Lovers Not Without Sin | Dutch van der Linde x OC

Chapter 42

A/N: In case I did a bad job at portraying Dutch's emotions in this chapter, the song Avalanche by Leonard Cohen sums it up well & was my inspiration while writing

CW: Pretty graphic descriptions of injuries

Dutch's POV cont.

"Put it in her tent for me."

Arthur nods, not hiding the doubt on his face well enough for Dutch not to notice as he takes the new book from his hands. He'd picked it up from town that day, thinking Ada would like to read it at some point. He's brought back a number of books and other items she'd want too, but he's contently unaware of the small collection of things growing in her tent. He doesn't put them in there himself. He won't. Can't.

Back to his stationed position at the table in camp, he ushers away Susan from her cleaning and sprawls the map that anyone would've thought belonged to an explorer with the number of markings and words scrawled on there. Each new addition has been another reminder of his failings, it was sure to be entirely coloured in before long.

He hasn't spared any of his thoughts on new scores, or planning any new jobs since he couldn't justify spending any time not working on her. He can deal with failure, despite what others think. But not this. He can't let himself slack, he can't give up on her. He told her he wouldn't and he'll keep this one promise over all others. This plan was his cardinal plan. His only one that matters at present.

For once, the others will have to cope without him holding their hands. The gang has been chugging along for enough time now, they know the drill and it's about time they took some initiative. The two new kids that the gang picked up within a month of each other have proved promising already, a welcome distraction to the existing family members too. Why they'd follow him when he's no such leader right now he has no idea, but he suspects their sweetness on each other has something to do with their reason for staying around. Good for them. The existing gang members are used to the change in dynamic, for the most part. At least, the majority of them are.

"A score?" Bill's inarticulate tone rings in his ears, as the dense man leans against the table to look at the map which is very clearly not related to any new score.

"No." Dutch doesn't lift his gaze, hands planted firmly on either side of the large paper.

He huffs, the clicking sound from the chewing of his cheeks too much of a distraction in Dutch's ears. "When did she become so important anyway?"

If Dutch's eyes were capable of firing daggers, Bill would have two lodged in his windpipe by now. His jaw twitching, he musters the strength not to lose his temper with the man. "Since she risked her life to get us a score – bring us from the pit we were in so we could have some money once again. You suggest we leave her?"

"No, but it's been -"

"I know how long it's been. You don't have to tell me how long it's been," he bites out his words, eyes narrowing in a warning.

Three months.

Three agonising months, each day twice as long as the previous. The limbo that shackles Dutch to this state of numbness hasn't so much as been scratched by his fits of rage. No matter how loud he yells, how many O'Driscoll's he murders, how many bottles he breaks, the silence that follows always taunts him. If anything, the tether that confines him shortens and incapacitates him even further.

His heart doesn't ache, it maims. It's unbearable and he wishes nothing more than to rip it from his ribcage.

Bill takes the hint, shuffling away in an attempt to leave discretely but Dutch gladly pushes him from his thoughts. The bottle of whisky hanging from Dutch's pocket finds its way into his hands and he gulps down the liquid while trying to ignore the memories of drunken nights with Ada threatening to surface.