Chapter Text
You had always admired Molly, whether from afar or up close on the rare occasions she engaged in conversation with you. The other women at camp seemed to think she was stuck-up, and perhaps she was but she was halfway across the world from her family and on the run with a gang of outlaws — a far cry from her high-society upbringing. You reasoned she was just homesick and felt like an outcast amongst outlaws, or maybe the other women were right and she was just stuck up, but you didn't care. You were smitten.
For as long as you could remember, you'd preferred women to men. Not that anyone would know, but you were apt to keep it that way. For reasons unknown to you, folk looked down upon couples of the same sex. It was ignorant and closed-minded, but that was unfortunately just the way it was. You really didn't think the Van der Linde gang would care all that much considering the diversity of the group, but it also wasn't anyone's business. You hadn't had any women catch your eye for quite some time, but when Dutch had brought Molly back to camp for the first time, you had felt your heart flutter.
Truthfully, you had no idea how Dutch had managed to get a woman like her. Sure, he was charming and silver-tongued in his own right, but Miss Molly O'Shea was a woman high above his station in both looks and class. With her vibrant red curls, emerald eyes, and pale, freckled skin, she was a diamond amongst the soot. She deserved far more than living in various encampments and running from the law — something you would gladly provide her if you had the means.
At first, Dutch had treated her like the prize she was — showering her with attention and stolen jewelry and trinkets, but ever since the failed Blackwater bank heist, he'd grown distant. It was subtle at first, but it quickly became apparent. You heard their once hushed arguments become ones they no longer made an effort to hide. Everyone at camp quickly learned to tune it out, even you to some extent.
Once at the camp at Clemens Point, you had witnessed Dutch watching over her as she sat at the shore, but he made no move to talk to her — something you knew she wanted more than anything. He just watched as she stared out at the horizon. The distance between them was palpable, and while she was suffering from it, Dutch seemed indifferent to it.
One day, you came upon her lounging under a tree near the horses. She had a journal open in her lap, her pen scrawling loudly across the pages. It was odd to see her doing anything other than brooding, but you supposed even that grew old. It was nice to see her putting her energy into something else. You approached tentatively, like you would a spooked animal, not wanting to scare her off. You stopped a few paces shy of her, wringing your hands together in an effort to quell your anxiety about talking to her. You felt like a lovesick schoolgirl.
“Are you happy here, Miss O'Shea?” you asked, trying to keep your tone neutral.
Molly looked up at you, eyes wide in surprise as she slammed the journal shut. She then narrowed her eyes at you, as if she was trying to assess if you were genuine or not. You understood — the girls tended to brush her off or ignore her outright when she tried to talk to them. She stared at you for a moment as if deciding whether to engage with you or not. The silence stretched.
“I don’t know,” she replied finally, in that lilting Irish brogue of hers. She seemed to ponder in thought for a moment before continuing. “I just really love him, you know? And he doesn't even give me the time of day anymore.”
You nodded. You did know. You knew exactly what it was like to be so hopelessly in love with someone who did not reciprocate and that someone was right in front of you.
You waited for her to say more, but she did not. She cocked an eyebrow and stared at you as if wondering why you were still standing there. She never did say much to anyone except Dutch, but now that he was distancing himself she seemed determined to keep it that way. You internally chastised yourself for thinking she would suddenly open up to you just because you had deigned to check on her, but you'd always been a bit of a hopeless romantic deep down.
“You'll be okay, Miss O'Shea,” you said, turning to leave. “I'll make sure of it.”