.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" said Arthur, abandoning pretense, his voice strident. "You keep havin' fits or somethin'! Your eyes are changin' and you're sayin' crazy stuff and blowin' wind around and shit! The hell is goin' on?"

Rane stared at him, her face falling a little, her brows knitting. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, I don't know! You're startin' to scare me!" Arthur continued to stare at her, his brow knitted. "If that shit starts happening when we're balls deep in this train job tonight with bullets flyin' around -!"

"What are you talking about, having fits?" Rane repeated, walking around Eli and facing him.

"Twice now you went funny," said John from where he stood next to Old Boy. "Sayin' strange things and mutterin'."

"And your eyes changed, they got all blue the way they did on Guarma." Arthur reached forward and smoothed her hair away from her forehead, looking down at her with genuine anxiety. "Rane, I don't like seein' it, it's got me feelin' real nervous."

"I'm fine," Rane said softly, and reaching up kissed the corner of his mouth. "Fine."

"I don't think you're fine, I think you're tryin' to talk me down." Arthur was watching her shrewdly.

Rane looked at him a long moment, her brow furrowed. Then she turned from him, mounting Eli in a swift motion, pulling him around. Arthur watched her uneasily.

"Hey," he said. "Don't you ignore me."

"I wanna think for a few minutes before I talk to you about this," said Rane, not looking at him. "Is that okay?"

Arthur sighed, rubbing his face, then turned and mounted his own horse, coughing a little as he did. "Right."