Chapter Text
Seven years have passed since you left everything behind. You went to New York and have lived there ever since, wanting to have a change of scenery. You worked as a bounty hunter for a while, but times were changing and society advanced. There was almost no need for bounty hunters anymore. So, you looked for a job in every shop you could find, but they all refused to hire you because you were too old to be a hand, but most importantly you weren’t a man.
Until you stumbled upon a small tailor shop. The owner, Benny, was an old wifeless man who took you under his wing and taught you how to sew. He treated you like the daughter he never had, and you were so grateful for everything he had done for you.
He died, leaving his shop to you. You knew it was not going to be easy for a woman to run a business alone. You could feel the judging eyes every time they figured out there was no man in charge. Even more so when they asked you where your husband was and who was taking care of the kids and you told them there was neither one nor the other. But you were determined to carry on Benny’s legacy and that was what you’ve been doing for the past two years. You managed to keep his regular clients and to grow some more, making a name for yourself and the shop.
You started alone, but as more people came in and asked for your services, you knew you had to hire someone. So you put up a sign outside the shop’s door. And now a 14-year-old kid was helping you keep up with the demand. She lived in the local orphanage and was the first to come in for the job. She was smart, capable and tough. You saw a lot of yourself in her, but you hoped she would not make the same mistakes as you.
“Where does your husband work?” she asked you one day when you were teaching her how to take measurements.
“I don’t have a husband.”
“So you live alone?”
You looked at her and nodded.
“I don’t want a husband either. All the boys in the orphanage are morons, why would I want to spend the rest of my life with a man? Ugh.”
You chuckled at her response. “If that’s what you want, that’s totally fine. Most of the time men are indeed morons, but don’t give up on all of them.” you smiled.
She looked at you with curiosity. “Have you ever been in love?”
You nodded. “Twice…” you begin. You stopped to reminisce and sighed. “Well, actually just once.”
“Where is he now?” she grabbed the measuring tape and wrapped it around the mannequin.
“I don’t know.” you said, adjusting the tape and raising her arm slightly to make her tighten it.
“What happened?” she looked at you.
“It’s a long story. C’mon Carla, let me see how you measure the crotch.” you changed subject. She sighed, wanting to know more about your long-lost lover.
You liked talking about Arthur, even if it was hard sometimes. But you were not ready to talk about your past with her. You wondered what she would think about you if she knew you were a bounty hunter, a robber, that you briefly were in a gang. Most of all, if she knew you have killed people. You were really fond of that girl; you saw her as a little sister. You enjoyed talking with her. But you could not talk about Arthur without mentioning those things or lying about them.
But damn, how you wished you could talk freely about him. After all that time, it was hard to remember perfectly what his face looked like, how his voice sounded. But you remembered how he made you feel. How wonderful and gentle he was with you. How beautiful and deep his eyes were. How good he was at drawing and how handsome he looked while doing it. All those feelings were still there, still in you.
When you left, you thought about going back to him more times than you would like to admit, but you knew that you still wouldn’t be able to live the life he lived. You were not made to work with others – at least not at that time – and going back would’ve just made the both of you miserable. You couldn’t risk hurting him again.
You have thought about him every day for the past seven years. Was he okay? Did he get over it? Did he hate you? You sure hated yourself for how you treated him. But you knew that – as much as you regretted it – you made the right choice. In the letter you left him, you wrote that if you’d stayed, you would’ve caused him nothing but pain. You still knew that was the truth and you hoped he understood it as well.
A few months have passed since that conversation with Carla. She hinted a couple of times to the mysterious man you were once in love with, hoping you’d open up to her and tell her the whole story. But you just shrugged it off, much to her annoyance.
“I’m going to buy some threads, keep an eye on the shop.” you tell Carla. She gives you a thumbs up and you leave.
The streets in Manhattan are busy as always, cars are becoming more common, but only rich folk can afford them.
You tighten your coat and partially hide your lower face in it. The cutting November wind was hitting you hard. The general store was not too far, so you pick up the pace.
“Welcome, miss. You looking for threads again?” the shop owner asks you.
You smile and rub your hands together to warm yourself. “As always.” he smiles and goes back to read the newspaper, aware that you already know where to look.
Black, brown, blue, grey thread for men suits. Pink thread for Mrs. Jones’ dress. Green thread for little Stevie Smith’s pants. White thread for tacking. A smaller thimble for Carla.
You go over the list in your head while you pick up the things you need.
When you go back to the shop, Carla is cleaning the floor.
“You’re back!” she says when she sees you. You smile and pick up the stuff you bought to put them away.
“A man came in looking for you.”
“Did he say what kind of suit he’s looking for?”
“He didn’t come in for a suit, he came in for you.” she says, smirking.
You stop what you’re doing and look at her confused. “Who was it?”
“He told me his name, but I forgot. He knew yours though.”
Your heart skips a beat. Every customer that knows your name knows Carla’s as well, so it has to be someone from your past. A past that finally came to bite you in the ass. Was it a lawman that found out you rode with the Van der Linde gang? A relative of someone you killed or brought to justice? You start to panic inside but try to contain yourself in front of Carla.
“He asked at what time the shop closes and said he’ll come back later.” she adds.
You swallow. Your heart is pounding.
“Thank you, Carla.” she smiles and goes back to clean the floor.
You take a deep breath, then check your desk’s drawer to see if your revolver is still there. It’s been a while since you’ve had to use one, but you surely haven’t forgot how to.
You look at the clock.
An hour.
Clients come in and out. Every time the door opens you wince. Carla looks at you with suspicion in her eyes but says nothing. You’re nervous. You’re distracted.
Twenty minutes.
Who’s this man? How does he know who you are? What if he tries to hurt you? What if he tries to hurt Carla? But he would’ve done it before, right? To make you pay, to make you suffer. No, he didn’t touch her. She didn’t seem scared, she smiled. She didn’t feel threatened. Was he bluffing to earn her trust and strike later? Or does he just want to talk to you? About what?
Five minutes.
You’re sitting at your desk, your hand is gripping the drawer’s handle. You’re fast. If he tries anything, that revolver will be in your hand in a matter of seconds. You’re going to make him wish he never bothered you.
“Are you okay?” Carla asks, visibly worried about your strange behavior.
“I-” you begin. But the sound of the door opening interrupts you.
A man enters the shop. The man.
You stand up, the hand that was firmly gripping the handle goes limp to your side. Your mouth is wide open and you’re at a loss for words.
You haven’t seen him in years and now he’s in New York, in your shop, in front of you. He hasn’t changed much since you last saw him. Long hair, beard trimmed nicely, battle scars.
He isn’t a threat. He doesn’t want to hurt you. Yes, he was looking for you, but in good faith.
“Hi.” he says awkwardly, taking off his hat like any gentleman would do.
Carla looks at the both of you with her arms crossed, confused and amused at the same time.
“What are you doing here?” it’s the only thing you manage to say.