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Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Isabell O'Sullivan- Written by: Carolleto

Isabell was sunk in that feeling of guilt, she was isolated in that camp for months, she only provided services to Mr. Flores, she didn't speak to anyone. Her father visited her every week, as Isabell did not want to return to live at the O'Sullivan estate. Aiden and Flores were the only people she agreed to see. The girl completely forgot about the world around her. She didn't even remember the beautiful days she had in the tribe, now she lived within her own darkness. Time passed and she didn't even see it, she was trapped on that stormy day in front of her mother's tomb.

There was a day when she couldn't sleep at all, she went out and stood under the blanket of stars. She got on her horse and rode slowly down the road, with no place in mind to go. When she passed the saloon on the way out of Rhodes, she stopped her horse and stood for a minute looking at the people there, she saw drunken men lying outside, drunk as a skunk. She got off the horse and entered the saloon, her mother barely let her look at that kind of place when they passed that road.

She leaned against the counter and ordered a drink, she had never consumed alcohol before, but if it could make her forget that incessant pain, she would be willing to drink until she fell like one of those drunks outside. She took the bottle, pulled the cork with her teeth and downed it all at once, threw in another coin and asked for another bottle, repeating the process of downing all the liquid in her throat. The bartender looked at her perplexed, he knew her, he almost asked if she was okay, but decided against it when he saw the look in Isabell's eyes, showing that he didn't want questions, but another bottle.

In a more private corner, there was a man who had kept his eyes on Isabell since she ordered the first bottle. He knew the girl was suffering from something, even though it didn't seem like it. Isabell had always been neutral, but Phoenix's vast experience would not let him be fooled. Phoenix wasn't usually interested in other people's lives, but there was something different about that girl that made him get up from where he was and walk towards her.

Phoenix tossed two coins to the bartender; the skinny boy quickly grabbed the bottles and placed them on the table. Phoenix leaned against the counter and looked at Isabell openly. Isabell gave her a brief look, then Phoenix was sure, that girl also had voices in her head that were killing her from the inside out. I knew exactly what that felt like. Phoenix dragged a bottle towards her.

“You can drink it, but it won't go away,” Phoenix muttered. He threw the cork from the bottle somewhere and drank the whiskey, it wasn't the most refined alcohol he had ever tasted, but it didn't taste like the cheap whiskey out there.

Isabell looked at him more closely. His features seemed familiar to him, he was probably of native descent, his skin tone was a little lighter, his black hair went a few centimeters past his shoulder. He was a tall, robust man, but what caught the most attention was the burn scar on the entire left side of his face.

Miss O'Sullivan was about to refuse the drink and dismiss the man, but he looked her in the eyes and just like Phoenix, she felt that he knew what she was going through at that moment. There was the first time that the demon in Isabell's head shut up, it was probably scared by the much more wicked demons that had haunted Phoenix's mind for years, the thirsty beasts were in the reflection of the half-breed's eyes.

Isabell could breathe after a while, she accepted his drink and didn't turn it around that time. Isabell and Phoenix didn't talk, they just drank, their silence was words enough, the pianist changed the lively rhythm of the music to a more dramatic one.

Phoenix looked at Isabell, furrowed his thick eyebrows and walked away from the counter. He extended his hand to Isabell, she made a face, she felt a little dizzy from too much alcohol. She understood that he wanted to dance with her. Isabell learned to dance when she was a child, but never did it again, one of the things she decided to abandon to avoid her mother's demands. She took courage and took Phoenix's hand, his big hand was boiling over Isabell's cold skin, they didn't mind going somewhere else, they started dancing right there.

Isabell wanted to cry, her emotions almost overpowering the grief that left her like a stone, but not a single tear fell, Phoenix followed in her footsteps, her muscle memory remembered how she did that. They danced the entire song and when it ended, Isabell's dizziness intensified, she passed out in Phoenix's arms.

When the O'Sullivan girl woke up, she was in Mr. Flores' room, she got up in alarm, left the back room of the warehouse and went to the store.

“You woke up, are you feeling okay?” the old merchant asked, genuinely worried.

“I'm fine, I just need some strong coffee,” she said, frowning and remembering what happened the night before. He looked at Mr. Flores and leaned on the store counter. “How did I end up here?”

"A stranger brought you, I believe the boy Sammy sent him here, I confess I was scared when I saw that man with you in his arms, I almost grabbed my old shotgun, he scared me. But he just wanted to keep you safe somewhere. You been drinking too much, young lady, don't do that again." Mr. Flores explained, the last part, a reprimand.

Isabell wanted to have thanked that man, she didn't even know his name, in a strange way, he had helped her with her inner demon, and she didn't even know how, but she was very grateful for that.

From that day on, Isabell began her overcoming process, it was slow, but little by little she returned to her routine, the one she had before gone to Wapiti. That took a year to happen.

Isabell looked at the photo in the frame, her mother looked back at her, she wanted that photo to have color so she could see the blonde in her mother's hair. She then looked towards the lake; it was not long before winter. She got up from her chair and went to her tent, left the photo on the table, went back outside and looked at the sky. The cold breeze passed through her and with a snap, the guilt was gone, Isabell had forgiven herself and that demon finally left her alone.

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Phoenix (Dark Hawk) Wilder - Written by: TNTBlackCat

Phoenix had been tucked away in a secluded spot of the bar for hours, watching the daylight gradually slip away, much like his own thoughts. The alcohol helped to quiet the inner turmoil, though it never truly vanished. The whispers of his demons echoed in his mind, but the liquor softened their piercing cries to a bearable hum.

Today, his head felt particularly foggy. He glanced at the table cluttered with whisky bottles, lined up like soldiers, each one empty and a testament to his indulgence. He brushed aside the thought of stopping and took another hearty swig from the bottle in his grasp.

His gaze was momentarily drawn away when the saloon doors swung open. A woman entered, her hair glowing like the sun at dusk. Her fair skin was dotted with freckles, and he realized he had never encountered anyone with such striking red hair before. She appeared fragile at first glance, yet something about her hinted at a deeper strength. This girl had undoubtedly faced experiences that most could scarcely fathom. He recognized that familiarity; demons had a way of attracting one another.

As she ordered her drink, he seized the chance to observe her more closely. What hidden stories lay beneath her surface?

He didn’t need to voice his order to the bartender, tossing some coins onto the counter sufficed. The bartender was well aware of Phoenix's preferred drink after hours of watching him. Without needing to rise from his seat, the bartender had kindly brought the whisky to him all night. However, Phoenix had struggled to get a clear view of the intriguing newcomer from his table.

The bartender set two bottles on the counter, and Phoenix slid one toward the red-haired woman. He offered her a subtle smile, a silent invitation. “You can drink, but it won’t go away,” he assured her, gripping the bottle firmly in his hand.

He observed her for a brief moment before taking a sip from his drink. What thoughts were crossing her mind? The intensity of her gaze made him feel uneasy, as if she were scrutinizing him, attempting to uncover his hidden truths. It wouldn’t shock him if she suddenly turned and fled. Women had never found him appealing. His body was marred with burn scars, stretching from his hairline down to his chin, and a blind eye peered out from the scars like a grotesque decoration on a poorly made cake. Yet, his appearance had its perks. He could avoid small talk; people tended to shy away from him, allowing him to mask any lingering emotions he might possess.

To his astonishment, she didn’t flee. She accepted the bottle and took a drink. He studied her closely, both of them silent. What secrets was she burying inside her? For once, his inner demons were subdued, focused on unraveling the mystery of Isabell.

Over the years, he had learned that to truly investigate something, one must immerse themselves in it. When he entered this new world, he adapted to it, learning its language, adopting its style, even cutting his hair to sever ties with his past. He was committed to his pursuits, if nothing else. Thus, if he wanted to uncover what Isabell was concealing, he would need to explore her as he had this unfamiliar realm.

He needed to listen, observe, and connect with her. After stepping away from the bar, he extended his hand toward her. Would she let him guide her in a dance? His hope was faint. He assumed she would share the same aversion to him as all the other women had. Once again, she surprised him by taking his hand. Confusion flickered in her eyes, revealing her uncertainty about her choice. She didn’t seem to understand why she had agreed, just as he was unsure. But she had already placed her hand in his, and he wasn’t one to let a sudden change of heart deter him.

He drew her close, encircling her waist with his arm and gently placing his hand over hers. Her fingers were icy, and it was evident that she was more taken aback by his gesture than her expression revealed. Phoenix couldn't help but smile to himself; she was intimidated by him. While it might have gone unnoticed by others, he was attuned to such subtleties. If he let his guard down, he could be in peril. Her fear wasn’t of him in the traditional sense; rather, something about Phoenix reflected her own insecurities. She was her own greatest fear, not the imposing, scarred man who was leading her in a dance in the center of the bar, all eyes on them.

Isabell moved gracefully in his embrace, as if she had been trained in dance from a young age. Could she have once belonged to the upper class? The idea fascinated Phoenix. What kind of history did she carry? Was it as sorrowful as his own? What could a girl of privilege be doing in a place like this, dancing with someone like him?

As he twirled her across the floor, he noticed a smile beginning to blossom on her lips. She was having fun, which was a relief. Yet, it was clear that beneath her smile lay some hidden pain. Phoenix often felt that when he was enjoying life, he didn’t deserve it; perhaps she was grappling with a similar internal struggle.

As the final notes of the song faded away, she blushed and collapsed into his arms, her body going unexpectedly limp. The suddenness of it caught him off guard, and he barely managed to catch her. She draped over him like a coat, and the shock of the moment took Phoenix by surprise.

The bar boy noticed the commotion and began to blame Phoenix for what had transpired, but he quickly held back when he saw the look of disgust on Phoenix’s face. “You should take her to Mr. Flores’ warehouse, sir. He’ll know how to help,” he suggested.

Phoenix nodded and lifted her into his arms, carrying her toward the warehouse while observing her serene expression. It had been ages since he had to handle someone with such care, to be responsible for another's well-being. His mind raced with conflicting thoughts; he had planned to spend the day drinking, yet here he was, transporting a vulnerable girl to a man he had never met for assistance.

Upon arrival, Mr. Flores looked utterly shocked. Phoenix could sense the urge to question him about what had happened to Isabell, but he refrained. Instead, Mr. Flores expressed his gratitude for bringing her and directed Phoenix on where to place her unconscious form. Before Phoenix could utter another word, Mr. Flores was ushering him out the door.

The door closed abruptly in his face, leaving him outside, the shock of the incident still fresh in his mind. He found himself more intrigued than before, which unsettled him, but for a brief moment, the inner turmoil had quieted, and he had Isabell to thank for that.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Isabell O'Sullivan- Written by: Carolleto

Isabell stares at the water as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, she always did that, staring at something as if she could see through it, but after everything that happened in her life, she did this much more often. David Buckhorn was silent next to her, it was interesting how she managed to create some kind of friendship with people as reserved as her.

The sound of the ship's horn sounded throughout the place after a few minutes, Isabell turned her face in her hands towards the city ahead, she stood up and stretched her body to unlock her bones, Blackwater was her destination.

“I'll go ahead, see you around sometime,” Buckhorn said shortly, he nodded at her.

Isabell also waved and walked to the arrivals area, she watched the crowded city as she walked out, she had never been there before. The city was smaller than Saint Denis, but it was equally busy and modern, constructions here and there for the advancement of civilization, this gave her a bit of aversion, she didn't feel comfortable surrounded by buildings and walking on paved streets. She followed a direction, which seemed to be the main street of the place. 

Miss O’Sullivan followed attentively, she was looking for somewhere to rest and eat, perhaps she would spend the night in a hotel and leave the next day. She had a view of the entire street, she moved her eyes to read the signs of each establishment, then she caught someone. The man stood out so much among the crowd that it was impossible to ignore, both for her and for the people who passed by him, swerving beyond what was necessary, he was the embodiment of terror for everyone except Isabell. Miss O’Sullivan lowered her head, immediately remembering dark days long ago.

She wasn't sure whether or not she should approach him, he seemed like someone who didn't like being disturbed, but she would take the risk, she owed him a thank you that she never had the opportunity to say. Isabell crossed the street towards the man, she didn't notice, but he had already seen her before she had noticed his presence. Isabell slowed her steps, somehow, she knew it was the same man, the black hat he wore cast a shadow on his face, but he looked up at her and Isabell could be sure.

She lowered her head, smiled, she would recognize those scars even if a thousand years had passed. Isabell looked up, saw the subtle lift in the corner of his mouth, that was a smile, Phoenix held the brim of his hat and gave her a short wave.

“It’s you,” Isabell addressed him.

Phoenix raised his face more, so Isabell looked into his eyes, noticing the blue he had, she hadn't noticed it before. She realized that the eye contact caused him some discomfort, so she looked elsewhere.

“You survived, after all”, he replied, ceasing to lean on the post and crossing his arms. Isabell had to look up more to reach his height.

After that there was silence, neither of them knew what to do in front of the other. The words weren't reaching Isabell correctly and Phoenix felt so uncomfortable with that woman close to him that he was radiating tension.

“What’s your name? Isabell finally asked.

“Phoenix,” he responded immediately, but he almost seemed offended that she didn't know him.

Isabell frowned, that couldn't be his name, not his real name, she looked at him one more time to make sure, he was clearly half native. She couldn't break the words after that:

“What is your real name?”

Phoenix looked at her at that moment, an unfriendly expression towards her, Isabell realized the conflict she had caused, but she stood before him waiting for the answer, it didn't come, who the hell did she think she was to ask him that? But that left him as intrigued as she did, that he couldn't just turn his back on her and walk away, he wanted to know what kind of witchcraft she practiced knowing that he had a name beyond what he had said.

“I just wanted to say thank you, I've been saving my gratitude since that day, I have the impression that you saw the worst of me when no one else did, that's all I wanted to say, forgive me for the inconvenience”, Isabell said to Phoenix's silence, she turned to cross the street again and entered the bar in front of her.

Phoenix could have accepted that she was gone, but his head was like hell because of her. He moved his feet and the next thing he knew, he was entering the bar. He wasn't usually that curious, but that woman had taken some of his attention since the first time he saw her. He stood next to her at the counter, his imposing figure hovering over her, Phoenix was not a man who bothered to disguise himself, he was very convinced that he wanted to reveal that woman in one way or another.

Isabell picked up her bottle of beer and spun around on the counter, she was fully aware that Phoenix's gaze was burning into her.

“And what’s your name?”, Phoenix asked, there was no other way to start that conversation.

“Isabell”.

He murmured her name; it suited her in a way. He made himself better at the counter and knocked on the wood to order a drink. He looked closely at Isabell at that moment, she looked like a sad woman, she didn't look any better than the last time, on the contrary, the darkness that hung over her was permanent, it had its claws so deep into her that Isabell was forced to live with it. Phoenix only knew that because he knew that darkness better than anyone, he was the sovereign in that world. I couldn't be more curious to know what made her fall into that abyss and how she endured it so easily.

Isabell finally turned her gaze to him, they had a mutual feeling that they went back in time, the situation very similar to when they first met. Isabell realized that Phoenix wanted to know something, there was something supernatural that made her feel a certain trust in him, perhaps it was that her inner demons, which he was unable to chase away this time, were quieter within her because of him.

“If there’s something you want to ask me, ask me,” she said suddenly.

Isabell took her bottle and walked to a more reserved table, Phoenix followed her, he had the opportunity he wanted, he sat down in front of her, even though he was uncomfortable with being attracted to that situation, he couldn't help but want to know more.

“Who are you?” that was an all-encompassing question.

Isabell hadn't expected him to be so direct, but she didn't mind speaking, even to a stranger with an aura that struck fear into the bravest of men. She started with her mother, said that at that time she was in deep mourning, she openly said that there was a voice in her mind telling her that she was to blame, she had never said that to anyone before, not even to Eagle Flies. Then she skipped time, her red eyebrows came together and with difficulty talked about what happened regarding the reservation and with the only man she ever loved.

Phoenix could see how she changed her posture as she talked about Eagle Flies, her fingers gripping the bottle so hard that if she had the proper strength, it would have shattered. When she finally finished, she let out a long sigh through her nostrils and drank her beer. She placed her green eyes on the blue sea that were his and returned to looking neutral as she was.

“Dark Hawk,” Phoenix said, twirling a coin between his fingers. “My real name.”

Isabell sketched in surprise. She saw that revealing his name was more difficult for him than it was for her to tell her whole story.

Phoenix looked at Isabell, he thought he couldn't make his situation worse in front of that woman. He wanted her not to be real, to disappear before him like a ghost, she bothered him in a terrible way and, at the same time, he was attracted to it, he felt a kind of fear that he didn't understand. It was a strange connection, and he wanted to scare her because of it, he wanted Isabell to go far away from him.

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Phoenix (Dark Hawk) Wilder - Written by: TNTBlackCat

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Isabell O'Sullivan- Written by: Carolleto

Isabell woke up later than usual that morning. It took her longer than she had intended to fall asleep for a number of reasons. She got up and straightened the bed sheets automatically, barely paying attention to what she was doing. Miss O’Sullivan went to the windows and opened the blinds, giving the hotel room more light. Finally, she opened the thick curtains that covered the double doors. Isabell unlocked the doors and stepped out onto the room’s small balcony. She observed the busy Blackwater Street. Her eyes darted from one end to the other, and she stopped when she saw Phoenix leaning against a wall.

Phoenix looked directly at the O’Sullivan girl, uncrossed his arms and tapped his index finger on the brim of his hat in greeting to Isabell, she nodded in response and left the balcony.

Isabell went to the main hall of the hotel, leafed through the menu and ordered her breakfast, made her breakfast and left the hotel. Isabell did not expect Phoenix to still be there, she froze on the sidewalk, Phoenix saw her too and straightened his posture. Isabell was doubtful, she supposed he was there because of her perhaps, despite staring fixedly at Isabell, Phoenix did not approach. Miss O’Sullivan was not sure if he wanted to be disturbed or not, but nevertheless took the first step, crossed the street and stopped in front of the man.

They didn't break eye contact for even a second, Phoenix no longer bothered by Isabell and her witchcraft of wanting to unravel him, but it was still strange that she was walking on her own two feet towards him, he couldn't get used to that. He put those thoughts aside when he noticed Isabell's face flushed. They were both hit by a new tension, and looked away.

“Good morning,” Isabell murmured after a moment of silence that would have been awkward for anyone but them.

Phoenix didn’t say a word, just nodded once in response and lifted the corner of his mouth for a split second in what Isabell might have called a smile.

He needed to know if she was okay and safe, even if she hadn't left that hotel. It was extremely rare that Phoenix would care about someone, but when it happened, it activated a very strong protective instinct in him. Isabell ended up being blessed with that. Phoenix wouldn't say it, but the previous day had been on his mind since he left the city at night right after seeing Isabell enter that hotel and he headed to his lonely camp in the plains. 

The redhead was different that morning, nothing significant really, but it was enough for Phoenix to look more closely while she was distracted watching the pedestrians on the street, he noticed it was her hair, it wasn't tied in a loose bun this time, she had a long side braid, he thought Isabell looked better like that.

Isabell turned her attention back to Phoenix. She didn't know what his occupation was. She didn't want to waste his time, even though she already understood how he worked. She knew that if he didn't want to be there, he would simply leave. Either way, she would leave him alone, but she wanted to see him again before heading to her destination. So she let out a sigh before asking in an indirect way if he lived around there.

"Are you going to be around?" she said casually.

Phoenix understood the question, and also realized that Isabell would not stay in the city, which bothered him a little. He liked to keep everything he thought was worthy of his attention in front of his eyes.

“For you…yes,” he replied.

Isabell was surprised by the answer. She expected a yes or no, nothing more. With a little effort on his part, he wanted to make it clear that for him, Isabell was not just anyone.

“Where can I find you?”, Isabell found herself asking.

Just pointing her in a direction and giving her an unmistakable landmark seemed much easier, but Phoenix wanted to make sure she could find it when she wanted, so he pushed himself away from the wall he was leaning against and said:

“I can show you.”

“I’ll get you an animal, give me a few minutes and we can go,” Isabell said, earning a nod of approval from Phoenix. “Dark Hawk,” she murmured in a request for permission and walked toward the stables ahead.

Phoenix hadn't gotten used to someone calling him that, it sounded like a voice from a distant past trying to find him. He resisted the urge to follow her, so he kept his eyes on Isabell until she entered the stable. He also went after his horse, whistled and within a few minutes his animal appeared, walking lazily towards him. Phoenix petted his faithful companion and mounted the animal, trotted to the stable road and waited for Isabell.

Miss O’Sullivan hired a horse for the day and left on the animal. Phoenix was waiting for her and as soon as she was off he went ahead. Isabell accompanied him across the plains at a moderate pace.

The plains were left behind at some point, the trees closed the landscape and a colder, fresher air surrounded them. Isabell and Phoenix did not speak during the journey. Phoenix turned off the road at a point where the concentration of trees was denser and a few meters later, at a strategic and hidden point, a camp was set up. Phoenix got off the animal and let it loose. Isabell got off and tied her animal to a bush. Isabell walked over to Phoenix, who was pouring a bucket of clean water into a barrel.

Isabell observed Phoenix's simple camp, even though it was an ordinary camp, there were familiar things that caught her attention. She recognized the shape of the firm knot in the ropes that supported her tent. She saw some colorful beads decorating some artifacts, she saw a knife sheath with native colors and embroidery. That hit her deeply, she felt pain for the good memories she had of the reservation, she felt nostalgia above all and her inner demons began to whisper in her mind when she found herself thinking about Eagle Flies. Isabell looked away, her clear eyes meeting Phoenix's.

“Do you know how to find it on your own?” Phoenix asked, he had noticed that her mind was collapsing for some reason and wanted to distract her.

“Yes,” Isabell replied, she had a good memory for marking places.

Phoenix nodded and sat in front of the fire that had only burning embers from the night before. He pulled his knife from its sheath and began to pass it over a stone to sharpen the cut. Isabell composed herself, ignoring the storm that threatened to emerge from the memories. She walked slowly to the fire and sat next to Phoenix, respecting his personal space. She stared at the crackling embers, except for the sound of the knife sliding over the rough stone and the birdsong, the silence was very pleasant.

Miss O'Sullivan did not know if Phoenix wanted her company or not, she remained there for a few minutes, her mind at peace from the chattering demons, allowing her the freedom to think whatever she wanted without interference. Then she decided that she would return to the city, but before that she would like to say something to him.

“I know we’ve only known each other for a short time,” Isabell began, pausing briefly before continuing. “And even for me this is confusing, but I feel like I should trust you.”

Phoenix suddenly stopped the knife on the stone. He looked at the blade in his hand in disbelief, that was the craziest thing he had ever heard, when he thought that this woman could not surprise him anymore, she told him that she trusted him. Phoenix knew that he and trust did not fit well in a sentence. He sharpened the knife again and exhaled through his nostrils.

"I am not someone to be trusted, miss. To be honest, you should stay away from me, I am no good", Phoenix replied very sincerely, he did not want her to be, but he had expected this attitude from her since he approached her for the first time.

“Just by admitting such a thing, it proves that you are someone trustworthy. I don’t know about you and what you did or your motives, but I think that just because someone else decided that you are bad, it doesn’t mean that you really are.” Isabell retorted, she stood up, but before taking the first step, she looked at Phoenix who had stopped his knife sharpening activity. “Thank you for showing me where you live, I know how to find you now. I’m leaving for Mexico tomorrow, I don’t know if we’ll see each other again before then, so this is my chance to thank you one more time and say goodbye.”

Isabell started walking toward her rented animal, but stopped halfway when she heard Phoenix’s voice fill the room.

“What’s in Mexico?”, Phoenix asked.

Isabell lowered her head, thoughtful. She didn't have a decent answer for that, how could she explain to him that sometimes she liked to escape from her city and go as far as she could to breathe new air, the sadness didn't go away as she would like, but it helped her not to go completely crazy like a few years ago when she was about to end her own life. Miss O'Sullivan observed Phoenix and decided to be honest.

“Nothing,” she replied. But she hoped her eyes would give him the answer he sought.

Phoenix just stared at Isabell, somehow understanding, watching her calmly untie her animal, he held the knife handle tightly involuntarily, trapped in his own inner abyss, her words about trust would surely haunt his mind for the rest of that day. She had practically said that she didn't care that he was a bad man, how could she say that? She wasn't the witch he thought she was. That woman didn't know him, if she really knew him, she would never say that she trusted him, Isabell had given him one more reason to be intrigued by her.

"Have a good day, Dark Hawk," Isabell said goodbye, mounting her rented horse and trotting down the path she had come from.

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Phoenix (Dark Hawk) Wilder - Written by: TNTBlackCat

Phoenix guided her along the quickest path to his campsite. Upon nearing the open space beneath the trees that marked the entryway, a wave of nervousness washed over him, stirring in his stomach. Never before had he thought to share his living quarters with anyone, so he found himself puzzled by his urge to reveal this to Isabell. The concept sparked confusion within him.

He got off his horse, Chindi, and glanced over at Isabell. A small sense of eagerness rushed within him as he anticipated her response to his camp. It was simple, made up solely of the necessities. His material possessions were few, and he felt a sense of pride in that fact. He sustained himself through the resources of nature, much like his forebears did, and according to the lessons imparted to him during his early years. Spare not, want not.

She scanned his camp, and he noticed how she absorbed every detail. He noticed her eyes fixate on some of his tribal artifacts. She seemed particularly interested in the beadwork on his knife sheath. As her finger brushed against the embroidery, he almost thought he saw a tear in her eye. She quickly averted her gaze when she realized he was watching her.

He tried to give her some space. Uncertain if his presence was causing her discomfort. He concluded that every sign pointed to her not being afraid of him; the scars he bore appeared to have no effect on her. However, he continued to have doubts. During his lifetime, he had yet to encounter a single person who did not possess some level of fear towards him.

He prodded the embers of the fire that had dwindled since the previous night, coaxing the flames back to life. After adding another log, he settled down. He stole a glance at her, offering a nod—a subtle, wordless invitation for her to join him if she wished. From his sheath, he drew a knife and a stone, and to occupy himself, he began to sharpen the blade.

While some might find this act intimidating or, at the very least, quite rude to engage in such behavior with a guest present, Isabell was far from an ordinary guest. He had a feeling that she wouldn’t mind at all if his attention wasn’t entirely on her. In fact, he believed she might even prefer it this way. From what he had gathered about her in this brief time, it was clear that she was introverted and didn’t yearn to be the center of attention like many of the ladies Phoenix had encountered in the past.

She spent a considerable amount of time staring at the fire. Occasionally, he would glance at her, mostly to ensure she was still there. Her presence was comforting to him, even in the absence of conversation. It had been ages since he had any company apart from Chindi, and he was reluctant to acknowledge that he might actually be feeling lonely.

 Lately, he had noticed that he was spending more time in bars, not just for the drinks but to be around other people. He would sit and observe them for hours, playing a mental game about their lives. What were they like? What jobs did they hold? Why were they at the bar? What secrets were they attempting to drink away?

He was grateful for this newfound habit; had he not embraced it, he would never have met Isabell. Instead, he would have been at camp, drinking whiskey alone until he was so inebriated that he passed out, the bottle still in his grasp. He would wake up hours later, confused, and then begin the cycle all over again—a vicious loop he had come to accept. The demons needed to be silenced, and they quieted when he drank.

Her voice pulled him from his reverie. "I know we’ve only known each other for a short time,” Isabell started, "And even for me this is confusing, but I feel like I should trust you.”

He was utterly stunned. If he had woken up that morning, gazed into the mirror, and discovered his scars vanished and his face restored to its former handsomeness, he would have been less surprised. He sensed the blade hovering over the sharpening stone as if his hand were paralyzed. Unsure if his face revealed his inner turmoil, he nearly felt his jaw drop.

He found himself at a loss for words with her. No one had ever claimed to trust him, and justifiably so. He was not a kind man. He had engaged in many unspeakable deeds throughout his life, things he wouldn’t even dare to confront within himself. He was far from a trustworthy individual. A demon at the crossroads would be a more fitting choice for trust. At least they were honest, offering something in exchange for your soul. He didn’t make such offers. He took without any expectation of return. He was unconcerned about who he hurt or how he inflicted that hurt. He treated others with the same disregard he had received long ago when everything was taken from him.

 A fury was building up inside him. It surged through him quickly, as it always did, and he had no control over the emotions that overwhelmed him. When he got angry, it was immediate, intense, and all-consuming. He couldn’t even begin to understand why he felt this way. She had done nothing wrong. In fact, she had said she trusted him, something he had wished to hear his entire life. So why, when faced with that trust now, was he so filled with rage?

"I am not someone to be trusted, miss. To be honest, you should stay away from me, I am no good", he finally said. He truly meant every word. If she chose to stay near him, she would only end up hurt. Everyone he had ever cared for had perished. She would be no exception and a part of him yearned to keep her safe.

He returned to sharpening his knife before she could even respond. Surely, she would flee in terror now. He could sense the venom in his voice, and he felt a sense of satisfaction; she would finally realize that he was not the person she believed him to be.

But what she said next left him even more stunned. Just when he believed this woman was incapable of surprising him further, she managed to do it again. In the most earnest tone he had ever encountered, she stated, “Just by admitting such a thing, it proves that you are someone trustworthy. I don’t know about you and what you did or your motives, but I think that just because someone else decided that you are bad, it doesn’t mean that you really are.”

He ceased sharpening his knife once more. Could she truly be this gullible? It seemed clear to him that her youth was spent isolated in a manor in the East, protected from the harshness of reality. If she sincerely believed this about him, she must not have understood the true nature of the world. She needed to understand that there were times when men were especially terrible. Some were beyond all hope for redemption or love. Sometimes a man lacked any redeeming qualities. Some men, like him, simply did not deserve love.

“Thank you for showing me where you live, I know how to find you now.”  she said as she rose. “I’m leaving for Mexico tomorrow, I don’t know if we’ll see each other again before then, so this is my chance to thank you one more time and say goodbye.”

She did it again, leaving him in a state of disbelief. He watched her stride toward her horse, not waiting for an answer. Was she really going to just hop on her horse and ride away again? He felt a strong desire to find a way to postpone her departure.

“What’s in Mexico?”, he blurted out.

Isabell paused for a second, and he felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps she would stay a little longer and clarify her reasons for leaving and the purpose behind it. But to his disappointment, she simply said, “Nothing”.

He didn’t speak very often, so when she said her farewell, he remained silent and allowed her to walk away. What else could he say to her? There was nothing he should say. His feelings for her were complicated. Only heartache and sorrow would follow, and he couldn’t endure another loss. So he decided to let her leave, telling himself it was for the best. She would go to Mexico, and he wouldn’t stop her. Life would carry on as it always did for him, cruel and intentional.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Isabell O'Sullivan- Written by: Carolleto

Isabell rides slowly along the road, the city of Blackwater on the horizon ahead. She enters the city and leaves her rented horse near the stable. She sees the man who had arranged for the animal, and he also notices her there.

“I didn’t think you’d return it so quickly,” he commented, being friendly.

“I just needed it for one thing. Is there a carriage I can get a seat in?” Isabell took the opportunity to ask.

“Yes, where do you have to go? If I may ask,” the man stops what he’s doing to give her more attention.

“I have to go to the nearest station, I need to catch the train to Mexico,” Isabell explains.

“MacFarlane's Ranch. Well, you already have the animal rented, you don't have to worry about a carriage, I have a deal with the owner of the ranch, it was a strategic idea we had, you can leave the animal there and he will bring it back, it has been successful, both for me and for him, unless he really opts for the carriage”.

Isabell dismissed the carriage idea, if she could ride there and return the animal, she saw no harm in that. Miss O'Sullivan thanked the man and confirmed that she would return to pick up the animal the next day.

Isabell had that day off, she went back to her hotel room and took the book from her suitcase, she went outdoors to read, sitting on the green grass near the hotel, she liked to escape from reality through the pages, it was good until the moment when her inner demons began to murmur in her head. Miss O'Sullivan closed the book noisily, getting up from there and heading to where she was staying. It was lunchtime, as she walked to the hotel restaurant, she wondered if she would see Dark Hawk again before leaving. She felt that her presence seemed to bother him sometimes, but he didn't send her away, he was as silent as she was. Perhaps the most closed-off person she had ever met. In one way or another, she was finally able to thank him, even after all those years had passed, when she returned from Mexico she would be able to see him again before going home.

Isabell didn't study the lunch menu much, she ordered the dish of the day and waited until her meal was served, and after she was satisfied, she left for her room. She folded her clothes again carefully, just to pass the time, she didn't feel like exploring the city, she wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, she had gotten used to the pure nature and how it should be. Isabell thought about riding to Mexico, but it would take a lot of time and as much as the idea of ​​that was good, she might never actually get to Mexico, she would return to Rhodes at some point.

Phoenix didn't stay long at his camp. He wouldn't have peace if he wasn't close to Isabell and making sure everything was okay. His protective instincts took over him completely. He let his horse roam free as usual when he returned to the city. He stayed in a place where he had a good view of the hotel where Miss O'Sullivan was staying. He watched her leave, walked to the lawn and sat on the ground. He opened a book. Her red hair stood out even more in the sun. It looked like a veil of fire around her face. It was as characteristic of her as the scars Phoenix had, and he was recognized for it. Isabell left almost an hour later. He went back to the hotel. Phoenix also decided to go out for a meal at a saloon in the city. He drank a beer and went back to the same place he was. He didn't have much to do. Sometimes he would keep himself busy looking for bandits when he found a poster on the posts. He knew how to track and find them better than anyone else. The hard part was not killing them. He regretted that he got paid less for it when they were dead.  It was night when he saw Isabell appear on the balcony of the room, he kept his eyes fixed on her. He watched with a bit of fascination as she looked up at the stars that covered the sky that night, soon after she looked down, sad and with a tired appearance. Isabell left and closed the balcony doors. Phoenix remained there for another hour, at one point he whistled for his animal and mounted it when it arrived, urging the horse to run through the night like a black shadow.

Isabell prepared her belongings to leave. The train would only leave in the afternoon, so she would have some free time in the morning. She had breakfast and left the hotel. She walked to the ticket office and bought a train ticket. The O’Sullivan girl looked around a little bored, and decided to walk through the streets. She observed the storefronts and stopped to see the sign with the next attraction at the local theater. She continued walking along. Near the hairdresser, on the sidewalk, several photo frames were placed there. Isabell observed some of the photographs. She decided to look through the glass, into that establishment, and one of the photos, hanging on the wall, caught her attention. It wasn’t a very big picture, but from where she was, she could see enough to recognize the hot springs of the reserve. Because she was so focused on the photo and stuck inside her own mind, she didn’t notice the old man who turned the sign from closed to open and suddenly opened the door, startling her. The old man saw her there too. He smiled at her. 

“Would you like to take a picture, miss? I just opened it and I’m free now, come in,” the old man said excitedly. 

He frowned as he looked closely at her face, took the round glasses off his nose and cleaned the lenses with his shirt, put the glasses back on and pushed them right up to his eyes. His facial expression widened in surprise. At that moment, Isabell also realized, that this man was the same one who had photographed the reserve years ago.

“I know you!” the old man exclaimed with exaggerated happiness. “Oh my! The girl from the reservation, remember me? Where is your Indian husband? Oh! It doesn’t matter. You know, I had the impression that he didn’t like me, but I didn’t take it to heart. I have something for you, wait a minute, I’ll get it,” the man rambled on, not letting Isabell answer him.

In any case, she couldn’t say a word. When he mentioned Eagle Flies, she froze. The word husband hit her like a lightning bolt. She felt pain and sadness, which she was struggling to keep under control. The sadness was about to overcome her protective barriers. She remained motionless, fighting with her own mind not to collapse and let the demons win.

Meanwhile, the old photographer was rummaging through his drawers looking for something. At the bottom of one, he finally found what he wanted: a brown paper package with impeccable handwriting written “Wapiti reservation.”  After all, he was right, those photos had earned him a lot of money and he had made a name for himself with them, he had gotten his own permanent studio there in Blackwater. He walked hurriedly back to Isabell, not realizing that she was almost breaking down at his innocent words.

“I was going to go back there to give this as a gift, but my age didn’t allow it. I can barely walk from one corner to the other without getting too tired. Here, my dear, they’re for you. Give my regards to your grumpy native.”

Isabell made a supreme effort to reach out and hold the package. She watched the man return to his establishment and she found herself forced to leave. She was in a kind of trance, trying to control herself. She walked aimlessly. The noise of the city around her seemed so loud that it seemed like it was going to suffocate her. Miss O’Sullivan walked to a secluded spot. She could still hear the city, but in the distance. Isabell let out a shaky sigh and let her eyes fall toward the package in her hand.

She read “Wapiti Reserve” written in ink pen and stared at the words for what seemed like an eternity. Her hands trembled as she undid the ribbon that surrounded the package.  She let the ribbon fall to the floor and slowly unfolded the paper. Isabell was afraid, it had been years since she had known what it was to be afraid of something and she was fully aware that she was not prepared to see that, perhaps she never would be.

Phoenix watched the whole scene, he stood up from where he was sitting when he saw Isabell become static, what could that old man have said to her to make her stay like that, he was ready to go there. But the man came back, placed something in her hand and left. Phoenix saw that she regained control and walked absentmindedly out of the streets, heading to the right of the Blackwater bank where there was no flow of people. Phoenix's feet moved automatically towards it, as if her gravity was pulling him.

Isabell also didn't care when the wind took the wrapping paper from her hands. The first photo she saw already stole her reason. It was Rains Fall near her tent. Isabell felt as if her mind was a puzzle where someone had finally found the missing pieces. She felt as if what she had experienced was not real, that the reserve and everything she had experienced there was a work of her imagination. Seeing Rains Fall in that photo proved to her that she was not crazy, that everything was real, just as the pain of loss and longing was very real inside her.

With trembling fingers, she picked up the photo and removed it to develop the next one, another missing piece was put into place, she saw the curious natives huddled in that photo, another pang in her heart. She placed the photo of Rains Fall behind the others to remove the photo of the natives and develop the next photo. What came next was her true undoing, her eyes burned instantly and everything she had held back for all those years broke her barrier. Isabell covered her mouth, her lips trembling with the tears that threatened to come.

She could hardly believe what she was seeing, the small rectangular paper in her hand frozen in a moment of her life. Isabell and Eagle Flies were staring at each other in the photograph. The fresh and painful memory came to Isabell's mind. It was the first time he had touched her, he reached his hand down to her waist and pulled her closer to him. She remembered how her entire body shivered at that.  It was too much for her, tears came out of her eyes in cascades, she took her trembling thumb where Eagle Flies was and caressed it there, her heart almost breaking with the pain of grief, unable to accept that he was no longer there, the most she would have of him would be his image frozen on a sheet of paper forever. Miss O’Sullivan let the tears come, she slid the photo to the side and could see the next one, it was also him beside her, and she wanted to cry more.

Phoenix tensed up when he saw Isabell like that, and heard a small sob come from her while her back was to him. What the hell had that old man done to make her like that? Phoenix took another step closer to her, raised his hand and stopped immediately, he was undecided whether to touch her. He decided to take a chance and placed his hand on her back and stood next to her. Isabell turned her face to see who it was and seemed to collapse even more when she saw Phoenix there, he was the only pillar of support in the midst of darkness and pain, so she hugged him without warning, letting herself be overcome by tears once and for all.

It was Phoenix's turn to freeze, she was touching him again, he was not at all used to someone seeking contact with him, much less in that way. He was seeing Isabell in the most vulnerable way she could ever be. He was not one to feel compassion for anyone, not even for her in that way, but he realized that she was still a fragile woman who had lost everything she had, just like him. He had been in that place before and expressed all the pain in a different way than she did.  Slowly he put his other hand around her and allowed himself to hold her, the more she cried, the tighter his fingers became on Isabell's back, he was feeling her pain. It seemed to mix with his like poison mixes with blood in a bite from a venomous animal.

Isabell was slowly calming down, she seemed to finally wake up from that trance, only then did she realize she had invaded Phoenix's space, she made a movement and the firm arms that were around her let go of her and Isabell pulled away from him.

"I'm sorry, I...", her voice trailed off, she didn't know how to explain it to him. She was still very shaken. She had been trying so hard to keep this from happening for so long that it all came out at once, years of tears and repressed pain. Still there was no relief, nothing she did would bring Eagle Flies and her life on the reservation back.

"Don't worry", Phoenix replied, that didn't bother him, in fact it had shaken him inside, but he wouldn't tell her that.

He couldn't let her leave like that, and the idea of ​​running away from there was so tempting that he started to do it too. Phoenix had still been thinking about it until a few minutes ago, but now he had made up his mind. He sighed and made the gesture that was starting to become habitual; he extended his hand to Isabell.

Isabell looked at his hand, her mind so disturbed that it took her a while to think, she raised her hand and placed it on his, with wet eyes, she stared at the man in front of her.

“Let’s get out of here”, Phoenix murmured.

Isabella’s eyebrows furrowed in doubt.

“Where to?”, she said.

“Mexico”, Phoenix replied. He tugged her hand subtly, releasing it when Isabell began to move by her side.

Miss O’Sullivan held the photos tightly in her hand, clinging to her only way of seeing Eagle Flies again and her world intact beyond her own memories. She didn’t have the courage to look at the photos again, she knew she would fall again if she did. Isabell went into the hotel to get her things. She just grabbed her bag from the room and left. She went to the stable accompanied by Phoenix who was leading his own horse. Miss O’Sullivan exchanged brief words with the owner who brought the rented horse to her again.

Isabella and Phoenix left Blackwater towards MacFarlane's Ranch, the closest train station to Mexico. They rode slowly there in silence, each one trapped in their own abyss.

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Phoenix (Dark Hawk) Wilder - Written by: TNTBlackCat

Phoenix lingered by the flickering flames, watching as Isabell rode off into the horizon. Her silhouette gradually shrinking into a mere speck until she vanished from view. Her voice echoed in his mind. Trust. Such an alien concept to him. He couldn't honestly claim to trust anyone in this vast world. In the distant past, he had placed his trust in others, but it had only led to devastation. The idea of trust felt almost unattainable to him.

How could she place her trust in him? He hadn't done anything to earn it. In fact, he had most definitely done the complete opposite. Sure, he brought her to Mr. Flores when she fainted, but everything that followed felt like the actions of an aggressor. The kiss in the alley, the way he trailed her and kept an eye on her. Had she thought that his presence was merely coincidental? No, he made it a priority to be near her.

He couldn't resist it. He had reminded himself to cease following her multiple times. He even tried to engage in other activities to keep his distance, yet she was undeniably a magnet, drawing him closer. Regardless of how much he attempted to disregard that attraction, he was perpetually pulled back. There was something about Miss Isabell O’Sullivan that drove him wild. Maybe it was moments like this, when she expressed her trust in him, that made him feel so connected.

He placed the knife and sharpener aside. He gazed at the fire, which was beginning to dwindle once more. How long had it been since he found himself here, lost in thoughts of Isabell? It seemed as though she had just departed, yet the sun had climbed higher in the sky, signaling that several hours had slipped by. He observed the shadows cast on the ground and pondered the possibility that he might never see her again. If she traveled to Mexico, she would be out of sight, beyond his reach. He wasn't certain he was ready to let go just yet.

He battled with his inner demons for a bit longer. He unleashed the dreaded "what if" phrase as if it were a weapon. What if she left and he never saw her again? What if she felt some kind of connection to him? What if her trust in him signified something deeper? The questions swirled in his mind like the frantic rhythm of a battle hymn. He couldn’t quiet them. They grew louder with each passing moment. He shouted, "Stop!!" and kicked over a crate nearby. But they wouldn’t cease. Not until he laid eyes on her again.

He whistled for Chindi, who promptly responded. He planned to return to Blackwater to find out where she was. If he could just catch a glimpse of her, these voices would be satisfied and allow him some peace. He needed to see her as desperately as he needed water when parched or food when famished. He nudged Chindi's sides, signaling him to go. And Phoenix didn't merely walk; he pushed the horse into a full gallop. The urgency to locate the beautiful red-haired woman was vital.

She was easy to locate. Her hair shone like a lighthouse in the dark. He had never encountered another woman with such a unique hair color. When he found her, she was at the hotel. He waited quietly for her to exit. Dismounting Chindi, he positioned himself beside the wall of the nearby blacksmith as she stepped out of the hotel holding a book. He leaned out to observe her, making sure she wouldn’t see him. She walked to the park, settled on the grass, and began to read her book. She appeared serene and just watching her brought him a sense of calm. He felt an urge to discover what she did in his absence. His curiosity had been sparked. Who exactly was Isabell O’Sullivan?

After some time, he noticed her close the book and rise to her feet. She made her way towards the storefronts, admiring the displays as she walked by. He trailed behind her, keeping himself hidden yet always within sight to observe her. Unbeknownst to her, he was shadowing her movements. Eventually, she halted, staring into the window of a studio labeled Benjamin Lockhart. Photographer. His curiosity was piqued; what could be so captivating that it held her attention so firmly? She appeared to be in a trance, completely still and unblinking.

Phoenix moved in a bit closer, pressing against the building to try and catch a glimpse of what had captured her attention. Just then, a man appeared and started talking to her. He felt a knot form in his stomach, his fists tightened, and his shoulders ached from the strain as he watched the duo. What was this man telling her? He felt uneasy about how close he was to her, presenting her with gifts? A photograph? Isabell appeared unfazed by the offering. He could have sworn he heard her let out a soft whimper.

Her entire body tensed, and he realized that whatever was occurring was not in her favor. His protective instincts kicked in. He was determined to ensure that man faced consequences for whatever he had done to Isabell, but that would have to be postponed. She was moving again. He trailed her down the street, acting on impulse, having stopped hiding. He was fully in protective mode now, relying solely on instinct. At this moment, he didn't care if she noticed him.

He saw her halt just before reaching the Blackwater Bank and take out some photographs from an envelope. Her head lowered, and he noticed her shoulders shake. Was she in tears? He stepped closer, and indeed, she was crying. He leaned over her shoulder to see what garnered her interest. It was a photo of a native man standing alongside her. Phoenix recognized the man immediately. Although it had been many years since Phoenix last encountered him, it was unmistakably Eagle Flies, the son of Chief Rains Fall. A feeling that surpassed mere hatred began to swell within him. Eagle Flies, for lack of a better term, was Phoenix's competitor. They shared many similarities, as noted by the members of their clans. Both were stubborn, strong, and handsome. Even though they didn't spend a lot of time together, with their clans only gathering a few times each year to camp while hunting during the winter months, he viewed Eagle Flies as a rival. It hadn't escaped his notice that he often heard the phrase, "if only you were more like Eagle Flies." Although the competition was frustrating, Phoenix leveraged it to improve himself. What didn't defeat him only made him stronger.

He paused to reflect, was Eagle Flies bonded to Isabell? Could this be the cause of her emotional display filled with tears? What a cruel and ironic twist of fate this would be. Phoenix felt as though the life he currently lived was not the same, but rather another existence, and yet it seemed that no matter how far he fled, the past was always lurking just around the corner.

After the massacre of Phoenix's tribe, he was left in the dark about the fate of Eagle Flies and his clan. Rumors suggested that most had been killed and driven onto a reservation in Ambarino, close to Calumet Ravine, before eventually escaping to Canada. Although he despised Eagle Flies, he shared the same sorrow that Phoenix felt. Their people had been annihilated, their lives and everything they cherished lost. Yet, Eagle Flies still had a glimmer of hope. Phoenix, however, had long since abandoned hope. He had no one to escape with. He found himself isolated in a world that loathed him.

He sensed his anger rising. Perhaps it was a surge of jealousy bubbling up within him. She was weeping over Eagle Flies, and it ignited a feeling of disgust inside him. Just as he felt his hands clench into fists once more, she had wrapped her arms around him, sobbing into his chest. For a moment, he couldn't breathe, as stiff as a board under her embrace. Why was she holding him? He struggled to catch his breath; the hatred vanished almost immediately, replaced by a new emotion, one he could barely identify, one he had only experienced a few times in his life: empathy.

It was an odd sensation that he found unsettling. Yet, its intensity made it difficult to dismiss. In a moment of impulse, he lost himself in the emotion and wrapped his arms around Isabell, pulling her close. He held her firmly as she cried, allowing her tears to soak through his shirt. He felt as if he was sharing in her sorrow. His mind drifted away from the present, fixating on the image of his family lying lifeless before him, the sky filled with fire and smoke. Darkness enveloped his thoughts, pulling him back into the past. It was a perilous place for him to dwell. A realm where his inner demons wielded their greatest strength. A space where they could completely overpower him, leaving him without any control.

"I’m sorry..." he heard her voice. She was no longer in his embrace. She had stepped back, her gaze fixed on the ground, her cheeks flushed from tears and shame. She wiped her tears away but avoided meeting his eyes.

He found himself fully present again, his sight sharpened as the approaching darkness receded. He couldn’t allow her to see how vulnerable this made him. "Don’t worry," he responded, concealing all the emotions that the moment had stirred within him.

He gazed at his shirt, gently brushing the area where her tears had fallen. It felt wet, and he was still reeling from the events that had just unfolded. Maybe she did have faith in him. He felt uncertain about how to navigate this situation. If she truly trusted him, it would imply that greater expectations were now placed upon him. He could no longer afford to let the demons triumph.

He attempted to shift the topic before he began to think about the implications of the situation. "Let’s get out of here," he said to her, his voice clear.

Isabell blinked, wiping away the final tear from her cheek. Her voice was soft as she managed to whisper, "where to?"

"Mexico," he declared. It was evident to him that he wouldn't allow her to go by herself. She required his presence, even if she would never acknowledge it. The idea struck him as ridiculous as well. The concept of needing someone? That felt alien to him, as if it were a truth that simply didn't exist in this world. Yet, he understood that she needed him. It was a sentiment he felt deep inside. She wouldn't articulate it, maintaining a distance just as he did with her. However, their silence spoke volumes. They communicated their thoughts most effectively when they said nothing at all. As long as she needed him, he would remain.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Isabell O'Sullivan- Written by: Carolleto

The train whistle blew loudly, announcing its departure, the squeal of the brakes coming off came soon after and the train slowly began to move. Isabell stared at the landscape through the window, lost in her thoughts, still shaken, she moved her eyes to the photos still in her hand. She gathered the courage to look at the other pictures. Her eyes filled with tears again when she saw the third photo of her with Eagle Flies, she was sitting in the chair with Eagle Flies standing with his whites crossed. Miss O'Sullivan let out a broken sigh when she noticed that the native was half smiling in the photo. It hurt her to the depths of her soul, guilt and regret hitting her, longing was consuming her. Isabell gave up on looking at the rest. She opened her bag and got a new package for the photos and put them away carefully. She dried her tears and turned her attention to the landscape, in which she saw no beauty, only a black and white world, without any meaning. Phoenix was by her side the whole time, watching in silence. He looked down when she decided to look at his photos. Phoenix saw the native next to Isabell. They were very close. He looked closely at the native. He was young and good-looking. He found himself thinking about himself when he was younger and lived in the tribe. She changed the photo, and Phoenix saw the native again. The redhead was sitting down, looking at the camera, and the native seemed very happy there. Phoenix had his fists clenched, an involuntary movement, but it showed how he felt. He was jealous. He couldn't help it. He was always protective and a bit selfish, usually with his things. But he ended up like that when he felt that woman started to gain importance in his life. Then his inner demons got the opening they so longed for. The thought that he would never be that important to her came to him like a flash of lightning. Phoenix looked away from those photos immediately. How could he be important? They had just met, but she was already important to him. Isabell didn't notice Phoenix's internal conflict. He was neutral as he always was. She sighed after a quick glance at him, grateful that he didn't talk much, appreciating and wishing for silence to start the process of putting her interior back together, putting the pieces of herself that had fallen apart back together again. The trip to Mexico was quick for those who were stuck in their own heads. Isabell only got up to leave the train when most of the others had already disembarked, Phoenix waited for her to take the first step to do the same.

“I’m going to get my horse,” Phoenix warned before walking towards the stable car.

Isabell watched him from where he was, people looked as soon as Dark Hawk passed, some even moved out of the way before he was close. Isabell had been to Mexico a few years ago, she looked around and nothing had changed in Casa Madrugada. Miss O’Sullivan walked a little way to the entrance of the town and waited patiently for Phoenix. They walked to the most visible establishment there, it was more of a saloon than anything, but there were rooms for rent. Luckily, there were vacancies, and they were able to rent two rooms.

The afternoon was coming to an end when they arrived. Isabell paid a little extra for a bath. She sank into the warm water and tried to relax. She applied her lavender soap to her body and washed her hair. She felt better after the bath, as if the water had taken away some of her sadness. Isabell reached the railing and noticed Phoenix sitting alone at one of the saloon tables. A few minutes later, he looked up at her. Miss O’Sullivan thought he had had enough of her for the day. She didn’t want to bother him with her eternal sadness for the rest of the night. Isabell waved to Phoenix and left, heading to her rented room.

Phoenix stayed there, left that table aside and went to the bar. He lost count of how many bottles he drank. Even so, his mind wouldn’t stop. His hell was himself. He thought that maybe he should continue, go somewhere else, but if only he could. There was no way he could leave Isabell alone there.  The main reason he left the great plains to go to another country was her, to make sure she was safe. At one point he went to his room and fell asleep quickly, with the light and alert sleep he usually had every day. Before dawn he was already up. He leaned against the railing, waiting for Isabell.

Miss O’Sullivan made her bed, opened the only window in the room and went to put on some clothes more suitable for the hot Mexican weather. She tied some of her hair back. She felt better that morning, she looked towards her bag, she felt like looking at those photos again, but she gave up on the idea, she needed to get used to it, she didn’t want to be desolate again. When she finally left the room, she came face to face with Phoenix.

“Oh, good morning, Dark Hawk,” she said politely.

Phoenix waved in response. He was starting to get used to his name coming from her lips. Phoenix noticed that she was different that morning again. Her hair was mostly loose again, he wondered what it would be like to be able to touch it, his own mind gave him an immediate answer, she would move away from him. He tried to get rid of those intrusive thoughts, he was already thinking about too many other things.

Isabell walked to the balcony of the place, enjoying the view of the large, peculiarly shaped rock called Mesa de la Luna. The morning sun was pleasant at that time, a cool breeze caressed Isabell's pale skin. It was good to be in a different, unknown place, where she could watch people go about their lives. Phoenix stood next to her, his back to the open landscape, he lit a cigarette and began to smoke.

The following days were the same, they spent some time there, in constant silence, broken by a few exchanges of words. Isabell felt herself slowly stabilizing, but she still didn't have the courage to take those photos.

On a day that seemed warmer than usual, Isabell was leaning on the bar of the saloon, the bartender broke some ice from the large block that was melting quickly to put in Isabell's drink. The people around were chatting animatedly, and someone was playing a warm melody on the piano, suddenly the sound stopped.  The people dispersed and filed out of the bar, except for Miss O’Sullivan. Isabell heard the sound of footsteps, a figure standing beside her with a sombrero hanging around his neck by a thin rope.

Phoenix had moved away from Isabell to water his horse. While he waited for the animal to drink from the bucket, he saw the commotion of people leaving the bar. He looked for Isabell's vibrant and unmistakable hair among the people, but he didn't see her there. He left the bucket on the floor and walked quickly towards her.

The man of Mexican origin was feared in the region, always looking for trouble. The bartender was about to tremble to the tips of his mustache at the man's presence at that moment. The Mexican looked Isabell up and down, impressed that she remained there indifferent to his presence. He saw that the redhead had a pleasant appearance and leaned close to her.

"What is a pretty girl like you doing alone in this bar?"

Isabell turned her face slightly towards him.

“Stay away from me and I’m not alone,” Isabell replied, turning her face away. She looked back at her glass.

At that exact moment, before the troublemaking Mexican could complain about Isabell’s audacity, Phoenix silently approached him. The man noticed the shadow behind him and turned around, ready to fight whoever it was. He had to look up at Phoenix with his imposing presence. The Mexican looked at Phoenix’s scars, his expression changing from water to wine. He had long heard about a man marked with scars caused by fire who caused terror in men in America. The Mexican walked away with a frown, intimidated by Phoenix.

“You’re all crazy, and you’re even more so, miss, for answering that executioner like that,” the bartender opened his mouth as soon as the man left.

Isabell shrugged, downed the liquid in one go, and slammed the empty glass on the table. 

“The demons that roam this earth don’t scare me, the ones that live in my head are much worse,” she replied, leaving.

Phoenix listened carefully to those words and watched Isabell climb the stairs to go to her room, he realized that Isabell lived just like him, nothing in that world could scare him, he had already lived a terror that no one could save him from witnessing and now he was part of it, he became that terror himself to survive.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Phoenix (Dark Hawk) Wilder - Written by: TNTBlackCat

Phoenix settled at a table in the back after Isabell had vanished. He planned to enjoy a few more drinks before possibly heading to his room. His thoughts were swirling with everything that had transpired over the past few days. It felt almost unreal that he was here, alongside Isabell. She had completely changed the course of his life; it was odd how much he had sacrificed for her. He was uncertain if she even desired his presence. One moment, it seemed she did, like when she embraced him before they boarded the train, but then she became so engrossed in her photographs during the journey that she barely spoke to him since.

He reached for another sip of his beer only to find the bottle was empty. How long had he been clutching that empty beer without a second thought? He craved more. His mind was still too noisy. He ordered a few more and brought them back to his table, arranging them in a neat row before picking each one up individually, consuming them in the sequence he had set. The buzz began to envelop his mind, and his inner demons appeared to fade away with each drink.

He rose to his feet, resolved to explore the town briefly before checking on Isabell once again. He sparked a cigarette and strolled out the door, making his way around the side of the building. He positioned himself beneath a veranda that ran along the side of the structure. The area was dimly lit, just the way he preferred it. Here, he could find solitude while he collected his thoughts.

For a brief moment, there was silence until he heard loud voices approaching from around the corner. It resembled the boisterous laughter of intoxicated men. As they turned the corner, Phoenix instantly identified one of them—the man who had flirted with Isabell at the bar earlier. The man spotted Phoenix too, and now, emboldened by his two companions, he walked over to Phoenix. His face was flushed and glowing with amusement.

"So, amigo, what was the price for that pretty girl you were with?" he inquired, his accent heavy, giving Phoenix a moment to comprehend his words.

Phoenix remained silent, taking another drag from his cigarette as he attempted to disregard the bothersome man and his two companions.

" I know you paid for her, no chica that sweet would ever be with someone as ugly as you," the man taunted, his tone provoking Phoenix further. " I want to buy her for the night." He chuckled, and the men accompanying him joined in, following his lead with laughter. "You don’t mind, do you, amigo?" He aimed to instill fear in Phoenix, clearly enjoying his own bravado. The trio found amusement at Phoenix’s cost. "Just imagine what I could do with her."

Phoenix suddenly experienced the all-too-familiar surge of heat coursing through his veins whenever he got angry. His heart pounded in his chest with such intensity that it felt as if it might burst. The laughter of the trio echoed in his ears. Instinct took control as darkness enveloped him. Without a moment's hesitation, he drew his revolver from the holster and fired a single shot.

The man staggered back, his face twisted in disbelief as he glanced down to see the blood starting to flow, saturating his shirt. He reached down to touch the blood, as if to confirm its reality, then looked up one final time before collapsing backwards, landing in a disturbingly unnatural position in death.

Phoenix twirled his revolver several times before placing it back in his holster. He approached the lifeless body, tossed his cigarette onto it, and remarked, "I do mind." Shifting his attention to the men who were now leaderless, he noticed their eyes brimming with terror. Phoenix fixed them with a fierce glare, a low growl resonating from deep within him, causing the men to step back in fear.

"He is the devil!" one of them shouted in their native tongue.

Phoenix couldn't comprehend the words, yet he was all too familiar with fear. He had witnessed it repeatedly and took pleasure in its strength.

Phoenix advanced towards the first man, drawing his knife from its sheath. He raised it as a warning. The man understood what was about to happen. He started to plead, but before he could complete his sentence, Phoenix plunged the blade deep into the man's abdomen. The man collapsed, coughed up blood, and exhaled his final breath. The third man had witnessed enough and turned to flee, shouting something that Phoenix couldn't decipher. Phoenix didn't allow him the luxury of escape. He hurled the knife, which struck the man in the back. The man fell forward instantly and lay still.

The veranda was silent once more, unsettlingly silent. Phoenix approached the motionless man, bent down, and yanked the knife from his back. He sensed a wave of calm washing over him, the darkness dissipating as quickly as it had enveloped him. Taking a deep breath, he surveyed the carnage on the veranda and immediately began to rationalize it in his thoughts. If he hadn't acted, they would undoubtedly have harmed Isabell. He had to take that step. There was no alternative, he repeatedly assured himself.

Phoenix found himself deep in contemplation, gazing at the blood on the knife. In the blade's reflection, he caught sight of his own face and frowned. He was a monster, and there was no denying it. He had just taken the lives of three men without remorse. He had transformed into a mere shadow of the person he once was, unsure of how to be anything different.

He wiped the blood from the blade and placed it back in the sheath. A sense of corruption lingered within him, both mentally and physically, prompting him to think about cleansing the guilt and blood away with a bath. He entered the hotel and tossed a handful of coins to the man at the front desk. The man accepted the coins and reached under the counter to pull out a key, stating, "The bathroom is on the second floor to the left, sénior." Phoenix acknowledged him with a nod, but the man avoided his gaze. This was nothing unusual. Most people were too intimidated to meet his eyes. And rightly so, Phoenix reflected.

He removed his clothing and eased himself into the bath that had been set up for him. He wasn't accustomed to such indulgences. The baths he typically enjoyed were in lakes, rivers, or streams. And on occasions when those weren't accessible, he would wash in troughs. The water was lukewarm at best, yet it was warmer than what he usually encountered. He settled in, allowing the water to relieve his tired muscles. Was it the passage of time that had brought him to this state, or was it the countless nights of sleeplessness that had pushed his body to an unhealthy limit? He recognized that he hadn’t prioritized his well-being. He had never anticipated living this long. He had expected to be gone long before reaching this age.

He lit a cigarette and reclined, his figure fading into the shadows cast by the lamp's glow. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, allowing himself to unwind from the terrors of earlier. He didn’t truly feel remorse for his actions. He had mastered the art of justifying his dreadful acts, yet he found himself contemplating on what Isabell would think of him if she were aware of his past. Why did her opinion matter to him?

A gentle knock on the door broke his concentration. A petite woman, dressed rather minimally, stepped into the room. Her hair was unkempt, and she appeared weary. " Hola sénior I am here for your deluxe bath." She started to approach the tub when Phoenix interjected, "No thank you." The woman stopped suddenly, looking puzzled and slightly anxious, "But why? Am I not to your liking, sénior?" Her tone seemed rehearsed to Phoenix, as if she had delivered this line countless times in hopes of earning extra tips. "I assure you, you really don’t want to give me a happy ending," Phoenix replied bluntly, taking a drag from his cigarette, exhaling, and leaning into the smoke and light. As the smoke dissipated, the light flickered across his face, highlighting his blind eye and scars. The woman gasped in shock, then attempted to regain her composure but found herself at a loss for words.

"Leave, now," Phoenix insisted. He didn’t need to elaborate; she was eager to go. She dashed towards the door, almost stumbling, and burst out, slamming it shut behind her. Phoenix envisioned her crying all the way down the corridor. This was the way women responded to him. Any woman who allowed him between her legs was seasoned and well-compensated. It had always been this way; his body was a scarred testament to every challenge he had faced, and instead of being a symbol of his resilience, they found it repulsive.

He let out a sigh, completed his bath, and rose to his feet. Water cascaded off his body as he stepped out of the tub, forming a small pool at his feet. He tossed his clothes into the tub and did his best to rinse them. It had been quite a while since he had the chance to clean them properly. As he submerged the shirt in the water, he noticed its worn and tattered condition. His wardrobe was limited; he had this outfit he was washing—pants, a shirt, a vest, and a coat—along with one extra shirt and a warmer coat for the colder days. A frown crossed his face as he pondered how he must have looked to Isabell, who always seemed to wear well-maintained clothes.

He removed the clothes from the tub and wrung them out until no more water dripped from them as he squeezed. He placed them aside and put on a basic pair of linen drawers. He secured the waistband snugly and collected his damp clothes and boots. Although he was mostly bare and it would be considered inappropriate to walk around like that, he felt indifferent. If others didn't want to see him, that was their choice, they could look away.

He made his way barefoot to Isabell’s door as he returned to his room. He listened carefully. There was complete silence. She must have already fallen asleep; it was quite late. While he stood there, a man approached down the hall, initially glaring at him but then, upon noticing the scars that marked not only his face but his entire body, his expression changed. The man appeared either scared or perhaps curious. He swiftly averted his gaze and avoided making eye contact with Phoenix as he walked by.

Phoenix glanced down at his chest for a brief moment, pondering how Isabell might react if she opened the door to find him standing there half naked. While she might not be repulsed by his blind eye or the scars marring his face, he was certain she would be appalled by the rest of him. Although he was fit and muscular, traits that many would deem attractive, the scars seemed to overshadow that allure, tainting it with their grotesque presence. He instinctively raised the clothes against his chest, trying to shield himself from view. For the first time, he felt a wave of shame wash over him regarding his appearance. He worried that Isabell would see him as ugly, and for some inexplicable reason, that thought troubled him.

He pushed the thought aside, attempting to quiet the ongoing struggle in his mind regarding the strange emotions he felt for Isabell. Content that she was peacefully asleep and secure, he quietly walked down the hall to his room. With several hours still remaining until dawn, he hoped for a chance to rest.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Phoenix (Dark Hawk) Wilder - Written by: TNTBlackCat

Phoenix stood outside Isabell's room that morning. When Isabell opened the door, she let out a surprised squeak at the sight of his tall figure filling the doorway. Regaining her composure swiftly, she greeted him with, "Good morning, Dark Hawk."

Phoenix felt the beginnings of a smile try to spread across his face; he was becoming accustomed to her saying this to him. He moved aside as she entered the hall. "I’m going to get some breakfast; do you want something to eat?"

Isabell thought about it; her hunger was evident as her stomach growled. She nodded at him and said, “I am indeed.”

Phoenix reached out his hand to her, asking, “Will you have breakfast with me?” Although it was phrased as a question, it felt more like a command. It was a command she found impossible to decline. She grasped his hand, and he started leading her down the hall, only letting go when he sensed her feet matching his pace behind him.

They made their way to the bar and settled into a seat by the window that Isabell had chosen. She enjoyed the view outside while she dined. They both ordered coffee, and when it arrived shortly after at their table, Phoenix quickly pulled out a flask from his vest pocket and began to pour a generous amount into his coffee. Isabell frowned at him, curious if he always drank this much or if it was just for this occasion. He seemed quite uncomfortable, shifting in his seat and glancing around as if he were anticipating something unpleasant. He appeared very out of place in the bar, which she found somewhat ironic and almost made her smile.

She observed him over the rim of her coffee cup. After taking a sip, she remarked, "You seem uneasy."

Phoenix locked eyes with her. "Oh? Well, I am," he replied. He adjusted himself in his chair once more and took a big gulp of his coffee, almost choking on it. He had overfilled the tiny mug with liquor and the stinging taste of it triggered a gag reflex when mixed with the coffee. To hide his cough, he turned his head away from her.

She appeared concerned, "Would you like to leave?"

"No," he replied a bit too hastily. He raised a finger to quiet her, finished the last sip of his coffee, and then gestured to the small woman who had served them. He cleared his throat and, in a rough voice, requested, "more," and she promptly went to get more coffee.

Isabell watched him, shocked by his behavior. He was different, she had known this from the moment she laid eyes on him. She was not sure she would ever understand him. She went back to focusing on her coffee, mixing a small cube of sugar into the cup.

"Today, I plan to go and explore the area." Phoenix remarked, his eyes locked onto her face.

Isabell raised her gaze to meet his. "Is that so? The Mesa de la Luna is stunning at sunset."

"Would you like to join me?" he asked impulsively.

She appeared taken aback yet curious. "Yes, I would like to. But if it's alright, I would prefer to change before we head out."

Phoenix nodded in agreement but remained silent.

After finishing their meal, Phoenix walked outside with her, heading toward her room. Isabell was busy thinking about her outfit and what to bring for the day when she noticed a small commotion near the bar. The loud voices of men drew her attention, and as she turned to investigate, she saw them pulling several bodies from the area between the building and the natural rock wall. She instantly recognized one of the men—the same one from the bar who had caused them trouble on their first night here.

She felt her stomach clench as she observed his lifeless body being carried away alongside two others. The impact of the realization struck her deeply as she had been focused on the bodies and then noticed Phoenix lighting a cigarette from the edge of her vision. He appeared indifferent to the situation, as if he had already anticipated what was happening. Instinctively, she grasped his arm and tugged it. He glanced down, momentarily taken aback, but then followed her as she headed towards the corner of the building where no one else was present.

"Did you take the lives of those men?" she asked without hesitating.

He glanced down at her expression. Her face was flushed, and her brows were knitted together. Was she angry with him for what he had done, or was she upset that she hadn't been able to do it herself? He inhaled from his cigarette and replied flatly, "Yes."

Her face grew even redder, "Why?"

Why was she posing such foolish questions? Surely, she understood the reason. "Because he made a pass at you...."

"Listen, if we are going to be friends, there are certain behaviors that are not acceptable." Her voice trembled with anger.

Phoenix was stunned. Who did she believe she was to speak to him in this manner? "Are you trying to dictate what I can and cannot do?" he inquired, his tone filled with venom.

"Yes," she replied without hesitation, but then reconsidered, "I mean, no..."

Phoenix finished the last puff of his cigarette and flicked it to the ground. He stepped closer, trapping her against the wall with his body, "So, is it a yes or a no, Isabell?" he insisted.

She lifted her chin assertively and met his gaze. "Yes, I am. I refuse to let you harm anyone because of me."

He felt his body tense; was it shock or anger that triggered this response? No one had ever told him what to do because absolutely no one had the courage to do so. So why was it that this petite red-headed woman found the bravery or audacity to do just that, while grown men twice her size lacked the fortitude? He was so furious with her that he almost growled, and perhaps he did let out a low sound because she stepped back slightly but did not look away. She kept her gaze fixed on his, demonstrating her bravery.

“I am serious,” she insisted.

Phoenix maintained her gaze a bit longer, hoping she would relent, but she didn’t. She looked at him, her face tense with anger. He understood that there was no point in trying to argue with her. If he was going to take the actions he deemed necessary, he would need to handle it more discreetly in the future so that she wouldn’t have to be concerned about it.

He digressed, took a step back from her, and gestured with his arm, inviting her to go ahead. She complied, casting him one final look of disdain as she walked past. "Please give me an hour," she requested, her tone still laced with anger despite the politeness of her words.

Phoenix watched her ascend the stairs to her room, and he could feel his body remaining tense. She was exasperating. His thoughts were swirling with the events that had just unfolded. He was uncertain whether to feel flattered or frustrated by her clear concern. Was this a typical behavior for women? He had to confess that he didn’t know much about them. He never really took the time to learn. Women and he didn’t quite mix, much like fire and lamp oil. His encounters with them were mostly limited to occasional meetings to fulfill a need, which left little room for meaningful conversation. Beyond that, all his other interactions with women were merely distant memories he preferred not to dwell on.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Phoenix (Dark Hawk) Wilder - Written by: TNTBlackCat

Phoenix made his way to the stable where Chindi was staying. Although he disliked confining Chindi, he felt it was necessary to prevent the horse from wandering off in an unfamiliar area where he might not find his way back. He caressed the horse’s neck and guided him out of the stable. Finding a place in front of the stairs leading to Isabell’s room, he settled down to wait. While they waited, he offered the horse a rice cake and spoke softly to him.

Isabell came out of her room a little while later and made her way down the stairs. She gently touched Chindi’s nose, and he responded with a whinny of welcome. She had a small bag in her hands, which Phoenix kindly offered to carry for her. She gratefully accepted and handed him the bag.

“I need to check if I can rent a horse for the day,” Isabell said.

“There’s no need for that,” Phoenix answered, as he leaped onto Chindi’s back and extended his hand towards her. “You can ride with me.”

Isabell first glanced at his outstretched hand before looking at him. He was patiently waiting for her to take it. She noticed that he had chosen to forgo a saddle, instead covering Chindi’s back with furs and a blanket to ensure comfort for both of them. It was clear he had intended for her to ride with him. She felt uncertain whether to feel flattered by this gesture, considering he had taken into account that she didn’t have a horse of her own.

Yet, she was overwhelmed by a surge of anxiety. The thought of being in such close proximity to him for an indefinite amount of time, which she considered intimate, made her feel uncomfortable. Perhaps he didn’t see it the same way she did. Maybe she was overanalyzing the situation in comparison to his perspective. Why was she even thinking about such intimacy with him? And what was it about this that stirred these emotions? He was just her friend, she kept reminding herself. There was nothing more to it, there simply couldn’t be.

She took his hand, and he effortlessly lifted her as if she were weightless. For a brief moment, she was in awe of his strength as she felt herself glide through the air and land on the horse's back. She settled in behind Phoenix, observing that he seemed different today. Typically, he carried the scents of leather, smoke, and whiskey, but today, although he still had his usual fragrance, she noticed that his hair was neatly combed and arranged, his beard was trimmed, and he smelled fresh like soap. She also realized he was wearing what looked like new clothes. When had he found the time to visit a tailor, she pondered to herself.

He looked great in his new outfit. The fit was just right for him. His shirt accentuated his shoulders, highlighting their broadness and strength. He had on a leather vest that seemed a bit worn, which she had suspected he had owned for some time. However, what truly captured her attention was the necklace around his neck. It looked native, crafted from boar tusk and embellished with beads. It rested against his throat like a bowtie would. This was the first time she had ever seen him wear it. Typically, he preferred to leave his shirt collar open and wore looser clothing. She found herself admiring him, and it took her by surprise.

Phoenix urged Chindi forward by pressing on the horse's sides, prompting it to lurch ahead at his command. For a fleeting moment, Phoenix felt Isabell's arms wrap around his waist, keeping her from falling backward. The warmth of her touch sent a surge of tension coursing through him. He struggled to ignore the emotions her contact stirred within him. Even though he tried to set it aside, the feelings remained stubbornly in his mind. That night in Blackwater stood out vividly, particularly the kiss they shared, which seemed to change his entire perspective on his life.

The road out of town was taken at a relaxed pace, savoring the scenery along the way. They spent most of the time in silence, a state they had grown used to. Phoenix turned his head slightly, hoping to catch a glimpse of Isabell. She was gazing around as if absorbing everything. "Have you been here before?" he inquired.

She nodded and answered, "Yes."

Phoenix made a thoughtful sound. "Is there anyone who misses you, Isabell? Family?"

She remained silent.

"Mr. Flores?" he pressed further.

"He is not family, at least not by blood," she eventually responded.

Phoenix attempted once more to engage in conversation; she appeared particularly withdrawn today. Maybe she was still upset with him regarding the men he had slain. "How did you come to know Mr. Flores?"

"His wagon was under attack, and I stepped in to defend it."

Phoenix emitted a faint sound that might have been mistaken for a gasp. Isabell heard it, "You seem surprised."

He let out a small chuckle, "A bit." And he truly meant that. He had discovered that Isabell was a perpetual source of surprises. There were moments when he thought she couldn't possibly astonish him further, yet she always managed to.

"After that, he started hiring me for various odd jobs, which gradually increased. I would join the wagon runs to safeguard the cargo, and I frequently assisted in the warehouse. He's not exactly a young man anymore," she clarified. "It was decent and honest work, and I made enough to get by from it." She took a moment before inquiring, "What about you? Are you employed?"

Phoenix found that to be a peculiar question. For her, it seemed like something one might ask in a drawing room while sipping tea. However, in his world, where survival was paramount, the notion of a career was hardly a topic of conversation. He was a bandit, earning his living through theft and violence. Occasionally, he would collect a bounty if he felt restless and craved a challenge. But a traditional job? It astonished him how naive she could be at times. She still failed to grasp that he was not a gentleman; he was an outlaw.

"There is nothing decent nor honest about me, Isabell," he finally said.

She remained silent in response to that.

They arrived at the Mesa de la Luna in good time. The sun was positioned high in the sky. Phoenix turned the horse around to provide Isabell with a view from every angle, then located a spot where the rock offered them some shade. He assisted her in dismounting and took off the blankets from the horse. He laid them on the ground against the rock, creating a makeshift seat for their comfort. He picked up her bag along with his own and carried them to where she was situated. She was already settling down on the blankets to unwind. He handed her the bag and then took a seat beside her.

"Are you feeling hungry? Or perhaps thirsty?" he inquired, as he opened the leather bag he was carrying, looking at her expectantly for an answer.

She appeared curious. He had prepared for everything. "What do you have in there?"

He rummaged through the contents, shifting items around as he searched, "I have rice cakes, some dried meat, and chocolate. I’m not fond of chocolate; it’s too sweet for my taste, but I brought it for you." He retrieved the chocolate and offered it to her.

She graciously accepted the gift. "Oh, thank you," she responded.

He then retrieved the flask from his vest and extended it towards her. She scrunched her nose at the odor. It was potent. It caused her nose to tingle. "No, thank you. I have a canteen with some water." She tapped her hand on her bag to indicate where it was.

He removed the flask and took a generous gulp of the liquid. After a slight cough, he capped it again and tucked it back into his vest. He then retrieved a piece of meat, chewing it absentmindedly, while she delicately unwrapped the chocolate and enjoyed a taste of its sweetness.

Once she was satisfied, she took out a small journal and a pencil from her bag. Opening it, she began to sketch the scenery around her. Phoenix observed her as she doodled on the pad, appearing intrigued by her artistry, yet he remained silent. She kept drawing, depicting an eagle gliding above the cacti and the rock formations she had illustrated. In the eagle's talons, she illustrated it clutching a native dance stick, beautifully decorated with beads and feathers. At the top of the page, she wrote the name Eagle Flies above the majestic eagle. She let out a sigh, taking a moment to appreciate her creation.

Phoenix’s voice broke into her reverie. "How long did you stay on the reservation?"

She glanced up from her journal, slightly disoriented, "oh.." her words faded a bit, "just over a year."

"The reservation, Mexico, Blackwater, and Rhodes. Is there anywhere you consider home?" Phoenix inquired.

She pondered this for a moment. "The reservation felt like home."

Phoenix paused for a moment, lost in thought. He remembered her expressing her fondness for the reservation during their time in Blackwater. That night, she had confided in him about her experiences there. While her accounts were somewhat vague, as if she were holding back certain details, he understood that her time spent there held great significance for her.

He looked down at her artwork. Eagle Flies. A wave of jealousy surged through him, searing him from within. He was unaware of the man's worth to her, but he wasn't naive; he understood that Eagle Flies was important to her. He couldn't restrain his curiosity. He yearned to learn more but needed to tread carefully in his inquiries, as she was quite secretive about it. "I knew him," he started.

Isabell gazed at him, her eyes brimming with confusion. "Knew who?"

Phoenix gestured towards her page. "Eagle Flies."

Her face tensed, and her eyes grew wide with disbelief. "You can read?" she exclaimed.

"Of course I can read," he replied, his tone emotionless.

She swiftly shut the journal, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She remained silent in front of him. Her thoughts drifted away in an instant. Phoenix realized he had to stop his musings about Eagle Flies and decided to shift the conversation. He had come to understand her emotional states regarding demons. Her face went expressionless, and he was acutely aware that when this happened it was a precarious situation for her to be in.

He searched through the leather bag, acquiring her gaze. She watched him pull out a book from the bottom. "Here," he said, offering her the book. She took it and examined it in her hands. It was quite worn, the bindings fraying from frequent use. "Moby Dick?" she echoed, glancing at the title on the cover.

Phoenix nodded. "I’ve owned this book for more than 20 years," he began. "It was the very first book I ever read.”

She remained silent as she listened, her gaze still wandering over the book's cover.

"When I first started learning the language of the white man, this book was my guide to reading, writing, and speaking it," he confessed. He leaned forward and opened the pages, indicating some areas where he had scribbled notes. "Look here?"

She was impressed by the writing he had done, astonished at the quality of his handwriting. She turned more pages, feeling a thrill as she discovered the notes he had jotted down and the passages he had highlighted that indicated a point in the book he found intriguing.

"Have you had a chance to read Moby Dick?" he inquired of her.

"No..." she confessed, her gaze still fixed on the book's pages.

"You really should. It's good." He observed her as she turned the pages, her fingers brushing against the ink in the spots he had written. A wave of pride surged within him. She appreciated the book, and that brought him an unfamiliar joy. "I want you to keep it, Isabell," he finally declared.

She instantly lifted her eyes from the book, "No, Dark Hawk. I can't. It must be very valuable to you."

"You can," he stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for any response other than yes. He had so much more to express; the book was insignificant compared to her growing importance in his life. It felt only right to let her have it.

She gently closed the book and embraced it, holding it close as if it were a cherished friend. "I will take good care of it, I promise," she assured him.

He nearly smiled at her sincerity. "I know."

She glanced back at the book, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. "Do you mind if I read a few chapters now?" she inquired.

Phoenix retrieved the flask from his vest, uncapped it, and took a sip. "Not at all." He took another swig, leaned back against the wall, and observed her as she opened the book to the first page. Her eyes sparkled with amazement, which he found to be very pleasing to him.

He observed her for a time before he succumbed to sleep. The nightmare struck him immediately. Waves of thick smoke stung his eyes. The screams had ceased, and the air was heavy with the scent of death. He sifted through the bodies, looking for his mother. Among a heap of fallen victims, he discovered her, barely alive. He cradled her in his arms, holding her limp form as her tear-filled eyes looked at him in despair. "They’re all dead, mother. Every single one of them..." he said, fighting back his own tears.

She remained still. Her gaze was now vacant and devoid of life. He cradled her motionless form, pleading, "please, don’t leave me. I can’t bear to be alone. I beg you…please, mother." Deep down, he knew she was gone, but he chose to ignore that truth; it was easier than facing the reality. He continued to weep, "they’re all gone..." It felt as if he couldn't breathe, his heart was on the verge of bursting. He swayed gently, clutching his mother's lifeless body, seeking some semblance of solace in the embrace. Pain coursed through him, a burning sensation. He collapsed backward, arms wide open, gazing at the heavens, and cried out, "I don’t want to be alone!" His voice was barely a whisper, weakened by despair. He sobbed again, choking on his own tears. With his eyes shut tight, he pleaded with the spirits to take him away, yet he remained, the agony consuming him. He felt an overwhelming despair settling within him, one that reminded him harshly that he was still alive. This pain signified the very death of his soul, and he knew in that moment it would linger within him for an eternity.

He woke up with a start, trembling and drenched in sweat. Still in a daze, he heard Isabell ask, "Are you alright?" Initially, her voice felt far away, but when she repeated the question, it became clear as if pulling him from his dream. He whispered a breathless, "Yes, I am fine," but realized he had spoken in his native Wapiti tongue, which she wouldn't comprehend. Clearing his throat and sitting up straight, he responded in her language, "Yes Isabell. I am fine."

He gazed at her. Although she seemed skeptical of his words, she refrained from asking further questions. He rose to his feet and said, “We need to leave now.” She nodded in consent. He assisted her in standing up, then gathered all their belongings into the bags and returned the blankets to Chindi. He climbed onto Chindi and then lifted her up to join him on the horse.

They remained silent throughout the journey back to the hotel. Phoenix was still immersed in his dream, while Isabell was absorbed in the weight of what she had just learned. The echo of Phoenix’s voice pleading with his mother not to leave him, the fear in his repeated cries of not wanting to be alone. The agony he kept whispering about as he writhed against it, as if it still tormented him. It tore at her heart. A wave of empathy washed over her for him.

For the first time since she met him, she had uncovered a small fragment of his past, though she could never reveal that to him. Even if it was just a dream, she assumed it was his way of revisiting a memory. The details and feelings felt too real to be anything other than a lived experience. She had always considered that the scars on his body were marks of something horrific, and today she had caught a glimpse of what they might represent. What she imagined made her stomach twist. Yet, in a selfish way, her thoughts kept wandering to Eagle Flies. She would never forget watching him die. Seeing something that that changed her in a way she never could have imagined. It seemed that Phoenix was all too acquainted with that anguish as well. He too had seen someone he cherished brutally murdered and had held them as they took their last breath. Such memories could never be erased. They lingered for eternity, and no matter how desperately one tried to forget, they remained indelibly etched in the mind.

She was overwhelmed by a strong urge to be sick. A wave of memories surged through her. All she desired was some time alone to process her emotions. She wanted to feel her feelings without Phoenix watching her. She yearned to face her pain in solitude. The haunting visions remained in her thoughts, and the happiness she had experienced today had faded, replaced by a profound sadness for both Phoenix and herself.

She felt a wave of relief as the horse came to a halt in front of the hotel. Without waiting for Phoenix to assist her, she jumped off the horse, grabbed the bag from his hand, and hurried up the stairs to her room. Phoenix remained silent behind her, which she was grateful for; she had no desire to justify her actions.

Once she entered her room, she secured the door and took a deep breath. Leaning back against the door, she allowed herself to slide down to the floor, feeling her back glide down the surface as she descended. When her bottom met the floor, she drew her knees up to her chest, holding them tightly. She sat there and wept until she could no longer cry. Her throat hurt, her eyes stung and her brain felt like it was in a fog. She tried to remain still, taking deep breaths in an effort to regain her composure. Silently, she wished for her thoughts to vanish, and when that proved ineffective, she stood up and resolved to grab a drink at the bar.

It was late at night. The sun had gone down and the only illumination coming through her window was from the moon. She stood up, lit a lamp, and took a moment to look in the mirror to fix her hair and rub her eyes. Content with her appearance, she exited the room.

She descended the stairs, glancing back when she heard a sound. A man was slumped against the wall, apparently inebriated. He had let go of his bottle, which was the noise that had caught her attention. The glass broke on the stone floor. As she turned back, she nearly stumbled. Right in her path stood Phoenix. She collided with his chest, unable to stop her momentum.

"Where are you going this late?” Phoenix inquired, gripping her shoulders and pulling her away from his chest.

For a brief moment, she was puzzled and then inquired, "Were you following me?"

"Where are you going, Isabell?" he insisted, his tone cold.

She wriggled free from his grip. "I'm heading to the bar." Although she didn't extend an invitation, she knew he would follow.

As she walked towards the bar, she couldn't hear him trailing behind, yet she knew he followed her. It was truly astonishing how quiet he was for someone of his build. The fact that he donned heeled boots only enhanced the impressiveness of his stealth. She envisioned how lethal he would be lurking beneath the trees in the woods. A story she once heard came to mind, about how if the forest was eerily silent except for the foreboding calls of crows, it meant you were being hunted. She imagined that even the crows, in fear of him would remain silent, failing to reveal Phoenix's presence.

As she stepped into the bar, she was taken aback by the level of noise and activity at such a late hour. Attempting to navigate through the throng, she found it impossible. It felt as though she were invisible while trying to reach the bar. Observing her difficulty, Phoenix gestured for her to take a seat at the only vacant table. Grateful for the suggestion, she settled down and watched as men parted like the Red Sea for Moses, making way for him to order drinks at the bar. She was always struck by how readily people followed his unspoken commands. His presence was a powerful force that everyone acknowledged and dared not oppose.

He returned to the table with 6 bottles of beer in hand. He gave her one and arranged the rest in front of him. She observed in amazement; the man had quite the drinking capacity. As she took her first sip, her sour mood continued to bubble within her. She wished the beer would numb her feelings. She noticed Phoenix pull a deck of cards from his pocket, shuffling them absentmindedly.

"Care for a game?" he inquired, demonstrating his impressive shuffling skills. "I have a reputation for bending the rules occasionally, but I assure you, I won't do that this time." He gave her a wink, and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly.

She shot him a glare. She recognized his attempt at humor, but she wasn't in the mood for it. Yet, she couldn't help but be astounded by how attractive he appeared when he smiled. She mused that if he smiled more often, perhaps people would be less afraid of him.

"No, I do not wish to play cards," she finally responded, her tone laced with more contempt than she had meant to convey.

Phoenix maintained a neutral expression as he observed her take another sip. "How about we play another game? Questions and Commands?" 

She appeared stunned, beginning to formulate her response internally before it escaped her lips, "...commands?" 

"Command? I was actually hoping you'd opt for command. I command you to let me kiss you again." His grin widened to the extent that she could see his teeth, which were surprisingly nice, perfectly straight, no gaps, and impeccably clean. 

"You’re making fun of me, and I’m not fond of it," she replied, her tone laced with bitterness.

His smile dimmed a bit. "How about I grant you a question? You can pose one question, whatever your heart wishes, and I assure you I will respond honestly." A playful glint sparkled in his eyes.

She had a hundred questions she wished to pose to him, yet fear held her back. From the beginning, she knew that Phoenix was like a ticking time bomb. One moment he could be gentle, almost kind, and the next he would erupt into a furious blaze. Although she wasn't scared he would harm her, she feared his unpredictable reactions. Losing his trust was something she dreaded. She couldn't quite grasp why his trust mattered so much to her, but it undeniably did.

She responded, "That seems like a dangerous game, Dark Hawk. No, thank you."

For a brief moment, he appeared disappointed but quickly regained his composure. He forcefully shoved the cards back together and returned them to his pocket. After downing an entire beer in just a few gulps, he slammed the empty bottle onto the table and shot her a fierce glare. "Yeah, it's probably best if we skip the game; I don't play nice when I lose."

She recognized that he was attempting to intimidate her. This was something he often did without realizing it. She suspected it was a form of self-defense. With courage, she responded, "You really put in a lot of effort to keep people afraid of you."

He let out a hmpf sound and chuckled softly. It was a low, throaty noise, rich and resonant. She found herself surprised by it once more, wishing he would smile and laugh more often.

“I don’t need to try, Isabell.” He took another swig of his beer and added, “You can buy the next round if I manage to scare those two painted ladies at the bar without lifting a finger.”

Isabell felt a spark of curiosity. What was he planning? She could never predict his actions. He consistently caught her off guard. He was the most unpredictable person she had ever encountered. A part of her felt a twinge of anticipation about what he might do next. She attempted to dissuade him, “I believe you, there’s no need –“

"Watch," he remarked as he rose to his feet. He took another sip of his beer while still standing, then placed it back down onto the table. With his shoulders squared, he began to stroll leisurely towards the women at the bar, who were deep in conversation with a few patrons. Upon noticing Phoenix, one of the women nudged her friend and gestured towards him as he approached. Isabell noticed them make their excuses to the men with whom they were speaking and then navigate away through the crowd in the opposite direction to evade having to engage with Phoenix.

He glanced back at Isabell, giving her a look that unmistakably conveyed, "I told you so." Then, he turned away and to further emphasize his point, he tipped his hat and courteously said, "good evening" to a man sitting at the bar. The man's eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly averted his gaze to escape Phoenix's sight.

Moments later, Phoenix reached the table, saying, "See, I don’t even have to do anything. I was polite, and still no one wants to be near me." He plopped down heavily in the chair and grabbed another drink, having already consumed three out of five. "So what's the matter with you? Why are you still hanging around?"

She needed to ponder that for a moment. Why was she still present? Why did she feel no fear towards him? What was it about his company that she enjoyed? Maybe she was unusual. Everyone else perceived something in him that she simply couldn't grasp. To her, he was a lost soul, someone worthy of respect and friendship. She recognized a man that no one else acknowledged. Perhaps she was the one who was insane. Maybe he wasn't all the admirable qualities she could perceive in him, and he was right to claim he was terrible and irredeemable. She found it hard to accept that. If that were the case, then she too would be beyond redemption.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Phoenix (Dark Hawk) Wilder - Written by: TNTBlackCat

The next day, they met in the courtyard where the shops resided under a sky scraped raw by the sun. The bar nearby was quiet for once, the usual drunks still nursing last night’s regrets, and Phoenix preferred it that way. Fewer distractions. Fewer things to take his eyes off Isabell.

Isabell walked a few paces ahead of him, her boots clapping against the compacted earth as they headed toward the general store. He watched, admiring the way her red hair caught the light. He knew it drove men wild, and he realized the thought of that drove him mad. He remembered the first time he saw her hair. It was like a beacon in the night.

She hadn’t said a word to him since they left the inn this morning. Yesterday’s conversation still hung in the air between them like a rope left untied, frayed at both ends.

"Listen, if we are going to be friends, there are certain behaviors that are not acceptable," she’d said, eyes sharp as flint. "I refuse to let you harm anyone because of me."

He remained furious about the situation. What authority did she possess to give him orders? He had his justifications, none of which he owed her an explanation for. If he had spared their lives, they would have sought her out. He was convinced of this. Having lived long enough, he understood that men of that nature never let things slide. They would have exploited her to inflict pain on him.

She disappeared inside the store with the faintest glance over her shoulder. Phoenix leaned against the wooden beam outside, struck a match against his boot heel, and lit a cigarette. Smoke curled slow from the corner of his lips, and he exhaled through his nose like a man trying to burn the anger out of his lungs.

He didn’t mean to look through the dusty window, but he did.

There she was, her fingers grazing bolts of fabric, studying a swatch of blue like it held some secret. Phoenix watched for a few heartbeats longer, until another figure entered the frame. Tall, clean-shaven, polished boots and a vest with shiny buttons, a talker, not a fighter. The kind of man who never needed to draw his gun because his smile did the work.

The man leaned in, said something. Isabell seemed interested in what he was saying to her. A little. Maybe too much.

Phoenix straightened. He knew he should turn around, take another drag, let her handle it. But something inside him bucked like a wild stallion, hot and mean. He stepped off the post and walked into the store.

The bell above the door jingled like a warning shot.

The man turned toward the sound, then back to Isabell, his hand resting casually near hers on the counter. Phoenix said nothing at first. Just walked slow, the wood creaking beneath his boots like it was bracing for a storm.

Isabell looked up. “Dark Hawk…”

But he was already there. Standing just behind the man, his eyes fixed like a trigger pulled halfway. The stranger glanced over his shoulder, froze when he met Phoenix’s stare.

“I’d suggest you find another aisle,” Phoenix said low, the heat behind his voice barely contained.

“Didn’t mean any harm,” the man muttered, backing away. “Just chatting, is all.”

Phoenix took a single step forward, and the man nearly tripped over a sack of flour in his hurry to leave. The door swung shut behind him with a bang, the bell shrieking in protest. The silence that followed was colder than ice.

Isabell’s eyes flared with fury. She didn’t say anything, which made things worse. She just stared at him like he’d broken something sacred. "Are you going to want to scare away all of Mexico if he decides to approach me now?" She finally said.

“Yes, if necessary.” Phoenix replied flatly.

Isabell’s mouth fell open in shock, “You are unbelievable He wasn’t touching me. He wasn’t threatening me.”

“Isabell,” Phoenix said, voice rough. “It was the look he was giving you.”

“Do you think I belong to you?” Her voice rose now, each word a hammer. “Is that it?”

Phoenix opened his mouth, but she didn’t let him speak.

“I told you just yesterday,” She began as she stepped forward, jabbing her shoulder into his chest as she pushed by him, making her way towards the door. “You scare people. You hurt people. And I don’t want those reasons to be because of me.”

She turned, heavy-footed, rushing past him through the door. Phoenix followed a step and was stopped suddenly when she turned around, almost colliding into him.

“I need time away from you.” she said, taking a step back.

He stood there, jaw tight, smoke still hanging in the air from the cigarette he never finished, watching her turn and walk away again. He followed her and she must have sensed it because she turned around, her eyes determined, “No, Dark Hawk,” she said more firmly this time. “I need space.”

She stormed away from him, her boots grinding dirt beneath every step. Her fists were clenched and her jaw tight. She didn’t understand it, any of it. Why did he have to be like this? Why did Phoenix have to ruin everything? She had told him not to hurt people in her name. Told him she wasn’t his to fight for. And still, back at the store, when that man so much as looked at her too long, Phoenix nearly had him face-down on the floor. It was like he couldn’t help himself. And now here she was, alone and sick of his damnable stubbornness, beyond the safety of town.

She navigated through the underbrush, allowing the path to disappear beneath her feet. She needed some space, some distance, no…she needed some clarity. He was driving her crazy, and she couldn't pinpoint the source of this overwhelming surge of feelings inside her. As she pondered, meandering aimlessly over a slight rise, the wind changed direction, bringing with it, voices. She crouched down.

Below her, in a shallow basin stood an encampment. Eleven, maybe thirteen men, rough, armed, and too quiet for the usual drifting drifters. Bedrolls, firepit, horses tethered nearby. Something about it felt… wrong. She turned to leave, but a sharp voice rang out behind her.

“Too late for sneakin’, senorita.”

Isabell froze. She turned slowly, saw a man with his rifle already raised. More figures stepped from the brush like wolves, surrounding her.

“Well, I’ll be,” one said, his eyes gleaming. “Ain’t that the scarred man’s girl?”

“Yeah,” another nodded. “I recognize that red hair. Same hair she had when her man gunned down Emil. That was my brother.”

Isabell’s blood ran cold. “I’m not his anything,” she snapped, stepping back, her hand inching toward her revolver. But it was too late. They had her scent now.

“She’s worth more alive than dead,” the first man said, looking her up and down. “We take her. Drag that bastard out into the open.”

Isabel’s fingers found steel. “Not without a fight,” she proclaimed as she drew her revolver.

The first shot rang out clean, catching a man in the arm. He howled and dropped his rifle. The others scattered for cover, cursing, pulling iron. Isabell spun and dove behind a sun-bleached rock, bullets kicking up dirt and heat all around her.

She grit her teeth and fired again. One of the men ducked, another clipped his knee on a stump and went down hard. But there were too many. Gun barrels flashing. Boots pounding. Voices shouting, echoing off stone and dirt. She rolled behind a second boulder as a bullet chipped off a shard inches from her ear. Her heart pounded. The chamber clicked; three bullets left.

“Come on out, senorita,” one of them hollered. “We’ll treat you real nice until your native husband shows his face. Ain’t no use in bleeding for a man who ain’t here.”

Isabell pressed her back to the stone, steadied her hand. “If you want me,” she whispered, “you’ll have to bleed too.”

And with a roar in her chest and fire in her lungs, she raised her revolver again.

Phoenix stood there in the silence of the porch. Behind him, a man cleared his throat and busied himself with a broom. Phoenix didn’t move. He let the space between Isabell and him stretch just long enough to feel like punishment. Then he stepped off the porch and lit another cigarette with a trembling hand. He stared down the road where she'd gone, listening to the blood drum through his ears like hoofbeats. Every part of him screamed to let her go, let her breathe, give her space like she asked. But something else twisted inside him, a gut-deep knowing, like a dog pricking its ears to a sound the world hadn’t caught yet.

He stepped out into the sun, squinting into the heat. Her tracks weren’t hard to follow, those boots of hers made a clean mark in the dust. She’d veered off the main road, cutting across on a back trail toward a pass carved out of rock. The trail wound through a narrow gulch framed by brittle brush and red stone. He passed a broken fence, half a canteen, and the unmistakable scuff of boots dragging through dirt. Then he heard it, gunshots. Not the quick cracks of target practice or warning shots. These were wild, panic shots.

Phoenix crested the ridge and saw them. Isabell was pinned behind a rocky outcrop, revolver in hand. Down the slope, half a dozen men fanned out, closing in like coyotes on a wounded prey.

He didn’t hesitate. He dropped down the slope, revolvers drawn before his boots even hit the dirt. Twelve bullets, that’s all he had with him, six bullets in each of his trusty revolvers. He made the first three count, firing them in a row, each shot dropping a man in the blink of an eye. One caught a bullet clean through the heart before he could turn. Another spun with a curse, falling face-first into the dust. A third tried to draw and took a round straight through the eye.

The others scattered, yelling curses and firing wildly toward him. Isabell ducked lower, eyes wide with something between fury and relief.

Phoenix moved like he was born in the smoke. He rolled behind a rock, fired twice, one man spun out of cover clutching his leg, another crumpled with a hole in his throat. That was five.

The sixth got close, too close, tackling Phoenix with a grunt and slamming his back into the dirt. Fists flew, the gun skittered away. Phoenix caught a punch to the jaw but answered with an elbow to the gut and a knee to the groin. As the man doubled over, Phoenix reached for the knife at his belt and drove it home just beneath the ribs. The man gurgled and dropped.

Phoenix picked up his revolver, chest heaving, six more bullets ready and death in his eyes. Seven more men were left, circling toward Isabell like vultures. She fired, her bullet tore through a man’s shoulder, sending the man spinning. Phoenix shouted her name, drew the assailant’s eyes, and fired. He moved through the gunfight towards Isabell like a man dancing with death. Four more shots, four more kills. One man tried to flee; Phoenix clipped his spine and kept moving. Another drew too slow, and Phoenix caught him between the eyes.

He was almost to her when he felt it. A sudden crack to the side of his skull, like lightning bursting in his temple. He dropped, one knee to the ground, vision spinning. His revolver slipped from his fingers, the world pitching sideways as a hot, black fog pressed in around the edges. He looked up. The last man towered over him, revolver raised, sneer twisted across his dirt-smeared face.

A fresh gash bled down Phoenix’s brow, and his breath came ragged through his teeth. He blinked, dazed, too slow to rise, too late to fight. This is it, he thought. This is how it ends. The man cocked the hammer. And then, gunfire. Phoenix flinched. But there was no pain. Instead, he watched the man's eyes go glassy. The man’s knees buckled, and his grip went slack. The revolver tumbled from his hand like a dead thing. A dark red bloom spread across the man’s chest.

Phoenix stared, frozen. And there, standing behind the man was Isabell. Her hands still shook, the barrel of her revolver still smoking. Her breath was sharp, uneven, her eyes wide not with fear, but fury and will. She had pulled the trigger.

He collapsed backward, half sitting, hand pressing to the wound at his temple. Blood slicked his fingers, but he barely felt it. His gaze stayed locked on her. She stepped over the dead man, knelt beside him, her fingers hovering near his face, tracing the line of blood. Her hand trembled, her eyes burning with a hundred things she couldn’t say. Phoenix extended his hand towards her and stood slowly.

“You alright?” he rasped.

She shook her head. “Yes…’

He didn’t wait for more. He grabbed her by the hand, not rough, but firm. The sound of boots on gravel echoed behind them. Reinforcements could be minutes away, and he wasn’t about to take that gamble. They ran, through the brush and down the hill, kicking up dust and ducking through sage. The world narrowed to their breath, the pounding of their feet, the weight of survival pushing them forward.

When they finally stopped at the stairs of the inn, Isabel turned to him, cheeks flushed. “You followed me.”

“I did.”

“You said you’d give me space.” She reminded him.

He said nothing in response.

She was quiet for a long moment. Then: “You saved my life.”

“I’d do it again,” he said. “And again after that.” He paused, contemplating his words, “You saved mine too…”

Her gaze locked with his, and an unspoken change occurred between them, neither full forgiveness nor lingering anger, but a warmth that felt genuine. They remained quiet, standing together for a brief moment until Isabell finally spoke, saying, “We can’t remain here. We need to leave.”

Phoenix nodded in agreement. “I’ll fetch Chindi and meet you back here. We’ll head straight to the train station.”

She chose not to argue. Instead, she hurried up the stairs to her room, gathering her belongings in a frenzy. Once she was done, she dashed out the door, leaving it wide open behind her. Phoenix stood waiting for her, his hat pulled low, coat covered in dust, his gaze fixed on her. He extended his hand to assist her onto Chindi and asked, “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she answered, taking his hand.

They traveled in silence to the station, the recent gunfight still fresh in their minds. Phoenix was consumed by guilt. He had put her in harm's way, a mistake he would never forgive himself for. Then a thought crossed his mind: would she ever forgive him? He longed for her forgiveness, yet a part of him felt unworthy of it.

When they arrived, the train hissed and groaned as it pulled into the station, steam curling around their feet like something alive. The conductor barked a call for boarding, and the crowd surged forward, but Phoenix and Isabell didn’t move. They stood in the middle of the commotion, a still point in a world that refused to stop spinning.

Without a word, they stepped aboard and took two seats near the back, where the shadows were long and no one dared bother a pair that looked like they might be carrying trouble in their hearts. The ride was quiet, filled only with the clack of wheels over track and the occasional cry of a hawk overhead. Neither of them spoke.

Phoenix stared out the window, his reflection barely visible in the fading light. He wanted to say something. Anything. But words were heavier than bullets, and he had already used up too many.

Isabell sat with her hands folded in her lap, eyes cast down like she was chasing thoughts too far away to hold.

When the train finally squealed into Blackwater Station, the sun was kissing the edge of the earth, throwing long gold across the hills. Phoenix and Isabell stepped onto the platform, neither one in a hurry. People passed them in a blur, reunions, farewells, the usual chaos of comings and goings, but all Phoenix could see was her.

“This is where I must say goodbye,” she said quietly, staring down the road beyond the station.

He nodded once, slow. “I know,” he said.

“It doesn’t have to be an ending,” she commenced. “But it’s a parting. And I need it to be mine.”

She reached into her satchel and pulled something out, pressing it into his hand. A bracelet, woven from leather and horsehair, with a small, polished stone tied in the center. The kind of thing crafted with intention, shaped by hands that had known both fire and healing.

“I made it back on the reservation,” she said. “Wore it through a hard year. I thought maybe it should be with you now.”

Phoenix stared at the bracelet in his palm, his fingers closing around it like it might vanish if he blinked.

“I don’t deserve this,” he said.

"Perhaps not," she murmured. "But I still want you to have it." She took a step forward but hesitated. "Dark Hawk," she started.

He fixed his gaze on her, anticipating her words.

"I never responded to your question from the other night." She held his gaze, her eyes appearing puffy as if she were on the verge of tears, "I spend time with you...because I truly enjoy your company..."

She then slowly turned away from him but felt his touch. His skin was always searing against hers. He was holding her hand, gently squeezing it. His eyes were locked onto hers as if he had something to say but chose not to. He released her hand but maintained his gaze. It was difficult, yet she turned her back on him and began to walk down the platform, away from the train, away from the man who always seemed to carry a bit too much fire in his heart.

Phoenix stood there alone, the bracelet now secured around his wrist, the stone feeling cold against his skin. The train hissed behind him, ready to depart. But he didn’t board; he simply stood there, watching her fade into the setting sun, wondering if he would ever see her again.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Phoenix (Dark Hawk) Wilder - Written by: TNTBlackCat

It’d been weeks since Phoenix last laid eyes on Isabell, and the emptiness had festered into something colder than regret….numbness. He’d tried riding it off. He tried drinking it quiet. But no matter how far he ran, he kept circling back to the same damn storm inside him. And when the nights got too long, and the silence too loud, there was always one place left to lose what little soul he had left: the poker table.

Tonight, it was a saloon on the edge of Blackwater, a place where the air was thick with whiskey breath, and no one asked where you came from as long as your coin was clean, or at least covered in blood that wasn’t still warm. Phoenix sat near the back, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, coat draped open, one hand casually resting near his holstered Colt.

He was five hands deep into a game with three ranchers and a merchant who smelled like lavender soap and bad decisions. Phoenix had already palmed two extra aces beneath the table, the subtle art of misdirection dancing in his fingers like a second language.

“Raise,” he said, cool as snow, tossing in a heavy coin.

The rancher beside him squinted at his cards, sweat on his brow. Phoenix leaned in close, let the edge of his revolver slide from beneath his coat and press lightly against the man’s groin, just enough to make him stiffen like a board.

“You fold,” Phoenix whispered, low and venom-slick. “Or I’ll make sure you’re singing soprano in the church choir by Sunday.”

The man swallowed hard and tossed his cards down. “Fold.”

Another few rounds, and Phoenix raked in the pot. Until, “You cheatin’, son of a bitch,” the merchant hissed, rising from his chair. His eyes locked on the glint of an ace sliding free from Phoenix’s sleeve.

Phoenix didn’t deny it. Instead, he smiled wickedly and flipped the table. Chips, cards, and curses flew through the air as the saloon exploded into chaos. Chairs clattered, fists flew, and a bottle shattered over someone’s head. A shot cracked into the ceiling, sending chunks of wood splintering onto the floor.

Phoenix ducked a punch, elbowed a man in the gut, then spun and cracked another in the jaw with the butt of his Colt. Bodies slammed into each other, curses filled the smoke-hazed room, and in the middle of it all, Phoenix was a storm of motion, a grinning devil spinning in the fire.

But luck runs thin, and soon the odds turned. Three men surrounded him, revolvers aimed steady, fingers twitching on the triggers. Phoenix stood still, hands lifted slowly, a devil-may-care grin curling across his bloodied lip.

“Well,” he drawled. “Didn’t think I’d get the royal treatment.”

“That’s ‘cause you ain’t royalty,” one man spat. “You’re just a lyin’, cheatin’, son of a—”

Before he could finish, Phoenix lunged sideways and grabbed the nearest thing he could, a saloon girl, half-dressed and wide-eyed, carrying a tray of empty mugs. He yanked her in front of him, arm tight across her chest, his revolver pressed firm beneath her chin. “Now, now, boys,” he said, voice velvet wrapped around steel. “Let’s not go doing anything reckless.”

“You bastard!” the merchant shouted. “You don’t deserve that money!”

Phoenix cocked the hammer. “I also don’t deserve a bullet,” he said. “But here we are. Now, I’ll be needing a bottle of your finest rotgut and every damn coin I won, or I swear this girl’s going to be decorating the piano.” The girl whimpered, eyes darting.

The bartender hesitated, until Phoenix jerked the gun slightly and said, “Clock’s ticking.”

One man muttered, “You’re not walking out of here.”

Phoenix grinned. “Then I’ll be crawling with a bottle in one hand and her in the other.”

The bartender slid a dusty bottle of whiskey along with the stack of poker winnings across the bar. Phoenix shoved the girl forward. “You, grab it. And no hero tricks or you get to watch your own teeth fall out.” The girl obeyed, hands shaking, scooping up the coins into the satchel Phoenix shoved at her. “Now, we’re going for a little stroll,” Phoenix said, backing toward the door with the girl still held tight. No one moved. No one dared.

The alley behind the saloon stank of piss and gun smoke, the walls sweating with the night’s heat and violence. Phoenix stumbled through it like a man with no bones left in him, dragging the girl with him by the wrist. She tripped once on a broken crate, and he didn’t slow. He wasn’t thinking straight, wasn’t thinking at all.

His ears still rang from the gunshots inside. His knuckles were bloodied and his coat torn. Once they were far enough from the street, far enough that no one could see what came next, Phoenix stopped and slammed his forearm against the brick beside the girl’s head, pinning her in place with the weight of his body and the storm behind his eyes.

She was crying, just a whimper at first, but it clawed at his ears like glass. “Stop crying,” he growled low, voice frayed like a rope stretched too thin.

She flinched, one hand tightening around the bottle, lifting it slightly. “I swear I’ll smash this over your skull….”

Phoenix’s hand shot out and yanked it from her grip, the motion fast, brutal. He stared at her like he was staring through her, then took a long pull straight from the bottle. “Don’t waste good whiskey,” he muttered, half to her, half to himself. He turned from her and spat into the dirt, his fingers shaking as he uncorked another swig, then turned back and ripped the money from her hand.

She didn’t move, didn’t scream, just stared at him, breath caught in her chest. “What’re you gonna do with me?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Phoenix paused. For a long, silent breath, he said nothing. Then finally, “Nothing. You can go.”

She blinked. Hesitated. And when she tried to sidestep him, he slammed his arm against the brick wall beside her, cutting off her path. “How much?” he asked roughly.

She looked up, uncertain. “What?”

“How much do you cost?”

She stiffened, then answered without emotion. “Five dollars.”

Phoenix pulled the cash from the roll and peeled off a worn five. He held it out, and she snatched it, stuffing it quickly into the side of her belt.

“I’ve got a room upstairs,” she muttered. “Above the bar.”

“I don’t need a room,” Phoenix replied. “Alley’s good enough.”

He lifted the bottle again, took another burning swig, then leaned in close. The scent of smoke, blood, and whiskey wrapped around him like a second skin. He pressed her back, not roughly, but heavy and reckless, like a man who’d lost his brakes. His hand moved up her thigh, up her side, then to her neck. She flinched, her body tightening beneath his touch. Her eyes squeezed shut like she couldn’t bear to look at him.

He reached behind her head, entwined a handful of her hair with his fingers, and pulled her head back, lifting her chin. Then, he leaned in and kissed her forcefully, his tongue pushing into her mouth. She gasped, not out of pleasure, but in revulsion. And that’s when it hit him. This wasn’t Isabell. She didn’t feel like Isabell. She didn’t smell like her, no apple blossoms, no sun-warmed skin, no fire in her bones. She didn’t taste like her when he kissed her, rough and hard, because Isabell never tasted like ash and disappointment.

The girl gasped, pushed at him, but he was already pulling away. Phoenix’s body went still. His hands dropped. “You’re not her,” he whispered.

The girl looked at him, shaken and confused.

Phoenix stepped back, lit a cigarette with a trembling hand, and stared out at the darkness. “Go,” he said coldly.

She didn’t wait to be told twice. She vanished into the shadows, boots slapping the dirt.

Phoenix leaned back against the wall, the smoke curling from his lips as he stared up at the stars like they’d answer for what was tearing him apart. “Damn you, Isabell,” he muttered, voice cracked with rage and sorrow. “You ruined me.”

And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like a gunman or a ghost, just a man, broken and hollow, trying to drink down a woman he couldn’t forget.

He was not sure how, but he had made it back to his camp awhile later. The wind was dry and restless in the trees above, whispering like it had something to say. Phoenix didn’t care to listen. He sat cross-legged near the dying embers of his fire, the sky black as pitch overhead, stars distant and cold. The night was quiet, save for the occasional snort from Chindi grazing nearby, and the soft clink of the glass bottle as Phoenix raised it to his lips, nothing came out. He stared at the bottom of the bottle, tilting it, tapping it against his palm.

“Empty,” he muttered. “Figures.”

He tossed it aside. It rolled across the dirt and came to rest against his boot. He sat there, hollow eyed and still, jaw clenched tight, resisting the thought creeping back into his skull, the thought of her. The taste of Isabell still lingered in his mouth, even though he hadn’t touched her lips in months. The girl in the alley had proven that much. No matter how far he ran, he was still chasing a ghost.

He dragged a hand down his face and leaned back, ready to give up on the night, when he heard it, the faint rattle of wheels and the unmistakable clink of bottles. His eyes snapped open. Moonshine.

He knew the sound like a wolf knew the scent of blood. Somewhere down the road, a wagon was headed east from Tall Trees, likely bound for Thieves Landing or a pay-off drop. Midnight runs; they made them often. He’d seen them once before while laying low near some ridges on the Lower Montana River.

He knew that rough men guarded stronger drinks. Not the kind of cargo a man walked up to and asked politely for a sip. But Phoenix wasn’t feeling polite. He stood, grabbing his shotgun from beside the saddle. Chindi perked up at the sudden movement, snorting and stomping as Phoenix pulled the saddle tight and mounted. “Time to get reckless,” he muttered.

He rode to the bend in the road where the trees crowded close and lined the ground with dry brush, pulling a crusty cloth from his coat and dipping it into the bottle remnants he'd poured together earlier. Just enough to burn. Just enough to make a show.

He readied the Molotov, fingers twitching with purpose as the clatter of hooves drew nearer. And then, the wagon crested the rise. Two riders in front, both armed. A lantern was swinging from a hook on the wagon. Moonlight glinted off the steel rims of the wheels and the black glass of crates beneath the canvas.

Phoenix lit the bottle. It caught instantly, flame dancing up the rag like a devil’s tongue. He hurled it onto the brush. The flames burst high, wild and loud, illuminating the road in a flash of gold. The horses screamed and reared, the wagon jerking as the drivers tried to rein them in. But before they could recover, Phoenix charged straight through the fire.

Chindi didn’t hesitate, good horse, better heart, and leapt the flames like a ghost. Phoenix rose in the stirrups, shotgun aimed. The closest man turned, eyes wide. The first shot tore through him, knocking him clean off the bench. Phoenix dropped the reins and racked the second shell just as the other guard reached for his pistol. Too slow. BOOM! The second man flew back, landing in the dust with a sick thud.

Phoenix let the shotgun fall from his grip, empty, and jumped from Chindi to the wagon seat in a single practiced motion. He grabbed the reins, wrestled the panicked horses back from the blaze, guiding the wagon past the burning shrub line. Then, he heard rustling, a movement in the back.

Phoenix didn’t turn fast enough. A thick arm reached through the canvas and locked around his throat, dragging him backward. He gasped, hands flailing for purchase as the world went dark. He slammed his elbow back once, twice, until he caught the bastard in the ribs. With a grunt, he hooked the man’s arm and heaved him over his shoulder, sending him flying from the wagon bed and into the dirt.

Another man emerged from the back; this one already armed. He fired a shot, too damn close, and it hit a crate. The moonshine caught like lightning, igniting in a burst of orange and heat that swallowed the canvas roof. Phoenix felt the wagon lurch as one of the wheels cracked, then the explosion tossed him like a rag doll, fire licking the air, bottles shattering like thunderclaps.

Phoenix hit the ground hard, skidding across gravel and splinters, rolling until everything went black. Time passed and he didn’t know how much. He woke to a wetness, a rough tongue on his face.

“Chindi…” he croaked, eyes cracking open. The horse loomed above him, ears pinned, snorting with nervous energy.

Phoenix groaned, rolling onto his side. His ears rang with a high-pitched whine, the scent of burnt wood and alcohol thick in his nostrils. The world swayed. But there, strewn along the road were crates. Half the wagon’s cargo had spilled during the blast, many of the bottles shattered, but not all.

Phoenix crawled, fingers bloody, knees weak, until he reached one that was still sealed. He cracked it open and took a long, savage drink. The liquid burned like it had a score to settle, but it was fire he welcomed.

He sat there in the middle of the road, dust-covered, bloodied and dazed. The moon above him, the empty trees around him, and the ghost of Isabell somewhere far beyond his reach. He drank again; head tipped back. In that silence, where even the crickets had quieted, Phoenix laughed once, a dry, broken sound and drank until the night blurred into nothing once more.

The moon had climbed high, pale and merciless as it cast silver light across the cliffside. Phoenix stumbled through the scrub and gravel, one last bottle of moonshine swinging limply from his fingers. His boots dragged through the dirt like they didn’t know where they were going, and neither did he.

The fire from the wagon was long behind him now. The road. The saloon. The shouting. All of it gone, swallowed by the dust and drink and distance. All that remained was the endless howl of the wind and the heavy ache in his chest that refused to leave him be.

He came to a stop near the edge of the bluff, where the land dropped off into nothing but roaring waves and black rock far below. The moonlit waters surged, crashing and foaming with a kind of violent beauty that made the whole world feel temporary. Phoenix swayed, the alcohol fogging up every corner of his mind, until even the stars above spun in slow, dizzy circles.

His boots slid forward an inch, crunching gravel beneath them. He looked down, down at the churning sea, at the jagged stone teeth waiting like the mouth of some ancient beast.

What would it feel like to fall? Would it hurt? Would it be fast? Would he even care?

He gripped the edge of the rock with shaking hands, knuckles white, and leaned forward, peering over. The waves clawed at the cliff wall like they were hungry for something. Maybe him.

“I have nothing left,” he slurred, words barely carried by the wind. “No home. No name. Not even a damn reason.”

He’d spent twenty years chasing a ghost, his father. A man who’d left nothing behind, but blood and a trail of violence carved through Phoenix’s childhood like a brand. For all he knew, the bastard had died years ago. Maybe Phoenix was chasing a corpse. Maybe he was one already.

Hatred had been his fuel for so long, he didn’t know how to breathe without it. But hatred burns everything. Leaves nothing but ashes behind.

“What the hell’s the point?” he whispered, his body heavy with drink and sorrow. His fingers tightened on the ledge. “What the hell’s the point of living?”

His boots slipped slightly on the loose gravel, and his body pitched forward. He caught himself, barely, but the sudden lurch made his stomach roll. His head throbbed. The wind screamed around him like it was calling his name. He was going to fall…..or maybe he was going to jump.

He stared into the black water below. Then, a flash of light in his mind. A sudden image….wings. He saw a hawk, circling in the sky above. Its feathers spread wide, majestic and silent. Not real….no, not really there. But it felt real. Like the old dreams. The ones he had as a boy, when the elders on the edge of the reservation spoke of spirit guides. The hawk had always found him in those dreams. Now, it found him again.

He reached toward it, breath hitching, hand trembling in the cold. That’s when he saw it…the bracelet. Wrapped tight around his wrist, the one Isabell had given him. Beaded with bone and turquoise, threaded with a single eagle feather she’d tucked into the knots herself. Her gift, her mark on him….her memory. His hand stopped shaking.

“She’s still out there…” he breathed, eyes widening. “And I’m not dying until she knows what she did to me.”

He turned to climb away, to get back from the edge, but his boot slipped on a patch of gravel, and he fell. The wind tore the breath from his lungs as he dropped. He didn’t scream. The fall ended with a sickening crash as his body slammed into the freezing water below, the impact knocking the wind from his chest. He sank instantly, the weight of his thick leather coat dragging him down like an anchor. Darkness closed around him, and bubbles rushed past his ears.

Maybe this is it, he thought, his body going still. Maybe I’ll just let it take me. But then he saw the hawk again. Flying above, wings stretched across the sky in his mind’s eye. Beckoning him to rise. Isabell.

The fire returned in his chest. He thrashed, fighting the coat, clawing at the buckles and bindings until he finally slipped free. The cold bit hard, but he didn’t care. He surged upward, lungs screaming, reaching for the surface, reaching for the world he was about to leave behind.

He broke through with a gasp, coughing, eyes wide with burning salt. “Chindi!” he yelled, throat raw, choking on seawater. “Chindi!” Nothing but waves and wind.

He tried again, kicking toward the faint shape of land, arms struggling to stay afloat in water that seemed to pull him back with every stroke.

He whistled through his teeth, sharp, high, desperate. “Chindi, come on, damn you—”

Then he saw a shape. Moving through the foam. The horse appeared like a phantom, black mane slicked with mist, swimming strong and sure into the water, nostrils flaring.

“Good boy,” Phoenix choked, as the stallion came alongside.

Chindi brushed past him, and Phoenix reached out, grabbing a fistful of the horse’s wet mane. The animal turned, heading for shore without hesitation, pulling Phoenix with him through the chop and crash of the tide. Each kick, each pull, was a miracle.

When they finally reached the shallows, Phoenix collapsed into the sand, coughing, shaking, half-dead, but alive. He looked at the bracelet again, soaked and clinging to his wrist. He closed his hand around it. And for the first time in weeks, Phoenix whispered a single word.

“Isabell.”  Not like a curse this time. Like a prayer.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Isabell O'Sullivan- Written by: Carolleto

Isabell walked to the stern of the ship and even though the boat had already moved far away, she recognized Phoenix's figure approaching the port. When Miss O'Sullivan set sail in Blackwater, she never thought she would meet that man again, much less become friends with him. Dark Hawk had made her feel things, feelings that she hadn't felt in so long, she thought to herself as she leaned on the ship's railing that she would miss him, in fact the lump in her throat and the weight in her chest already indicated that she was missing him.

Isabell walked to a bench and sat down, resting her elbows on her leg and holding her face, she allowed herself to think about the scare she had earlier with that gang, she ignored the whole incident with her, her mind only focused on the fact that Dark Hawk could have died trying to save her, the way he literally ran to his death in that shootout made Isabell hold her breath as she watched him running towards her while shooting at those bastards with precision.

Then her mind wandered to the afternoon they spent together at Mesa de La Luna. Isabell stood up and reached for her bag, taking out Phoenix's worn book. Isabell ran her thumb over the cover, opened it to a random page and saw one of Phoenix's notes. She stroked the ink on the side of the page. She felt grateful that he had given her that book. It was a part of him that she would have with her. Isabell had no idea when she would see Dark Hawk again. For a second, she feared that she might never see him again. Her demons smiled at the idea and she tried to push that thought away.

When Isabell realized, the ship was already docking at the port of Saint Denis, she blinked, a little shocked that she had gotten caught up in her thoughts and hadn’t even noticed the journey. She disembarked and went straight to the station to catch the train to Rhodes. When she arrived, she didn’t go straight home, nor did she go see her father, she walked towards the saloon and ordered a drink and a room, she wanted to be alone a little longer to gather her thoughts and she couldn’t do that very well at home. She drank more than she usually did and walked slowly to the rented room, her confused mind wandering to the deeper questions she had regarding Phoenix. Why did he always follow her? Why was he constantly pushing the other male presences away from her?

Isabell remembered the expression Phoenix had made when she had asked him earlier that day, “Do you think I belong to you?” She had interrupted him then, she hadn’t let him speak because she was angry, but maybe she should have let him speak. For the first time, she allowed her mind to wander even further back, to the day they had met again, specifically to when Phoenix had broken the distance between them and kissed her. Isabell had tried her best to ignore that episode ever since it happened, she had never understood why he had done that, neither of them had brought up that subject and she probably never will. She also didn’t know what to think about it, when he had touched his lips to hers, the shock was so great that she couldn’t move, it had made the ground beneath her feet disappear and the idea of ​​it had destabilized her, when Dark Hawk had walked away, she had simply walked to the hotel without saying a word, her mind was frozen.

Isabell fell asleep at some point, and when she woke up, the sun had already risen, and she had overslept. She quickly got up, went to the town stables to get her horse, and rode home. Miss O’Sullivan greeted the estate staff as she passed and went straight home. Aiden was still at home reading the newspaper when he saw Isabell walking through the door.

“Oh, Isabell! It’s always a pleasure to see you, dear,” Aiden smiled, quickly closing the newspaper and standing up to receive Isabell’s hug.

“Hi, Dad,” Isabell murmured as she took in Aiden’s familiar cologne scent.

“How was the trip?” old O’Sullivan wanted to know.

Isabell thought about it, she wasn't an open person, not even with her father, she thought about whether she should say that she had met an acquaintance, but she quickly put that aside.

“It was like always,” Isabell simply said.

“Honey, I don’t mind you escaping every now and then, but you should stay here more, I need you to learn more about management…”

“From the farm, I know, I know. Don’t worry, Dad, I promise I’ll stay here,” Isabell interrupted Aiden and her response brought a noticeable excitement to Aiden.

Miss O’Sullivan knew she needed to spend more time with her father. He was the only person left in her life, and she knew that because of her own problems, she was not paying enough attention to her old father. Isabell picked up her suitcase and walked to her room. She began the process of unpacking it, putting her things in their place, and soon came across the last items in her suitcase: the photos from the reservation.

That hit her hard again, Isabell sighed, she caressed the figure of Eagle Flies standing next to her, she felt once again the bitter taste of life's injustice, the redhead quickly tried to compose herself, she walked with hurried steps and put the photos in a drawer, she didn't want to start the process of sinking into eternal sadness again. She went back to the bed and picked up Dark Hawk's book, it was certainly the thing that kept her closest to him and also the thing that made her saddest. Isabell realized again how much she missed him, it left her surprised and confused, she sighed, her friendship with Phoenix could be summed up in those two words: surprise and confusion, she constantly felt that while she was in his presence.

She didn't lie, she enjoyed his company, even if sometimes he hovered a little too much over her, Phoenix was very protective of her, he had been since the beginning when they barely knew each other and Dark Hawk was constantly trying to convince her that he wasn't a good man, she noticed his attempts, but she disagreed, she just didn't think that way. She sat on the edge of the bed and opened the book where she had stopped reading earlier, read a few paragraphs and turned the page, she found one of Phoenix's notes.

“You are indeed fascinating, Dark Hawk,” Isabell murmured that confession to herself, as she read what he wrote, she didn't remember what she read in those paragraphs, she couldn't focus on the book itself, her mind only wandered to Phoenix, to all the events in Mexico.

Isabell twirled the spoon in her cup with discouragement. Her father sat down next to her, poured the coffee into the cup and drank it all in two gulps, not even bothering to add a sugar cube. Isabell watched her father bite into a muffin and then kissed her on the top of her head.

“I’m sorry, my dear, I’m late for an appointment in Saint Denis, it’s going to be a tiring day, don’t expect me for dinner,” Aiden gave Isabell a brief explanation before putting on his hat and dashing out the door.

Miss O’Sullivan ate her breakfast slowly, her mind was far away on that particular day, much more than any other day, she was remembering the little conversation she had with Phoenix after all the trouble with the gang.

“You saved my life,” Isabell said, she stared at Phoenix with visible admiration.

“I would do it again,” Phoenix replied. “And again after that.”

Isabell thought about it, at the moment she didn't have time to think, but now calmly she realized the weight of those words, the conviction that Dark Hawk emitted as he spoke, in the way he looked straight into her eyes to say such a thing. She always knew she could trust him, he proved it majestically that day. This had an effect on Isabell's insides, the tightness in her chest increased and she felt uncomfortable staying there inside that house, trapped between the four walls. Isabell got up from the chair and walked with long strides, quickly climbing the stairs and going to her room, she grabbed her small travel bag and threw it on the bed, opened the wardrobe to choose a comfortable outfit for the day. Isabell grabbed her diary and the book that Phoenix had given her and put it in the bag and left the house, today seemed like a great day for a walk to distract herself.

Isabell saddled her horse and trotted to the gate. She stopped on the road, undecided where she wanted to go. Then she turned right and rode all the way through Bayou Nwa. The marshy landscape quickly disappeared as Miss O’Sullivan advanced through the morning. She followed the road next to the train tracks towards Van Horn and turned off the road into the vegetation. She let her horse loose to graze for a while. Isabell looked for a clean place to sit. She looked at the landscape in front of her and let out a sad sigh. She knew the feeling. She had felt it many years ago and was in disbelief that she was feeling something like it again, just when she thought everything inside her was asleep. The redhead opened her bag and took out the two objects. She opened the book first, reading it for the second time. The corners of her mouth lifted when, as she read, she came across Phoenix’s funniest note in that book, “These guys are shits.” Isabell imagined Dark Hawk writing this, the most hilarious thing was that she agreed and thought the same. Isabell put her mouth back in a straight line, she blinked and stared into space, her light eyebrows furrowing with the discomfort growing inside her again, she closed the book and opened her diary.

Miss O’Sullivan flipped through the pages, most of the writings and drawings expressing feelings, stories, pains and moments from the past, all linked to the reserve and the person who was most important to her in life. The pages were her safe place, she never said anything to other people, but keeping everything inside was more than she could bear, as she was at that very moment. Isabell skipped several blank sheets and picked up her pencil, looked at the sky and thought for a while, she looked at the blank sheet and soon began to scribble, concentrating on the shape that the loose lines gradually formed. A while later, when she was satisfied, she cleaned the eraser remains and right above it wrote “Dark Hawk, I miss you…”, Isabell put the diary away to check, she looked carefully at the hawk that looked back at her from a cactus, a relentless and deadly figure, like Phoenix.

The days went by and the longing Isabell felt didn't go away. The way she found herself thinking about Phoenix all the time left her intrigued. She wondered what was going on? What had Dark Hawk done to make her feel that way? She had never been someone who was attached to people. Ever since what happened with the reservation and Eagle Flies, it only got worse. She didn't create bonds. But Dark Hawk was an exception to the rule. To Isabell's surprise, she had gotten used to his presence more than she imagined, more than she should have. There wasn't a single day that went by that she didn't wonder how he was, what he was doing, if he was being careful.

The book he gave her was Isabell's doorbell all the time, it was hard for her to leave that object for long, she read it, reread it and was doing a third reading, she had memorized all of Phoenix's notes, it was the only time she could ease her longing, sometimes when she smelled whiskey in the bar or when her father allowed himself the luxury of drinking, she remembered Phoenix immediately, he always gave off a scent of whiskey and when Isabell remembered him, she almost smiled, raising the corners of her lips slightly, but that soon disappeared, the sadness of longing took over her. A month had passed, but it seemed like an eternity, the days had passed without waiting for anyone, but Isabell didn't feel better because of that, quite the opposite, the longing only grew.

Miss O’Sullivan walked to the balcony on a cool evening. It was late at night and she couldn’t sleep a wink. She felt a tightness in her chest that was a little more unbearable than usual. She asked herself again, what was happening? God, would this never pass? Isabell had a big question on her mind at that moment. Was Phoenix like that too? Maybe he was stronger than her in that aspect. He wasn’t a very transparent person and not at all predictable. She had no way of knowing.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Isabell O'Sullivan- Written by: Carolleto

Phoenix eyed his cigarette pack impatiently. When he boarded that boat in Blackwater, the pack was full, and now there were only two left. He was tense from the madness he was committing. In the last month, he'd been at his limit, and to his surprise, it wasn't for the usual reasons. Isabell O'Sullivan occupied his thoughts. He couldn't forget a single day he'd spent with her in Mexico, and as soon as she left, he went into a combustible state. He watched the boat she was leaving on until it disappeared over the horizon, his hands at his sides, his wrists aching from the force he was exerting. He seemed to be literally holding back from grabbing his horse and riding to Isabell's town. Phoenix had anticipated that the next few days would be tense; he hadn't expected it to be even worse. He'd been struggling with himself; he wanted to forget that woman, the sweet addiction he'd experienced. She'd brought him peace, a peace he hadn't felt in a long time.

Saint Denis finally entered his field of vision. When he could bear it no longer, he packed his things, boarded a ship, and headed for the state of Lemoyne, to Rhodes. He would find Isabell and silence his demons. He put his cigarettes in the inside pocket of his coat and waited for the ship to slowly arrive at its destination. He disembarked before everyone else; a stable ship following behind also docked at the port, and he waited for his animal. Phoenix knew the way to Rhodes; he set his animal to run there. The place looked the same as the time he'd been there. He had to think; he knew this was his town, but he didn't know exactly where she lived. He spent at least an hour in the city center, but Isabell never appeared.

Phoenix had to spring for a plan B. He casually walked up to Mr. Flores's store, looked around, and saw the man behind the counter reading the newspaper. Phoenix grabbed the first thing he saw, making a point of noisily placing the merchandise in front of the distracted man behind the counter. Mr. Flores looked up and nearly fell over in shock when he saw Phoenix. He recognized him immediately, his hand under the counter on the antique shotgun he'd never used.

“Seventy-five cents,” Mr. Flores struggled to say without stuttering.

Phoenix took a note and placed it on the counter. He knew nothing was free in this world, so he'd spare the old man the trouble of beating around the bush.

“I need to know where Isabell lives,” Phoenix said directly.

“Well! What do you want with her?” old Flores found his courage.

Isabell was very dear to him, and that man looking for her could only mean trouble, he would defend Isabell from him as much as he could.

"I want to see her, make sure she arrived safely." It wasn't a lie; Phoenix used sincerity to see if the man would open his damn mouth. "I'll find her one way or another, but I'd rather you save me the trouble."

Mr. Flores found himself with no way out. He had to trust Isabell; he knew how self-defensive she was, and Aiden O'Sullivan was home that afternoon; he would do something about it. Mr. Flores explained the way; he didn't mention the constant surveillance of the property.

Phoenix left the note and the product he'd taken on the counter. He left silently, just as he'd entered. He hoped he hadn't been tricked, but he continued on his way and came upon a large house at the back of a sprawling property. A plaque carved with the surname O'Sullivan was on a tree. Phoenix leaned forward on his horse. Studying the place, old Flores's plan faded. He hadn't counted on Phoenix's intelligence; he'd already guessed she was being watched as soon as he saw the size of the place. It was an interesting challenge: how could he get in without attracting attention? In fact, attention was all he needed.

He dismounted and sent them away. He opened the gate and walked calmly along the main road. He took a dozen steps and was accosted, guns pointed at him.

“Hold on, buddy, I don’t know if you noticed, but this is private property, I suggest you turn around and leave,” David, the farm’s head foreman, told Phoenix.

Phoenix took another step forward, and the guns were instantly cocked. He raised his hand in surrender, a calculated act. Everyone waited for him to leave, but Phoenix stood his ground. David approached, his gun pointed at Phoenix.

“What do you want?” David asked hostilely.

Phoenix didn't answer. He almost smiled when David asked to call Mr. O'Sullivan. Phoenix hadn't anticipated that Aiden was a police chief, but it didn't matter at the time. Aiden asked Phoenix the same question, and when he didn't get an answer, he decided to handcuff him. Phoenix didn't resist, agreeing to be taken to the city police station. Mr. Flores sighed when he saw that from his window; he'd been expecting this.

Isabell had been out horseback riding all day. Going to the lake was something she always did. Staying home all the time was driving her crazy. She needed the calm of nature, not the walls that surrounded her. It was early evening when she decided to go into town to see her father and accompany him home. Isabell opened the police station door and was stunned to see the situation instantly. Her eyes met Phoenix's, and any noise in their minds disappeared.

“What happened?” Isabell asked, approaching her father, who was standing and staring at Phoenix.

“This guy came onto the property and refuses to tell me why, I detained him, took his weapons, and I’m trying to get him to talk,” Aiden replied impatiently.

Isabell stared at Phoenix again; he hadn't taken his eyes off her since she'd appeared. Miss O'Sullivan didn't understand Phoenix's attitude. What the hell was he thinking? But she knew he wouldn't make a mistake.

“I know him, you have to let him go, Dad,” Isabell said finally.

Aiden turned to Isabell, she was never one to make jokes, but he thought she was at that moment.

“What do you mean you know him, Isabell?” Aiden had to ask.

"When I passed out at the bar that night, he was the one who took me to Mr. Flores. I met him in Blackwater too, he accompanied me to Mexico. His name is Dar…" Isabell paused, unsure if she should say her native name. "Phoenix. He's my friend."

“Is that true?” Aiden looked closely at Phoenix. He didn’t doubt Isabell, but he wanted to see if he would respond to that.

“Yes,” Phoenix spoke for the first time.

Aiden looked from Isabell to Phoenix, let out a weary sigh, and opened the cell. Phoenix walked out unconcerned, approaching Isabell, standing beside her. If eye contact between them had previously bothered him, now he welcomed it when Isabell made it.

“I’m going home, honey,” Aiden said, ignoring Phoenix’s presence there.

“I want my guns back, you can’t keep them,” Phoenix said directly to Aiden.

The sheriff glared at him. Isabell was even more surprised than her father at that moment. What was wrong with Dark Hawk? She bumped into him with her arm, breaking her rule about not invading his personal space. Isabell felt the tension growing. She moved, grabbing Phoenix's revolvers from the table, and walked to the back of the station. She opened the door and walked out that way. She knew Phoenix would follow. Isabell noticed her father's horse there, turned to Phoenix, and prepared to speak.

"What's gotten into you? Talking to my father like that! The way you decided to appear before him is enough. There are rules here, and you'll have to follow them!" Isabell snapped at Phoenix. She never thought she'd ever reprimand him again. She also couldn't remember the last time she'd been so stressed about something.

“He arrested me, he’s not going to say anything about it?” Phoenix retorted.

“Are you seriously complaining about this? You deserved it!” Isabell couldn’t stop herself from speaking.

Phoenix was surprised by her boldness; she was once again telling him things no one else dared. At that moment, it seemed like they hadn't been apart for a whole month; they were fighting, like they'd done a few times in Mexico. The way she was flushed with anger and how much Phoenix wanted to see her, even though she was angry, drew him in, and he found himself saying:

“I'm going to kiss you now.”

Isabell barely had time to frown; Phoenix only needed to take one step to do exactly what he said. He kissed her, making up for the longing she'd missed all that torturous month. He was also bold. Isabell backed away from him when she heard her father leaving. The redhead turned her back to the police station, dazed by what had just happened. Phoenix simply crossed her arms, waiting silently and with enviable neutrality. Aiden didn't understand a thing, simply mounted his horse.

“I’ll wait for you at the gate,” he warned Isabell. Phoenix’s presence still worried him, even though Isabell claimed she knew him.

Isabell walked down the alley and to her horse. She looked at her hands; she still held Phoenix's revolvers. He was there, just as she had imagined.

Phoenix noticed Isabell's blush; he liked how flustered she looked in front of him. It felt good to be near her again; he'd wanted this so badly for so long he almost couldn't believe it. He was acting on impulse more than usual.

Miss O'Sullivan handed Phoenix the guns; he took them and holstered them. He whistled for his horse, and the animal arrived quickly. Neither of them said anything, but they rode together. Isabell had to stop before the double gates. Phoenix did the same. Isabell got out and had to talk to Phoenix. She put aside what he had done minutes ago to talk.

"I was serious. There are rules here, and you'll have to follow them. You need to go back to the city. My father is usually understanding, but he won't ignore what you did. I'll need to talk to him and see how things go," Isabell said calmly.

"You mean I won't be allowed to see you now?" Phoenix almost asked sarcastically. The idea didn't appeal to him at all.

"No, not for a while," Isabell replied, a little confused. He didn't understand Dark Hawk's point. "Not on the estate, I mean, look, my father's right there, making sure he stays outside," Isabell pointed out by way of explanation.

Phoenix observed, he didn't regret it, but he had dug his own grave with it. He was willing to try to turn the situation around.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

"No, it's done, I don't see how you can fix it. If you had formally introduced yourself, said who you were, and why you were there, you would have avoided the bad impression my father clearly has of you," Isabell replied.

Phoenix stared at Aiden, impatiently waiting for his daughter, Isabell's words poisoning his mind, telling him why he was there. Something came to him, as easy as stealing candy from a baby. He turned his gaze to Isabell, and the thought of it was irresistible.

“Then, marry me,” he spoke the words firmly, stealing the attention of the woman in front of him.

"You can't be serious," Isabell couldn't quite figure out where she found the words. She was confused about him; if she hadn't known Phoenix was the same way when he was drunk, she would have said he was definitely drunk.

"Try it...marry me," he said again. With conviction. Isabell blinked several times in disbelief. She had to ignore his words to understand what was happening.

“Look, we just met, that’s not how it works,” she said slowly.

“I'm working on a solution. Do you have anything better to suggest? I'm all ears.”

“Dark Hawk, what is so urgent that you have to tell me that you can’t talk right now and are talking nonsense instead?” Isabell was direct.

Phoenix tensed. He had to put it into words. How could he respond to that? He thought it was clear, but she hadn't realized it yet. He felt a certain dread; this could be the moment he feared most, the moment he might be rejected by her. He had to take the risk; proposing out of the blue was easier than admitting it. Phoenix didn't consider traditional white marriage.

“I want to be close to you and I can’t, so I could,” the confession finally came out.

He waited for the laughter, the rejection, the look of disgust on her face, and it didn't come. What happened surprised him. Through the lantern that was tied to her horse's neck and illuminated her face, he saw her blush. Once again, she was blushing in front of him, because of him.

Phoenix lifted his head, resolute. He moved his feet toward Aiden, who was still waiting for Isabell. Miss O'Sullivan was so perplexed by everything that she remained frozen.

“I’m going to marry your daughter,” Phoenix warned, unafraid of Mr. O’Sullivan’s reaction.

Isabell reached him a few seconds after he said this. Isabell stared at her father, who was standing straight and also in shock.

“Is that true, Isabell?” Aiden asked.

Isabell was even more in disbelief, the words to deny were in the back of her throat and she couldn't say them out of disbelief, her face even hotter and redder because of the situation.

Aiden sighed tiredly again, he shook his head and understood.

“All this fuss over this? It would have been easier to have told me from the start, I think we should talk, kid,” Aiden said to Phoenix, as O’Sullivan opened the gate and walked down the road.

Even Phoenix couldn't believe it worked, and that her father had accepted it so easily. He looked at Isabell beside him.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she told him, clearly irritated by it.

She walked back to where she was to take the reins of her animal and guide it into the property, Phoenix walked with her.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Isabell O'Sullivan- Written by: Carolleto

Phoenix eyed his cigarette pack impatiently. When he boarded that boat in Blackwater, the pack was full, and now there were only two left. He was tense from the madness he was committing. In the last month, he'd been at his limit, and to his surprise, it wasn't for the usual reasons. Isabell O'Sullivan occupied his thoughts. He couldn't forget a single day he'd spent with her in Mexico, and as soon as she left, he went into a combustible state. He watched the boat she was leaving on until it disappeared over the horizon, his hands at his sides, his wrists aching from the force he was exerting. He seemed to be literally holding back from grabbing his horse and riding to Isabell's town. Phoenix had anticipated that the next few days would be tense; he hadn't expected it to be even worse. He'd been struggling with himself; he wanted to forget that woman, the sweet addiction he'd experienced. She'd brought him peace, a peace he hadn't felt in a long time.

Saint Denis finally entered his field of vision. When he could bear it no longer, he packed his things, boarded a ship, and headed for the state of Lemoyne, to Rhodes. He would find Isabell and silence his demons. He put his cigarettes in the inside pocket of his coat and waited for the ship to slowly arrive at its destination. He disembarked before everyone else; a stable ship following behind also docked at the port, and he waited for his animal. Phoenix knew the way to Rhodes; he set his animal to run there. The place looked the same as the time he'd been there. He had to think; he knew this was his town, but he didn't know exactly where she lived. He spent at least an hour in the city center, but Isabell never appeared.

Phoenix had to spring for a plan B. He casually walked up to Mr. Flores's store, looked around, and saw the man behind the counter reading the newspaper. Phoenix grabbed the first thing he saw, making a point of noisily placing the merchandise in front of the distracted man behind the counter. Mr. Flores looked up and nearly fell over in shock when he saw Phoenix. He recognized him immediately, his hand under the counter on the antique shotgun he'd never used.

“Seventy-five cents,” Mr. Flores struggled to say without stuttering.

Phoenix took a note and placed it on the counter. He knew nothing was free in this world, so he'd spare the old man the trouble of beating around the bush.

“I need to know where Isabell lives,” Phoenix said directly.

“Well! What do you want with her?” old Flores found his courage.

Isabell was very dear to him, and that man looking for her could only mean trouble, he would defend Isabell from him as much as he could.

"I want to see her, make sure she arrived safely." It wasn't a lie; Phoenix used sincerity to see if the man would open his damn mouth. "I'll find her one way or another, but I'd rather you save me the trouble."

Mr. Flores found himself with no way out. He had to trust Isabell; he knew how self-defensive she was, and Aiden O'Sullivan was home that afternoon; he would do something about it. Mr. Flores explained the way; he didn't mention the constant surveillance of the property.

Phoenix left the note and the product he'd taken on the counter. He left silently, just as he'd entered. He hoped he hadn't been tricked, but he continued on his way and came upon a large house at the back of a sprawling property. A plaque carved with the surname O'Sullivan was on a tree. Phoenix leaned forward on his horse. Studying the place, old Flores's plan faded. He hadn't counted on Phoenix's intelligence; he'd already guessed she was being watched as soon as he saw the size of the place. It was an interesting challenge: how could he get in without attracting attention? In fact, attention was all he needed.

He dismounted and sent them away. He opened the gate and walked calmly along the main road. He took a dozen steps and was accosted, guns pointed at him.

“Hold on, buddy, I don’t know if you noticed, but this is private property, I suggest you turn around and leave,” David, the farm’s head foreman, told Phoenix.

Phoenix took another step forward, and the guns were instantly cocked. He raised his hand in surrender, a calculated act. Everyone waited for him to leave, but Phoenix stood his ground. David approached, his gun pointed at Phoenix.

“What do you want?” David asked hostilely.

Phoenix didn't answer. He almost smiled when David asked to call Mr. O'Sullivan. Phoenix hadn't anticipated that Aiden was a police chief, but it didn't matter at the time. Aiden asked Phoenix the same question, and when he didn't get an answer, he decided to handcuff him. Phoenix didn't resist, agreeing to be taken to the city police station. Mr. Flores sighed when he saw that from his window; he'd been expecting this.

Isabell had been out horseback riding all day. Going to the lake was something she always did. Staying home all the time was driving her crazy. She needed the calm of nature, not the walls that surrounded her. It was early evening when she decided to go into town to see her father and accompany him home. Isabell opened the police station door and was stunned to see the situation instantly. Her eyes met Phoenix's, and any noise in their minds disappeared.

“What happened?” Isabell asked, approaching her father, who was standing and staring at Phoenix.

“This guy came onto the property and refuses to tell me why, I detained him, took his weapons, and I’m trying to get him to talk,” Aiden replied impatiently.

Isabell stared at Phoenix again; he hadn't taken his eyes off her since she'd appeared. Miss O'Sullivan didn't understand Phoenix's attitude. What the hell was he thinking? But she knew he wouldn't make a mistake.

“I know him, you have to let him go, Dad,” Isabell said finally.

Aiden turned to Isabell, she was never one to make jokes, but he thought she was at that moment.

“What do you mean you know him, Isabell?” Aiden had to ask.

"When I passed out at the bar that night, he was the one who took me to Mr. Flores. I met him in Blackwater too, he accompanied me to Mexico. His name is Dar…" Isabell paused, unsure if she should say her native name. "Phoenix. He's my friend."

“Is that true?” Aiden looked closely at Phoenix. He didn’t doubt Isabell, but he wanted to see if he would respond to that.

“Yes,” Phoenix spoke for the first time.

Aiden looked from Isabell to Phoenix, let out a weary sigh, and opened the cell. Phoenix walked out unconcerned, approaching Isabell, standing beside her. If eye contact between them had previously bothered him, now he welcomed it when Isabell made it.

“I’m going home, honey,” Aiden said, ignoring Phoenix’s presence there.

“I want my guns back, you can’t keep them,” Phoenix said directly to Aiden.

The sheriff glared at him. Isabell was even more surprised than her father at that moment. What was wrong with Dark Hawk? She bumped into him with her arm, breaking her rule about not invading his personal space. Isabell felt the tension growing. She moved, grabbing Phoenix's revolvers from the table, and walked to the back of the station. She opened the door and walked out that way. She knew Phoenix would follow. Isabell noticed her father's horse there, turned to Phoenix, and prepared to speak.

"What's gotten into you? Talking to my father like that! The way you decided to appear before him is enough. There are rules here, and you'll have to follow them!" Isabell snapped at Phoenix. She never thought she'd ever reprimand him again. She also couldn't remember the last time she'd been so stressed about something.

“He arrested me, he’s not going to say anything about it?” Phoenix retorted.

“Are you seriously complaining about this? You deserved it!” Isabell couldn’t stop herself from speaking.

Phoenix was surprised by her boldness; she was once again telling him things no one else dared. At that moment, it seemed like they hadn't been apart for a whole month; they were fighting, like they'd done a few times in Mexico. The way she was flushed with anger and how much Phoenix wanted to see her, even though she was angry, drew him in, and he found himself saying:

“I'm going to kiss you now.”

Isabell barely had time to frown; Phoenix only needed to take one step to do exactly what he said. He kissed her, making up for the longing she'd missed all that torturous month. He was also bold. Isabell backed away from him when she heard her father leaving. The redhead turned her back to the police station, dazed by what had just happened. Phoenix simply crossed her arms, waiting silently and with enviable neutrality. Aiden didn't understand a thing, simply mounted his horse.

“I’ll wait for you at the gate,” he warned Isabell. Phoenix’s presence still worried him, even though Isabell claimed she knew him.

Isabell walked down the alley and to her horse. She looked at her hands; she still held Phoenix's revolvers. He was there, just as she had imagined.

Phoenix noticed Isabell's blush; he liked how flustered she looked in front of him. It felt good to be near her again; he'd wanted this so badly for so long he almost couldn't believe it. He was acting on impulse more than usual.

Miss O'Sullivan handed Phoenix the guns; he took them and holstered them. He whistled for his horse, and the animal arrived quickly. Neither of them said anything, but they rode together. Isabell had to stop before the double gates. Phoenix did the same. Isabell got out and had to talk to Phoenix. She put aside what he had done minutes ago to talk.

"I was serious. There are rules here, and you'll have to follow them. You need to go back to the city. My father is usually understanding, but he won't ignore what you did. I'll need to talk to him and see how things go," Isabell said calmly.

"You mean I won't be allowed to see you now?" Phoenix almost asked sarcastically. The idea didn't appeal to him at all.

"No, not for a while," Isabell replied, a little confused. He didn't understand Dark Hawk's point. "Not on the estate, I mean, look, my father's right there, making sure he stays outside," Isabell pointed out by way of explanation.

Phoenix observed, he didn't regret it, but he had dug his own grave with it. He was willing to try to turn the situation around.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

"No, it's done, I don't see how you can fix it. If you had formally introduced yourself, said who you were, and why you were there, you would have avoided the bad impression my father clearly has of you," Isabell replied.

Phoenix stared at Aiden, impatiently waiting for his daughter, Isabell's words poisoning his mind, telling him why he was there. Something came to him, as easy as stealing candy from a baby. He turned his gaze to Isabell, and the thought of it was irresistible.

“Then, marry me,” he spoke the words firmly, stealing the attention of the woman in front of him.

"You can't be serious," Isabell couldn't quite figure out where she found the words. She was confused about him; if she hadn't known Phoenix was the same way when he was drunk, she would have said he was definitely drunk.

"Try it...marry me," he said again. With conviction. Isabell blinked several times in disbelief. She had to ignore his words to understand what was happening.

“Look, we just met, that’s not how it works,” she said slowly.

“I'm working on a solution. Do you have anything better to suggest? I'm all ears.”

“Dark Hawk, what is so urgent that you have to tell me that you can’t talk right now and are talking nonsense instead?” Isabell was direct.

Phoenix tensed. He had to put it into words. How could he respond to that? He thought it was clear, but she hadn't realized it yet. He felt a certain dread; this could be the moment he feared most, the moment he might be rejected by her. He had to take the risk; proposing out of the blue was easier than admitting it. Phoenix didn't consider traditional white marriage.

“I want to be close to you and I can’t, so I could,” the confession finally came out.

He waited for the laughter, the rejection, the look of disgust on her face, and it didn't come. What happened surprised him. Through the lantern that was tied to her horse's neck and illuminated her face, he saw her blush. Once again, she was blushing in front of him, because of him.

Phoenix lifted his head, resolute. He moved his feet toward Aiden, who was still waiting for Isabell. Miss O'Sullivan was so perplexed by everything that she remained frozen.

“I’m going to marry your daughter,” Phoenix warned, unafraid of Mr. O’Sullivan’s reaction.

Isabell reached him a few seconds after he said this. Isabell stared at her father, who was standing straight and also in shock.

“Is that true, Isabell?” Aiden asked.

Isabell was even more in disbelief, the words to deny were in the back of her throat and she couldn't say them out of disbelief, her face even hotter and redder because of the situation.

Aiden sighed tiredly again, he shook his head and understood.

“All this fuss over this? It would have been easier to have told me from the start, I think we should talk, kid,” Aiden said to Phoenix, as O’Sullivan opened the gate and walked down the road.

Even Phoenix couldn't believe it worked, and that her father had accepted it so easily. He looked at Isabell beside him.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she told him, clearly irritated by it.

She walked back to where she was to take the reins of her animal and guide it into the property, Phoenix walked with her.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Isabell O'Sullivan- Written by: Carolleto

Isabell watched her father waiting on the porch. Phoenix walked beside him, seemingly unconcerned. Miss O'Sullivan needed to think of something quickly to defuse this situation.

"What are your intentions with Isabell?" Aiden asked, sizing Phoenix up. It was as if he were starting from scratch, ignoring the entire previous situation.

“I’m going to marry her,” Phoenix replied, as firmly as the first time.

“Well, I have to talk to my daughter in private, so hold on,” Aiden said.

Isabell climbed the steps without looking at Phoenix. She didn't know how to deny Phoenix without her father throwing him out afterward. He certainly couldn't even set foot in the city. She wished she had stopped going to the lake that afternoon and everything would be different now. Her father opened the door to his private room for her. Aiden looked closely at Isabell and noticed she was shaken.

“Honey, are you really going to marry that man?”

Isabell opened her mouth; she would have to say Phoenix was making a bad joke. But Aiden suddenly laughed.

"I see you're embarrassed to talk about this. I know how sensitive this marriage topic is for you, Isabell. I must say, that guy is a bit strange. You said you've been with him, and if he makes you happy, then I don't mind." Aiden paced back and forth. Isabell blinked a few times. "I'm relieved you've found someone. Seeing you around all this time, unhappy and alone, broke my heart. I also wanted to spare you the burden of managing this."

Isabell saw the relief in Aiden; it hit her hard. He didn't like Phoenix and all his boldness, but he was willing to look past it and accept him. Isabell truly saw her father happy after what seemed like an eternity. The explanation of misunderstanding faded; how could she take that away from him like that? Her father also wanted her to get married; he wasn't a lunatic like her mother, but he wanted it as much as Eileen. I never told him, especially after everything he'd seen her go through after the Wapiti reservation. Isabell knew her loneliness and grief were affecting Aiden, but he was too kind to complain.

Aiden had been preparing Isabell to manage what would belong to her in the future, but that was too exhausting in his eyes, she would be alone and that scared her father more than she did.

“I don’t know when he intends to get married, I just ask that you keep me informed, in the meantime, he can stay, it’s good that he stays, I want to personally check what he’s like and what he’s going to deal with from now on.”

Aiden left the office. Isabell stood still, too much information to process at once. Aiden went to the balcony and asked Phoenix to come in.

Phoenix followed him. He couldn't help but notice how luxurious the house was. He was in a place he'd never thought he'd be. If it were someone else's house, he'd steal everything of value there and be set for himself. He quickly stopped thinking about it and looked around for Isabell. He knew how angry she was with him, but he was curious. If the old man allowed him in, it meant Isabell hadn't said she wouldn't marry him. The redhead emerged from a doorway and froze when she saw him. Even though she was clearly angry with him, Isabell was a beautiful sight to behold.

"Okay, I asked Magdalena to set another place at the table for dinner. Could you show him the guest room, Isabell? I really need a shower," Aiden said, apparently in good spirits.

Aiden didn't wait for Isabell's response, but went upstairs and left them in the living room. Isabell avoided eye contact with Phoenix. She moved around some of the living room chairs until she reached the stairs. Phoenix followed her when she stopped as if she'd been waiting for him.

Miss O'Sullivan opened the door to the room to the right of the stairs; it was a generically decorated guest room. Phoenix wasn't used to it; he wouldn't even mind being sent to sleep in the stable with the animals. As long as he could be there somehow, that was enough. Phoenix took a step into the room, passing Isabell, who was standing near the door. He expected her to say something, anything. He'd accept it even if she cursed him out. It didn't matter; he just wanted to make up with her.

Isabell let go of the doorknob she was still holding to leave, but Phoenix was quicker. He gently grabbed her arm, forcing Isabell to look at him. Her green orbs didn't hide how stressed she was with him.

“Isabell,” Phoenix said her name, they communicated very well without having to say much.

Isabell looked away, letting out a tired sigh, she pulled her arm back.

"I don't want to talk to you right now, please. I need some space." Isabell said, leaving the room and entering through another door, her own. Phoenix moved from where he was and stood in front of the door, staring at the dark wood. Nothing could make him more uneasy than her like that. He needed to fix this with Isabell. Reluctantly, he turned and entered what would now be his sanctuary. He felt out of place.

Dinner was served and everyone showed up, only Aiden seemed excited, so much so that he didn't notice Phoenix staring at Isabell, pretending he wasn't there. Miss O'Sullivan finished the meal quickly and left.

“I have some missions for you, boy, be alert when I call you,” Aiden said as soon as Isabell left.

Phoenix could only nod. If he wanted to make peace with Isabell, he would have to tolerate her father without protest. Consequences of his own actions. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he glanced toward Isabell's bedroom door. Reluctantly, he entered his own room and fell asleep, the light sleep he had, waking constantly when the threat of his nightmares loomed. He knew Isabell's routine, so when she opened the door to leave, Phoenix was already waiting for her.

Isabell stared at the man in front of her. She wasn't as angry now, but she was still as confused as Phoenix. His words from the previous day echoed in her mind. He wanted to be close to her; he kissed her, again. Isabell tried to push the thoughts away, and she walked past him without saying her typical "good morning, Dark Hawk." And Miss O'Sullivan had been avoiding him all morning.

Phoenix found himself reluctant, following the space she requested to the letter. He took the opportunity to call his pet and gather his things. Aiden passed Phoenix as he led his pet down the road.

“You can leave the animal with the others in the stable if you want, there’s food and water,” Aiden said and waved his hat, riding towards the city.

Phoenix took the horse out to eat and drink, but didn't tether it with the others. He removed the saddle to give the animal some relief and led it to a free pasture beyond the fence. Phoenix surveyed the place with boredom, watching the people working everywhere, some looking at him the way everyone always did: with amazement and contempt. He pulled one of the remaining cigarettes from his pack with his teeth, lit it, and took a deep drag. His tension draining along with the smoke, out of the corner of his good eye he caught a glimpse of a figure; he stared at the red-haired woman walking by. Phoenix left his spot, tossed the half-smoked cigarette into someone's mug of water, and followed Isabell from a safe distance. He watched her stop before a grave beneath a large tree, the wind carrying her loose hair like a flickering flame. Phoenix found himself drawn to it and couldn't bear it anymore; he had to get closer.

Isabell noticed Dark Hawk's presence there, but she didn't care. She stared at her mother's grave and Eileen's name engraved there. A few bouquets of flowers trailed up the headstone, life and death practically kissing.

“I’ll follow the rules, I don’t want to cause any more trouble,” Phoenix said in a silent promise.

Isabell finally looked at him.

It was no longer a matter of rules to follow; Isabell was trapped in her father's words, in his reaction, in how relieved and happy Aiden was at the idea of Isabell marrying someone. She was already a grown woman, empty and with a home that wasn't the one she'd long since lost, not to mention that the only man she'd ever loved was also gone. What was wrong with her? Her whole life had been destined to be this way. Even her father was tired of it.

“You gave my father hope he shouldn’t have,” Isabell murmured.

Phoenix thought for a bit, she didn't know what to say to that at that moment, she was certainly talking about the wedding.

“I don’t consider your ceremonies,” Phoenix said in response, as if that might comfort Isabell.

Miss O'Sullivan looked at Phoenix again, and a realization dawned on her: he was willing to marry under the law just to be near her, as if it were nothing. It still sounded crazy, but she recognized that he was going to great lengths for her sake.

"My mother dreamed about my wedding day and night. I was prepared for this ridiculous thing for a long time until I put a stop to it myself. She would never have accepted you. If I had said that in front of her instead of my father, she would have exploded like dynamite. Honestly, I couldn't even consider marriage, not like a white man's wedding, like the natives say, like you just said," Isabell explained to Phoenix.

“You could have told your father that and you didn’t.”

“He was so happy about it that I didn’t have the courage to speak, I think I should prepare the ground first, you can stay in the meantime, maybe you’ll have to listen to my father for a bit and he won’t go easy on you, consider it a punishment.”

"Will I be able to see you?" Phoenix asked. It was the only thing that mattered to him. He felt tense, another moment where she might reject him. If there was anything he feared, it was this. He didn't care about rejection from anyone; he was used to it, but not from Isabell. She was more, much more to him than anyone else.

“I’ll make sure I can,” she said, also in a kind of silent promise.

Phoenix clenched his jaw, she didn't reject him, she would have to accept that condition, he himself couldn't force her to marry him even in this marriage that neither of them apparently accepted, but he wouldn't give up, he wanted her to be his, he would do whatever he could to make that happen.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Isabell O'Sullivan- Written by: Carolleto

Aiden chattered nonstop beside Phoenix, trying to teach him how to choose the best horses simply by looking at the data in a catalog. Firstly, Phoenix didn't need a lesson in this; he knew exactly what a good animal was, and statistics written in a catalog wouldn't tell him which one was right. Secondly, he wasn't paying attention to Aiden and his chatter; his eyes were on the redhead far away from them, riding away from the property. Dark Hawk had to tear his eyes away from her when Aiden called his name. He looked seriously at the redheaded man in front of him and at the man who owned the horses. Phoenix let out a long sigh; he wanted a cigarette right then. It had been three days since he arrived here, and he'd endured Aiden's chatter, pointing out every detail of the farm and explaining the obvious as if Phoenix had lived under a rock his entire life.

"So, Mr. Wilder, from what I've told you, what do you think is a good animal?" Aiden held out the catalog. Lincoln, who was leaning over a fence, glanced mischievously at Phoenix. He noticed Phoenix wasn't paying attention.

Phoenix shifted, bumping into the catalog Aiden held out, nearly knocking it to the ground. He studied the wild animals the man had brought with him. In less than a minute, he had identified all the horses suitable for farm work and riding. Aiden was amazed, and soon forgot about the catalog as well.

“I’ll take the ones he picked,” Mr. O’Sullivan said, shaking the salesman’s hand.

“Are you going to trust what he said, boss? How can he tell that just by looking at him?” Lincoln interjected, standing up straight in surprise.

Phoenix gave him a deadly look, if he hadn't promised Isabell that he would behave, he would have already made that son of a bitch swallow all his teeth for all the times he mocked him behind his back, thinking he didn't notice.

"Of course I do. I've never seen anyone show so much confidence in what they're saying. I'll bet on his intuition. Come on, kid, don't stand there questioning me! Let's get the animals stabled." Aiden left, Lincoln in pursuit with a noticeable scowl.

Dark Hawk didn't stay to see the end of that story. He gave a sharp whistle, and suddenly Chindi appeared at a trot. He jumped on his horse and took off across the farm toward the road Isabell had disappeared on. He didn't want to follow her, but she was stronger than him; his thoughts drove him to the extreme, always with "What if she needed him?” “What if she got into trouble on the road?”. That time in Mexico was enough; he would never let that happen again. He could track her easily; he was skilled at following tracks. He saw her horse grazing in a green area next to a ruined house. Further ahead, he saw her red hair and a vast lake stretching to the horizon. His protective instincts calmed within him; he dismounted from Chindi without taking his eyes off Isabell, sitting on the grass. Dark Hawk approached cautiously; Isabell was still upset about the whole marriage thing. Phoenix dreaded the day he would no longer have the privilege of seeing her all the time. Soon, she would tell her father that the whole story was a lie, and he would have to settle for seeing her only occasionally.

Isabell glanced back as her horse snorted. She saw Phoenix approaching. She wasn't surprised at all; deep down, she expected him to follow her there. Phoenix didn't ask permission to sit beside her; he simply did so, respecting Isabell's personal space. He took in the view and recognized it as beautiful.

“Something tells me you come here a lot,” he started a conversation.

Phoenix looked at Isabell, he saw the corners of her mouth lift slightly in a millisecond. He contemplated her profile image as she looked ahead, her nose was straight and sprinkled with freckles the same shade as her hair, he also liked the color of her full lips andinvitingher. He always watched her when Isabell was distracted; she was a beauty worth looking at, and the more he looked at her, the more he desired that woman. Then Phoenix suddenly felt insecure, realizing they were a stark contrast. The demons whispered in his ear.“she will never want you, just look at you”.

"Well, you're right," Isabell finally replied at just the right moment, pulling Phoenix out of the torture of his self-sabotaging thoughts as if she knew he was falling apart. "I come here whenever I want to escape the walls of my house and think for a bit… I've been doing this for years."

Isabell felt the discomfort of painful memories. Despite seeking refuge there, that place only represented her deepest pains, but she simply couldn't stop going. She liked to gaze at the calm water of the lake and focus on the tiny waves caused by the wind, watch the sun kiss the water at sunset, and feel the cool breeze fill her lungs.

Phoenix recognized her expression; he understood that feeling all too well. He stretched out his legs and rested a hand on the ground, the wind blowing his loose hair across his face, a minimalist smile appearing on his face. Isabell glanced at Phoenix as he moved, noticing how handsome he was, especially when he smiled. She'd noticed it before, but at that particular moment, Phoenix was breathtaking. The sun on his face highlighted the unique blue of his eyes; his perfectly aligned teeth; and his hair framing his face. Isabell found herself asking an inevitable question: Did he realize how attractive he was? Sometimes it seemed so, but most of the time, he seemed to despise himself.

“Did I say something funny?” Isabell asked, looking away and hiding her face, she didn’t want him to see her blushing because of him.

"No, Isabell. I just find it interesting how you deal with your problems; I might even say it's enviable. My methods are a bit more... radical." Phoenix replied, his smile disappearing as quickly as it appeared. He wasn't proud of drinking, smoking, and fighting so much, but it was the way he knew how to vent any feelings and frustrations that were too much for him to bear. And he had plenty of frustrations to vent, whether it was at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey or punching some idiot in the face.

“Hm, I know,” Isabell replied, she remembered all the episodes in Mexico well, all the alcohol she saw him consume, packs and packs of cigarettes and she didn’t even like to think about the men he killed because of her in Casa Madrugada.

Each of them was focused on their own thoughts, a comfortable silence as it always was between them, the sun sinking lower and lower toward the lake on the horizon. Suddenly, Isabell was startled by Chindi when the animal lowered its head to uproot a clump of grass beside her. Isabell let out a shaky gasp of shock, her heart nearly leaping into her throat. Phoenix stifled a laugh.

“Go, Chindi!” he said, urging the horse away.

“Your horse is very beautiful, Dark Hawk,” Isabell commented after calming down.

“He is, he is also my faithful companion.”

“Where did you find him?” Isabell asked curiously, she noticed Phoenix’s expression tighten into a murderous scowl.

"He was being exploited in Annesburg. He was pulling an oversized wagon loaded with ore and timber. The bastards were whipping him relentlessly, Chindi could barely walk." Phoenix stopped there, looking at Isabell, debating whether or not to tell him he'd made those guys pay in kind. Phoenix whipped each of them until they passed out, then dragged their bodies into the cave. With cold calm, he tied a stick of dynamite to the main stake at the mine entrance. He pulled out a cigarette and lit a match, first lighting the fuse, then his cigarette, and walked nonchalantly toward the horse long enough before the explosion, the mine entrance was buried with the men inside. Telling Isabell didn't seem like a good idea, so he skipped that part. "I took him to my camp and took care of him; he's been my only companion ever since. And he's returned the favor more times than I can count."

“Sometimes it seems like you take better care of him than you do of yourself,” Isabell said, stretching her legs a little.

“Chindi is worth more than me, Isabell.”

The words “You matter too, Dark Hawk” hovered on Isabell’s tongue, but she didn’t have the courage to say them.

"I see you liked the book," Phoenix nodded toward Isabell's bag, the book he'd given her resting on top of it, her diary just below. Phoenix could barely hide the satisfaction that filled her; she truly had enjoyed the gift he'd given her.

“Yes,” she murmured, she couldn’t tell Phoenix that she had read it three times and that it was her escape whenever she missed his presence. Share. “And you’re wearing the bracelet,” she also pointed out, diverting attention from her, wanting to get rid of that heat that threatened to arise inside her.

Phoenix pulled up his sleeve to reveal the bracelet. It hugged his wide wrist perfectly, seemingly made especially for him. Phoenix also didn't want to say how much that simple, handmade object had helped him keep from losing his sanity when he was literally on the brink. It was what pulled him back.

They watched each other for a moment, confused feelings swimming on the surface.

"It's getting late, we better head back," Phoenix suggested, standing up. He held out his hand to help Isabell up. They were suddenly very close. Phoenix couldn't resist, leaning closer to her, still holding Miss O'Sullivan's icy hand. Isabell froze; they were only a breath away, but on impulse, she pulled away just as he was about to close the distance. Isabell turned and gathered her belongings from the floor. She struggled to calm her heart. What was this Dark Hawk doing to her? She couldn't. She really couldn't, soon she would tell her father that there was no wedding and it was all just a joke, encouraging Phoenix to do anything like that was out of the question.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Isabell O'Sullivan- Written by: Carolleto

Isabell readied her horse, tightening the saddle girths. The old cloak she'd had since living on the reservation was still draped over the animal. She mounted the horse and almost jumped when she saw Phoenix there. He gently stroked her horse's face.

“I’m going into town to help Mr. Flores with the boxes,” Isabell explained, as Phoenix seemed interested. “You can come if you want.”

Dark Hawk nodded, whistling. Isabell didn't have to wait for Phoenix to saddle him; he grabbed a halter, and that was all it took. He mounted the horse like that and stood beside her. They rode together to Rhodes at a moderate pace.

Isabell dismounted and left her horse tied to the post. She entered the warehouse first; Phoenix decided to stay outside and smoke his last cigarette. Isabell began the process of unloading a wagon of goods, as she did every week for Mr. Flores. It was always a pleasure to help her old friend. Phoenix approached when Isabell was down to the last boxes, took them from her hand, and entered the warehouse.

“Jesus Christ! What are you doing here?” Mr. Flores asked when he noticed it wasn’t Isabell bringing in the boxes.

Phoenix set the boxes down next to the others and turned to the old man. The man took a step back, closer to the counter. Isabell appeared at that moment. Perfect timing for Phoenix.

"Isabell and I are getting married," Phoenix said, pulling Isabell close to him. His arm wrapped around the redhead's waist. Phoenix suppressed a mocking smile when he saw Flores standing frozen as stone, truly stunned by the news.

Isabell glared at Phoenix. He was doing it to shock Mr. Flores, since the old man was afraid of him. Isabell removed Phoenix's arm from her waist and pulled him out of the warehouse.

“You’re being mean,” Isabell complained to Phoenix as she led Flores’s wagon horses behind the general store to get a drink of water.

“I didn’t say anything bad,” Phoenix replied nonchalantly. He leaned against the wagon and watched Isabell stare at him with her arms crossed. She was angry again.

“There was no need to talk about the wedding,” Isabell explains.

“I still don't see anything wrong with that.”

“You know, we won’t.”

Isabell's answer deeply bothered Phoenix. He hadn't considered marriage, that was true, but that didn't mean he didn't want her more than anything. She was the reason he'd been doing this all along. Phoenix found himself asking:

“Why don’t you want me? What’s wrong with me?”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, I just don’t think you should announce it around since it’s not going to happen,” Isabell muttered in response.

“You didn’t answer the first question, Isabell,” Phoenix countered, that was the answer he wanted most. 

Confusion about Phoenix came to her. She had no answer to that question. She didn't want him to leave. He gave her a warm feeling of life, something she hadn't felt in a long time, and he calmed her inner demons. When Phoenix was near, she could truly breathe. Isabell's face began to blush in front of Phoenix. If she didn't speak, her body would give Phoenix the answer on a silver platter.

Phoenix gave a mischievous smile, his heart suddenly beating faster, the weight of rejection that threatened to fall upon him quickly lifted. He wanted to test her once more. Phoenix moved closer to Miss O'Sullivan, and when she threatened to look away, he tilted her face up to meet his gaze. Phoenix touched Isabell's cheek with his thumb, caressing where her blush was concentrated. Her skin was warm to his touch, soft and delicate. Isabell seemed fragile, too fragile for someone like him, but it was inevitable that he wouldn't be attracted to her.

Isabell was surprised when her body reacted to him, shivering at Phoenix's touch. It completely unhinged her; she hadn't felt goosebumps in longer than she could count. She let herself be carried away by the sensation; it was almost stronger than she was.

Phoenix didn't give Isabell any more time to process it. Since she allowed his touch, he closed the distance without hesitation, kissing her again as controlled as he could. He was satisfied that she didn't pull away; he wanted to see how far she could take his intensity. He grabbed her waist with his free hand, pulled her toward him, and deepened the kiss. It was when he squeezed her in the right place that Isabell jerked against him, and Phoenix broke the kiss immediately. He didn't let go completely. He kept his arm around her as he murmured in his native tongue, "You still don't see, do you?"

Isabell frowned, she was completely baffled and surprised at herself, but she was curious to know what he meant.

“I don’t see what?”

Phoenix finally released Isabell; now he was the one shocked and confused. How could she understand him? It wasn't possible.

Isabell noticed Phoenix's confusion and stepped away to compose herself. The redhead guessed what Phoenix might be thinking and decided to clarify.

"I know your language; I was taught it while I was on the reservation. It was a very passionate language, and I wanted to learn it even though they knew English," Isabell explained, a little sad and wistful.

Nothing could have touched Phoenix more than knowing that. For so long, he had been confident speaking his own language, causing confusion when he did, but now he was faced with a woman who had already figured him out and now discovered that she understood him when he spoke the language of his people. What else was she hiding? Could she surprise him more? He wanted to find out; he would pay for it. He didn't want to answer what she couldn't see; Isabell needed to see for herself how much he wanted her.

As the days passed, Aiden let someone take his place at the police station so he could be at the farm, teaching Phoenix lessons and watching him work. But no one there expected to be surprised by Phoenix's dedication and ability to do anything he was asked to do. Aiden found himself captivated, especially when Phoenix was handling the farm's horses. This made one of the stable hands, Lincoln, jealous. Even with Phoenix's intimidating aura, he constantly muttered his prejudice. Sometimes he did it on purpose to see if Phoenix would attack him, and Aiden would throw him out, but Phoenix was smarter than Lincoln realized. Besides, he had promised Isabell he would behave.

Isabell was noticing how much Aiden had grown to enjoy Phoenix's company and mastery of his duties. The first day Aiden came to speak to her privately about Dark Hawk, Isabell was astonished by her father's excitement, how surprised he was; he had completely forgotten the negative impression he had of Phoenix. And with each passing day, she found herself lacking the courage to tell her father that the marriage wasn't going to happen. Aiden was like her; once something was solidified in his mind, there was nothing that could change it. Besides, there was still herself; it was becoming undeniable that she harbored a fondness for Dark Hawk, but her dormant senses were hard to understand; only the fear that surfaced, the fear of giving in to something and having the life ripped from her again, was her greatest caution. Isabell was oblivious at first, the abyss she was immersed in blinding her, but she began to pay attention to Phoenix, first in Mexico. Those days with him were constantly on her mind. She missed him terribly after that, and when he was there again, Isabell barely had time to process all the chaos. Now she had everything in order, at least partly, and Dark Hawk was gaining a lot of space in her life, and it frightened her.

What might be obvious to others wasn't to Isabell. The way he looked at her, the way he was mischievous and teased her to see her blush, the way he touched her, and the hypnotic way he had of holding her still when he kissed her impulsively. The idea of being loved by someone again was beginning to make sense to her.

Isabell was engrossed in a book when Magdalena came to announce dinner. Isabell left her book on a table and went downstairs to eat. Aiden was already there, looking cheerful. Miss O'Sullivan saw a growing excitement in her father she'd never seen before, not even when Eileen was still alive. Phoenix appeared last, his hair wet from a recent bath and his clothes clean and always dark. His first action upon sitting down was to face Isabell, making a point of sitting opposite her so he could gaze at her.

They served themselves and began to eat in silence as usual. Aiden hadn't touched his food yet, he was deep in thought, his hands clasped together, his arms resting on the table. If Eileen had been there, she would have scolded him for this lack of etiquette.

“So… I don’t want to be nosy, but since everything needs to be prepared, I was wondering if you have a wedding date yet? I spoke to the priest and he’s free for the whole month.” Aiden finally asked.

Isabell gave up on lifting her fork and looked directly at Phoenix. He stared back at her, neutral. Isabell felt bad, trapped in a kind of maze with no way out. She should have said she wouldn't get married, but she let herself be carried away by those days, where her father was happy, where she was also somehow happy alongside Phoenix, despite his provocations.

“We’re getting married in two weeks, I hope that’s enough time to get everything ready,” Phoenix said, taking the initiative again.

Isabell's lips parted slightly, blinking and focusing on Phoenix again. She couldn't believe he'd done it again, but she immediately considered the idea. Maybe this could work. Dark Hawk lifted his head slightly, silently conversing with her. Isabell sighed before turning her gaze to Aiden.

“Yes, in two weeks,” Isabell reinforced.

It was Phoenix's turn to be surprised; her agreeing to that wasn't something he'd expected from her. He was biding his time; Phoenix was waiting for Isabell to do as she'd said, but she didn't. He was still there, as her fiancé, submitting to the old man's commands and, above all, trying hard to behave and not tear Lincoln in two. Everything was a challenge, all to stay close to her, and he even enjoyed seeing how Isabell reacted to him when she was caught off guard.

"That's wonderful! I'll start the preparations tomorrow, I have a lot of orders to fill," Aiden said, unable to contain his excitement.

“Dad, please don’t make an event out of this,” Isabell pleaded, she couldn’t tolerate this, he was starting to sound like her mother at that moment.

“Sure, honey. Don’t worry,” Aiden replied.

Isabell finished her meal and excused herself. She went upstairs and slipped into the house's reading room. She instantly regretted it; she closed her eyes and remembered her former love. What would Eagle Flies think of her if she married another man? She had just done it, and she felt like she was betraying her former love, the memory of him. Isabell opened her eyes and saw Dark Hawk's reflection in the imported china cabinet.

"You agreed," Phoenix said, entering the reading room with slow, measured steps. Sometimes he treated Isabell like a skittish animal; she could run from him at any moment if he was too abrupt, and Phoenix didn't want that.

“Yes,” Isabell simply said, she had to quickly abandon her internal conflict, she didn’t want to risk Phoenix noticing.

They both stared at each other for a moment, the demons in their heads intimidated by each other's presence, even Phoenix's seemed bearable at that moment. Isabell held her arm and looked away to the floor. It was strange that everyone had already accepted Phoenix there; she enjoyed his company, already expecting to open her door and find him every morning, but it was difficult to accept the feelings he evoked in her. Those feelings belonged to a person she would never have again, and no matter how hard she tried to let go of her romance with Eagle Flies and move on, it seemed unattainable.

Even if he didn't show it, Phoenix was having a similar conflict. White Feather had been on his mind a lot lately. She had been his only love, the only person who accepted him for who he was in days long gone, but she still haunted him in the present. Isabell bore a certain resemblance to White Feather, even more intriguing, because she had met him later; he was already scarred, and a hundred times worse than when he had lived in his tribe. Was he truly ready to move on? Would he be able to recapture those dormant feelings and give them to someone else? And then there was Isabell herself. No matter how much she tried to hide it, she still thought about Eagle Flies, he knew it. Phoenix found himself angry at that moment, his possessive side taking over. He couldn't control the jealousy he felt when he remembered how she looked at those photos all the time in Mexico.

"Did you see how happy my father was? It's hard for me to take that away from him. I didn't expect him to ask about a date," Isabell said sincerely. She turned back to Phoenix. She assumed he wanted to know why she'd changed her mind. If she had to do this, she needed to start accepting it now. She wished it were easier, but she'd been fighting herself from the start. Her past and her future were waging an endless battle she couldn't control. Isabell sighed; she needed to be alone to absorb the situation as she had every day. She moved, taking a step toward Phoenix before murmuring, "Good night, Dark Hawk." Miss O'Sullivan walked past Phoenix, and he followed her with his eyes until she disappeared from the room.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Isabell O'Sullivan- Written by: Carolleto

Miss O’Sullivan looked at the book and read the words for the third time, but she wasn’t paying attention again. She looked up to see Phoenix in the stable with the horses. It was interesting how the animals liked him; they always remained calm in Phoenix’s presence, unlike the people who avoided him as much as possible. Isabell closed the book and left it lying around, walking nonchalantly to the stable. Phoenix carried a bundle of hay to the stalls and began dividing the feed with his hands for the animals to eat. Miss O’Sullivan heard Phoenix speak of Wapiti to one of the new horses on the farm, a stallion with a difficult temperament who was more agitated than the others. Phoenix spoke gentle words of friendship to the animal, trying to gain trust, but the animal was unwilling to relent.

Phoenix patiently backed away from the stall, noticing the animal was uncomfortable with his intrusive presence. His eyes fixed on Isabell, who stood watching. She didn't seem angry; she was constantly angry with him for his provocations, and after the wedding date was set, Isabell seemed to avoid him somewhat, always cooped up in that reading room. Annoying her was the easiest way to keep her attention on him.

“You have a way with animals,” Isabell commented.

Phoenix admired the way she looked disconcerted as she said that. He watched her look down and slide one of her boots across the floor, her hands behind her. He appreciated the compliment; he didn't mind compliments from anyone in this place, but this one had come from Isabell; it had meaning for him. Phoenix watched Isabell approach, walked past him, and went to look at the farm's new horses. All of them were still wild, but some were more tolerant of humans than others. Isabell stayed away from the stallion's most temperamental stallion and focused on another. She tried to touch him, but he backed away. Isabell quickly pulled her hand away.

“You have to talk to him, ask for permission,” Phoenix instructed.

Isabell looked at him neutrally and returned to observing the animal. Phoenix thought she would give up and leave, but Isabell spoke friendly words in Wapiti to calm the animal, imitating her way of dealing with them. Phoenix approached Isabell, completely mesmerized by what she saw; she truly spoke his language. Phoenix took another step, placing himself right behind Isabell. Isabell's floral scent quickly invaded his senses. He noticed her hair and felt the urge to touch it, but he stayed put, taking her hand instead.

Isabell stopped talking, looking over her shoulder, up to where Phoenix was looking at her neutrally, she didn't take her hand away from his. Phoenix began speaking kind words for Isabell to the horse, raising the hand that held Isabell's, taking it with his, and finally placing her hand on the horse's muzzle, her hand covering Isabell's completely, he slowly removed it, leaving only Isabell's there.

Miss O'Sullivan was amazed at how it worked; she'd never thought animals could understand what humans were saying to them. Isabell stroked the animal's nose; the horse sniffed her hand before returning to eating nonchalantly, allowing her to touch him without protest.

“Thank you,” Isabell said sincerely, looking up at Phoenix. She was so amazed and grateful at his skill that she gave him one of her rare smiles.

Phoenix froze in place; Isabell was smiling at him. It startled him deeply, but soon a strength took hold of him. He was proud of himself, he felt he was making some progress with Isabell. He watched with satisfaction as she realized the gift she had just given him and blushed. He felt the urge to kiss her right then. It was a torturous game; he was determined to win her over, and he knew he was close. He was being patient with it, but sometimes he just wished she would realize it sooner, that she would desire him as much as he desired her.

Isabell looked down, Phoenix hovering over her, a little intoxicated by her scent and memorizing the smile Isabell had just given her. Isabell also felt her hand catch fire when he touched it; he was stirring up all her messy inner being at that moment, so close to her. Isabell was always most vulnerable to Phoenix when he was this close; knowing this, she moved away from him. Miss O'Sullivan let out a sigh as she walked away from the stable. She thought Phoenix acted like a magnet, pulling those feelings she had for him to the surface whenever he was near. A bit of irritation rose in her at the thought, for her feelings hid deep down as soon as she walked away, somewhere she couldn't reach, and her mind wandered to Eagle Flies, making her feel bad for being in front of another man. Why couldn't she move on? That last week she was trying to get rid of it, but she couldn't. She got angrier than usual when Phoenix decided to be naughty with her, that didn't help much, making her question whether this marriage was a good idea.

Isabell felt everything, including her inner demons, pulling her away from that marriage. But a small spark fought against it all. This spark was stronger when Phoenix was looking at her, close to her, and when he suddenly pulled her into a kiss, the spark became a flame, ready to set her ablaze. One side of her wanted that flame to remain, but the other side made her feel afraid, afraid of giving in to it and losing it later. There was also Aiden; she was doing this to bring joy to her father; he deserved it.

One hot night, Isabell ended up riding to the saloon, wanting a drink and trying to distract herself. She couldn't stand being alone with her thoughts anymore. The tension was consuming her; the wedding was a week away, and every time she saw a package from Aiden arriving at the estate, she simply wanted to disappear from the face of the Earth. Phoenix always remained neutral, neither happy nor nervous about the situation, or so Isabell thought, but Dark Hawk also had his own internal debates about this event he himself proposed.

Isabell felt a presence beside her; she already knew it was him. Nostalgia took them both by surprise. Isabell looked at Phoenix as he stared back. She could almost hear him say, "You can drink, but it won't go away." She would have thought she'd gone back in time to that day if it weren't for the different way Phoenix was looking at her now.

Phoenix noticed how different Isabell was from that distant night, how much more beautiful she was now. He couldn't imagine he'd ever have that vibrant-haired woman, desperate to rid herself of her personal problems by throwing herself into alcohol. As he wandered around, he occasionally found himself thinking about her, the only woman who hadn't run from him after one look at his face. That redhead had always intrigued him, and she returned to him like a gift he felt he didn't deserve, yet craved so much. Phoenix lit a cigarette and leaned his back against the bar. The people looking at him immediately looked away.

Coincidentally, once again, an interesting melody began playing on the piano. Phoenix almost smiled at the mischievous idea that came to him as soon as he noticed the music. He exhaled thick smoke from his mouth and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. Phoenix moved closer to Isabell and held out his hand.

Miss O’Sullivan blinked and stared at him in disbelief. Was he really doing this again? She looked away at his smug expression.

"We have to rehearse for the big day," Phoenix muttered in a defiant, even sarcastic tone, holding out his hand to Isabell. That gesture already held a lot of meaning for them.

Isabell sighed. That would certainly give people in town more reason to talk about them. She took a quick look around, and everyone's attention was already on them anyway. Isabell lifted her chin slightly and placed her hand in Phoenix's. He held it tightly and pulled her toward him. This time he wasn't cautious. Phoenix kept her close, his hand firmly around her, following her as Isabell led the dance. He was making sure people saw with anticipation that this woman belonged to him, even if she didn't admit it, but he would get there and savor this moment with great satisfaction. Phoenix had been dishonest in that moment, asking Isabell to dance. He just wanted her in his arms, to feel her warmth and inhale the scent emanating from her, to which he was already addicted.

Miss O'Sullivan had to rely on her feet to lead the two in their dance. She couldn't think straight with Phoenix holding her so close to him, and then there was the caressing of his hand. It was impossible to ignore, even if Isabell tried hard to focus on something else. Phoenix suddenly took over, releasing her waist and spinning Isabell around once. Then he held her firmly again, tilting her downward, gravity pulling Isabell down, making her exactly how Phoenix desired. He leaned over her and brought his face to Isabell's neck, inhaling her scent deeply and brushing his lips lightly against her soft skin, placing a soft kiss there.

Miss O'Sullivan felt her body react immediately. Goosebumps rose, and the flame tripled in size. Her lips parted in shock at Dark Hawk's actions. When he pulled her back, she was the one dancing with him now, once again relying on muscle memory. She glanced at Phoenix, who was staring at her, hoping their eyes would meet. She couldn't hide from him how much that had affected her. Isabell stopped dancing just in time for the music to end, as if the pianist were accompanying them, not the other way around.

Isabell let go of Phoenix's hand and walked away. She turned and walked toward the saloon exit. The fresh air was so welcome, her heart pounding. She had to stop for a moment, to truly breathe and calm herself. The redhead moved with effort, mounting her horse and leaving. She considered locking herself in her room for the entire week until the wedding. She felt she couldn't face Dark Hawk after that. He had made it clear to her how pleased he was to see her like that.

Phoenix watched Isabell leave, suppressing the urge to chase after her immediately. He couldn't have been happier to taste her skin, to know if it was as sweet as her scent made it seem. In that moment, he had a lot of self-control; if he hadn't been in a bar surrounded by people, he would have gone further. He approached the bar and tossed a coin; he needed a beer. He was proud, knowing he was getting closer to Isabell's heart.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Phoenix (Dark Hawk) Wilder - Written by: TNTBlackCat

The morning sun filtered through the tall grass in soft gold, though the house and yard around it buzzed with the day’s work. Aiden stood near the porch, arms crossed, his voice clipped as he spoke to his daughter.

“I’ve no time for it today,” he said. “But the cargo’s too valuable to leave in anyone else’s hands. I need you and Phoenix to ride into Saint Denis and bring it back.”

Isabell hesitated. “Why us?”

“Because Isabell,” Aiden replied firmly. “Phoenix knows how to handle trouble if it comes.” His tone made it clear there’d be no further argument. He gestured toward the fields. “Ask him please. He’s not hard to find.”

She drew a quiet breath and headed out past the barn.

Phoenix was there, leaning against the rail fence that marked the edge of the pasture. His hat was tipped low, one boot crossed lazily over the other, a cigarette burning between his fingers. The smoke curled upward, white against the sky. He looked every bit the picture of someone who had nowhere in particular to be and nothing at all to prove.

Isabell slowed as she approached, “My father wants us to go to Saint Denis. There’s a cargo coming in on the train, and he says it’s too precious to send with anyone else.”

Phoenix exhaled, a thin stream of smoke drifting from his lips. For a moment he didn’t move, didn’t answer, only studied her with that unreadable gaze from beneath the brim of his hat. Then, wordlessly, he flicked the cigarette to the dirt and ground it out beneath his heel.

Without comment, he pushed off the fence and started for the cart. His long stride carried him past her. He didn’t speak, but the tilt of his head suggested he expected her to follow.

Isabell did.

At the cart, Phoenix tightened the last strap on the harness, gave the horse a pat, then finally turned toward her. His smirk was faint, but it lit his face in that maddening way she’d come to know.

“Are you going stand there staring all day, or are you planning to climb in?”

Isabell’s spine straightened. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Mm.” He flicked a glance at her, slow and deliberate, before stepping up onto the cart. “Funny, felt like you were.”

Her cheeks warmed, though she quickly masked it by fussing with her gloves. “I was only waiting for you to finish.”

“Sure you were,” Phoenix said, stretching back against the bench seat as if he had all the time in the world.

Isabell pressed her lips into a line and climbed up beside him. The boards creaked under her weight, the horse shifting as Phoenix picked up the reins. The cart jolted forward, wheels crunching over the dirt.

For a while, they said nothing. The fields stretched out around them, the morning air still cool, filled only with the rhythmic clop of hooves.

But Isabell felt his eyes on her now and again, sharp as a blade and twice as irritating. And when she finally turned to meet his gaze, he was already smirking, as though he’d been waiting for her to look.

She tore her eyes away, glaring out at the road ahead. The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was taut, electric, like the moment before a storm broke.

She attempted to brush him off along with the emotions swelling inside her. These feelings had been intensifying ever since the moment she first encountered him. She concentrated on the sound of hooves clattering and the creaking of wooden wheels as they journeyed into the very center of Saint Denis. Their cart rattled through the cobbled streets until the dark iron arch of the train station came into view. Smoke curled lazily from the yard beyond, though the train they were waiting for had yet to arrive. Phoenix had already gone inside to speak with the station master, and was instructed the freight would arrive soon and to wait at the platform.

The air was heavy with coal dust and the low hum of the city. Vendors shouted over one another, hawking newspapers and roasted chestnuts to travelers. Isabell sat on a worn bench just beneath the station’s clock, Phoenix dropping down beside her with the restless posture of a man who had no love for waiting.

For a time, neither of them spoke. They simply watched the empty rails stretch out toward the horizon, listening to the echo of carriages and footsteps across the platform. Then Phoenix shifted, reaching into his coat pocket. The faint whisper of cards sliding against one another broke the silence as he began to shuffle with a practiced ease.

Isabell arched a brow, her chin tilting toward his hands. “Do you always bring that with you?” she asked, her tone dry but her eyes curious.

“You never know when you’ll need it,” Phoenix replied, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Good to be prepared to rip off some unsuspecting fool.”

She shook her head, though the smile she fought to hide betrayed her. Phoenix fanned the cards out with a flourish, the red and black suits flashing before her eyes. With casual arrogance, he slipped into a few tricks, palming a card, making another disappear, then pulling it seemingly from behind her ear.

“Want a quick game?” he asked, eyes flicking to hers.

Isabell crossed her arms. “You can take my money now. I’m not good at this.”

“Who said anything about money?”

Her brow furrowed, suspicious. “So what do you want to bet?”

Phoenix leaned back against the bench, his gaze steady, teasing. “You know what I want.”

The words hung between them. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she looked away, suddenly fascinated with the smoke drifting over the tracks. He didn’t need to say it. She knew.

“I’ll make it easy for you,” he continued, his voice low, coaxing. “If I win this hand, you don’t owe me a damn thing. But if you win…” He paused, letting the silence do its work. “…you’ll have to give me a kiss.”

Isabell turned back to him, scandal and amusement warring in her expression. “What kind of bet is this, Dark Hawk?”

“Based on your chances of winning,” he said smoothly, shuffling again, “maybe you won’t have to owe me anything. What’s the matter, Isabell? Are you scared?”

Her chin lifted stubbornly. “Fine. One game.”

The cards slapped against the wood of the bench as he dealt. They played, the soft sounds of shuffling and placing cards blending with the noise of the station. What she didn’t know, what she could never suspect, was that Phoenix was cheating, though not in his usual fashion. Every sleight of hand, every card “mistake,” was carefully placed to ensure her victory.

When at last she laid her final card down, he leaned back with a feigned scowl. “Well, damn. Seems you beat me.”

Her eyes widened. She hadn’t expected it. And now she realized the weight of what winning meant.

Phoenix shifted closer on the bench, his dark gaze fixed on hers, waiting. Isabell’s heart pounded, her breath catching as her face flushed crimson. The world around them, the calls of vendors, the hiss of steam, the chatter of strangers, faded into a blur. It had to be her. He wouldn’t move until she did.

Gathering courage she didn’t know she possessed, she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his.

But when she tried to retreat, Phoenix’s hand found her arm, tugging her closer. The kiss deepened, unhurried yet demanding, until she stopped resisting and let herself melt against him. His touch was warm, steady, and unwilling to let the moment slip away so easily.

The shrill whistle of the incoming train shattered the spell. Steam billowed along the tracks as the locomotive screeched to a halt, cargo cars clattering behind it. They pulled apart, though reluctantly, both aware of the eyes of the bustling station around them.

Isabell smoothed her hair, refusing to meet his gaze though her cheeks betrayed her. “I will never bet with you again, Dark Hawk,” she muttered.

The train pulled into the station just in time, and as Isabell got up from the bench, a wave of relief washed over her. The kiss took her by surprise, as it always did, leaving her mind momentarily blank.

Phoenix rose to his feet and swiftly started stacking the crates onto the wagon, showcasing a remarkable efficiency. His strength was evident as he worked. Before long, every crate was loaded, the necessary paperwork completed, and the city began to blur into the distance as Phoenix guided the cart away from the station. The bustling noise of Saint Denis faded behind them, consumed by the serene stillness of the open road.

Isabell sat beside him, hands folded tightly in her lap. The cart rocked and creaked beneath them, every bump drawing her shoulder against his for a fleeting instant. She stared out across the fields, trying to calm the storm inside her chest.

She couldn’t decide if she was furious at him… or something else entirely. Was she angry because he kept kissing her, stealing pieces of her willpower one brush of his lips at a time? Or was she angry because she let him and because some part of her wanted more?

She risked a glance at him. Phoenix held the reins loose in his hands, the horse trotting at an easy pace. He looked too calm, too at ease, like a man who carried no doubts at all. And then she saw it: the faint, smug curve of his mouth.

It struck her at once.

The game. The cards. The way his hands had moved, too smooth, too practiced. She replayed the deal in her head and realized with a jolt: he had cheated. Not to win, but to make her win.

Her breath caught, heat rising in her cheeks. She turned sharply toward him.
“You,” she muttered, low but sharp.

Phoenix glanced at her with mock surprise. “Me?”

“You cheated,” she accused, eyes narrowing.

One brow arched, his grin widening just enough. “Cheated? Why would I do a thing like that?”

“You know why,” she shot back, her glare holding him.

Phoenix chuckled under his breath, leaning slightly toward her, voice dropping to a conspiratorial drawl. “If I let you win, that isn’t cheating. That’s generosity. Some might even call it… chivalry.”

She scoffed, cheeks burning hotter. “That’s not chivalry, Dark Hawk. That’s trickery.”

He only grinned wider, clearly delighted by her indignation. “Trickery’s just honesty with flair, sweetheart. And I’d say you enjoyed your winnings.”

Her lips parted, words dying on her tongue. Furious, embarrassed, flustered all at once, she turned away with a sharp huff, arms folding tightly across her chest.

Phoenix leaned back on the bench, reins slack in his hand, utterly content. The road stretched before them in quiet rhythm, and still his smirk never faded.

Isabell tried to glare holes through the horizon, but her heart betrayed her, beating far too fast. And though she told herself she hated him for it, a part of her knew the truth, she would let him cheat her again.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Isabell O'Sullivan- Written by: Carolleto

“Okay, dear, just a few more adjustments and we’ll be done,” the seamstress advised as she embroidered something else onto the dress.

Isabell snorted. If she had one wish at that moment, it was to disappear from the face of the Earth. She no longer knew how long she had been standing in her room, doing everything the seamstress told her to do. The white dress around her body was heavy, suffocating. Miss O'Sullivan realized bitterly that day that she still had an aversion to marriage. It had never, ever crossed her mind that she would be in that situation... She hadn't thought there would be a man for it. Her mind wandered to the past. She knew that in a different reality, if Eagle Flies had asked her, she would have married him. But Isabell knew she wouldn't need to dress in white. Nor spend hours in a fitting and fitting.

Isabell stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror, the seamstress pacing in front of her, but Miss O'Sullivan wasn't paying attention. Her mind returned to the present, thinking about Dark Hawk. Was he also trapped in a room trying on clothes to suit the occasion? Isabell shook her head, still staring at the mirror, trying to picture Phoenix in a black suit and tie. She couldn't imagine it; it was hard to separate the image of Phoenix from what she was used to seeing. He always wore those baggy, dark, and ordinary clothes. Phoenix was a simple man who didn't need much to live, Isabell admired that about him.

The people passing by with things outside Isabell's window jolted her awake. The next day, at that very hour, she would be marrying Dark Hawk. The weight of that madness seemed greater at that very moment. If Eileen were alive, that marriage would never happen if it were up to her. She would never accept it, and the thought of it made Isabell uneasy, making her wonder if, deep down, she wanted it. Every day she'd spent with Phoenix since he arrived in Rhodes flashed through her mind: every touch, every unexpected kiss, the way she had to hold her breath when he smiled… Phoenix didn't smile, not at others, but he smiled at her. Isabell tried to push away the thought of her crush, as it would justify the marriage. Making Aiden happy seemed like a better idea and the only excuse she wanted for getting married. The fear of allowing herself to truly care for Phoenix and surrender to it was too much for Isabell. She knew that everything she had set out to love was doomed to die. She couldn't bear another loss. Dark Hawk was too important in her life. Miss O'Sullivan couldn't risk it.

“Great! I’m finally done! Oh, Isabell! You look perfect! Your mother would be crying if she saw you now,” Juliette, the seamstress, exclaimed, making Isabell blink.

Isabell remained silent as she gazed at the final result of the dress on her body. She felt no excitement whatsoever, a mix of unpleasant feelings swirling around her at that moment. None of them were about the wedding, but rather the shadows of her past consuming her again. Remembering her mother, the events that led her to run away from home, losing the person she loved, the years she lived on autopilot.

Miss O'Sullivan discarded the dress after Juliette gave it a final inspection. Isabell quickly left her room and went outside. Everything was chaotic, people coming and going with decorations in their hands. In the kitchen, Magdalena was decorating a two-tiered wedding cake, and sweets and snacks were being prepared for the occasion. Everywhere Isabell looked, there was a reminder that the next day she would be married, and she was about to go crazy. Her boots thudded on the gravel as she went to look for Aiden in the garden; she found him as he was overseeing the erection of the altar arch.

Aiden grinned from ear to ear when he saw Isabell. He didn't even notice Isabell's sour expression, which she didn't mind showing. She was tired of it all, and it wasn't even the wedding yet. The redhead watched the arch being set up. Vasefuls of flowers were everywhere, and the sweet scent of the plants brought some relief from her agitation. Isabell took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the flowers.

“How was the dress fitting? Was everything okay?” Aiden wanted to know.

“Yes, Dad. Have you seen Dark Hawk around?”

“I haven't seen him since early, I could barely keep him in the room when the tailor came to adjust the clothes, as soon as he finished, he left the room, and I haven't seen him since.”

Isabell wondered where he was. She turned and walked through the property, looking around for Phoenix. When she passed the stable, she noticed Chindi's halter was missing; Dark Hawk had certainly wandered off. The idea was tempting, and Isabell couldn't ignore it. She cloaked her horse and walked along a path no one had seen her leave. Miss O'Sullivan took a longer route to the lake, and it was there that she could breathe properly throughout that long day. Unlike the other days she sought refuge in that quiet place, Isabell couldn't organize her thoughts. A nagging anxiety wouldn't leave her stomach, and her demons wouldn't shut up. They kept telling her she shouldn't get married, but some higher power fought them, arguing that marriage would be a good thing. Aiden would finally be happy, and she would no longer be a thorn in her father's side. But it wasn't just that; there was something more, something that made her heartbeat faster. That Phoenix had awakened dormant feelings within her was a fact, and she knew the feeling. Even though fear and demons tried to tear it from her at all costs, she already knew there was passion there. It was the beginning, but it was right there in front of her, and Isabell had only just realized it. The fear of something happening to Phoenix came quickly; it was something she couldn't control. How could she keep Dark Hawk away from her? Isabell didn't want him away from that curse she believed surrounded her, and Phoenix wanted it even less.

Isabell lost track of time; it was already night when she got up and left. She hadn't even realized that Phoenix had been discreetly watching her the whole time, holding back the urge to get closer. He knew that, like him, Isabell needed some alone time. That night, when everyone had retired for the night, except Isabell, who was on the porch of the house staring into space, Phoenix decided to appear with his last cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“You should sleep…” Phoenix commented, catching Isabell’s attention.

Miss O’Sullivan looked at Phoenix neutrally.

“You should too, and you’re here,” Isabell replied. She didn’t want to ask where he’d been.

Dark Hawk sat next to Isabell, taking a deep drag on his cigarette; he'd finished a whole pack that day. The breeze blew past them, carrying the scent of the flowers perfectly arranged in the garden behind the house for the wedding. Phoenix thought nothing could be more fitting; the scent of the flowers reminded him of Isabell's sweet, intoxicating perfume.

“Is everything okay?” Phoenix asked after a long silence. There was a lot going on behind that question; in fact, the question Phoenix wanted to ask was, “Do you still want to do this?”, but he was afraid of the answer, if she said that no, he would be ruined.

“Yes,” Isabell didn’t take long to answer, and somehow, she knew what he was really asking.

Phoenix lifted the corner of his mouth. It was surprising how she was still there with him. She was everything he wanted, but he couldn't understand how or why. What reason would a woman have for wanting something with him? He thought he would never understand, but he couldn't be happier about this. He wanted her, and even if she tried to hide it, she wanted him too. It was only a matter of time before Isabell gave in. And Phoenix found himself eager for that moment.

Isabell suddenly stood up, she hugged her own body, the cool breeze began to bother her.

“Good night, Dark Hawk,” Isabell murmured in farewell.

"Isabell," Phoenix called before she walked through the door and into the house. Isabell turned to him. "I'll meet you at the altar," Phoenix said, smiling.

Isabell had to hold her breath again at the sight of his smile, and it took extra effort not to smile back. Darke Hawk's humor in the face of a tense moment brought her a certain, inexplicable comfort. Isabell nodded in response and quickly walked away.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Phoenix (Dark Hawk) Wilder - Written by: TNTBlackCat

Phoenix tugged at the tie around his neck, a grimace spreading across his face as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. The reflection staring back at him was a far cry from the person he felt inside; he looked utterly absurd. The constricting fabric felt strange against his skin, and he couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort that enveloped him. How could anyone consider such attire appropriate? It was a question that plagued him, making him even more out of place in this formal setting.

As if sensing his distress, Mr. O'Sullivan approached and adjusted the lapels of Phoenix's suit jacket, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders. Phoenix shot the older man a look, as if blaming him for his predicament. Mr. O'Sullivan, however, merely chuckled softly, his eyes shining with amusement. He admitted that he, too, found the suits uncomfortable, revealing that he could count the number of times he'd worn one on one hand. The shared moment of understanding did little to ease Phoenix's irritation, but it provided a fleeting connection amidst the awkwardness.

With a grunt of discontent, Phoenix brushed the older man's hand aside and turned his attention to the window. He looked down at the garden, where the preacher and some gardeners were chatting near the fountain. The scene was serene, a stark contrast to the turmoil building inside him.

"I still can't believe Isabell is getting married. I've been waiting for this day all my life. She must really love you," Mr. O'Sullivan said to Phoenix's back.

Phoenix felt a wave of tension wash over him. Love? Was it even a real concept? He had once believed in it with all his heart, but that belief had long since faded. Isabell could never harbor such feelings for someone like him. He imagined her in her room, staring out at the garden, perhaps filled with dread at the thought of being linked to a man like him, someone so steeped in shadows and regrets.

Mr. O'Sullivan's voice broke his reverie, asking a question that sent a jolt of discomfort through Phoenix. "Do you love her?" The question felt like a provocation, a challenge he wasn't prepared to face. He turned slightly, his good eye locking with the older man, but words failed him. The silence hung heavy in the air, full of unspoken truths. Feeling the weight of the moment, O'Sullivan waved his hand dismissively, acknowledging the taboo nature of the subject. "Okay, well, I'll meet you downstairs soon. If you need anything else, let me know." With a small, understanding smile, he left the room, leaving Phoenix alone with his thoughts and the lingering question of love that seemed more of a distant memory than a present reality.

Phoenix let out a deep sigh as he turned away from the window. He stood in front of the mirror, examining his reflection. He was dressed entirely in black with a white shirt that seemed to glow in contrast. His hair, normally resting loosely on his shoulders, was pulled back in an unusual style that felt foreign to him. Having his hair down was a deliberate choice and a subtle way to obscure the scars that marred the left side of his face.

With sudden resolve, Phoenix reached back and loosened the tie holding his hair in place, allowing the dark strands to fall over his shoulders. He had only recently begun growing his hair out, a decision that felt both liberating and nostalgic. It seemed like only yesterday he had cut off his braids, a symbolic act of relinquishing his connection to the spirits that had guided him. Yet, despite his efforts to distance himself, his spirit guide found a way back into his life, visiting him in dreams and leading him on a journey through the shadows of his past. Now, alone in the present, he was enveloped in a deep sense of hatred and darkness, a stark contrast to the freedom he had sought.

The irony of his situation was not lost on him; he had fought so hard to escape the confines of his tribe, yearning for a life that offered more than he had known. Yet now, having tasted that freedom, he would give anything to regain the simplicity of his former existence.

That morning, after the still-lingering encounter with his spirit guide was still fresh in his mind, he made the crucial decision to let his hair grow back, to reconnect with his roots. With every inch his hair grew, he felt a resurgence of power within himself. In a world where the white man had forced his people to abandon their braids, he betrayed his heritage by voluntarily cutting his own. But he vowed that when his hair was long enough, he would braid it once more, reclaiming the strength and identity that had been stripped from him.

He leaned over and grabbed an eye patch from the sink next to the mirror, carefully sliding it over his head and positioning it over his eye. He reserved the patch for times when he felt a gentler approach was necessary, and today seemed to require it. By donning the patch, he hoped to spare Isabell the discomfort of looking into his blind eye. Though she never hesitated to meet his gaze, he often wondered if the sight of his disfigurement disturbed her. With a swift movement, he covered the left side of his face with his hand, allowing only the right side to reflect back at him in the mirror. In this altered vision, he almost appeared normal, a fleeting illusion of the man he once was.

To many, he was considered handsome, with chiseled features and strikingly blue eyes that captivated those who crossed his path. In his youth, he was the center of attention, effortlessly attracting admiration. However, the scars etched into his face irrevocably changed that perception. No matter how attractive the right side of his face remained, it was the marks of his past that dominated the narrative, overshadowing any remnants of beauty. Each scar told a story, a testament to battles fought and endured, but it also served as a barrier, preventing others from seeing beyond the surface.

Phoenix let his hand fall, taking one last look at his reflection in the mirror before returning to his spot by the window. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, a mixture of disbelief and resignation. The absurdity of the moment struck him: here he was, about to stand before a man who raved about true love and a divine presence that supposedly loved all his children. If that were truly the case, where was this divine figure now? What kind of loving father would take everything from his son, leaving him naked and vulnerable? The irony tormented him, a bitter reminder of the emptiness he had accepted.

In a strange way, Phoenix came to take pride in his lack of possessions. It became a defining characteristic, a badge of honor in a world that often equated worth with material wealth. With nothing left to lose, he felt a sense of invincibility, an intoxicating freedom. Yet, as he stood there, a flicker of doubt crept in. Was he truly as untouchable as he believed? The thought of losing Isabell sent a shiver down his spine, awakening emotions he had long buried. It was a sensation he hadn't experienced in years, reminiscent of the painful loss of his tribe. The pain of that memory was still fresh, a wound that had never fully healed. Losing them was like dying, and in many ways, a part of him perished alongside them.

Now, standing in the semi-darkness, he struggled with the weight of his feelings for Isabell. Mr. O'Sullivan's searching question echoed in his mind: "Do you love her?" It was a simple yet profound inquiry, requiring introspection. Did he love her? The answer was clear to him...yes, but he was tangled in a web of fear and longing. As he struggled with this uncertainty, he realized the stakes were higher than ever. The prospect of vulnerability was frightening, but perhaps it was also the key to finding a deeper connection, one that could transcend the pain of his past.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he saw Mr. O'Sullivan waving at the window, signaling for him to come down. Phoenix signed once more and braced himself for what was to come.

Isabell shifted nervously, struggling to keep her balance in the unfamiliar heels. She wasn't used to wearing these shoes, nor did she usually wear dresses. If it were up to her, she would have opted for pants today, but Magdalena insisted otherwise. She couldn't help but wonder if Phoenix was also required to wear formal attire, imagining he would feel as out of place as she did in her current outfit.

As she left, Isabell noticed a small group gathered around the fountain. Her father approached her, a wide smile lighting up his face. All morning, she had been a bundle of nerves, her mind racing with worry. Countless questions swirled in her head, and she felt helpless, unable to find answers to ease her anxiety.

She found herself questioning whether she would be participating in this if it weren't for her father. The idea that she might genuinely have feelings for Phoenix crossed her mind, and it scared her more than she cared to admit. The thought of his absence sent an uneasy feeling into the pit of her stomach. She'd grown so accustomed to his company that the thought of waking up without his familiar presence seemed almost unbearable.

It seemed strange to her how integral he had become to her life; the marriage seemed somewhat bearable, knowing it was a way to keep him close, but it carried a bittersweet tinge. Her thoughts turned to Eagle Flies, remembering the poignant question posed by the old photographer in Blackwater: "Where is your Indian husband?" Those words resonated deeply, tugging at her heartstrings in a way she couldn't shake.

She wondered what Eagle Flies would think of her current situation, faced with another Wapiti man, ready to commit in a way she never could with him. Would he feel joy for her when she took this step forward? But then the thought struck her: was she truly moving on?

Dressed in a white dress, she walked toward Phoenix, the memory of Eagle Flies gone the moment she laid eyes on him. Strangely, nothing else mattered to her except Phoenix when he was around.

"You look stunning, Isabell," Mr. O'Sullivan observed, his voice warm with admiration. Isabell felt a rush of heat spread across her cheeks at his kind words. As her father gently took her arm, guiding her toward the garden fountain, he added, "I couldn't be more proud of you."

Isabell barely registered his compliment. The moment her gaze landed on Phoenix standing next to the preacher, a wave of unease washed over her. It was a confusing sensation, leaving her wondering if it was excitement or dread. Everything was unfolding so quickly that it felt like she was trapped in a surreal dream from which she could not escape.

As they approached Phoenix, Isabell noticed him fiddling with the collar of his shirt, a sight that almost made her smile. He had made his choice and now faced the consequences of that decision. It seemed fair, she reflected. "Try not to look too emotional about being here today. That was your idea," she murmured to him as her father released his arm, passing it to Phoenix. His eyes narrowed in response, his expression unreadable as ever. In a low, grave tone, he replied, "You didn't mention I'd have to dress like I was going to a funeral."

She found a sense of justification in the situation and smiled to herself.

As Phoenix watched Isabell during the preacher's sermon, he found himself struggling to decipher her feelings through her facial expressions. The way she gripped his arm tightly suggested she was displeased with him, a feeling he was all too familiar with. It seemed he had developed a talent for irritating her, often without even realizing what he had done to provoke her. To him, she was an enigma, consistently managing to catch him off guard in ways no one else could.

The preacher's voice was low and sure, breaking Phoenix's train of thought. "It's time for the ring exchange."

Phoenix patted his jacket pocket once, then again, frowning slightly. For a moment, his hand shifted from one pocket to the other, before finally releasing the small gold band. He let out a calm sigh, then looked at Isabell with a flash of a smile.

"I didn't lose, too bad for you," he said softly, teasing.

Isabell gave Phoenix a narrow look that told him he had used up almost all the indulgence she was willing to give him today.

Phoenix held the ring firmly in his palm before taking Isabell's hand. His expression was calm, his movements careful. "With this ring," he said, his voice even, "I wed you." He paused and looked at her with the smallest smile.

Isabell didn't smile, though the corner of her mouth twitched a little.

Phoenix slid the band onto her finger, smooth and secure. "See?" he murmured, just for her. "No disasters. You survived."

The preacher then turned to Isabell. She accepted the second ring, her touch firm, her face unreadable. She placed the ring on Phoenix's hand and gripped his finger firmly.

Phoenix stared at it for a moment, then flexed his hand once as if testing the fit. "It looks permanent," he said lightly.

Isabel gave him the tiniest sigh, though she didn't let go of his hand. She almost seemed disinterested, her face devoid of emotion as she stared straight ahead. Phoenix was surprised when he suddenly heard her utter the words 'yes' in response to the preacher's question about accepting him. It made him wonder if she was truly engaged in the moment and he was the one lost in thought. The preacher's voice faded into the background as he focused solely on her again. He began to realize that Isabel was a challenge he was both drawn to and frustrated by, a puzzle he was determined to solve despite the obstacles.

The priest raised his voice slightly, asking, "Sir, do you take Isabell to be your wife?" Phoenix was jolted back to the moment. The cleric was staring at him, his expression clearly revealing his displeasure. With a reluctant sigh, Phoenix murmured a "yes" and returned his gaze to Isabell, searching for any sign of emotion on her face. It was neutral. A strange mixture of satisfaction and sadness washed over him as he realized they had both spoken the words that bound them together in the eyes of the law. He couldn't shake the feeling of unease that came with the knowledge that he had somehow persuaded her to this union, wishing deep down that she truly wanted him too.

The priest pronounced them husband and wife, granting him permission to kiss his bride. As he glanced at Isabell, he noticed her cheeks matched the vibrant hue of her hair. She quickly looked away. Phoenix could sense her embarrassment, and to spare her further embarrassment, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. In a whisper meant only for her, he said, "Mrs. Wilder." The sound of her sigh made him stifle a laugh; she was so easily flustered it was almost amusing.

He pulled her away from the preacher, noticing her unsteady steps as she clung to his arm. Was she about to faint again, just like during their first meeting? It seemed to be a recurring pattern; every time he surprised or upset her, she became overwhelmed by an emotion he couldn't understand. It was a curious dynamic, one that left him intrigued and a little worried.

He glanced at her, and his unspoken questions were immediately answered: she was stumbling awkwardly over her dress. The sight left him incredulous. He'd never witnessed a lady lose her balance like that. Weren't refined women expected to behave elegantly? Yet Isabell never fit that mold. Despite the undeniable air of sophistication surrounding her, she lacked the poise typically associated with it. She was simply too grounded for that kind of pretense.

In one swift movement, he caught her with one arm, and she found herself pressed against his solid chest. A soft, surprised sound escaped her lips as she felt the firmness of his body. With determination, she tried to free her heel from the grip of her skirt, her efforts reminiscent of a bear struggling in a trap. Phoenix couldn't help but stifle a laugh at her predicament. He watched her for a moment, trapped in her struggle, before finally speaking, "Isabell, please stop." She met his gaze, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. Embarrassment radiated from her, illuminating her entire being.

When she looked at him, her expression was a mixture of surprise and mortification. It was a moment that seemed to stretch on, full of unspoken words and shared vulnerability. In that instant, the world around them faded, leaving just the two of them in a bubble of awkward intimacy.

Reluctantly, he gently pushed her away from him, holding her with his arm as he bent down to grab her heel. With one swift movement, he pulled it until it came loose from her foot. Isabell gasped, calling his name, "Dark Hawk!" in disbelief as he stood, a look of surprise crossing his features. He still held the shoe, and she quickly snatched it back from him. "I didn't need your help," she insisted, her tone firm. Phoenix couldn't help but smile broadly; her stubbornness was both irritating and charming, a combination he'd grown to enjoy over time.

"Really? You didn't seem like you had it all together," he teased, a playful glint in his eyes. She frowned at him, sliding her shoe back onto her foot with a huff. Turning, she walked toward her father, who was eagerly waiting to congratulate her. The distraction was welcome; dealing with Phoenix was tiring, and her shoes were no picnic either.

As she walked away, she felt a mixture of annoyance and amusement at the encounter. Phoenix's teasing had a way of getting under her skin, but it also made her heart race in a way she couldn't understand. She focused on her father's proud smile, grateful for the momentary distraction.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Isabell O'Sullivan- Written by: Carolleto

The guests chatted among themselves animatedly, some even making their way to the bride and groom's table to offer congratulations. No one spoke more than necessary, as Phoenix was too intimidating for those stiff, nosy people. Any question that threatened to arise in the air caused Phoenix to fidget in his seat, and the curious guest smiled sheepishly and made to leave. Isabell was immensely grateful for this; those people wanted to know how this stranger and O'Sullivan's only daughter ended up getting married; any slip-up and people might notice something.

Isabell let out a long sigh as another of the guests turned their backs to her to leave. She shifted her feet in those uncomfortable shoes and sank deeper into her chair. Even though she was relaxed, Isabell sat in an elegant manner, which Phoenix couldn't help but notice. Dark Hawk felt in a good mood, even with all those people giving him forced smiles and analyzing him more than necessary. It didn't matter, as long as everyone knew the woman beside him now belonged to him.

Isabell noticed the shiny ring on her finger; she never thought she'd wear one of those. She tilted her head slightly over her left shoulder to observe Dark Hawk's hand resting on the back of her chair. The matching ring stood out among Phoenix's other rings.

It's not that bad, Isabell, she thought.

Miss O'Sullivan glanced at Phoenix absently, now that her nervousness had subsided a bit, she observed him carefully. The elegant outfit he wore suited him perfectly. It was a little strange to see him dressed like that, but Isabell noticed that Phoenix's laid-back style was still there somehow, and it charmed her. Isabell gathered some courage, feeling her face heat up in anticipation of what she was about to say.

“It looks very nice, Dark Hawk.”

Phoenix definitely wasn't expecting that. He looked at Isabell in near horror. Had she really said that, or had the madness taken him completely? Their eyes met, and although Isabell's expression was neutral, her face was flushed. Dark Hawk was taken aback by the compliment. For anyone, it might have been something simple and ordinary, but not for Phoenix. He had long since ceased to be associated with beauty. Quite the opposite, he was associated with darkness, fear, and revulsion. That was how people saw him, and he saw him that way himself. Phoenix knew it was sincere, that Isabell wasn't just trying to please him; she never said anything just for the sake of it. That compliment meant a lot to him.

Dark Hawk smiled at Isabell openly, which left her disconcerted, and that pleased Phoenix even more.

"Thank you, Isabell, and since you brought it up… I wanted to say you look stunning as a bride, Mrs. Wilder." Phoenix rose from his chair and, with his usual gesture, extended his hand to Isabell. "It's time for that dance."

“I won’t be able to dance in these shoes,” Isabell said, pointing down.

“Trust me, Isabell,” Phoenix said firmly, his hand still outstretched, waiting for hers.

Isabell took Phoenix's hand, and he led her to the band. Phoenix pulled Isabell toward him, holding her slender waist firmly. Isabell tried to start the dance, but after a few steps, her shoes felt too demanding on her balance. Phoenix tightened his grip on her and lifted her. Dark Hawk took control, sweeping her up in his arms, leaving Miss O'Sullivan floating in the air, their faces so close together that nothing else seemed to exist around them. All the people simply disappeared as Phoenix and Isabell stared at each other. When the song ended, Phoenix still held Isabell in his arms, his intense gaze communicating with her, unraveling her.

Isabell's heart was racing when Phoenix finally set her down, and they walked together among the other people who had also come to dance. Miss O'Sullivan noticed that with each moment with Phoenix, she surrendered a little more. The day before, she had been terrified of admitting she was falling in love with Dark Hawk. The fear of marriage was consuming her above all else, but in that moment, when what she had always feared had already happened, she realized it wasn't torture; nor did she feel her freedom taken from her. Dark Hawk would never keep her at home "to fulfill her role as wife." It all depended on who she chose to spend the rest of her life with, and even under the unusual circumstances of that marriage, she realized Dark Hawk was a great choice. Isabell didn't feel ready to give herself over immediately, but in time, she might.

Aiden appeared in front of the newlyweds before they could return to the table, old O'Sullivan didn't stop smiling for a minute that day, he distributed enough happiness for him, Isabell and Phoenix together.

“Time for photos, honey! Come on, there’s a place ready for that.” Aiden linked Isabell’s arm through his and led her to the prepared spot.

First, he was photographed next to Isabell, then Phoenix was included. Aiden stepped away from the couple, and hundreds of photos were taken of Phoenix and Isabell, both of whom couldn't wait for it to be over. Aiden simply didn't want to miss a single moment of the wedding. More photos were taken when the cake was broken. Isabell dedicated the first two pieces to her father and Mr. Flores, her longtime friend. This brought tears to old Flores's eyes, and he gave the lame excuse of having a speck of dust in his eye. The party continued throughout the afternoon, and the exhaustion of the excessive attention began to wear on Isabell and Phoenix, who couldn't wait for it to end, but for Aiden, that day should never have ended. The sun was already halfway down when Miss O'Sullivan managed to escape the hustle and bustle. She held up the bottom of her dress and walked as best she could to the distant tree where Eileen's grave lay. Isabell stared at Eileen's name carved in stone. A part of her wished her mother could have seen her wedding, even if she never approved of it, but regardless, it had always been Eileen's dream. Isabell felt like crying.

"Today would be the happiest day of your mother's life," Aiden said, catching Isabell's attention, who hadn't even seen him arrive. "She would hate Wilder, you can bet on that, but I know she'd swallow all the war she would have waged with you to see her get married. Honestly, I never quite understood why your mother was so fascinated by your wedding. I think it was her dream. When we got married, it was a very simple thing. We didn't even have a party, and she wore the only elegant dress her mother had. When your mother saw you were a girl when you were born, the first thing she said was that you would be the most beautiful bride this town would ever see. And she was right about that," Aiden laughed wistfully. "One night when she wouldn't stop talking about marriage, I even asked her if she'd like to get married again. Since we had the right funds, I could throw a huge party and let her go crazy looking for her ideal dress, but Eileen said…‘Nonsense! My time is up, we’ll leave that to Isabell’. Now I understand you, you have no idea how happy your old man here is to see you get married, dear, I feel such relief that you have finally come out of that sadness and can be happy with that boy, I see how much good he does you.” Aiden concluded with tears in his eyes.

Isabell went to hug her father, allowing herself to cry too; her goal was accomplished. She had finally stopped being a burden to Aiden, and that was all she wanted. As she hugged him, she looked ahead at Dark Hawk, who stood with his hands in his pockets watching them.

Aiden wiped his tears with a tissue, he also noticed that Phoenix was standing there.

“No more tears, huh? I’ll keep the guests partying, enjoy your day, sweetie.” Aiden kissed Isabell on the forehead and walked back toward the party.

Phoenix approached Isabell, appreciating the quiet of the place. The redhead stopped thinking about the words her father had just said to her and watched Phoenix beside her.

“Well, in a way I kept my promise,” he began.

Phoenix stared at Isabell, confused.

She looked ahead, before looking back at him with an amused expression.

"You can see me whenever you want, and my father won't kick you out of town. Quite the contrary. He'll burden you with so many responsibilities that you'll want to run away. You're crazy to walk into this torture on your own two feet," Isabell scoffed.

Phoenix gave a sly smile.

"It's a risk worth taking, Isabell... I won't spare any effort when the reward for all this work is so valuable," Phoenix said, stepping closer. He lifted Isabell's chin and kept his mouth millimeters from hers. Dark Hawk appreciated it when, involuntarily, she tilted her face slightly toward him, and he finally closed the distance between them.

Chapter Text

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

P.O.V Isabell O'Sullivan- Written by: Carolleto

Isabell and Phoenix watched Aiden thank the priest for the thousandth time that day. Both stood with their arms tied, looking blankly at Aiden's remaining close guests, some of whom greeted them one last time before leaving. The party was finally over, and all the attention on them bothered them more than it pleased them. For Isabell, it was all worth it for the way she saw her father happy and radiant throughout the day, truly fulfilled in a way she'd never seen before.

The last guest finally left and Aiden turned to the newlyweds with tremendous satisfaction, memorizing the image of Isabell in her wedding dress one last time.

"Well, today was quite a day. I'm tired, I'm sorry, but I need to get ready for bed. You guys can be alone anyway…" Aiden trailed off, seeing Isabell's obvious embarrassment. "Good night." Aiden quickly disappeared from their sight.

Isabell moved, and Phoenix followed her upstairs, his arms still tied as they had been all day. Isabell opened her bedroom door and entered. Phoenix paused, unsure whether to enter or not. One of the housekeepers came up the stairs and ran into him. Phoenix sighed and strode into Isabell's room. He closed the door behind him and watched as Isabell tore off her shoes and threw them across the room.

Isabell sighed in relief at having her feet firmly on the ground, but that relief quickly faded. She turned slightly to watch Phoenix standing there staring at her, nervousness hitting her hard. She turned again, her back to Dark Hawk. Miss O'Sullivan stared out the window at the night. What now? What would it be like between them? Thinking about it was harder than getting through the entire day. Isabell blinked, trying to concentrate. She was feeling tired. She hadn't been to an event like that since she was a teenager, and this time, it was all about her and the man she could now call her husband. The priest's final line, the only one she paid attention to in the entire sermon, echoed in her mind: "What God has joined together, let no man separate." She and Phoenix were united, even though, for neither of them, their marriage as it was, meant nothing.

Isabell looked down at her extra weight. She needed to take off that dress, and when she realized she couldn't do it alone, her lips parted slightly in shock. Isabell froze. She couldn't ask Magdalena to do this. The job of taking off the dress wasn't supposed to be hers, but the groom's on their wedding night. Isabell thought about it for a few minutes before looking over her shoulder at Phoenix, who was patiently waiting for her reaction.

“Can…can you help me with the buttons…please?” Isabell asked with great effort, she felt her face and the rest of her body heat up immediately.

Phoenix said nothing in response, just approached her and froze for a moment. Isabell turned her face forward and stared at the floor, frozen in place, in a torturous wait. Phoenix took a moment to act; he was also caught up in his thoughts. Isabell pulled her long, loose hair over her left shoulder to give Phoenix a view of the buttons. She felt him undo the first button, followed by another, and another slowly. The dress grew heavier, the sleeves sliding down her shoulders, and suddenly it fell to the floor, the extra weight gone, but now Isabell experienced for the first time the weight of shyness she had never felt before. She wasn't naked; she wore a thin, pearl-colored satin nightgown that left her exposed; her skin and intimate parts were clearly visible through the delicate fabric.

Phoenix couldn't resist; he looked at her, Isabell's sweet scent dancing with his senses, feeling her heat radiating from her body. Phoenix touched Isabell's back, sliding his fingers along to see how she would react. He felt her body respond, her pale skin shivering beneath his touch. Isabell held her breath as Phoenix touched her, feeling a flame in the very center of her body. She let out a shaky breath as Phoenix repeated the movement, sliding his fingers down her back, moving in the opposite direction, moving a little higher up to her neck. Dark Hawk observed the exposed skin of her neck. He lowered his hand and held Isabell's waist, his movements slow. He had never had to be so cautious as in that moment. He knew he couldn't go too fast.

Isabell let out another shaky sigh as she felt Phoenix's breath against her skin. She felt his other hand gently grip her waist, distracting her for a second. She shivered when Phoenix touched his lips to the skin of her neck. She closed her eyes in surprise and felt her inner flame grow, her mind suddenly clouding over. Phoenix let himself be overcome a little, kissing Isabell's burning skin. Soon, he felt the desire to truly taste her. Slowly, he opened his mouth wider and gave her a wet kiss, his tongue touching the heat emanating from her, finally tasting her as he had so often desired. Isabell opened her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, gasping suddenly. She felt Phoenix's grip on her waist provocatively, one to which her body responded. Isabell felt anxiety consume her, but at that moment, it was no greater than the sensation dominating her body, responding to Phoenix's touches and kisses. And with each kiss, she felt a wave float through her body, her belly being the point where this wave ended, leaving her confused and alarmed. Phoenix still held back; his own cautious attitude was torturing him; he desired Isabell with all his might. He left Isabell's waist, still kissing and tasting her sweet skin with his tongue, cupped her delicate face, and slowly turned, kissing the entire length of her jaw. He stopped kissing her for a moment to look at her face.

Isabell stared into Phoenix's eyes, lost in their blue, unable to hide what she was feeling. Dark Hawk turned Isabell toward him and kissed her, a kiss filled with intensity. This was how he'd wanted to kiss her in front of everyone when the priest gave him permission. He decided to take another step, pulling Isabell closer so she could feel him. He deepened the kiss even further and almost smiled when she made an involuntary noise of satisfaction.

Isabell embraced and felt Phoenix's full intensity. She realized how much he held back when he suddenly kissed her. This kiss was different. Phoenix held her tightly against him. Isabell felt completely consumed and even surrendered to that feeling. But suddenly a thought came to her. She remembered her former love, and it hit her hard. Her inner demons were stronger than ever when she relapsed. It destabilized the entire construction and understanding she had had during the day—that this marriage wasn't bad; that she could allow herself to love Dark Hawk.

Miss O’Sullivan pulled away from Phoenix suddenly. He released her and looked at her, a little startled, assuming he had done something wrong. Isabell looked away, breathless and bewildered.

"Isabell?" Phoenix called, his voice a little hoarse, tension filling his body at her expression. Phoenix stepped forward and reached out a little toward her, concerned.

“I…I…I can’t do this,” Isabell mumbled, a rush of panic and self-sabotage nearly suffocating her.

Phoenix was irritated, the fire coursing through his veins hard to control. He sighed and quickly left the room, slamming the door behind him and crossing the house to his old bedroom. Neither of them slept well that night. Phoenix was dazed, his thoughts swirling around the question, "Will she ever want him too?" His own demons answered the question mockingly, "She'll never let him, look at you." Phoenix almost answered out loud through gritted teeth, "She's different," but he couldn't believe it himself, and he remained fixated on that question, sitting on the edge of the bed for what seemed like an eternity until he finally fell asleep.

Isabell paced her room after Phoenix left, her mind still wandering to her past on the reservation, torturing her with the good times she'd had with Eagle Flies. Isabell froze in front of the window, and her demons began to work, insisting that getting married was a terrible idea. She'd never wanted this, even if it had been for her father. It was still madness, but it was too late. The demons had managed to ruin that day, along with all the progress Isabell had made, not just that day, but throughout the time since Phoenix had arrived in Rhodes. Isabell shook her head. She liked Dark Hawk; she felt it every time he kissed her, but her traumas and past still had their nails dug into her flesh; she could never shake them.

That morning, Isabell slowly got ready for the day, feeling exhausted from a sleepless night, her mind a little clouded by conflict and drowsiness. When she opened her bedroom door, she made a small sound of surprise. Dark Hawk stood there, arms crossed, beside her door, as he did every morning.

“Good morning, Dark Hawk,” Isabell said, not sure if he was upset with her or not.

“Good morning, Mrs. Wilder,” Phoenix replied, usually he didn’t answer, but that was the answer to her silent question, he wasn’t upset with her, his ironic humor was quite clear.

They both went downstairs for breakfast and found Aiden already eating. Phoenix and Isabell sat in silence as usual, but soon Aiden found a way to start a conversation.

“Back to the routine then, I'll give you a break this time Phoenix, I won't ask you to do any work on the farm today,” Aiden said excitedly.

David appeared in the room and handed a small note from Mr. Flores to Isabell, Phoenix locked eyes with the piece of paper as soon as David handed it to Isabell.

“Is there a problem, honey?” Aiden asked.

“No. Mr. Flores asked me to take care of the warehouse today,” Isabell replied, finishing her breakfast.

Miss O'Sullivan returned to her room and tied her hair in a loose bun. She went to the stables to prepare her horse. Isabell smoothed Chindi's coat as the free horse lazily grazed the grass near the stables. She appreciated how beautiful and well-groomed Phoenix's horse was. Phoenix took excellent care of his faithful companion; checking on Chindi was one of the first things he did every morning.

Isabell threw the saddle over the horse and began to prepare the girths. Before she could even begin to fasten the first one, Phoenix's large hand gently took Isabell's girth. The redhead almost jumped. No matter how long she spent with Dark Hawk, she was still amazed at his ability to be silent.

“Let me do it,” he said, strapping the saddle onto the animal in Isabell’s place.

Miss O'Sullivan gladly accepted Phoenix's kindness and watched his skill and speed with it. Isabell gave her horse a sugar cube before mounting him. She watched Phoenix speak native greetings to Chindi. He also mounted the horse, and Isabell immediately assumed he intended to accompany her. They rode together to Rhodes, and Mr. Flores was already waiting for Isabell outside the store. Old Flores's expression quickly soured when he saw Phoenix's imposing figure right beside Isabell. It didn't matter that they were married now; he still distrusted that marked man.

"Punctual as always, miss," Flores said in greeting as Isabell dismounted. He glanced sideways at Phoenix, who gave a slight nod. "I don't want to take advantage of your help, but I have some boxes to take inside. I brought a few, but I really need to take care of some business in Saint Denis."

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it no problem,” Isabell assured and grabbed the first box she saw, but before she took the first step, Phoenix took the box from her hand and took it into the warehouse.

Mr. Flores observed Phoenix's attitude with admiration, leaving his distrust aside for a second, he soon turned to Isabell and looked at her carefully.

“Isabell, far be it from me to intrude on your life, but this guy… Good heavens! Is there any way you can take two steps without him being right behind you the next?”

"Don't worry, he's just like that, he came to help too," Isabell replied, she knew Phoenix didn't come to help, but she wished Mr. Flores would stop feeling uncomfortable around Dark Hawk.

“Okay, I have to go, I won’t be long.”

Phoenix appeared to pick up another box. He stopped beside Isabell, who watched the storekeeper driving his cart. Meanwhile, the townspeople stared at the newlyweds as if they were a pair of new statues. Phoenix noticed the attention, and as someone who likes to make his belongings clear, he approached Isabell, his presence catching her eye. He slowly removed his hat and kissed her passionately. Some in the room seemed perplexed, in disbelief when the news came that Aiden's daughter was about to marry the marked stranger.

Isabell broke the kiss, a little disconcerted, after seeing the crowds of people staring intently at them. She grabbed a box and quickly entered the warehouse. Phoenix almost smiled; no one could doubt it. He knew some did; he was good at reading people. He wanted to emphasize that Isabell was his woman.

“Did you kiss me for attention?” Isabell asked as she opened the first box to display the non-perishables on the shelves.

“I was just answering the question they were asking,” Phoenix said nonchalantly, leaning against the shelf and lighting a cigarette.

Miss O'Sullivan couldn't help but notice Phoenix's good mood. She continued to arrange the products on the shelves in silence, lost in thought. She suddenly stopped, remembering something, and her cheeks flushed. Phoenix stared at her, wondering why she was blushing. Isabell glanced at Phoenix. She wasn't particularly curious, but it was something she'd never understood and wanted to know.

“Dark Hawk…” she began. Phoenix waited patiently for her to continue. “Why did you kiss me that time? You know… in that alley in Blackwater…”

Phoenix took a long drag on his cigarette, he turned his face away so the smoke wouldn't bother Isabell while he thought about what to say.

"I wanted to see if you'd let me," he answered sincerely. There was no other answer. In fact, deep down, he just couldn't help himself. No woman had ever simply stood before him like that. He was completely intrigued by it. Phoenix kept it to himself; he didn't want to tell Isabell.

What came next left him completely astonished, Isabell laughed, a sincere and amused laugh, Phoenix found himself surprised and delighted, seeing her smile was something appreciative, but seeing her laugh seemed even more beautiful, he contemplated it, mesmerized.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded as her laughter died down and a small smile took its place, she stared at him with amusement.

“It seems you didn’t let me go after all,” Isabell replied.

Phoenix pondered. It was true. It wasn't for lack of fighting, he simply couldn't stay away from her. It was that time they'd shared that had driven him beyond belief and driven him to pursue her. He'd fallen in love, she'd let him have her, and he wished Isabell had never left. Phoenix didn't answer; he didn't want to admit it to her. The expression he saw on her face immediately afterward made him tense; she suddenly looked sad.

“When I got back from Mexico, I missed you so much, Dark Hawk,” Isabell confessed, her hand unconsciously squeezing the can, her face regaining color.

“Why are you telling me this only now?” Phoenix asked, unable to stop himself from asking.

"With all that madness you've caused, I haven't had time, and I've been very irritated with you for a long time," Isabell explained. It was something she'd wanted to talk to him about, but hadn't had the opportunity, as since he arrived, their time together had been limited to petty arguments, teasing, and interruptions from other people.

Dark Hawk lifted the corner of his lips, he liked knowing that, if she knew how he felt because of her absence… the word "missing" didn't seem to do it justice.