"Sing to me your sweetest song.

It could be my last."

– Needtobreathe, "Disaster Road"

.

"And if you never come back,

if you never call,

I'll say I understand when I don't at all."

.

- Joy Williams, "The Trouble with Wanting"

.

Isaac ran up to the front door with Allie in tow to show his mother and Arthur a flower he'd found outside when he heard them talking in the kitchen and stopped at the threshold.

"You can't try to deny that," he heard his mother say.

He peered around the threshold to see them looking at each other, his mother's back to him.

"Tell me you don't love me," his mother said.

"I don't love you," Arthur said.

"No. Just like fuckin' me," his mother said, slamming something down on the counter.

Isaac gasped. He'd never heard such a word out of his mother's mouth. He didn't know what it meant, but he knew it was all wrong. It frightened him. Her voice was tense and desperate. Like she was mad, scared, and sad all at once.

Something in Arthur's face changed.

"You can call it that if you like. Just remember it was your word, not mine," he said with a single shake of his head, and his eyes were cold.

Isaac had never seen them like this before. He hated it.

He pulled back from the threshold and took a few side steps away from the door, pressing his back against the house. Something must've happened to make them sad and scared and angry. He hoped it wasn't sometimes he did. He picked Allie up and ran away from the house, his chest tightening and his eyes stinging at the thought.

Eliza was cooking something at the stove when she felt Arthur's lips on her neck making their way up to her jaw under her ear, his stubble lightly scratching her as he went. He brought his fingers to her cheek, brushing away the stray hair that fell into her face and kissing her there. She felt his breath on her neck, and she closed her eyes. Yet again she felt the familiar ache in the pit of her stomach: lust mingled with more sadness than usual.

If only he knew how often she thought of him when he was away. How she'd feel a breeze in the cool of day and think it was his fingers on her cheek. How she'd imagine his warmth next to her in bed, imagine his lips and breath waking her up in the morning. Like a phantom he was always with her. And when he was with her, he wasn't.

But she had to remind herself: if he knew all of that, it probably wouldn't make a lick of difference.

What am I to you? she thought, over and over again. Thought it so loud she finally heard herself say it.

"What?" she heard him say.

She looked at him. "What am I to you?" she said simply.

"Well, you're—you're, uh…"

It wasn't that she hadn't expected it, but she felt it deeply—his lack of any answer whatsoever. He couldn't even come up with "mother of my child." She felt as if someone had taken her and scraped her insides, hollowing her out like a melon. But she was fed up with waiting for him to do nothing but continue stumbling on his own tongue.

"I'm not a child any longer, Arthur."

"I know," he said, almost chuckling.

"What I mean to say is that…there are certain things I want out of life these days."

He stopped and looked at her, his expression finally matching her seriousness of tone. She was surprised to find his gaze soften and his tone become pensive. "I know that."

"I keep waitin' for the moment when you might…" her gaze flitted away, but she pulled together the courage to look at him again as she said quietly, "love me." Her words sounded so pathetic to her own ears.

His expression turned hard, and he looked away, shaking his head. "You'll be waitin' forever, Eliza. That moment'll never come. Told you from the beginning. I'm a man with no love in him."

"And I don't know who you think you're foolin' with lies like that, but it ain't me," she shot back quickly, catching his eye. "Because I see you with that boy." Her voice clipped with emotion at the last word.

He looked away and shook his head as he grumbled half to himself, "You don't know what you see." He leaned back against the counter and folded his arms. "It's different."

"Another lie," she said as she returned to her task. "It all comes from the same place. If you can love one person, you can love another. And I know you love Isaac. You can't try to deny that." She turned to face him squarely. "Tell me you don't love me."

"I don't love you," he said easily, with his hands out.

"No," she said quickly. "Just like fuckin' me."

His expression smoothed, and he pulled back, saying coolly, "You can call it that if you like. Just remember it was your word, not mine." He watched her eyes narrow and her face go red. You make it too damn easy, Eliza, he thought. "'Sides. Don't you forget: it takes two. And we're awful good at it," he said as he took his plate and went around to sit at the far side of table, facing her.

"You taught me everything I know, from day one," she bit back over her shoulder, "seven years ago! Yes, it's been that long, Arthur." She saw him eye her with a glare before returning to his food.

"All you've ever needed is a warm body, Eliza. Don't pretend you care anything about me."

She stopped and slowly turned around. "How could you ever even think of sayin' somethin' like that to me?" A vein started to show in her forehead. "Ugh, Arthur Morgan, I could just throttle you with words like that!"

"How could you? You don't know me!"

"Don't know you," she leveled her eyes at him. "Anything I don't know is only your doin'. Don't you think I've counted the number of times I've seen you, Arthur Morgan… With the frequent visits early on, about twenty-eight times."

He raised his eyebrows. "Sounds a lot more than it is," he grumbled.

"Don't know you?! You put a baby inside me; you come in here bleedin', and I clean you up! Do you know what that did to me? Don't care?!" she breathed, and it came out more like a cry. He was just trying to hurt her now. Why? Why did he have to do that? Every time she opened an inch of her heart to him, he lashed out. She didn't think she'd ever opened this much to him before. "Some kind of a…sick, twisted son of a bitch," she bit out and shook her head as she turned. "That's what you are. Some kind of a…"

It was the worst thing Arthur could've said to her, and he knew it. And he'd finally said it. And still she hadn't said the worst thing she could've said in return.

"We're gettin' off subject," he said. "Point is, I won't have you guiltin' me into stayin'. I'm a wanted man, Eliza. Ain't nothin' gonna change that."

"Right," she said quietly. "You can't help that you're an outlaw. Just like I can't help that I love one."

She'd hoped to sting him with the mixture of sarcasm and truth. She heard him take a long pause before continuing, stinging her in return with silence. It was like she'd offered up a plate covered in gold to a scorpion.

"And you can't expect to cozy up to no outlaw, Eliza! I got bounty hunters, rival gangs after me—hell, half the time I got half the southeastern counties on my tail." He looked back down at his food, stuffing a couple bites in his mouth. "As it is when I'm here, half the time I'm lookin' over my shoulder for 'em! Stayin' away is the best way for me to protect the two of you."

He looked up when he heard a dish crash on the floor. She was bracing herself against the counter, and he heard her quietly weeping.

She turned to him with her eyes filled to the brim with tears. "I thought I was strong," she said. "You thought I was. But…you just—you…you come in here, and you…" She saw his shocked, puzzled expression. She could barely get the next words out, and they came in a whisper: "You bind me to you," she said with a hand to her chest. "And then you leave, and you don't know it, but you take me with you! And just—over and over again, it tears me apart!"

A streak of panic rifled through him as he watched her go into hysterics that he'd never seen from her before. He might've finally pushed her to the edge.

Through the blur of tears Eliza saw his expression change again, and he got up and came to her. She pushed him and hit him when he came near. He wrestled her through her throws, finally grabbing her and taking her in his arms.

"It tears me apart, you're tearing me apart!" she cried, pounding his chest. She finally crumpled against him sobbing. "But I take it, because it's all I can get from you, and you're all I want. You're all I want." She hid her face in his shirt and tried to choke back the sobs, but felt even more pathetic. She focused on steadying her breathing instead.

"Enough of this, now," he said. "You're makin' yourself sick. You've gotta be strong for Isaac."

She shook her head. "You're wearin' me thin. You use me up, and there's nothin' left, there ain't enough left for him."

She melted into him, and he felt her go limp in his arms. He pulled back to see she was on the verge of fainting. He brought his hands to her back and tried to steady her, but she was going down fast. As her eyelids fluttered closed he scooped her up and put her in bed.

About half an hour later Arthur walked up to Eliza, looking surprised to see her pushing her wooden wheelbarrow in the garden.

"What are you doin' up?" he said. "You should be takin' it easy, after you almost took that tumble earlier."

She continued about her work, not answering him. She was so embarrassed about that. And about so many things. She knelt down on her hands and knees, beginning to pull up weeds.

"I'm sure that can wait, Eliza," he said, his voice low and deep.

Every single time he said her name, she couldn't keep her heart from fluttering. She saw him shift his weight and grab his belt out of the corner of her eye.

"You know…" he said, "you got me thinkin' I shouldn't come by no more; not if it taunts you and brings you this much pain." When she didn't respond, he finally sighed and said, "We just gonna pretend like this mornin' didn't happen?"

She turned and locked eyes with him, saying tersely, "That's right."

When she saw his exasperated expression, she ignored it and turned back around. She was clapped with the memory of the first time he'd happened to return to town, after having left the morning after they'd first met and slept together.

Nine months can do a lot.

.

She'd had no word from him, didn't expect to ever see him again. And yet she'd given birth to his child. And he didn't know Isaac existed.

And after all the shock and doubt and disbelief that she'd known no other man, he'd softened and accepted it. And she'd lain their tiny son in his arms.

"He's a baby, Arthur," she'd had to say. "Not a box of dynamite." As their son cooed and slept in his father's arms, she'd said, "Isaac. After my daddy, God rest him."

She'd watched as Arthur stared at the face of their son, for once at a loss for words. It was by far the most intimate moment she'd ever shared with another human being—to see his expression change and to see him enraptured so by the life they'd created that his voice had been completely swept away.

When he finally looked up, he swore he'd do what he could for them. He said that though he was under no delusions about what he could offer, he committed to tiptoe the line between providing for them and protecting them by staying away.

It was in that moment that she'd silently sworn to herself to accept whatever he could give—no more, no less—if for no other reason than it was at that same moment that she realized she loved him.

.

She blinked and swallowed past the lump in her throat as she pulled herself back to the present and dug a parsnip out of the dirt.

Her love for him, an outlaw absent in both body and heart, was her own sick fate.

She would do nothing to drive him away. Even if that meant shoring up her feelings from him, hiding the way he might be making her half crazed with pining. Keeping from asking him to stay.

She got up and walked out of the fenced garden area. "So I guess you'll be leaving us today." She glanced at him briefly and looked down as she walked past him toward the house.

He nodded. "You saw the money," he sighed, and it wasn't a question. He turned and followed her as she walked past. "I hope it's enough to last a few months. It's everything I got on me. I'll bring more next time, I promise."

"If there is a next time."

"Don't give me that, Eliza; of course there will be. And I won't stay away as long as I did last time." He ran out in front of her, stopping her as they neared the side of the house. "You're the lucky one, you know."

She scoffed, for once succeeding in not allowing her tears to emerge. "Nothing about any part of this is lucky."

"No, I mean…you get to really know him, and he knows you. I can never have that. I'm sure you've thought about that before."

She nodded. All it takes is making the choice to know him, she thought. She looked down at his chest, and the tears betrayed her. "I keep thinkin', Arthur…when my time finally does come, no one will know I was ever here, on this earth, I mean."

He sighed. "I think maybe you should try findin' a friend, so you ain't so lonesome when I'm away."

"And what if something happens to you," she cried, "and we never see you again, and we're left all alone in the world?"

He shook his head. "There ain't nothin' I can say about that, Eliza, except you shouldn't be worryin' about it. My life's always been mine to live or die. But I'm tellin' you, I'll be back. And I will. You'll just have to trust me."

"And I'm not sure Isaac will turn out all right, and no one will help him or remember him neither."

He sighed, growing weary of being piled high with a woman's worries all at once. And if he were honest with himself, he'd admit he was unnerved by how closely they resembled thoughts he'd had himself recently.

He was struck with the memory of the time he'd come to her in the dead of night with a fresh bullet wound in his arm, a couple years ago.

.

She'd jumped half a mile in the air at the sight of him. When she found out what kind of a state he was in, she'd panicked; but to her credit, she'd sat him down and set right to work bandaging him up.

"Shit!" he'd said as she'd worked on him. "Woman!"

"I'm tryin' to be gentle, but you keep movin'," she'd said.

He specifically remembered her face so near to his as she inspected the torn flesh, the touch of her fingertips as she worked to close the wound. Resting his eyes as she wiped the spray of his own blood from him cheek with a warm, damp cloth. Opening them again when he felt her movements stutter slightly, when she hesitated and pulled away.

"There. It's tender," she'd said when she finished. "Don't touch it."

"Don't have to tell me twice," he shook his head and winced when he tried to lift his wounded arm.

"I always knew you were a gunslinger," she said as she looked at the bloody bandaged arm, "I just never thought I'd see the fruits of it." She popped her head up at him. "Don't you have someone in your gang who can do this for you, fix you up? Why're you showin' up here?"

"It ain't like that. I was already on my way back here," he rasped through the pain as he tried to sit more comfortably. "Down by the dell. Got caught up, ambushed by a few fellers who had it out for me. Let's just say I made it out of the dell with a scratch, and they didn't make it out."

Her face drained of color. "Oh my god. So close?" She brought a hand to her mouth. "God have mercy."

"From what I could tell, it didn't seem they knew anything about you two. It was just plumb bad luck."

She looked back up at him, her face taut with fear and frustration, her tone rising. "We don't need this, Arthur. Your four-year-old son is asleep in his bed, in the next room!" she whispered, pointing to Isaac's bedroom door.

"I know," he said, hanging his head in shame.

"And he'll wake to find you like this. Oh, god," she put a hand to her forehead, struggling not to cry. "You have to cover it up."

"Of course I will," he drawled pointedly, beginning to be annoyed.

"They can't find us."

"I know!"

"We can't have men like that so close to the ranch."

"Goddamn it! What do you want from me, Eliza? What do you want me to do? You want me to stay away for good?"

"If you have to ask, you have a thicker skull than I ever took you for!" she whispered, gasping back tears. "I want you where you should be—home—with me, with him! He needs a father; he needs you! I want you to stay here, with us, for good!"

He looked at her, her tear-stained eyes demanding an answer. He looked past her and slowly wagged his head. "I can't."

"Can't, or won't?"

"I…I can't. Don't ask me."

"I'm asking! I'm finally asking!"

"It ain't an option, damn it!" he snapped. "Just drop it! Put it outta your mind!" He caught her expression out of the corner of his eye as she bit her thumbnail and clenched her eyes closed, and he slowly softened. "Save yourself the heartache."

"No chance of that," she said sucking in a breath. "It's my life sentence. I accepted that a long time ago." She sniffed and hardened when she looked at him. "I don't wanna see you like this ever again, you understand me? You ain't like the others, you remember that. You have a son, and he has you. You take better care of yourself."

He shook his head and shrugged. "It's a hazard of the trade, Eliza. Ain't no changin' that."

"Well, if you're bleedin' you ain't comin' through that door. You turn right back around. If your son ain't motivation enough, let that be."

.

Arthur cleared his throat as Eliza came back into focus in front of him.

"He'll be just fine, Eliza." He paused as he watched Isaac play. "Listen to me," he said as he looked back at her, an urgency edging his tone. "I've learned that the days are short and go by much too fast. You take our son in your arms each day, because he won't be like this much longer. And before you know it, he'll be a man, and he won't need you no more. But before that happens you've got to teach him how to be a good one. And you can't lean on anybody—including me—for strength, because he leans on you."

She looked down. "It's a lot to ask of a woman, to be both mother and father to a child, Arthur. I don't think I have the make up to be father to him in that way."

He took her by the arms and gently jostled her until she looked up at him. "Enough with that, you hear me? Enough," he whispered sternly. "I'm telling you what you've got to do. You have little choice in the matter. There ain't no changin' where we are, where we've come. You teach our son to be a good man: one who chooses right, even in the face of hardship. You teach him that, and you'll do just fine. That's somethin' I could never do for him. You've done a fine job so far, a fine job. And you are suited to this. You understand me?"

Just then they heard Isaac's fear-laced scream, and they both snapped their heads in his direction.

"Snake!" he cried. "Mama! Arthur!"

Arthur's blood chilled. He saw Isaac's ghostly white face and ran in his direction—when he saw it on the ground, hissing in its coil and looking at Isaac, no more than a few inches from him.

"Don't move, Isaac!" he heard his own voice boom as he pulled his pistol off his hip.

Eliza appeared beside him. "No, Isaac! Oh, baby, please! Don't move!" she cried, watching with anxiety.

"Don't you move! You hear me?!" Arthur shouted sternly.

Isaac went rigidly still, tears streaming down his face. Arthur started to take aim in Isaac's direction, then paused. "Shut your eyes, Isaac!"

As soon as Isaac's eyes closed, he aimed at Isaac's feet and took the shot, all within half a second.

They ran to their son, Arthur reaching him first as the boy collapsed with nerves to the ground. Arthur caught him up in his arms and brought him close, listening to him huff and sigh, watching him tremble uncontrollably in relief. Eliza followed closely behind, gasping and sighing as she cradled him.

Arthur looked down and realized he was holding them both, his own pulse ragged from fear. It was as if he was standing outside of himself and could see the three of them there: himself stroking the back of Isaac's head as he sobbed, Eliza looking up at him with grateful tears in her eyes until she buried her face in his shoulder, his own face dazed and drained of color.

Later that afternoon Isaac was playing with the dog and Eliza was watching him as she gathered water at the pump when she saw Arthur step through the front door and come down the porch steps. He walked toward her with hat in hand.

"You look like you've had a bath," she smiled.

"Wanted to get one last one in," he said.

She tried not to let her smile fade so obviously at the words as he stood before her. A thought occurred to her, and she smirked. "That's the tub I gave birth to Isaac in, you know."

His expression halted, and he fought a wince. "No…you never mentioned that."

She nodded. "Had it brought over with some of the other furniture when you moved us out here."

"Makes sense. Just didn't realize it was there, of all places. Told you I was sorry I wasn't with you, didn't I?"

"You've said it once before, yes."

"Good." He cleared his throat. "Left a revolver for you, put it in the drawer by your bed. I know you know the basics."

"Yes, I remember. Thank you." She looked up at him. "You'll always have a place here, with us. I hope you know that."

He nodded. "I do." He hesitated, then brought one hand to her waste as they leaned in for a kiss.

She savored the feeling of his lips against hers, trying to imagine his kiss was filled with love, as hers was for him. She'd never loved somebody—not like this. And it wasn't fair. Her feelings for him would never cool or burn out no matter what he did or said. He was the love of her life even if she wasn't and would never be his. This life—small in a big world; this love—broken though it be true; this man—outlaw in name and practice but a treasure in her eyes, and leaving her—none of it was fair.

But it wasn't until this moment, when she let herself feel the full weight of her sorrow, that she realized she'd already become well acquainted with sorrow. She'd become accustomed and almost numb to its reality in her every day. It was no longer an unexpected guest in her life.

She lingered a moment with her lips against his before he slowly drew back.

"Wanted to get one last one in," she echoed his words without a smile or a frown, and turned to go back to pumping water.

"Don't make it harder on me," he whispered, his face crumpling.

She straightened and looked at him, saying gently, "You do what you have to do, Arthur. Don't give it a second thought." She looked out at the horizon. "I know you probably won't believe me when I say this," she continued, "but, as hard as it is, it's a good life."

He watched her as she looked back at him, still feigning unaffectedness. Her wet eyelashes gave her away.

"I've never been a person who needed much," she continued. "But I've got the world." She paused, breathing deeply. "And I've decided I'm not gonna fight it anymore. Because, maybe…maybe it's bigger than you and me," she said as she turned from him to look at Isaac.

"What's that," he asked as he looked at her, then squinted past her at Isaac.

She looked back at him. "Love."

He nodded and looked down, fiddling with his hat. "I want to thank you, Eliza," he said. "There ain't no words can express how thankful I am to you, for raisin' our boy." He watched Isaac playing in the yonder grass. He smirked to himself. "You said the doc said my son is 'very smart'?"

She nodded. "He is."

He shook his head and smiled. "I'll be." He glanced at her before looking back at Isaac. "I'm awful grateful, Eliza. He's beautiful."

"I can't take credit for that," she smiled as she looked at Isaac. "He's just like his daddy."

He shook his head. "I'll thank you for the compliment because I know you mean well, but pray to God he isn't." He looked at her. "Rather, you make sure he isn't."

.

"Everything was fine, until you came around.

I'm hopin' someday maybe I'll just float away,

and I'll forget every cynical thing you said.

When you gonna hear me out?

.

Reality will break your heart.

Survival will not be the hardest part.

It's keepin' all your hopes alive

when all the rest of you has died.

So let it break your heart."

- Paramore, "26"