WARNING: This chapter contains major spoilers for the end of RDR2. I don't follow the story line exactly, but major plot points are revealed.

TWO YEARS LATER….

Ellie walked briskly down the street toward Dr. Milford's office, her arms full of supplies. The doctor had been running low on various items and she had volunteered to go out and fetch more from the market. The heat of the city pressed on her from all sides and she could feel drops of perspiration sliding down her back. She didn't think she would ever get used to the air here; it was suffocating. She entered the office to see Dr. Milford packing up his bag.

"Heading out?" she asked, setting down her bundle.

"Yes," replied Dr. Milford. "House call in the west district. Seems someone has come down with a nasty fever."

"Would you like me to come along?"

Dr. Milford thought for a moment. "No, I think I'll manage. You stay here and finish cleaning up for me."

Ellie nodded and waved good-bye, then began to unpack. She sang softly to herself as she put the supplies neatly on the shelves. Once she had finished, she went into the back room and surveyed the mortar and pestle on the counter, covered with the residue of whatever concoction Dr. Milford had mixed up for the fever patient. She wet a towel in the basin and began the work of scrubbing the equipment clean.

As she finished up, she heard the front door open. "I'll be with you in a moment," she called. She washed her hands in the basin and dried them, then walked into the front room, pushing her hair back from her face. She saw a man standing with his back to her, looking out the front window. His hat was pulled down low and he had a satchel slung over one shoulder and two saddlebags hanging from the other. As he came into focus, her breath caught in her throat and the walls seemed to momentarily close in.

"John?" she whispered. He turned slowly and she blinked, unbelieving. He was here, in front of her. She stepped forward, feeling as though she was in a dream.

"Ellie," he said.

"How are you here?" she stammered. Ellie eyed him closely. He looked as though much more than two years had passed since they had last seen one another. There were deep lines around his eyes and dark circles underneath them. His clothing was covered in filth and hanging off his frame. He looked exhausted. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Ellie, it's good to see you."

She smiled. "It's good to see you, too, John. Why have you come?"

"I wanted to see you, Ellie." He stopped, seemingly unsure of what to say. "I need to tell you some things. Is there somewhere we can talk?"

She nodded. "Dr. Milford will be back soon. Then we could head over to the saloon."

He frowned, then glanced out the window again. "I'm not sure that'll work. I, uh… well, it'd be best if I kept outta sight for the time bein'." His voice was urgent.

She suddenly understood. "Of course," she said. "We can go to my apartment. It's just down the street. Give me a minute." She hurried to the back room and removed her apron, her hands shaking wildly. She quickly checked her reflection in the small mirror that hung above the basin, then pinched her cheeks and tried to smooth down her hair. She returned to find John looking out the window once again. "I'm ready. We can go."

"There a back door to this place?" he asked. She nodded and locked the front door, then led him through the office to the back. They slipped out into an alley and walked quickly to where it opened onto the street. Question after question flew through Ellie's mind, but she remained quiet, acutely aware of John walking beside her. Once they reached the street, she turned right and walked another block. "This is it," she said, motioning to her building. Once inside, they climbed the stairs quickly and made their way to the end of the hall and into her apartment. Safely behind the closed door, she turned to him and all of her questions died on her lips. She was still unsure this was really happening.

"Please, have a seat," she finally said, gesturing toward a small table with two chairs. He let his satchel and saddle bags slide to the floor with a thud and slowly lowered himself into a chair. "Would you like something to drink?" He shook his head.

"I just can't believe it's you, John," she said as she sat down across from him. "How are you? How is Arthur? Is he in town? Dutch?" John bowed his head into his hands and remained silent. "Is it the sheriff you're hiding from?" she asked. She could see his jaw working. An icy blade of fear suddenly sliced through her… something was very wrong. "John? What is it? Why are you here?"

John looked up. "Arthur's dead, Ellie."

Ellie stared at him, dazed. "What?" She had to have heard him wrong.

"He's dead," John whispered, then ran his fingers through his grimy hair. "Dutch and Micah - they killed him."

She couldn't comprehend what he was saying. How could this be? Was John ill? Drunk? She could feel her heart racing, the sensation of something sliding out of place in her head. She grabbed the edge of the table and breathed deeply, trying to steady herself. After she had left the gang, she and Arthur had written to one another occasionally. His letters had always sounded upbeat, hopeful. She tried to remember the last time she had received a letter from him and realized it had been months.

"How can this be?" she asked.

"It all went to shit, Ellie." He rubbed his eyes. "Maybe I will have that drink." She fetched a bottle of gin and poured him a glass. He downed it in one swallow and she refilled it for him. "We kept gettin' run outta camp every time we settled down. We ended up west of here for a while, place called Shady Belle."

She nodded. "I knew you were close for a time. There were mentions of Dutch and some bank robbery in the papers. I wrote to Arthur, asking if he would come visit me, but he said it would be best if he didn't."

John nodded slowly and gestured toward the satchel on the floor. "I know. Arthur, he… well, I have his satchel. He's got some of your letters in there. That's how I found you."

She remembered how excited she had been when she had first figured out that the gang was near, that they were operating in town. She had been so tempted to seek them out, but in the end she had decided to keep her distance. "After the noise died down, I figured you all had moved on," she said.

"Hosea and Lenny were gunned down here in town," John continued. She looked shocked. "So they kept that out of the papers," he spat angrily. "That's also about the time Arthur got sick." Ellie looked at John questioningly. Arthur had never mentioned anything about being sick.

"What was wrong with him?" she asked.

"Tuberculosis." Ellie rubbed her temples, sighing. No wonder he wouldn't visit her - he hadn't wanted her to know.

"With Hosea gone, Dutch just started losin' it," John continued. "Goin' on and on about his plans. Thing was, his plans didn't make no sense anymore. We were graspin' at straws, killin' innocent folk." He emptied his glass again and she refilled it.

"We ended up near Annesburg. Arthur told me to be ready to run, he knew it was all gonna fall apart. And that fuckin' Micah!" John's voice cracked like a whip. "He just wormed his way into Dutch's head. They turned on us. The last time we went out, I got shot and Dutch left me for dead. I made my way back to camp and found them there, all arguin' with their guns drawn. Then the Pinkertons showed up and me and Arthur just ran." Once again, John drained his glass and once again Ellie refilled it.

"We headed west, into the mountains. They were comin' in from all sides… the Pinkertons, Dutch, Micah. Arthur told me to run for it. He wanted me to get out and try to make a life. He said he didn't have a future but that I still had a chance to build one. He held them off while I ran. I made it down the mountain, found a horse, and never looked back."

The room was silent. Ellie was stunned, her mind struggling to process all that John had said. She thought of Arthur, his strong hands and kind words, the way he'd sit back around the campfire and watch over the group. He had always been a rock; she couldn't imagine him struggling with tuberculosis. She thought of Dutch, clapping Arthur and John on the backs, beaming at them proudly. The tears were falling before she realized it. Of course Arthur had sacrificed himself to save John, she thought to herself. For all of his teasing, she knew Arthur had wanted John to be happy, to go and live his life with his family.

"What about the rest of the gang?" Ellie asked. "Mary-Beth? Karen?"

John sighed. "Molly's dead. Sean and Kieran, too. Micah shot down Mrs. Grimshaw. Other than that, everyone scattered."

"Are Abigail and Jack with you?" she asked quietly.

"What?" John asked, momentarily confused. "Oh, no. They left before we split from Shady Belle."

"Left? Where?" Ellie asked.

"Boston," said John. "Abigail was done. Done with the gang, done with me. Some people snatched Jack for a time. We got him back, but that was the last straw. She heard about some job up in Boston being a seamstress, so she took Jack and left. She reckoned she could get him into some school up there."

"Oh," Ellie said in a tiny voice. He had lost everything, then. She remembered a time when the news of Abigail leaving would have made her hopeful, happy even. But right now, it just made her feel hollow inside. John had grown up in the gang and Dutch had been like a father to him, the other men his brothers. And they had betrayed him in the worst way. "What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I think some folks recognized me on the ride into town. Right now, I just need to lay low for a while. I was hoping…" he looked up at Ellie wearily. "The truth is, I don't have nowhere to go."

"You can stay here until it's safe for you to leave," she said. He nodded gratefully. "You're skin and bones. Can I make you some food?"

"Sure. I'd like to lie down for a bit first."

"Of course," she said. His clothing and skin were covered in dirt from riding hard and he smelled as though he hadn't bathed in weeks. But she told him to lie down on her little bed in the corner anyway.

He laid back on the thin pillow and looked over at her. "It's good to see you, Ellie." He closed his eyes and was asleep in minutes. She sat at the table for a long time, watching him. Finally, she got up and quietly began making some stew.

John slept through the afternoon and into the night. Eventually, Ellie realized he wasn't waking up for supper. She changed into her nightgown and looked down at John, sprawled out over the entire bed. She imagined herself nudging him over, lying down, wrapping her arms around his chest, kissing his cheek. Instead, she pulled an extra blanket from a chest at the foot of the bed and made a makeshift bedroll in a corner of the room. It had been a long time since she'd slept on a floor; between the unyielding floorboards and her racing thoughts, she lay awake most of the night.

"What the hell?" she heard as she opened her eyes the next morning. She sat up quickly and looked toward the bed. John was sitting there, looking at her. "What are you doin' on the floor? Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You were exhausted," Ellie said.

"Jesus, Ellie, I woulda moved to the floor," he said, shaking his head. "Makin' a woman sleep on the floor while I'm lazin' about on a bed!"

She ignored his comment and stood up. "How are you feeling this morning?" she asked.

"Better," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Good. There's leftover stew from last night. I'll heat it up and make coffee." She grabbed her dress from the hook on the wall and ducked behind the screen in the corner of the room. As she pulled off her nightgown, she couldn't help but think of John's hands on her body, sliding up her arms and into her hair. She willed the image out of her head and pulled her clothes on as quickly as she could.

"There a bathhouse around here?" came John's voice from beyond the screen.

"Yes, there's one in the building," she replied. "Downstairs, in the back."

She could hear him stand up and walk across the room. "I'll be back in a bit," he said, then the door opened and closed. She finished dressing and prepared breakfast. Once she had the stew on the table and the coffee ready, she sat down, nervously fiddling with the cuff of her dress sleeve and waiting for him to reappear.

When he returned, his face was clean and his wet hair hung down against the sides of his face. He looked better, but his clothes were still stiff with dirt. He sat at the table and devoured the stew, refilling his bowl three times. After he finished, he sighed deeply, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "Damn, I haven't had a real meal in… I guess I don't know," he chuckled. "Thank you."

"Of course, John," she replied. They looked at one another, a hundred unsaid things hanging in the air. "Have you decided what you'll do?" she asked.

"I was thinkin' I'd head out west. You always said California was real nice," he said. "No one will be lookin' for me that far out, especially if I keep quiet for a few years."

She smiled, imagining him in California with the blue sky above him and the sun shining on his face. "Are you going to start up that ranch?" she asked.

"Not sure. Maybe." He looked into her eyes. "Whatever I decide to do, I know I'd be a lot happier if you came with me."

Her eyes shot up to meet his. Had she really heard him say that? "John…" she stammered.

"Come with me, Ellie. I want to build a new life, just like Arthur said. With you." He stared at her intently. She could feel the familiar heat rising in her stomach. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. In the last day, her emotions had been whipped around in so many directions that she could hardly think straight. But she'd be lying to herself if she said there wasn't a small part of her that was hoping he had come to her for more than a place to hide out.

"But… are you going to look for Abigail and Jack?"

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. "No," he said. "She made it clear when she left, we ain't gonna have a future together. My future is with you."

"This seems so sudden," she said tentatively.

"I've had plenty of time to think about it," replied John. "Been thinkin' about it since I walked outta that saloon in Rhodes. But I understand if you need some time."

Ellie thought of Dr. Milford and the life she had been trying to carve out in Saint Denis. Did she want to stay? She had fantasized about John returning to her so many times that part of her questioned whether this was really happening. She imagined them heading west together and felt herself rise out of the chair and go to him; it was as though she wasn't in control of her own body. Then she was in his arms, hugging him, kissing his cheek.

"Yes, I'll go with you," she said. She pulled back and looked into his face. "On one condition." John's eyebrow raised in question. "Wherever we end up, I want to keep working. I've learned so much from Dr. Milford, I'm sure I'll be able to find a job somewhere."

He smiled and nodded. "Of course, Ellie."

"I thought about you every night," she whispered, holding each of his hands in her own. "The look on your face the last time I saw you..."

"I was angry, but I came to understand what you were sayin'," he said. "Of course, Arthur helped a bit on that front." He smiled and kissed her. His lips were rough and chapped against her own. Kissing him felt like coming home.

She leaned her forehead against his neck. "When should we leave?"

"I'd say a week or so," he replied. "Things should calm down by then."

She smiled. "I can't believe I'm heading back west. With John Marston!"

"Believe it, missy," he smiled, reaching out to touch her cheek. "I ain't never lettin' you go again."

Her mind began to race. "I don't have a lot of things, but we'll still need to find a wagon," she said. "I have a little money saved. Being a doctor's assistant pays, but not very much." Her brow furrowed as she added up the expenses in her head. "It will be tough."

John laughed. "We'll make it okay. In fact, we'll be more than okay," he said meaningfully.

"John, what aren't you telling me?" she asked.

"Well, I made a few stops on my way to find you," he said, grinning. He motioned toward the satchel and saddlebags, still on the floor where he had dropped them the previous day. "There wasn't much in Arthur's satchel. Some bullets, his journal, letters from you. And a map."

John pulled away from her and walked over to the saddlebags, bending down to pick them up. She could see the muscles in his forearms stand out as he carried them over to the table. He reached into one and pulled out a large bar of gold, setting it on the table with a thump.

"Oh, my!" Ellie cried. "Where did you get that?"

"The map," said John. "Some kind of treasure map, it was. Don't know where Arthur picked it up." As he spoke, he reached into the other saddlebag and pulled out two more gold bars, setting them on the table next to the first.

Ellie's mouth fell open. "John, that's a fortune!"

"Damn right, it is!" he said, chuckling. He hugged her close. "Like I said, we'll be okay. Arthur made sure of it."

"I wish he could be here with us," she sighed.

"I know. So do I," John replied. "He wanted us to get out of here and start over somewhere new."

"Then that's what we're going to do," she said, looking into his eyes. "We'll make the best of the time we have, John. For Arthur."