A/N: This is super late and I am sorry for those who saw it posted on AO3. I don't usually post on FanFiction, so posting on two websites is new to me. Please enjoy nonetheless and rest easy knowing I'm working on chapter eight!
And keep you awake. Arthur sits in the chair across from the bed, head in his hands. She wants him? What he needs is a shot and he's not talking alcohol. The woman just lost her own husband she needs the man who killed him. Why hadn't he seen this coming before? He'd been so lost in his own selfishness… This could hurt her. Worse, she may not even like him but the idea of him being nice to her.
He stands, pacing the room as quietly as he can. Part of him wants to leave her here, slightly convincing himself that she's better off without him in her life. But he won't. It's not safe with William's gang about or the men in Valentine. He'll need to back off… Put some distance between the two of them.
Morning comes with pain and sickness. It's worse than her shot wound. Florence's eyes flutter open against the sun, clamping shut when it explodes across the front of her head with fire. She puts a hand to her forehead as if to put out the fire, but the pressure only adds to the throbbing pain. "Oh Jesus," she mutters, rolling over to the right limply. How does Arthur deal with hangovers like this? Why did she drink so much?
It started out a… competition. He challenged her to drink him under the table and obviously that's *not* what happened.
Puke slithers up her throat, pushing against her mouth. Shooting off the bed, she finds a bucket and reteches. Is she waking up Arthur? Come to think of it, she hadn't seen him in the room, but her eyes had only been open for a few seconds. Her meal from yesterday coats the inside of her mouth and she feels entirely too hot.
"How's your first hangover?" Arthur asks, his voice piercing through the hazy pain. It's like her heart beats with every word.
"Be quiet!" she hisses. She hasn't lifted her head from the bucket and feels his arm nudge her away from it. Sitting up, she uses the side of the bed as back support and he gently puts a cup of something warm in her hand. Coffee. She curls around the cup, blowing on it gently.
"If my head will stop throbbing and I can keep my eyes open, maybe we can get some shooting practice in." Florence takes a sip of the coffee. It's bitter but it allows her to open her eyes some. A blurred bucket is the first thing she sees as her vision clears, she can also see Arthur's boots. "How do you do this? Function after a hangover?"
Arthur laughs quietly. "Practice."
She drinks more of the coffee, willingly scalding her tongue so she can be more alert. It helps edge off the sick feeling in her stomach but her headache is still strong as ever.
"As for shooting practice, it'll have to be another day. I got to do some hunting today. Pearson told me we were running low on meat." Florence turns her head to him, blinking against the sunlight. It *hurts* to look up at him with the sun right there, but she has to show him she can run with the boys.
"Oh well, I could-"
"You'll only slow me down."
"Maybe I could-"
"Florence." Her name is a whisper but it fills the room, threatening to break the walls. "You're going back to camp."
Florence wants to fight him on it, but he might be right. She's in no condition to be any help of his. All she wants is a cool, shaded area she can fall asleep in. "Alright."
It takes one more cup of coffee to get her onto her feet and out the door. They pass the owner who audibly gives a sigh of relief as he realizes Arthur didn't cause any trouble. Both Chance and Lemon are brought back from the stables, neighing.
"Shh, Chance. Shh…" The shire doesn't care. He nudges Florence in the stomach, licking his lips. She laughs, taking a moment to put their foreheads together and enjoy the feel of the powerful horse under her hands. "I'm okay. See? One piece." He tosses his head, taking it from her hands and stomps. *Yeah, I'm ready to go too.*
Climbing in the saddle is embarrassingly hard. She feels Arthur's hands help her in, gripping her firmly around the waist to hoist her up. "Thanks."
Without a word, he mounts Lemon and leads the way back to the camp. Her attempts at conversation is completely ignored by Arthur. Did she say or do something last night that has him ignoring her? Or angered him? Try as she might, she can't seem to remember the night before. Only the competition and even that is just blurs of accepting and drinking the first shot. What did she do? *What did she do?*
They come to the dead trees marking the entrance of the camp. "Go on," is all he says. Florence directs Chance onto the path, looking over her shoulder to watch him as he's staring at her like he wants to say something. "Who's there?" Javier's voice rings out.
"Me. It's me," Florence says weakly.
She unsaddles Chance, running a brush over his fur as she gets lost in her thoughts. Like fog, it traps her for some time, sending her in circles when she finally believes she found the answer.
Why is Arthur acting like this? Is this about last night or some other night she wasn't aware of? Her own emotions for the man are muddled and she can recognize that *maybe* some of it is because he rescued her from William killing her.
And maybe she should be scared of him, but she spent the last couple of years scared of men. She won't bow her head anymore than needed. So what went wrong?
"Miss Florence," Miss Grimshaw yells, approaching her. "Good to have you back in camp. Maybe you can carry your weight around here and help me with the laundry."
"Miss Grimshaw, please not so loud," Florence begs, pulling up her shoulders as if to protect her ears against the loud voice.
"Oh, I'm sorry! Am I speaking too quietly for you? Laundry, dear girl. Now." Miss Grimshaw shoots a tight smile and turns on her heel, yelling something at Tilly.
Karen laughs, holding a basket of laundry in her arms. "Laundry isn't actually all that bad. We get to go down to the river. Chaperoned of course, but I managed to wrangle Lenny into it." The three of them head down a steep path to a wide running river. Lenny sits on a rock, cleaning his gun while the woman sit on their knees at the bank.
"Are you having fun with Arthur outside of camp?" Karen asks. "We're all mighty jealous you get to leave and don't have to help with work. Especially Sadie."
"I…"
"I'm not berating you for it, Florence." Karen easily smiles. The woman is an enigma. One moment she's all smiles and giggles and the other, she's too serious. Florence can't get a hold on her personality.
Florence shakes her head, closing her eyes as the cold water wakes her body."I am having fun, but he just dumped here and I don't know what I did wrong."
"Oh probably nothing. I heard Micah got himself arrested up in Strawberry and Dutch wanted Arthur to stage a rescue." Micah? That's one member she hasn't met of Dutch's gang. What has he gotten himself arrested for? Not paying a prostitute?
"He could probably use the help," Florence says, looking over her shoulder at the steep hill top where the camp sits. If your eyes adjust right, you can see a thin gray smoke line coming from those treetops in particular.
"It wouldn't kill you to stay behind. Regale us with stories of everything you've seen outside." Karen's blonde hair falls into her face and she blows at a strand, giving Florence a smile.
Florence nods, slightly distracted by the idea of Arthur alone out there. He's a capable man, but to just sit here and do laundry, that's not been her life for the last several days.
The two of them wash the laundry in peace, only the babbling of the river and Lenny's slow breathing behind them the sounds in the air. Florence stands up straight, bones popping back into place. Chores are far worse than sitting horseback for eight hours.
"How does Miss Grimshaw do this without complaining?" she whines, massaging her neck. Karen stands and grins at her, flicking the water at Florence.
"She doesn't. She'll just complain about us rather than the work."
Florence flinches when the water lands on her, adding to the already cold air around them. She puts a hand to her forehead, blocking the sun out for a few blissful moments. Something swaying in the wind catches her eye.
"Karen, do you see that?" Florence points to the other side of the bank with her free hand.
"Hm?" Karen copies Florence's stance, hand over her forehead and squints at the line of trees. "Yeah, probably just some fabric."
But it isn't. The way it flutters as if connected to something heavy. But she can't see a branch where it's fluttering. Maybe it's nothing, but she has to know. She drops the clothing onto the rocky bank and wades through the water, careful to keep her footing as an undercurrent wraps around her ankles. "Florence!" Karen's shout appears to have woken Lenny who is also shouting at her.
A stone sits heavily in her stomach as her mind tries to make sense of it. The fabric begins to take shape of a leg. A man hangs in the tree, arms spread and tied with rope. His body is headless and the torso is ripped open, intestines dropping onto the ground like large, bloody snakes.
Florence turns instantly around, finding a bush to bend into and puke, her head pounding from the stress her body is undergoing. "Flore-" Karen's sentence is cut off. The woman draws her gun, the clicking of the hammer sliding back. "Come on," she says quietly, putting an arm around Florence's shoulders. Her skirts are soaked to the waist.
"You didn't have to come after me," Florence says, leaning into Karen.
"You can't just run off like that, so yes I did."
"Wh-what happened to him?"
Karen looks back and sighs. How is the woman holding her composure? "I don't know, but this isn't the time to wonder that. Let's get back to camp."
They make their way across the river, neither of them seeing the paper sticking out of the head on a high branch above the body.
When Arthur dropped Florence off at the camp, he asked Charles to come hunting with him. They aren't hunting for animals, however, they are hunting to murder sites. He knows of the ones the sheriff has found and most of them are a good distance from the camps. He wants the ones near the camps, but there's only one marked.
Twin Stack Pass.
"Why are we doing this? Doesn't the sheriff in Valentine have it?" Charles questions as they kick their horses into a gallop.
Wind passes through Arthur's ears, making it hard to answer Charles and nearly sending his hat flying off of his head. As the large rocks on either side of the path come into view, the wind picks up, sending leaves scuttling across the dirt. "This gang, whoever they are, is after Florence. I plan to stop them."
"You must like this girl," Charles says idly as they slow down the horses and pull them off to the right off the path. Lemon instantly puts his head down and starts to pull at the grass.
"Everyone keeps saying that." Arthur grunts, looking up at the cloudy sky.
"Well, it's the truth, isn't it?" Arthur says nothing, going on foot to look for the marked site. It's not hard to find it as it's clearly protected by a lawman laying down, cleaning his gun. He is quick to stand, fumbling with his second gun.
"Whoa, Sheriff Joseph sent me to check out the sites. I found one back in a house a while back and…"
The lawman narrows his eyes at Arthur. "Joseph in Valentine?"
"Yes, sir."
The lawman plops back down onto his bedroll and waves towards the large rock. "It's up a ways."
The body is suspended with rope nailed to the rock face. The head is missing and this one is flayed, red muscles shining sickly in the weak light. The torso has one long cut down the middle, displaying ribs and his intestines. Even with the lawman so near, it's obvious wildlife has taken a bite out of the man's legs and feet.
"How long has the corpse been here?" Arthur asks Charles.
Charles is already bent, inspecting the ground. "A few days at least. Animals have been through. Coyotes, foxes, vultures." He points to the footmarks. "There's been many men here as well. This poor fucker didn't die here."
Arthur looks closely at the body, for a message or something that sticks out. He spots the white tip of paper sticking out of the man's pocket. He's careful not to get any blood on him as he reaches for it.
*The world thrives on chaos.* What flowery scripting. Arthur crumbles the paper, tossing it over his shoulder. It seems this one isn't connected to Florence, which was a blessing. Sighing, he turns from the body, removing his hat. A fat raindrop hits him, causing him to look up. "Let's head back."
Arthur thanks the lawman, only getting a grunt in return. He mounts Lemon, kicking him into a trot and leading him onto the path towards the amp.
The air is thick with storm. Rain begins to intensify, soaking them. Arthur's clothes stick to him uncomfortably, his hat dripping water onto his hands. It seems like the ride is taking forever as he allows Lemon to take him back, the plains blurring past as the horse settles into a gallop.
There isn't anyone out in the middle of the camp as they walk in. Everyone's huddled beneath their respective tents. Arthur finds Florence asleep, bundled up with blankets and curled into a tiny ball. He stands there, wanting to crawl into the blankets with her, but pushes away the urge as he strips off the soaked clothing, trusting nobody is peeking in on him. "Arthur?" Florence's voice comes from under her mountain of fabric. Hurriedly he slips on some pants, wincing in pain as it hits him too hard in the center.
She moves the blanket, blinking at him. "Were you successful in your hunt?"
Guilt tears through him but he keeps it at bay. "No," he replies quietly, scratching his chest.
"Arthur." Dutch's voice rings out across the camp, summoning him. He gives Florence a small smile, slips on a shirt and promptly turns around into the rain.
He nods to Miss O'Shea who is bundled up much like Florence. "We found a body near camp." Dutch laces his fingers together, sitting on the edge of his cushioned cot. "Is there something you want to tell me about?"
Arthur's suddenly very sick. It sits in his stomach and travels up his spine in short shivers. It's rare for him to never tell Dutch things and it had honestly slipped his mind. But if he's being honest with himself, he's worried Dutch will kick Florence out like he had before. They know the gang is after her, but the bodies are a sure sign that she's being targeted. He looks past Dutch, feeling much like a child being scolded for eating an extra cookie. "Uncle tell you?"
Dutch sighs, drawing Arthur's eyes. "Do you trust me? Do you trust my judgement?"
"I-" Arthur steps further into the tent to keep the water from further dripping down his back. "You kicked Florence out. I didn't-"
"Arthur, I made a mistake. But that's in the past and *will* not happen again." Dutch puts a hand on Miss O'Shea's waist, his thump working in lazy circles. "I sent Jaiver down to look at the body. Florence found it."
Arthur tenses, looking past Dutch once again towards a path leading out of camp. "She found it?"
"She was pretty shaken up."
"What did Jaiver find?"
"A message in the mouth of the head."
He doesn't need to ask what it says. Dutch hands him the note. We found her. What is this gang's obsession with Florence? Why focus on her? He considers burning it, as if erasing it from existence will stop them from coming.
"Do you plan on telling her?" Dutch asks, breaking his thoughts.
Arthur hands him back the note. "No. No. I don't know what I'll do."
"Arthur, you can't keep this from her forever. These bodies… They are linked to her. This gang wants her."
"And that much she knows, Dutch. We know she knows, but if I tell her they're killing people to leave messages for us, then she'll leave." Florence is the kind of person to put other people first. "I…" He has no idea what the hell he's going to do. For fuck's sake, it's not like they can pick up camp and move.
"I know of a cabin not far from Strawberry. Now Micah is stuck up there as well from what I've heard. If you can take her up there with you to the cabin, you could break Micah out of jail." Dutch folds out a map, marking the cabin.
"What the hell did he do now?" Arthur crosses his arm and leans against the support beam of the tent.
"I don't know and it doesn't matter. Could you, please?"
Arthur takes the map, folding it and putting it in his back pocket. "Only for you Dutch."