Chapter Text
Gotham Gulch was a bustling cattle town of nearly 350 people. It rested between the edge of the grasslands and the start of the pine forests that thrived under the shadow of the Bitterroot mountain range. It was here that Patrick Wayne came with his young son, Thomas, after the loss of his wife in a crowded eastern city. He brought cattle, a sense of righteousness, and hope for his son. Thomas took to Ranch life with extraordinary finesse and was considered fair and good by all who worked for him. When he married Martha Kane and they had a son, Thomas donated lumber and land for the first schoolhouse and library. The United States sent out a postman, and Gotham Gulch was officially added to the map.
The Double-U Ranch thrived, and the town of Gotham grew up around it, bringing settlers and families who wanted a new life, fresh air, and a chance at making their mark on the wilderness of the Great West.
The Dupain-Cheng's were one such family.
Marinette fidgeted nervously. Her tailoring shop had only been open for a couple of months, and she was unaccustomed to this sort of drama. The pretty little shop felt overly full despite there being only two (rather large) men in it. The large masked (and still dusty from riding) man seemed like the biggest concern at the moment, but the fact that Sheriff Wayne was scowling at her was its own reason for concern. He had seemed considerably more friendly back when he was just the heir to the largest ranch in town. The badge was intimidating when paired with his frown. She didn’t think she’d done anything to bring the law down on her, but he didn’t look as if he was interested in her services either. She shifted her gaze between the two men. Before she could figure out her next move, a large leather glove wrapped around her arm.
“Sorry, lil’ Lady, I don’t mean ya any harm, but yer gonna have to come with me for the time bein’.”
Marinette snapped her attention up to the masked face with a scowl of her own. She could just make out dark teal eyes under the darkness of his hat. “Who’re you calling little?”
Uninterested in being kidnapped, she smashed her heel into his instep and threw an elbow into his ribs before making a dash for the front door. There was no way she was going to stick around to be part of some strange tug-of-war just to find out why the Sheriff and that outlaw had simultaneously stormed into her shop through opposing doors. Not bothering to close the door behind her, she dashed across the street towards the mercantile. A quick glance over her shoulder proved that while the Sheriff had followed, the outlaw had not. Odd, but maybe he had simply been trying to avoid the sheriff when he came through her back door?
A rope fell out of the sky, wrapping around her arms and torso, and yanking her off her feet before she could register what was happening. Before she had time to orient herself, she slammed into the firm mass of a horse and rider. Knocked breathless, she was helpless to resist when she was unceremoniously tossed across the back of the horse like so many potatoes.
Jason cursed and bolted out the back the way he’d come in, leaving the Sheriff to follow the seamstress. His horse was off like a shot the moment his foot hit the stirrup, and he swung himself over while readying his lasso. His decision to become an outlaw might have been intentional, but he hadn’t reckoned he’d be lassoing beautiful, hot-headed seamstresses on his second day. Not that he’d taken the time to factor in all the options—there simply hadn’t been enough time to work with.
The moment she was distracted and watching her back, he cantered smoothly and let the rope fly. With a quick yank and grunt at the impact, he had her aboard. He felt a little guilt at the way the breath wooshed out of her, but it was for her own good.
“Sorry again, ma’am. I hate to do this, but that weren’t no request.”
A hard tug on the reins veered the horse away from town. Before urging his horse into a gallop, Jason managed to notice a dust cloud on the horizon that spoke of incoming riders, and that the Sheriff had lowered his gun the moment the seamstress was in his possession. With a little luck, the riders would keep the Sheriff busy long enough for Jason to get away.
“Yah!” Rhodium responded instantly, and Jason took off with his quarry. There was going to be hell to pay, but at least no one had died today.
Marinette did her best to hold still at first; the idea of falling under the thundering hooves of the outlaw’s mount was terrifying. But when the beast's pace slowed, she started looking for a safe spot to roll off in hopes of escape. She didn’t know why he had taken her, but she certainly didn’t plan to go along with it!
Open space had given way to sparse woods that thickened the longer they rode. The horse couldn't move as quickly through the trees, and the foliage would offer plenty of places to hide if she could get free. Moving subtly, Marinette tried to shift herself to slide off the horse the moment an opportunity presented itself.
Unfortunately, shifting to fall proved more difficult than she anticipated. The rope she had been lassoed with was still draped around her arms and torso. Frustration overtook her attempt at stealth, providing her captor with all the information he needed to guess what she was up to. Strong arms grabbed hold of her the moment she managed to squirm into position for a drop.
“You don’t want to be doin’ that.” His voice, while gruff, was almost contrite.
“What do you know about what I want? I didn’t want to be kidnapped, but here I am.”
Angry eyebrows dipped down beneath the brim of his hat. “Listen, ma’am, we can do this the hard way, where I tie you up for the rest of our considerable ride, or you can agree to cooperate and make the trip a little more comfortable for the both of us.”
“Why should I cooperate?” What good could possibly come from being easy to kidnap?!
“I meant it when I said I had no intention of letting any harm come to you.”
She scoffed. Unbelievable. “Then why drag me away from my home, my family?”
“Family?” The bandit sounded surprised.
While it was true that she didn't have a husband or children, there were still people in her life who would fight for her safety. “My parents.”
He shrugged, "Well, I reckon' they'd like ya to stay alive. Which is all I aim t' accomplish."
The horse jumped lightly over a small creek, jostling her enough to knock the breath out of her as her belly impacted against the saddle.
"Oof," Marinette grunted. Why her?!
"Sorry. Look, iffin' ya promise to sit still, ya can sit up." Her captor sounded far too amused for her liking, but Marinette wasn't as stupid as she was stubborn. In addition to being more comfortable, her view would be better from a seated position, making eventual escape and navigation home a simpler task.
"Alright. I'll stay. Let me up."
The outlaw quickly maneuvered her into a seated position in front of him. He removed the lasso, but tied her hands loosely but securely to the pommel—if she tried to jump, she would be dragged dangerously alongside the horse. Despite her urge to complain about his lack of trust, she decided to keep her mouth shut. No need to give him a reason to tie her up further. She wasn't too keen on restraints.
The outlaw remained quiet behind her as they moved through the sun-dappled forest, and Marinette spent her time trying to notice any differences between the trees and deer paths that might help her navigate home. Despite the awkwardness of being pressed against her captor, Marinette was grateful that her kidnapper seemed to be something of a gentleman beneath his rough exterior—he'd been as hands-off as possible considering the situation and their current position.
Despite her attempt at vigilance, the gait of the horse and the warm, broad back of her captor eventually lulled her to sleep. When she awoke, the horse had stopped, and the setting sun showed a small cabin in a clearing surrounded by trees. Marinette had no idea where she was. Escape would be much harder than she had initially hoped. All she knew was they had been traveling north from town when they first set off.
“Where are we?” Marinette’s voice was rough from disuse and thirst. How many hours had they journeyed?
“Here.” The outlaw untied her bound hands from the pommel and shoved a canteen at her. She took it and drank greedily. The water felt good as it slid down her throat and cleaned the sticky feeling from her mouth.
"Thank you."
He took the canteen back with a grunt. “We’re safe 'ere. No one knows about this place. Ya don’t have to worry 'bout bein’ found.”
Marinette turned in her seat to scowl at the outlaw. “I’m not the one afraid of being found! I want to be found. Why have you brought me here?”
He helped her off the massive horse and led her to the cabin. His hand was massive but gentle against her shoulder. “Don’t go nowhere. I’ll answer yer questions once I get Rhodium settled.”
Marinette watched him walk to the lean-to and glanced quickly at the forest and the setting sun. It would be beyond foolhardy to run into strange woods on the verge of dark. The cabin was dark too, so she hovered at the threshold, hoping she was making the right call.
Once the horse was "stabled" under the lean-to, her captor returned and shoved the door open in front of her.
"Roof only works if yer under it."
He stalked past her to light a small lamp, revealing the interior of the one-room cabin. She moved hesitantly forward to take it in.
It was small. There were two simple chairs tucked against a small wooden table near a stone fireplace. A larger wingback chair was situated near a bookshelf lined with over a dozen leather-bound volumes. On the other side of the fireplace, there was a plain nightstand with a basin and pitcher, and a single bed. She glanced back at the door. Perhaps the dark forest was safer after all. How far would she get with her hands tied? She took a step back, then another as the outlaw set the lamp on the table and dropped a saddle bag onto one of the wooden chairs.
He turned, frowning when he saw her nearer the door. Faster than she would have expected, he was across the room and closing the door behind her. He dropped a latch into place at the top of the door — higher than Marinette could reach without climbing on something.
"Gotta keep the beasts out."
She didn't resist the urge to roll her eyes. "And me in?"
"Yup. That about covers it."
She studied him for a second. He was a large man, but so were a lot of the cowboys and ranch hands in the area. His clothes were dark, and she could barely make out his eyes under the fall of his hair and the bandana over his mouth. Even if she knew him, she wouldn't know it. And yet—other than avoidance, he seemed fairly honest… at least as far as criminals went. "Are you going to tell me why?"
"I guess we have time fer that now. Grab a seat." He gestured to the table, pulling a couple of apples and a loaf of bread from the saddle bag before claiming a chair and setting the bag aside.
Marinette sat, glaring at him until he untied her hands to accept an apple and a slice of bread that he cut from the loaf with a long knife strapped to his side.
"You were seen in Irving Grove a few days back. On the eighth."
Marinette swallowed a bite of her apple, waiting for a real explanation. He didn't offer anything more. "Visiting Irving Grove is why you dragged me from my home?"
"No. 'Course not. The Maroni boys were there at the same time."
She raised an eyebrow. The gang was infamous, but she knew very little about their activity aside from what was on the wanted posters. Marinette leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms with a huff. "What do the Maroni boys have to do with me?"
"Word is, ya witnessed 'em committing a crime they could hang for. Sheriff wants ya t' testify once they're apprehended. The Maroni's want ya dead. I want t' keep you alive."
She stood, knocking the chair over in her haste. "I didn't see anything! If you had let me, or the sheriff speak before stealing me away, everyone would have known that, and I could be home!"
He raised his hands, half-surrender, half-pleading. "Now, calm down, little lady. Even if Sheriff Wayne had believed ya, the Maroni boys would've taken his visit as confirmation of yer involvement. I'll keep ya safe 'till the trial, then ya can say yer piece, and once the boys are behind bars—or swinging free at the end of a noose—I'll get ya home."
"That could be months!" Marinette was appalled. Even if the outlaw claimed to value her life, she didn't want to spend months trapped in this tiny cabin with him.
He shrugged. "It's possible. Sheriff's highly motivated to take 'em down, though. Might be faster."
"What if I would rather the Sheriff and his deputy protect me? Surely that's part of their job."
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring her earlier position, but it looked more formidable on him. "Naw. They'd muck it up. I can do a better job."
Still standing in the middle of the locked room, stuck and powerless, her frustration and anger fizzled into desperation.
As a last-ditch effort, she begged, her voice soft. "Please, take me home. I can't stay here with you. My family has only lived in town for a couple of years. We've barely had the chance to make a name for ourselves. If you keep me here, my reputation will be in shambles." Other than her parents, there was only one person whose opinion she truly cared about—but he hadn't been seen in Gotham for nearly half a year—and her shop would suffer if tongues started wagging.
His stance softened—he leaned forward to rest his arms on the table. "I'll not hurt ya, ma'am."
She turned away, fighting tears. "Even if that's true. Who will believe it?" She gestured around the tiny room. "One night is already too long… but months? No self-respecting woman will enter my shop again. You are ruining my life." Her parents' bakery was doing well, but if she returned to town with a questionable reputation, even their business could suffer. They liked Gotham Gulch, and the last thing she wanted was to be the reason they all had to move again.
"Better ruined than dead." His statement was harsh, but his voice was soft.
Marinette nodded once. Not in agreement, but in acceptance. What else could she do? "What do I call you, sir?"
"Uh." He glanced down for a second before meeting her eyes. He'd hung up his coat and chaps and wore a black vest over a dark red shirt and his black wool trousers. "Red. I guess. What would you like me to call you?"
"Well, Red, you know my name?"
He nodded politely, tipping his hat as if they were being properly introduced. "Yes, ma'am."
"Then that will suffice."
"In that case, you can have the bed, Marinette. I'll manage on the floor."
Jason tossed his bedroll in front of the door with a grunt. He felt bad about keeping Marinette prisoner. Walking her to the outdoor privy and waiting outside while she did her business had not done anything to help her trust him, but she was a fiery sort and would most likely have made a break for it if he hadn't. The cabin would keep them supplied for a week at best, and Marinette didn't have the sorts of things she was used to having on hand. If he'd had more time to plan, he would have packed some of her things, but Bruce had been too quick, and Dick had been too vocal—it was his fault that the Maroni boys knew about Marinette. If Jason had hesitated, the Maroni boys might have gotten to her first. Marinette Dupain-Cheng deserved better than to die so young.
He dropped his hat over his face and lay still for about an hour, listening to Marinette tossing and turning in his bed. It would be nice if he could reveal himself. His identity might allay some of her fears, even if she didn't remember him as well as he remembered her. The hands at Double U Ranch were known for their helpfulness, fairness, and politeness. Old Man Thomas had been extremely strict in his hiring practices, and subsequently, the Ranch was renowned for its ethics as well as its high-quality cattle stock.
Eventually, Marinette's breathing evened out, and Jason finally managed to relax enough to fall asleep, too.
He awoke to a grunt. He jumped up and pulled his knife, only to spot Marinette near the single window, trying to pull the warped frame up. It had opened once upon a time, back when his folks were still around, before he'd been all but adopted by Thomas at the Double U.
Carefully, he adjusted his hat before speaking. "That window hasn't opened in more'n eight years." Rain and snow followed by hot summers had caused abysmal swelling.
Marinette leaped back with a squeak of fright, tripping over a chair and landing on her backside. Wincing in sympathy (and from sleeping on the ground), he groaned as he stretched, pulling his suspenders into place. He hadn't meant to scare her.
"Y' alright?"
"Fine." Her voice was strained, and she was rubbing her backside. Jason turned away before he did something stupid like offering to help her rub her sore muscles.
"Hungry?"
Marinette shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. Jason sighed; he'd imagined all sorts of ways to get to know the pretty seamstress better. Dreamed up all sorts of conversations that would lead to friendship… and maybe courtin'. Now he had Marinette all to himself and couldn't say a damn thing.
Working quickly, Jason built up the embers into a low fire and stuck the skillet on the grate he kept in the fireplace for cooking. Soon, he had a few fried eggs to go with the remainder of the bread.
"Sorry, it's not much. Weren't enough time t' visit the mercantile before…"
"Before you kidnapped me?"
"Yeah." He set the food on the table and tucked in, taking careful bites from under the mask over his mouth and nose, but he only ate half of what he'd prepared. She could eat or not, but he sure as hell wouldn't take her share. Eventually, she scraped the last of the eggs onto her plate and ate them quietly.
"Thank you for breakfast."
He glanced up to find her studying him. It was a pain in the ass to keep his hat and bandana on all the time, but clearly necessary. "Least I could do."
She laughed—not the bright joyful one he remembered—but something between bitterness and mirth. "True enough."
The day moved slowly, punctuated only by meals, trips to the outhouse, and the need to care for his horse. He had retrofitted the latch to lock from the outside as well, and it seemed to work well enough—Marinette was still in the cabin once Rhodium was fed and comfortable on a grazing lead. Not that he couldn't see the door from the yard and lean-to.
After lunch, he brought in a deck of cards and laid out a game of solitaire. He caught Marinette watching him. "You play any cards?"
"No." She shook her head, but didn't scold him as she could have—ladies didn't play cards—she was just quiet. Reserved. Sad. She was trapped and scared, and it was all his fault—well, his and the Maroni boys. "Papa and I play checkers sometimes, though."
He filed that away; maybe when he ran to town for supplies, he could bring something back to keep her busy.
"D' ya read?"
She looked surprised, but her attention flicked to his bookcase. "When I have time, if the story is stronger than my responsibilities."
"Help yerself." He waved at the books. His ma had liked to read, and Pa had bought or traded for one for her whenever he could. Jason had learned to read on her knee and had nearly doubled the collection since their passing. He didn't usually share them, but he'd do a whole lot more for Marinette than share a book—including kidnapping her.
The next time he looked up from the cards, Marinette was curled up in the wingback with a book, focused on the world in her hands.
He breathed a sigh of relief. It was going to be a long, quiet couple of weeks or months, but at least she wasn't screaming at him or trying to break the door down.