Arthur knows better than to be out in the woods during a pitch-dark night like this. The night sky at his new place has about as many stars as the Barge ever had on deck, but they don't matter much if the moon is a small sickle in the sky. But he'd ventured out too far to shoot a buck, but winter is setting in and he's going to need the meat when wild berries run out and his little vegetable garden isn't yielding many winter crops yet. He's going to have to pickle the stuff, and smoke some, and share whatever he's not going to eat soon with Jake.
They see each other every few weeks, for beer and food and stories. What Jake gets up to from week to week, Arthur doesn't know, and that's mutual. It's not that kind of a friendship, which is just fine with him. He owes him a great debt, besides: when Arthur got here six months ago (time has a funny way of passing off-Barge, of course), half his cabin had already been built. They finished it a month later, and he's spent most his time since exploring the area, preparing the vegetable patch, picking out the right trees for the next year. He hasn't heard from the old crew. But then, he hasn't reached out, either. He knows John's alive, and he's with his family, and that's that.
Every few weeks he gets maudlin enough to have a drink of whiskey and wonder if a letter to Dutch could end up anywhere near him. He's written it once or twice, even. But he never gets all the way to town to post it, so that's something.
He's got the deer slung over his saddle as he trudges through the woods, and freezes up right away when he sees movement through the windows. Jake? He wouldn't. Not during a dark, cold night. He ties the horse to a tree, gets down his rifle, and stalks up to the house. He'd like to take a peek, more than anything.
There's no reply. The cabin is dead quiet, and dim at that. She thinks to reach for a light switch and a twist of a smile grows on her face –– it's a cute place, but it's rustic, and it takes her a grim moment to remember she's now decades off from having power running to anywhere she lives. Without thinking, Tess reaches to the strap of her remaining backpack and clicks on her tactical flashlight, which partially illuminates the cabin around her. The battery, she realizes, will have to last her decades too. The crank to recharge it is only as good as the battery's hold.
Tess moves to the bedroom door and gingerly pushes the door open, taking her light with her. She takes in the room with a quick, efficient sweep, and her heart sinks when there's no silhouette of him under the bedcovers. She lets out a long, slow breath, crossing the cabin again like he might be hiding behind a curtain or in some nook or cranny, but it's not a very big cabin. There's not a lot of places for a man his size to hide. If she can't hear a trace of life inside, then he must be out. Maybe for weeks.
But she hears something –– a horse, maybe? –– move outside.
Light, in the cabin. There's something about the quality of it that rings a
bell, but he can't quite put his finger on it. A lantern? Not a
candle, too bright for that. Be good to get a good look at the fella before
Arthur puts a gun to his head.
He doesn't go in shooting on sight. There's bears in the woods, and it
wouldn't be so strange to have someone find shelter in a cabin while on the
run. If Tess asks, at some point, that's the reason there's no lock
on the door. So at least that's a stroke of luck, when he kicks the door
open and points a gun in the direction of the light. "Alright, hands up,"
he says, firmly, steadily.
When the door gets kicked in, Tess turns sharply, lifting her gun to point it in turn, finger on the trigger. The light falls on the intruder and reveals him to be Arthur himself, but her heart rate stays through the roof.
“It’s me!” she says, lowering the gun only marginally, her free hand shooting up. She might be blinding him.
The cognitive dissonance is so great that it takes him a split-second to
connect the voice, the me, to who she is. Who he can see now. She
might actually see his eyes widen as he lowers his gun - luckily, years of
discipline have ensured he'd never just throw it to the floor in shock.
"Tess?"
He isn't sure why his voice sounds so small all of a sudden.
"Jesus Christ, woman," he croaks. His voice is thick, and he takes the
second he needs to put the safety onto his weapon and holster it before he
opens his arms and beckons her closer.
Tess never bothers with any safety, just crams the gun back in its holster and crosses the room to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and sinking into his embrace.
“I was worried you weren’t here,” she says, nose against his shoulder.
He wraps his arms around her tightly, tightly, burying his nose in
her hair. She smells the exact same - he knows he won't. He smells like
real woods, now, and like gunpowder, and blood from the animal he's got
waiting outside. Jesus Christ, he hadn't realized just how much he'd missed
her. He's missed her so much.
"Was out huntin'," he murmurs. "Try not to be gone too long. How long you
been here?"
He smells right, strange as that may be, and having him in his own element feels like the way things should be. Nobody’s supposed to smell like cruise ship and ozone all the time.
“Just long enough to poke around,” she replies, lingering. She hasn’t been touched by another human being since he left, let alone held. “Five minutes earlier and you would have caught me letting myself in.”
"Woulda been less of a shock comin' in for you," he says, still not letting
go. He doesn't just smell different, he's thicker around the waist,
stronger in his arms, his beard is a little unkempt. He's home, and
this is how he's supposed to be.
"I'll light a fire, light some candles. Think you can help me out there,
city girl?"
Neither of them has a bullet wound so it’s all fine by her.
“I can do anything,” she replies. It won’t all be as easy as starting a fire, but she’ll learn fast. She leans back just enough to get a good look at his face, and she shifts to cup his cheek, ruffle the edges of his beard with her thumb. Teasing: “If I’d gotten here any later I might have mistaken you for a bear.”
“Maybe one then the other,” she replies, grinning in turn. She pulls back entirely, a hand trailing down his chest as she goes. “But I’d know you anywhere.”
He pulls her in once more and kisses the top of her head.
"Me too, lady. Damn, it's good to see you - but I gotta get the deer down,
get the horse put away. Put your things away and help me out, the sooner
we'll be inside with a cup of coffee."
Things take so much more time, here. No ambling up to the dining room for
some coffee, no turning up the heat in a common room.
Tess just smiles. Going back to putting in effort to get anything done comes with a particular relish —- you get whatever you’re willing to work for. Living that way comes easy.
“Go deal with the animals, then,” she says, waving him off, playful. “I’m here for good so you’ll get to see me all you want.”
"Come and help," he tells her, pulling on her elbow as he makes to
head back out. "You're staying here? Ain't you? We - I mean, Jake and I, we
put in a little room at the back for you. If you want it."
She won't have seen the door yet, but it's there. Barely as big as his tiny
room on the Barge, but it's hers if she wants it.
There's nothing else out there in the world for her, at least not yet. A tiny room is better than the wilderness, or her crumbling apartment back in Boston, or a guest bedroom in Joel's house, if he'd even have her. She's here.
She lets her second backpack slip down her free arm, and she sets it down on the floor as she moves after him. Fine. She can help.
"What, I can't just ride on the back of yours whenever?" she replies, following.
She is, at most, half joking. The reality of having to have and care for a horse feels inevitable, but she was hoping she could be on the ground for longer than an hour without having to face it down.
"I ain't teach you how to ride for nothin'," he points out to her. "But
you'll have to do for now, the town's a couple hours away from the cabin.
How'd you like it here?"
"More built up than I was expecting," she replies. She's glad it's that way, having imagined more than once a future where it was little more than a canvas tent over her head. "You've been working hard."
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Arthur knows better than to be out in the woods during a pitch-dark night like this. The night sky at his new place has about as many stars as the Barge ever had on deck, but they don't matter much if the moon is a small sickle in the sky. But he'd ventured out too far to shoot a buck, but winter is setting in and he's going to need the meat when wild berries run out and his little vegetable garden isn't yielding many winter crops yet. He's going to have to pickle the stuff, and smoke some, and share whatever he's not going to eat soon with Jake.
They see each other every few weeks, for beer and food and stories. What Jake gets up to from week to week, Arthur doesn't know, and that's mutual. It's not that kind of a friendship, which is just fine with him. He owes him a great debt, besides: when Arthur got here six months ago (time has a funny way of passing off-Barge, of course), half his cabin had already been built. They finished it a month later, and he's spent most his time since exploring the area, preparing the vegetable patch, picking out the right trees for the next year. He hasn't heard from the old crew. But then, he hasn't reached out, either. He knows John's alive, and he's with his family, and that's that.
Every few weeks he gets maudlin enough to have a drink of whiskey and wonder if a letter to Dutch could end up anywhere near him. He's written it once or twice, even. But he never gets all the way to town to post it, so that's something.
He's got the deer slung over his saddle as he trudges through the woods, and freezes up right away when he sees movement through the windows. Jake? He wouldn't. Not during a dark, cold night. He ties the horse to a tree, gets down his rifle, and stalks up to the house. He'd like to take a peek, more than anything.
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There's no reply. The cabin is dead quiet, and dim at that. She thinks to reach for a light switch and a twist of a smile grows on her face –– it's a cute place, but it's rustic, and it takes her a grim moment to remember she's now decades off from having power running to anywhere she lives. Without thinking, Tess reaches to the strap of her remaining backpack and clicks on her tactical flashlight, which partially illuminates the cabin around her. The battery, she realizes, will have to last her decades too. The crank to recharge it is only as good as the battery's hold.
Tess moves to the bedroom door and gingerly pushes the door open, taking her light with her. She takes in the room with a quick, efficient sweep, and her heart sinks when there's no silhouette of him under the bedcovers. She lets out a long, slow breath, crossing the cabin again like he might be hiding behind a curtain or in some nook or cranny, but it's not a very big cabin. There's not a lot of places for a man his size to hide. If she can't hear a trace of life inside, then he must be out. Maybe for weeks.
But she hears something –– a horse, maybe? –– move outside.
Just in case, she reaches for her gun.
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Light, in the cabin. There's something about the quality of it that rings a bell, but he can't quite put his finger on it. A lantern? Not a candle, too bright for that. Be good to get a good look at the fella before Arthur puts a gun to his head.
He doesn't go in shooting on sight. There's bears in the woods, and it wouldn't be so strange to have someone find shelter in a cabin while on the run. If Tess asks, at some point, that's the reason there's no lock on the door. So at least that's a stroke of luck, when he kicks the door open and points a gun in the direction of the light. "Alright, hands up," he says, firmly, steadily.
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“It’s me!” she says, lowering the gun only marginally, her free hand shooting up. She might be blinding him.
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The cognitive dissonance is so great that it takes him a split-second to connect the voice, the me, to who she is. Who he can see now. She might actually see his eyes widen as he lowers his gun - luckily, years of discipline have ensured he'd never just throw it to the floor in shock.
"Tess?"
He isn't sure why his voice sounds so small all of a sudden.
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“Hey, Outlaw,” she says, fondness creeping into her voice. “Miss me?”
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"Jesus Christ, woman," he croaks. His voice is thick, and he takes the second he needs to put the safety onto his weapon and holster it before he opens his arms and beckons her closer.
"Put the damn gun away and come here."
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“I was worried you weren’t here,” she says, nose against his shoulder.
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He wraps his arms around her tightly, tightly, burying his nose in her hair. She smells the exact same - he knows he won't. He smells like real woods, now, and like gunpowder, and blood from the animal he's got waiting outside. Jesus Christ, he hadn't realized just how much he'd missed her. He's missed her so much.
"Was out huntin'," he murmurs. "Try not to be gone too long. How long you been here?"
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“Just long enough to poke around,” she replies, lingering. She hasn’t been touched by another human being since he left, let alone held. “Five minutes earlier and you would have caught me letting myself in.”
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"Woulda been less of a shock comin' in for you," he says, still not letting go. He doesn't just smell different, he's thicker around the waist, stronger in his arms, his beard is a little unkempt. He's home, and this is how he's supposed to be.
"I'll light a fire, light some candles. Think you can help me out there, city girl?"
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“I can do anything,” she replies. It won’t all be as easy as starting a fire, but she’ll learn fast. She leans back just enough to get a good look at his face, and she shifts to cup his cheek, ruffle the edges of his beard with her thumb. Teasing: “If I’d gotten here any later I might have mistaken you for a bear.”
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He grins at her and bats her hand away. "Yeah? Woulda shot me, or run away screamin'?"
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He pulls her in once more and kisses the top of her head.
"Me too, lady. Damn, it's good to see you - but I gotta get the deer down, get the horse put away. Put your things away and help me out, the sooner we'll be inside with a cup of coffee."
Things take so much more time, here. No ambling up to the dining room for some coffee, no turning up the heat in a common room.
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“Go deal with the animals, then,” she says, waving him off, playful. “I’m here for good so you’ll get to see me all you want.”
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"Come and help," he tells her, pulling on her elbow as he makes to head back out. "You're staying here? Ain't you? We - I mean, Jake and I, we put in a little room at the back for you. If you want it."
She won't have seen the door yet, but it's there. Barely as big as his tiny room on the Barge, but it's hers if she wants it.
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There's nothing else out there in the world for her, at least not yet. A tiny room is better than the wilderness, or her crumbling apartment back in Boston, or a guest bedroom in Joel's house, if he'd even have her. She's here.
She lets her second backpack slip down her free arm, and she sets it down on the floor as she moves after him. Fine. She can help.
"How big is this deer?"
She's not sure she knows how big a deer is.
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"Just a regular deer," he says, spectacularly unhelpfully, as he steps back outside. Still no lock, Tess.
"Got me a good horse, too. A strong one. Hell, we're gonna have to get you a horse."
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She is, at most, half joking. The reality of having to have and care for a horse feels inevitable, but she was hoping she could be on the ground for longer than an hour without having to face it down.
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"I ain't teach you how to ride for nothin'," he points out to her. "But you'll have to do for now, the town's a couple hours away from the cabin. How'd you like it here?"
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