Wanted (Jack Kelly x Reader)

.2.

--ʏ/ɴ--

𝙸 𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙽𝚃 the rest of the day being as unfriendly as possible. It was harder than it sounded, to tell you the truth, given that the boy had a way about him that made you want to at the very least give him a smile. I avoided smiling, though-- I'd been told it was one of my nicer features, back when I was still Y/N, and I didn't want to risk looking too much like my old self. Come the end of the day, I was remarkably worn out. Luckily it seemed Emma and Kelly had made acquaintance of each other, as they were already sitting next to each other across the way from me, next to the fire. We needed more wood, but I decided to leave the two and get it myself, not wanting to disrupt their time already. 

Coming back from the small grove of trees though, I ran into Kelly. He'd turned into the forest sharply, and it could be said I wasn't paying enough attention to the direction I was heading. I managed to stay on my feet, but some of the wood from my arms fell. 

"Sorry 'bout that," he said quickly, New York accent slipping through. I'd heard him trying to cover it throughout the day, but he seemed less likely to do so when we were alone. 

"No issue," I shook my head, taking the wood he handed me. "Why're you here, though?" 

"Sent me to go get more wood," He said briefly, jerking his head back to the bright glow of the fire. 

"To get more wood or to get away from captain's daughter?" I asked with a raised eyebrow, even though he probably couldn't see it in the darkness. 

I couldn't see his blush, for example, but his words, coupled with the laughter from the campsite and the way he was standing, made it all too clear it was there. "I, well, uh-"

"Don't blame you," I said quickly, figuring that maybe if he thought I was interested in Emma it would serve to put some distance between us. "She's a nice girl." Inwardly I cringed; that did not sound like a boy talking. And did my own voice sound... wistful? I coughed slightly and stepped around the boy. I needed to get out of there before I messed up more. "Well we could always use more wood," I said, sharper than I intended, and sat off again towards the fire. 

"How'm I s'posed to find wood in the dark?" I heard him mumble as I left. What a city boy. 

---

Jack seemed to get the hint after I left him in the dark, which I was mighty grateful for. It let me hide myself much easier, as did the fact he didn't like to stray far from camp after we started on the trail. I usually got saddled with some of the laundry and firewood gathering, which gave me a bit of peace. On longer days I'd even let myself loosen the bindings I used around my chest, and even switch them out while I was out there. So long as I was out of sight, of course. Which, funny as it may sound, never led me into any trouble. It was only after nearly three weeks on the trail I ran into trouble. 

And of course, trouble was wearing the guise of one Jack Kelly. 

The trail hadn't been all too difficult so far. Our diets weren't much in variety, but they weren't weak and they were consistent, which meant that unfortunately the return of my monthlies was imminent. Luckily, I'd had the wherewithal to pad my underwear with rags per usual before the actual starting date, so nothing showed through my trousers. That would have been a devil to explain. 

Our wagon train had joined up with another, our paths intersecting after they'd charged ahead too quickly, too excited by gold-fever to listen to their bodies and those of their animals. They'd dropped down to a crawl now, catching up to us at the end of each day. We traded supplies occasionally, and captain being captain he'd volunteered "his men" to help with any washing they needed done. Of course, "his men" meant me and Kelly. And of course, Kelly was all too happy to be called the captain's man and all too busy to actually help with the washing.

 Which was how I'd found myself sorting through it on the Sunday morning, grimacing at the fouler stenches emanating from the men's socks. I washed those first, and then figured it would be smart to change my rags out before anyone happened upon me. Ducking behind a clever formation of rocks, I changed as quickly as I was able, bringing the old ones with me and moving to wash them again. 

Enter: Kelly, carrying a measly three sticks of firewood and a mouth moving faster than the rest of him could catch up. 

"Are you injured? That's a lot of blood," He said, dropping his sticks and hurrying over. It was an exaggeration, which he was prone to. The blood swirled off of the rags into the stream-- below the drinking line, of course-- but there was by no means a lot of it. It was visible, though, and it left me scrambling for an answer. In all the times I'd imagined I'd never thought my secret would  be discovered like this, by him-- maybe I had a chance. 

"What blood?" I said, ducking my hand into the stream. "That's dye, leaving the fabric. If you'd show up to wash once in a while maybe you'd know that." 

"I might not know what dye looks like, sugar, but I know what blood looks like." Kelly looked at me in a way that set my mind spinning. Sugar? Did he just- "And I know I'd've heard about it if'n one of the men were hurt, so that leaves you."

"Who're you t' be calling me sugar?" I said roughly, standing up. Trying to channel the Matthew I'd been for months now, trying to sense how a boy would react. 

"Easy now," Jack said smoothly, standing in a fluid motion. "This wasn't how I'd imagined havin' this conversation, but-" 

"What conversation?"  My voice was high, panicked. I forced myself to calm down, not wanting anyone else to hear.

"As if you don't-- okay, just, slow down. If you're hurt we gotta do something about it. Now I know you don't want anyone checkin' on you and I know why," He placed such an emphasis on the last word I started to second guess my whole opinion of him. 

He saw my silence and kept going, tone gentler, softer. "I've seen enough girls in boy's clothes to know you fit the pattern, sugar. And you don't have to worry-" His voice quickened now, as I stiffened. He'd hit the nail on the head, no guesswork or hesitancy in his voice, and I didn't know what to do. "I'm not going to tell anyone." 

"Why wouldn't you? What do you want," I started, mind flashing wildly for a motive and only settling on blackmail. 

"Nothing! Nothing, sugar just-" 

"Stop calling me sugar!" I burst, grabbing the rags- clean, by now- and wringing them out, jumping to my feet, and running. 

I ran down until the river took a bend, the fastest I'd ever run before, trying not to let anything out. Knowing he knew, knowing that he thought he knew, hearing him saying the- the same name my parents had teased me with- all when he didn't know, couldn't know, any of it. Anything besides the obvious-- and it was obvious, I shouldn't have even made it this far. I nestled down in a tangled nest of tree roots, right up next to the water's edge, rested my head on my knees, and cried.