Lovers Not Without Sin | Dutch van der Linde x OC

Chapter 45

A/N: TW - while there aren't any direct references to suicide, there's an underlying feel of it (fyi, just in case)

"Dutch?"

His head whips around at the sound of Ada's voice, expression hardening and lips pursing. "The hell are you doing out of camp on your own?"

"I'm not on my own," she says plainly, dismounting and hitching Altair by The Count. The two toss their heads and she calms each of them with a treat. "Pair of idiots," she mutters, turning and taking a few steps towards Dutch.

"I don't count," he grits. "Who's on guard duty? They're gonna -"

"Dutch," Ada almost whispers and he snaps out of his anger instantly. "Please."

He swallows, turning back to look out over the rolling hills below. "How d'you even find me?"

"Who said I was looking for you?" he doesn't respond to her comment, and she shifts the grass beneath her feet, watching the blades as they spring right back to standing as though she hadn't pressed them down in the first place. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me," his baritone is so low Ada's ears can only just register it.

"It was a... a feeling. I didn't think much about it. One second, I'm in camp looking at your empty tent and the next I'm riding out here. It was like... a pull."

He turns his head to view her in his peripheral, his side profile silhouetting the setting sun like something out of a painting, and blinks a few times. "A pull?"

"A pull."

Dutch swallows, looking back out at his view. "You been to this place before?"

"Mhm. Only once, first time I rode Altair."

"When I brought Miss O'Shea back to camp?"

Ada sighs, in no mood to discuss any of the jagged spikes that dig into their past, those that always draw blood and remind them of the pain whenever either of them tries to twist out or reposition themselves. "Yeah. It's a nice spot."

"It is," he nods.

"What are you doing here?" Ada observes the odd stillness of his body and the calm expanse and fall of his shoulders with each breath he takes.

"I'm just thinking."

"You want to think out loud?"

He pauses for a moment and the air leaves his lungs as he drops his head. "I just can't seem to get any... peace."

"Peace," she repeats. "What sort of peace?"

He tilts his chin upwards and his raven curls fall back off his face. "I failed you, Ada. I've failed... others. Sometimes I can't organise my thoughts and... then I do something stupid, or I make a bad decision because I just," he huffs, stern gaze returning to the horizon, "can't keep my thoughts quiet for long enough."

"Does this help?"

"Sometimes." Ada suspects this to be a lie.

"You aren't a failure, Dutch. You're far from it... and mistakes can be forgiven."

"Yes, and I'll fix it. Whatever it takes, I just can't figure out how right now." His voice cracks on whatever and how, their weak syllables soon carried away by the breeze.

"I'm angry with you," Ada nods, "I'm not going to pretend otherwise. But I'll forgive you eventually. I just need you to give me time. Believe me, I don't like keeping my distance from you."