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"What you end up doin' the first six months, or first couple years, don't have to be what you have to do the rest of your life. Just - thinkin' ahead a little more than usual might be wise."
She breathes out, long and slow.
"Easier said than done, but I'll try."
He is sure this message is, in fact, an entirely natural phenomena, a product of his own desires, his own determination to survive, to see the gang survive. He wanted to speak to Arthur and so he will.
Dutch van der Linde sounds urgent, near frantic, near angry:]
Son, where the hell are you? We need you here.
[He'd sent out one small, inconsequential message. He didn't think anything was going to come of it. He wasn't even sure if he wanted anyone to listen - maybe Sadie, or maybe Abigail. He's been thinking about her a lot, ever since Tess showed him those very, very old entries of hers and John's.
The reply comes late at night, when Arthur is in his cabin, and he doesn't suspect a thing. And suddenly there's a voice near him that just gets him trembling. How does anyone still have the right to say son and have Arthur end up trembling?]
Dutch?
[The word is out before he realizes. He doesn't want to talk to Dutch, but his hand is clutching the communicator.]
What you need me for, Dutch?
Arthur–– you know exactly what you're needed for. Leave the girl and get back here before the goddamn Pinkertons catch up with us. [A pause. He can see Arthur so clearly.] I do not understand why you are like this.
What am I like, Dutch? What was I ever like?
[He feels like he's on a ledge, and he could tip over either way: heady nausea, or that dreaded calm that comes over a man when he's in a crisis.]]
Well, Arthur, truth be told I cannot make heads or tails of you lately and this constant, incessant doubting, but you were once the most reliable man I ever had. You never used to be this way.
Are you coming or not?
I - I - I can't come right now, Dutch. I'm busy. And I don't know where you are. [Why is he acting like a child? He stood up to Dutch, he told him I insist. And now he's simpering like a little boy? He feels disgust well up inside him.]
[He shakes his head and picks up his cigar case; there is no selecting one because there is only one left. He lights it with the little click of his lighter, pauses to take a drag, and then speaks around it:]
Head on back to Beaver Hollow.
[Right. That's what he'd thought. Beaver Hollow was when no one could deny it anymore, what was happening to him. Dutch sounds hysterical, though no one who doesn't know him would hear it in him.]
I'm busy for my family, Dutch. Can't you see that? I may not be doin' what you want me to do, but that don't mean I'm doing the wrong thing.
[Except the ones who have left them and abandoned them, that coward Pearson, useless goddamn Uncle, all of them...]
'The rest of us'? Like fuckin' Micah and his friends, Dutch? [Together - together with fucking who? He feels anger bubbling up inside of him, his hands clenching.]
He's a lying snake who poisoned your mind, that's what I got against him! Don't tell me to - to come back to my family, when you seem to think that piece'a shit's my family. What about Hosea, huh? Lenny? John?
And how, Arthur, is Micah responsible for what happened to Hosea, or Lenny, or John? Because I seem to recall they were shot by Pinkertons. Who are coming here to take what is left of this gang, and everything we have sacrificed for!
Because he was a rat, Dutch! How you think they always knew where we was? Huh? How you think things went bad right after he joined? [Dutch raising his voice is only stoking the fire in him, whereas it once may have scared him, once. He doesn't get to yell at him anymore. Not after what he put him and the others through.]
Things might be bad right this minute but it's only for a minute. For right now. [With some finality:] We finish with this, we'll be home free. I am sure of it, and it disappoints me that you aren't.
Because 'we' ain't no longer we. Who are we, without Hosea? Without John, or Abigail, or Miss Adler, or even goddamn Uncle?
It'll be you, me, and Micah. If that's your idea of paradise, you're even more deluded than I thought you was.
It hurts me, Arthur, it honestly does. I... I didn't want any of this to happen, but it did.
[He lets out a long breath, a shake of his head.
There is no alternative.]
[He hates himself for feeling hope at that moment's pause, and more for the crushing grief that washes over him when Dutch goes on in the same way. His voice is soft, and heartbroken, when he replies.]
Hurts me too, Dutch. It hurts me more than I think you'll ever know.
I... I gave you all I had. One day, you might even believe that.
But there's nothing now. No way to smooth it over, no way to ease it down if Arthur won't trust him. Dutch lets the silence linger for a moment, working the cigar in his mouth as he thinks.]
Maybe. Maybe not. Time will tell I suppose.
[A sudden scoff, something like a laugh.]
Where are you? How the hell are we talkin'? I keep thinkin' you're gonna come out of the goddamn woods.
Doesn't matter. I ain't in the woods. I ain't anywhere you know.
Just... remember what we was. Try and remember what we did, all of us, together.
Yeah.
Maybe we just arrived at different places, comin' from the same start.
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