A/N: TW: Abuse
I am sorry it took so long for this chapter to be up. I don't know when nine is going to be up, but I already have an idea in the works for it and I love the continued support. I am also working on a plotless smut fic with Arthur and Florence for all ya'll lovely people for Christmas and hope to have that up soonish. I have many gifts to make, plus a gift-fic. The month of December is always rough for writers, huh? But thank you all for your continued support, follows and comments. Every single one of them has made my day.
Florence stirs as Arthur comes back to the tent, cursing at the rain. She peeks through her lashes to see him hunched over, shaking out the front of his shirt before kicking off his boots somewhere to the corner and getting into his cot, wrapping his sheepskin jacket around him. Why isn't he taking his blanket? She pulls off the blanket she stole from him when the storm set in and tosses it over him. Without a word, he wraps himself tightly in it. Briefly before sleep takes over, she wonders if she did anything wrong.
The headless man haunts her. He swings his intestines like a lasso, wrapping the meat around her neck and tightens it. It instantly morphs into William with the gunshot still fresh in the middle of his forehead. "You let him kill me," he growls, spittle landing in her face. "I'll kill you bitch! They're coming for you and when they do, they will skin you alive slowly while I listen to you scream." She coughs as oxygen is being restricted from entering her body and her hands uselessly claw at his. "See you in hell."
Florence shoots up or tries to, contained by something strong. Nightmare still rattling around in her head, she fights the constraint, lashing out and successfully hitting something fleshy. "Flo-" Arthur breath comes out sharply as her elbow connected with his stomach.
"Shit, I'm sorry." She twists in his arms, inches away. Holding her breath, she waits for his next move, praying he'll just kiss her. If he kisses her, she'll know if her feelings for him is real right? She'll know what she's feeling isn't just an effect of being saved by him. He pulls back, rubbing his stomach.
"You're fine. Good to see some fight in you." Cold air rushes in by the absence of his body and she snuggles in further into the blanket, watching him.
"Come on, we have a long day ahead of us." Immediately he begins to pack as if they are preparing for a long journey. Without questioning any of it, cause she won't question any length of time with him, she leaves the warm bed and hopes into her stiffened boots and throws on another shirt. Fog hangs low in the camp, obscuring other tents and people's movements.
Florence watches him pack more and more stuff. His shaving kit. Their clothes. Lots of ammo. The longer this drags on and she's just left in silence on the edge of her cot, the more she wants to question it. Why is he packing so much? Has Dutch decided she isn't worth the trouble? Is he going to off her somewhere?
"So," she says breaking the long silence as her curiosity grows stronger, "where are we going?"
Not telling her is almost as bad as telling her. He doesn't plan on telling her about the message in the body until they are well away from camp in case she decides to run, he can easily track her. The longer he avoids her questions and curiosity, the more annoyed she becomes. The sun picks a path through the sky, chasing off the remaining fog and adding a warmth to the air that wasn't there before.
Arthur goes through his checklist in his mind. He's visited Pearson and took only the food the camp could afford to lose, though he knows when they come back, he'll have to hunt doubly as hard to make up for lost have saddlebags full to the brim with shit. Ammo, clothes, his shaving kit, canned food, blankets, an extra pistol hidden in a pair of socks just in case. He'll have to hunt while they are at the cabin.
And feed three if rescuing Micah goes as smoothly as he hopes it will.
"Arthur," she growls, grabbing his arm rightly to stop him. "Answer me damnit." He gives her a smile that screams tolerance with her questions being barely kept.
"Stop asking. I'll explain everything on the road," Arthur snaps, wrenching his arm out of her grasp. They should've left twenty minutes ago when the fog began to clear, but he wanted to make sure everything was in the bags. If they leave and forget something, there's no coming back.
Florence glares at him, biting her lip hard. He sighs, an apology on his tongue, however, there's no time to start playing nice. Turning on his heel, he carries the necessary items to the horses, burdening them until it's stacked up high on the back. Lemon paws at the ground and Arthur pats him. "I know boy. I know." It won't be for long. Strawberry is a few hours ride and when they get to the cabin, he can take everything off. "I'm sorry."
Florence has found Karen, the women in deep conversation, foreheads pressed together. They've become inseparable and he smiles slightly. Though he worries the kind of influence Karen might have on Florence. Sometimes the blonde she-devil takes things a step too far and if Florence were to learn from that…
As if she's a child.
"Florence," he calls gruffly.
She holds up a finger. "Do you know where you're going?" Dutch asks, coming up to him and blowing smoke into Arthur's face.
"Yep. Cabin near Strawberry."
"Don't forget about Micah." Dutch looks at him hard for a moment before turning to watch the women.
Arthur grumbles under his breath. He honestly doesn't know what Dutch sees in Micah. He's only been running with them a few months and has proved to be more of a hassle than a help. His trigger finger is so sensitive, Arthur almost expects a shot in the back if he shoots Micah the wrong look. "Yeah… yeah." Florence hugs Karen tightly, a smile brightening her green eyes.
"Ready when you are," she says shortly, her smiling falling as she apporaches him. He'll have to apologize if the ride is going to be peaceful. They mouth their horses and ride out of camp, the sun risen far too high for Arthur's liking.
"Florence."
"Arthur."
He nearly laughs. "I'm sorry for snapping." Florence keeps her eyes straight but he can see the tension in her shoulders leak out. "I…" He pulls Lemon to a stop, looking around as if someone from William's gang is following him. "I'm trying to protect you, okay?"
"Protect me from what? Rogue O'Driscolls?"
Arthur has to let the question sit for a moment or he'll say something he regrets. He takes off his hat, immediately feeling the weak sun on his head and runs a hand through his hair, releasing a groan of frustration. "Sometimes Florence, you can be as thick as a fucking tree," he says breaking the silence. He continues before she can get a word in, "The man shooting at you outside your home, his gang is after you because of William's death."
Florence sighs, kicking Chance into moving and he has no choice but to follow her. At least she's going to the right way. "Why? I didn't pull the trigger."
"That is a very good question and I have my suspicions, I have no true answer for you." Arthur catches up to her, their horses side by side. "I suspect he thinks Dutch will easily give you up and give the gang hell for taking or killing me." She glances at him, her face strangely composed and empty of emotion. "I'm not going to let them take you. We're going to a safe house outside of Strawberry."
He rubs the scruff on his face. He doesn't trust Micah not to say or do something stupid to Florence and he knows Micah's gonna want to come to the house for a decent meal and a night's sleep.
The hours drag on as they kick the horses into a slow trot and the sun moves higher in the sky, becoming obscured by gray clouds. "We should be there soon," Arthur announces as the first drop of rain hits his shoulder. Florence bends her head down, nodding. She's been quiet the entire trip, not speaking a word after he told her his plans.
Rain falls in sheets while thunder dances across the sky, sending poor Lemon into a frightened dance. "Whoa boy. We're almost there." Arthur pulls at the reins, rubbing the palomino's neck. Soaked and cold to the bone, Arthur kicks Lemon into a gallop as the curve of the road gives way to a field. There among the weeds and sparse trees stands a decrypt house, broken down over time and weather patterns.
He dismounts, grabbing everything he can, sprinting into the house and coming back out to find Florence leading the horses to a small shelter off to the right and unsaddling them. He gathers the rest of their items, lighting a lantern when he gets inside the house.
It's a small one-bedroom, the door to the bedroom is locked, the key long gone from a previous life. "We'll be safe here," he says, taking off his jacket and shirt and wrapping a blanket around his torso to get dry. He hands her clothing and turns so she can change.
"Are you sure, Arthur? Are you sure we'll be safe here? Why are ya'll risking your lives to save me?" He turns, surprised by the anger and shakiness in her voice. She's dressed in a long sleeve shirt that does nothing to hide her curves from him.
"Really Florence? You've become part of the gang. You are family now."
Florence seems to focus on unpacking the bags, putting the food away in the cupboards like a proper housewife and he sits back in the chair to allow her to do her thing. "Look, I know you didn't shoot the gun, but you also didn't choose for him to die either. If there is anyone who is going to get 'punished' in a way, it should be me, not you."
Florence whips on him, holding a can in her hand like a weapon. For a brief moment, he thinks she's going to hit him outside the head. "You will not be punished for rescuing me."
Arthur gets up, dropping the blanket, leaving his bare chest on display as he grabs the can gently from her hand and puts it down on the table next to them. "You aren't going to die either. We'll protect you, Florence," he says, putting his hands on her shoulders, blue-green eyes looking down into hers. Kiss me, damnit. He squeezes and pulls back, looking down at the fireplace.
"We're both wet and cold, how about a fire? I thought I saw some logs out back that would work if not too wet." Florence sits on the extra cot, legs folded beneath her as she watches him build the fire.
This could be it. This could finally push her into making that move. "Arthur-"
Arthur stops what he's doing and turns to look at her. The words sit like weights on her tongue and instead she asks, "Why are you going through all this trouble to protect me?"
Arthur grunts, flicking a match into the kindling and successfully starting a fire that builds in heat. Florence moves closer to it, putting a horse blanket pulled from Chance on the floor and sitting on the top. They sit shoulder to shoulder, sharing the warmth of the fire, her head nestled into the curve of his neck. Now. Do it now.
"Arthur, I like you."
Arthur chuckles. "I like you as well, Florence. You're a good person."
"No, Arthur. Not like that. Not as a friend. More. I like you more than a friend." She holds her breath, biting her lip as the silence drags on and on.
"You aren't well in the head after I killed your husband," he says quietly, not moving from their bodies pressed together. "You've latched onto me because I rescued you-"
"Are you really suggesting I only like you because you took me from an abusive situation?" Florence's brow knits together and she pushes away from him, sitting on her knees to look at him. He avoids her eyes, staring into the fire. "I'm falling in love with you, I am." It feels like she has to convince him and maybe a tiny part of herself, her feelings for the man in front of her. "Arthur, please say something." His silence says everything but she wants him to speak. To say something against what she just told him.
"No, Florence. You aren't falling in love with me. I'm a broken man, a crook, a murderer."
"Arthur Morgan, you are none of those things."
"Florence, I am," he growls, his hands clenched into fists down by his thighs.
"Arthur, please. I-" She puts her hand on his shoulder.
"No. No, I can't. You can't." He shrugs off her hand and gives her a look of pleading. "Florence, you have to understand what you are feeling isn't healthy. It's not healthy to-"
"I will decide what is healthy and what isn't healthy, thank you. I know how I feel about you in my heart." She pokes her chest in the center hard enough to create brief pain. "You aren't the one who is understanding."
He stands, huffing. "I understand enough about life. I've seen enough relationships die."
She's no different than Dutch latching onto Molly O'Shea after losing Annabelle. It's a way to fill that missing hole, even if that hole is created by an abusive ass. Arthur wants to kiss her, erase his words lingering in the air, but he can't bring himself to take advantage of this. Even if he is falling hard for her, she can't be feeling the same thing and having it be real. "Did Dutch ever tell you about Annabelle?"
Florence's eyes mist with tears and she silently shakes her head. "Colm O'Driscoll shot her. Killed her in cold blood because Dutch killed his brother. It's a feud that stretches back years, but he latched onto Miss O'Shea. Molly. I believe to fill that hole."
"Arthur, they're happy together. She loves him just like he loves-"
Arthur shakes his head. "He doesn't love her. He loves the idea of her." He's heard the way Dutch speaks of Molly like she's some replaceable thing. Like she's something to be kept on the shelf and not a woman with emotions and ambitions of her own.
Fuck, has it even been long enough after Mary for him to be feeling this way? Have the years stretched out accordingly so he can fall in love again without the shame of what Mary's daddy said hanging over his head. Florence stands, they almost being eye-level with each other. She puts a hand on his cheek. "Why do you deny me? Don't you feel the same? I've woken up to you against me, holding me."
"You have nightmares and could wake others."
"You could've easily woken me from those nightmares but instead you chose comfort. Why Arthur Morgan, why?"
He has no answer, anchored to the spot by her hand and her proximity. Shadows dance across her face, lighting her forest green eyes. "Florence," he says, her name a whisper on his lips before leaning in and kissing her softly at first. Their lips brush against each other and tingles shock through his body.
It becomes clear this has needed to happen for a while and they clutch at each other like lost souls at sea, drowning in a world that wants neither of them. Lips crash into one another, tongues seeking each other in the dance of frenzied want. He needs to stop this, not encourage this behavior further, but something about her. His hands edge her shirt, feeling soft skin of her stomach underneath. "Arthur," she breathes when they break apart, both panting as time stands still.
There is a growing discomfort in his pants and he pulls back from Florence, her presence around him immediately missed. "I have-" He coughs. "I have to go scout Strawberry. I'll be back in a few hours."
"In this rain, Arthur?"
He has to get out of the cabin, think through what he just did. What he gave into even though he said he wouldn't. "Yeah… they won't be expecting anyone to rescue Micah in this when it's pissing like this." He throws on his coat and grabs his rifle. He tosses one to Florence who catches it barely and spends a few minutes showing her how to load it, fire it and use it as a basic weapon if the bastard she's shooting at gets too close.
"Just be careful, please." Florence takes a step towards him and he takes one back, hand searching blindly for the door. The sound of rain hitting the metal roof fills the small cabin as they just stare at each other and finally he finds the door handle.
"I will. Don't worry about ol' Arthur," he says with a grimace. Why in the world would he say that? Cool air rushes at his back, water already misting and wetting his clothes. He takes as long as he dares to saddle Lemon, waiting for his member to calm down from the excitement in the cabin.
"You dumbass," he mutters to himself, putting his hat on his head and riding out into the rain, the cabin slowly disappearing into the sheet of rain and trees.