I must stop myself from constantly reaching for them.

But the need to reassure myself that they're safe is stronger than I can describe. I never thought I'd be given a second chance at this life, but Y/N has provided it for me.

Our daughter, Charlotte Beatrice.

As I write the words, I find myself overcome with the desire to reach for them again, to touch them, to know they're real, and they're okay. It's ridiculous of course, and I'm a fool for it, but I can't shake it. Y/n has tried to reassure me, told me that Charlotte and her are going to be okay, and it's true, they're both recovering well, but still, I can't sleep through the night without checking in on them at least once.

Last night Y/n woke up screaming, she's never done that before and my heart broke as I held her, feeling her tremble with fear. She told me it was another dream about Colm, but despite my reassurance that he's dead she keeps having them.

She had asked me why I shot him after she'd stabbed him. Why did I "put him out of his misery and not let him suffer?" is how she'd worded it. But the truth is I couldn't let him die by her hand, it had to be mine. I couldn't let her take a life; it would tear her up inside. What was another death on my hands if it meant keeping her conscience free?

I suppose Colm's death was a fitting end for me. A final life took to signal the end of my life as an outlaw, start my life as a father, and soon as a husband. The gunshot wound Colm gave me won't heal properly, it will be more than a scar. It will be a reminder of my second chance. I'll never be able to shoot as I could before, the muscles are too torn. I guess the world has a sense of humor after all.

I plan to

"Waaaaaa!" His daughter's cries draw Arthur's attention in an instant.

He's by her side in seconds, reaching into her cot and pulling her close to his bare chest, shushing her as she settles against him.

"Hey there little Tris." He coos, "We don't wanna wake Mama up, okay?" he continues as he rocks her gently, his hand dwarfing her body as he smooths it gently over her back,

She yawns dramatically, clenching her tiny fists before falling back asleep against him. Arthur has never seen anything look so perfect and he can't bring himself to put her down; instead, he crawls back onto the bed beside you, Charlotte safely nestled against him.

Glancing at you with a warm smile across his face he tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

"My girls." He breathes.

"She's perfect, isn't she?" you mumble, voice thick with sleep as you peek up at them from your pillow.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, sweetheart, why don't you go back to sleep?"

"It's okay." You push yourself up with a wince. "I'm awake now, and don't want to miss a second with her."

"All that time apart and it's her you miss?" He chuckles, gently pulling you against him so you settle your head on his shoulder. "How're you feeling?"

"Happy." You bury your face into his neck, enjoying his scent and feeling the vibration of his chuckle.

"That's not what I meant sweetheart," he gently combs your hair with his fingers.

The doctor in Van Horn had patched you both up. Your own injuries had required much more attention than Arthur's bullet wound, but you were now making a steady recovery. The doctor was amazed at Charlotte's survival, her tiny frame easily fitting into Arthur's hand, but after giving her a thorough examination she seemed as well as could be, just impossibly small. She was tiny sure, but she was a Morgan, and you didn't doubt for one second that she wouldn't fight to live.

"I know, but it's all that matters. How're you feeling, about Dutch and everything?" You broach the subject cautiously, noting how Arthur still hadn't talked about the betrayal and loss of his father figure.

He shifts uncomfortably, "Not yet sweetheart, I just need time. There is something I do wanna talk to you about though."

You nod eagerly, thankful that he was finally opening up.

"Did you really believe me, when I said I betrayed you?" his eyes meet yours, a brief flash of hurt crossing through the green.

You push yourself back gently, "Is that even a question?" you smile, cupping his jaw and forcing him to look at you. "You're a great outlaw, an amazing partner, and I can't wait to see the wonderful father you'll be to Charlotte..." You bring his lips to yours, his eyes fluttering shut as he sighs into the brief kiss.

You reluctantly drawback, making sure to meet his eye. "But you are without a doubt, a terrible poker player. When you lie to me your lip twitches."

"I am a great poker player." He smirks, chasing your lips to steal another kiss, his hand holding Charlotte securely to his chest.

"Sure, as long as you're not playing against me." You push him back with your lips.

He chuckles, a playful smirk crossing his features. "I guess I have to be bad at something darling."

"Oh please." You roll your eyes. "I hope our daughter is more humble than her scoundrel of a father."

"Oh, I can't promise I didn't pass on my scoundrel genes to little Tris. Let's just hope she takes after her mother for most things."

"Tris?" you quirk a brow as your daughter's apparent new nickname.

Arthur looks at you sheepishly, a small blush creeping up his cheeks. "I uh- call her Tris sometimes when it's just me and her." He rubs his thumb gently across her tiny back, his large hand easily able to cover her.

"Tris." You repeat, sounding out the name on your tongue. "I like it."

The rest of your morning was spent in what could only be described as domestic bliss. Arthur cooked you breakfast while you sat propped on upon an old, padded settee, Charlotte Beatrice – or Tris as she was now nicknamed- fed peacefully from your chest.

Willard's rest was quiet despite its numerous tenants. Charles and John were somewhere out in the yard working, John had recently secured the resources to build a second property besides the original after deciding that he, Jack, and Abigail would stay with you both. Sadie had reluctantly returned to the gang whilst Charles remained to help with the construction. Arthur and John had tried to convince him to stay but he insisted that old gang needed guidance following Dutch's death and Arthur couldn't argue that there wasn't a better man for the job. Charlotte, surprisingly to everyone, returned to Chicago, stating she had 'seen enough of the country life and its dangers to last a lifetime."

"Ya know, I think this may be the first time I've ever cooked on something that wasn't a fire," Arthur notes to himself, adjusting to the domestic lifestyle with ease.

"As long as it doesn't taste like Pearson's stew used to, you can keep practicing as much as you like."

Arthur shakes his head, smiling to himself, still unable to believe this happiness was now his life.

"So, what do we do now?' you ask, realizing that neither of you had had the chance to discuss what the future would like for you both.

He brings over two plates of food, kissing you on the forehead before sitting beside you and a playful smirk resting on his lips.

"Well...I should probably make an honest woman out of you."

Your head snaps up, realizing he was talking about marriage.

"I thought...I figured the ring was just a promise, that we'd just be like Abigail and John?"

He shakes his head, his blue eyes sparkling with a smile. "Na, I wanna do this properly. Give you, my name."

Nodding, you stare down at your daughter, still happily suckling, the promise of being a real family felt like a dream come true; to proudly call yourself Mrs. Morgan was everything you'd ever wished for.

"Okay...but not for a few months." You tuck away your breast as Tris finishes, Arthur quickly standing and taking her from you. He places her down carefully in the bassinet, her milk-drunk self, slipping easily into slumber.

Arthur sits back beside you, pulling you cautiously onto his lap and snaking his arms around you.

"Why wait?"

"Because..." your hands slide around his neck, your fingers playing with his hair as you lean close to his ear. "I want to make sure I'm fully healed for what comes after the wedding..."

You nip at his earlobe, enjoying the soft groan that escapes Arthur's mouth.

"Sweetheart..." he breathes, his groin beginning to harden against you as he presses his lips to your neck. Slowly he beings to suck the flesh between his teeth, working his way up to your jaw.

"How long has it been Arthur?" you sigh as you toss your head back, offering more of your neck to his hungry mouth.

"Too damn long."

Arthur's hands tighten against your hips, pulling you impossibly tight to his erection. Your mind begins to cloud with pleasure, and you involuntarily grind down against him, causing your both to moan at the feeling.

"Fuck sweetheart this is torture" he whispers against your lips before crashing into you with a bruising kiss.

You slip under his control quickly, letting his mouth guide yours in its sensual dance. The taste of his tongue is sweeter than honey as he slips it into your mouth, the skill, and control he has conjuring memories of even sweeter times with his mouth.

"Uncle Arthur?"

"Sweet Jesus Jack, the hell are you doing here!?" Arthur sets you beside him, grabbing a pillow to hide the obvious bulge in his jeans "Shouldn't you be with your Pa or something?"

"Pa said to warn you that they're coming in for breakfast."

"Warn me? What do you mean...?" Turning to the door he sees Charles and John's smirking faces peering through the window and you can't help but fall into a fit of giggles. Arthur shakes his head, grumbling with frustration.

"Still no God damn peace."