"Don't." She protested weakly as he lifted her from the ground with her blankets and began to carry her out into the warm summer sunshine. She squinted, shying away from the blinding light by burying her face against his armpit. He smelled like campfire, sweat, horses, and cigar smoke albeit faintly given her illness.
"That bedroll has seen better days. I'm not spending another night on the fucking ground." He huffed, adjusting his grip on her as he marched across camp. "And neither are you."
"Still has a fever?" Hosea asked as he watched Dutch carry Annabelle up to his tent and kick at the flap with his toe, trying to open it.
"Broke last night, fortunately." Dutch replied irritatedly as he tried to continue to kick at the flap before realizing he had shut it up tight and he would have to get creative while holding the woman in his arms. Hosea rose from his seat, setting his coffee mug down as he trotted over to untie it.
"That's good, your color looks a little better too but we're not out of the woods yet, Miss McLean." Hosea peered down at the young woman who clung to Dutch as though he would drop her at any moment, he adjusted his grip on her again and gently tossed her up so she could find a better purchase on him.
"What's for breakfast, Mr. Matthews?" Annabelle wheezed, coughing slightly before spitting in the grass behind Dutch.
"Chicken soup. Arthur brought home a couple birds last night and Pearson had it cooking overnight just for you, under the captain's orders." He pulled the flap aside as Dutch ducked a bit and carried her to his cot and set her down on top of his blankets.
"I'll bring it to you." He adjusted the pillow for her and both men exited the tent, heading over to the campfire.
"We need to move Dutch." Hosea whispered as Dutch retrieved a bowl and stirred the pot on the stove for a moment or two.
"We ain't moving, not while she's in that condition. What if she ends up getting worse?" He hissed, ladling a bit of soup into the bowl for her and tossing it angrily back into the pot.
"Put her in a goddamn wagon, then! I saw a couple of Olson's men the other day sniffing around the lake, it's only a matter of time before they find camp. This was supposed to be a quick in and a quick out. We're sitting ducks here." Hosea stretched a bit, trying his best not to annoy Dutch further.
"We're gonna be fine. The landowners–" Dutch began but Hosea shook his head and folded his arms.
"And if Olson finds us while you're playing doctor with that girl? What then?"
"Are you questioning me?" Dutch growled coldly and Hosea held up his hands in surrender, scoffing.
"We need you. Once that woman heals, she'll be off in the sunset and you know it. Pull your head out of your ass, Van der Linde. She left you before, tied up to your own damn cot stark naked, screaming like a banshee for Arthur and I to cut you free. And I'd wager that she'll do it again if you let her." Hosea threw his hands up and scowled, retreating towards the table where his coffee was as Dutch slunk past him and back towards the tent.
He set it down on a small table before turning back to close up his tent again bitterly, the young woman rolled onto her side with all of her blankets and coughed a bit.
"I'll be alright. Go take care of your family. You two are louder than you realize." She sniffed loudly as she tried to rise up off the cot to sit up.
"They need me," he tied up the last bits of his tent and turned back towards her, "but I need you. I don't want you to go, Annabelle. Or have something happen to you while I'm away."
"I'm not dying, Dutch Van der Linde, I'm just sick. Where would I go in my condition anyway? My cousin left after he got me medicine and I'm incapable of riding my horse anywhere at this point." She wheezed, sitting up and putting her feet on the floor, coughing slightly as he pulled out a chair and stirred the contents of the bowl.
"You know that's not what I meant. I'm in love with you. I don't want to give you up either, even if you don't feel the same way…just let me have this moment where you're not opposed to letting me fuss over you. That's all I'm asking." He murmured, blowing on the spoon a bit as she quivered under the covers while seated upright, before he let the meal fall back in the bowl and he closed his eyes.
"One day you'll grow bored of me, the way you grew bored of Susan." She said after a while, readjusting her blankets a bit. Her voice barely audible as she said it, but his eyes snapped open when it registered and he looked at her mournfully.
"Never." He replied in a whisper, looking up and over at her as she let the blankets fall off her shoulders. She chewed her lip for a while, her focus elsewhere as she thought about this. It was obvious he cared about her enough to risk getting himself sick, but whether or not he meant what he was saying she didn't know. Given that the entire operation was now in danger, if he lagged behind to tend to her, the possibility of being bushwhacked by mercenaries would be more like a reality.
"I'll have an answer for you tonight, but right now," she held out her hand and he handed her the bowl, "go protect your family. I would ride out with you but I'm useless right now. They need you to protect them more than I need you to tend to me. I'll be here when you return, I promise."
—-
Night had fallen by the time Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur returned. Annabelle had been asleep but woke up quickly when she heard the spurs jingling along the wooden platform, he came in covered in blood and closed the flap to his tent shut and began to remove his soiled clothing.
"You're bleeding." Annabelle mumbled, taking note of part of his clothes that had been slashed by a knife as he unbuttoned his vest.
"It's not bad," he tossed the vest off to the side and began to remove his suspender straps from his shoulders, wincing a bit as he tried to pull the cloth that had gotten embedded in the slash wound out, "basically a paper cut."
"What happened?" She sat up, pushing the blankets off of her and coughing a couple times.
"Peasant revolt." He groaned, taking his shirt off and inspecting the gash along his side now as it began to weep blood again.
"It looks pretty bad," she stood up and grabbed a bottle of bourbon and a scrap cloth and got it soaked with alcohol, "how'd it happen?"
"Bayonet charge, fucking idiot decided to be a hero and bumped me with it by accident when he went running to meet his maker. One of ours. Poor dumb bastard was barely nineteen." Dutch grumbled as she pressed it against the wound, he gritted his teeth as he felt it sting. "And you? Feeling better, I see. You're up and walking around now."
"I'll dress that for you," she pushed the bottle and cloth at him and turned away to find his medical kit in one of the drawers, "you need to keep it covered for a while, luckily I don't think I'll need to stitch it."
"I didn't fight like an animal to get back to you for nothing. You said you were gonna give me an answer." He lifted the bottle and took a long drink out of it as she came back with materials to dress his wound. She set the gauze down and went to leave the tent to retrieve clean water when he put his arm out to block her way. "Stop fussing over me and answer me goddammit. Will you be my woman?"
"Why me? What is it about me that you love?" She asked in a whisper, backing away from his arm for a moment.
"Everything. There is nothing about you that I don't desire. You are beautiful, clever, and fiercely independent. You always have been." He murmured, lowering his arm and reaching for her when she swatted it away with a cough.
"I knew you were full of shit." She pounded her chest with her fist to loosen some of the phlegm as she wheezed for a moment.
"You know what I enjoy the most about our chess matches? You understand that the queen is one of the most powerful pieces on the board. You always faithfully protect your king no matter what I throw at you, even willing to sacrifice her for the sake of beating me. You knew who I really was when we met. I never shared my real name with anyone except the girls back home until I met you. You know me. You loved me. For me. You don't give a damn that I could crush the life out of you at any moment, you've never been afraid of me or afraid to confront me or even kill me if need be. That's what I love about you, Annabelle. You're not scared to challenge me. It's like you enjoy it. And I need that. I want that. I still think about how it felt to take you into my arms for the first time, I made love to you, and I am not a tender man Annabelle McLean. And I would make love to you again and again, every night for the rest of my days if you would have me. You are all I want. You are the missing piece on the board. Be my woman." He stepped towards her and placed both hands around her waist, pressing his thumb into the divots along her hips.
"I'm going to clean and dress that wound." She muttered, resting her hands on his for a moment before stepping past him.
She untied the flap and slunk into the darkness, leaving him alone with the bottle of bourbon that he retrieved and greedily drank off of. It was no use, he told himself, no matter how he tried to say how he felt the woman continued to brush him off. Yet, she returned with a bowl of water and a couple clean rags and set it down even as he continued to drink.
"You don't give a fuck, do you? Why won't you answer me? Why do you torment me by constantly pushing me aside when all I want is for you to just love me. Why make me beg for you?" He said, looking down at her as she wrang out the cloth and began to clean the blood away.
"If I didn't give a fuck, Dutch, I wouldn't have lingered as long as I have. I have been fighting with myself ever since you started pulling that ol' Van der Linde charm. I think about that night too, you know. Are you playing a character or not? How am I supposed to tell the difference when I no longer know where you begin and your charade ends? You want me to love you, but which one of you truly loves me? Do you even know anymore?" She inspected the wound after she cleaned it and set the rag back in the bowl and began to pack it with gauze, being as gentle as she could as he began to bleed again.
"Do you love me, Annabelle?" He set the bottle down as she began to bandage him up.
"I do and I always have. Surely you know that by now." She replied quietly, unraveling the large white linen bandage around his waist before tearing the excess off with her teeth and tying it off. He pressed her against his stomach and ran his bloody fingers through her hair.
"Will you stay with me then?"
"Only if you promise me," she held him back tightly in her arms, "two things."
"Anything." He pulled back and began kissing the side of her neck softly. "Just say it and I will make it so."
She pushed him away and put both her hands on either side of his face, her eyes half closed as she pulled him in for a kiss. After a while they pulled away from one another and she brushed some of his long dark hair behind his ear.
"Never take another lover." She whispered and he nodded quietly, turning to kiss the inside of her wrist.
"I could never love another woman. As long as I live and breathe." He murmured, continuing to press his lips along her forearm. "What else?"
"I want the real you. Not this dashing savior lifting the poor lost souls from the ashes. I want the man who is hiding behind Dutch Van der Linde. Who you are outside of the confines of this tent, our tent, I don't care. But when you're here, with me," she took her arm away from him and pressed her forehead to his, "I want the real version of you."
"You're warm again," He pulled away and put a hand on her forehead, wrapping his fingertips along a stray piece of hair, "I'll see what's for dinner. You should lie down."
"Answer me." She put a hand on his chest and he ran his fingers along her cheek and kissed her.
"I don't know if I remember him anymore. What if you despise him? Annabelle, I don't know who I am. I don't know where this persona ends and I really begin. Sometimes I can't tell who is who anymore." Dutch pulled away again, closing his eyes and heaving a sigh. But Annabelle very gently grabbed his chin and turned him back towards her.
"I could never hate you." They kissed for a while before she pulled away and coughed again and he motioned for the cot. She nodded, wheezing slightly as she slid back under the thick covers and he knelt down beside her, stroking the top of her hair gently for a while.
"Promise me something." He placed his head against her chest as she ran her fingers through his hair.
"Anything."
"Don't ever leave me." He whispered.
—-
"FUCK!" Dutch kicked at a birch tree angrily, snarling and pacing in front of Arthur who fidgeted with his hat. "HOW!"
"Well, I suspect that having sex with her would–" Arthur began before Dutch grabbed him by the collar, gritting his teeth and shaking him slightly.
"I KNOW HOW PREGNANCY WORKS, ARTHUR! AND I KNOW DAMN WELL YOU DO TOO!"
"Sweetheart, you're going to rip that shirt if you keep throwing him around like that. Susan's gonna be pissed if she has to mend it as she loves doting on him." Annabelle put her leaf bookmark into the page she had been reading as she watched her beloved toss his surrogate son away from him and throw his own hat angrily down on the ground and stomped on it. "Arthur, did you intend for this?"
"I mean, I didn't intend for her to end up with a child. It just sorta…happened?" Arthur cleared his throat as Dutch picked up his hat from the ground and threw it at him.
"You pull out! You spill your seed on the ground! Or on her! I don't give a damn how you go about it! I told you what to do. But you never listen to me!" Dutch screamed, dropping to his knees in front of Annabelle and pleading with her. "I know I'm being crass but my love this boy is going to be the death of me–"
"So, you don't really love the waitress then?" Annabelle watched as Dutch flopped face first into her lap and she scratched his head as he moaned woefully.
"My love, how are we supposed to travel with a pregnant woman? Let alone find someone who knows a damn thing about childbirth. We are outlaws. We aren't meant to raise families!"
"You're being over dramatic Dutch," Annabelle rolled her eyes and shook her head, "you should be thrilled you're going to be a grandfather."
"I didn't want to be a grandfather this young!" Dutch hissed, wrapping his arms around her and she rolled her eyes again but continued to run her fingers through his hair gingerly.
"I mean, I don't really see what the big deal is…" Arthur shrugged and both Annabelle and Dutch shot him a dirty look.
"Mr. Morgan, you will take responsibility for your actions. Or I'll let Mr. Van der Linde and Mr. Matthews tan your hide into a new saddle." Annabelle growled and Arthur shifted uncomfortably on his feet, still fidgeting with his hat.
"I asked her to get rid of it, but she won't. And I can't be a father, Miss McLean. I barely remember my own father. I feel bad for sayin so, but she knew what she was getting into when she lay with me!" Arthur gritted his teeth and tore at the hat in his hands frustratedly.
"And that's her choice. Actions have consequences, Mr. Morgan." Annabelle gripped Dutch's hair tightly between her fingers to the point that he whimpered a bit and she let go. "I'm sorry darling, are you alright?"
"I'd listen to her Arthur, otherwise when she's done hurting me, I'm gonna thrash you. We need to move on. Hosea, Pearson, and Miss Grimshaw are already disassembling camp and we need to make for Chicago before the winter sets in. Oh god," Dutch rolled over and rubbed his face apprehensively, "what if she gives birth on the road? What if the baby starves to death? What if it freezes to death? I'm not ready for this kind of responsibility. We are not ready."
"She doesn't wanna go, so…" Arthur sighed, flopping down against the birch tree.
"Darling, a baby isn't the end of the world or the end of the gang. You're panicking over 'what if' and that'll do you no good. And you," Annabelle pointed a finger at Arthur, "You will father that bastard. Whether you like it or not. You need to take responsibility for your actions."
"You ain't the boss of me!" Arthur hissed, prompting Dutch to tear off one of his boots and throw it at the young man.
"You will do as the lady says, son. You reap what you sow. Am I understood?" He snarled at Arthur who turned beet red and folded his arms.
"But what if I'm a bad father? What if something happens to her during the process? Women can die in childbirth right?" Arthur mumbled mournfully. He hadn't expected this to happen, nor had he anticipated Dutch's extreme reaction to the news of Eliza's pregnancy. Frankly he figured if Annabelle weren't there that the man would've probably strangled him. Then again, it was surprising to him that considering the couple had been fornicating like rabbits, Dutch hadn't put a child in his woman. But maybe he was 'putting it elsewhere' like he had suggested Arthur do when they had the 'talk' years ago after Dutch brought him to his first brothel.
"Arthur, none of us are given a manual when it comes to parenting. I may not be a mother myself, but I am an aunt to two boys. You may not get it right, but as long as you're supporting the mother of your child, you're teaching them a valuable lesson in how men ought to act. And that's the most important value you can impart on your child." Annabelle giggled as Dutch settled back down into her lap and Arthur tossed the boot back at them. It thumped on the grass just past them. Arthur rubbed his hands against his face and groaned, he looked through his fingers as Annabelle gestured for him to come join the two of them in the grass and he sighed.
"It's not fair. You two are constantly locked up with one another and yet I'm the one in trouble with a pregnancy. How is it that you and Susan never–" Arthur began but Dutch cleared his throat loudly and shook his head, making a cut throat gesture to indicate that he shouldn't be asking that type of question. Especially not to a lady.
"Sheep intestine," Annabelle snickered, "you get enough of it to cover yourself with, wash it thoroughly and then tie a knot in it so your seed doesn't end up inside your paramour. Smells god awful though. At least, that's our secret anyway."
"But, effective and cheap." Dutch responded with a chuckle, covering his eyes from the sun with his forearm.
"It's still disgusting. They make rubber ones, you know." Annabelle grumbled folding her arms and staring down at him.
"It's either that or we quit gang life altogether and build ourselves a quaint little cabin near Chochinay. I know just the place near a ridge, you'd love it." Dutch chuckled and she rolled her eyes again, putting her hand back on his forehead and brushing his hair back.
"I don't know if I'll see you again. If I stay with her, I may never come back to the gang. You're my family." Arthur crawled towards them as Dutch rolled Annabelle between them so that Arthur could rest his head on her hip as he took up a position on her stomach.
"We'll probably pass through again, on the run from the law no doubt." Dutch grumbled as Annabelle continued to smooth his hair back tenderly, shushing him.
"We'll write to you. Look for letters addressed to Tacitus Kilgore. You can always come home to visit whenever you'd like. Dutch is right, this life isn't conducive to raising a family but that doesn't mean you can't come back to us someday. Look at Trelawny, he comes and goes as he pleases. Splitting time between our family and his own. You could do the same." Annabelle replied quietly as the three of them laid in the grass.
"I ought to say goodbye to everybody." Arthur mumbled as he sat up and turned to look at them. "Will you come back in the spring when she–"
"We will come visit you." Annabelle murmured as Dutch tightened his grip on her and she closed her eyes. He hated that she was making plans without even bothering to ask his permission or blessing. He had no intentions of riding back here, perfectly content with leaving Arthur to his new life. He felt betrayed by the sudden pregnancy announcement, angry that Arthur should've been more careful, and irritated that Annabelle seemed to be enjoying the idea of a baby.
"Dutch?" Arthur put his hat back on and the older man scratched his clean shaven face.
"I will see to it. You have my word."
Arthur rose from the grass, heading back towards the wagons that were being loaded to enjoy one last afternoon with the gang before he headed into town to fulfill his duty of being a good man. Dutch sat up to retrieve his boot but paused for a moment to look back at the young woman in the grass.
"Would you ever want a family?" He asked, chewing his lip nervously a moment as Annabelle stirred in the grass before opening her eyes again and putting her arms behind her head. She had hinted at it, but never directly said to him whether or not she was interested in such things. He figured since they were alone now, she'd drop her motherly affectionate act and be the woman he knew her to be.
"I thought we were 'outlaws'," she winked at him and he snorted, turning to grab his boot, "ask me again in the spring when you hold your grandchild."