The source of the voice materialized: a uniformed police officer, a nervous smile plastered across his face, jogging towards them from in front of Arthur's horse.
"Oh, Arthur!" Mary breathed, her eyes widening in sheer disbelief as the officer rushed over, not to arrest, but to compliment Arthur, to offer him a cigarette. A police officer. Offering a cigarette. To an outlaw. The world had turned on its head. Mary watched, stunned, as the man practically bowed and scraped, lighting Arthur's smoke with trembling hands, almost too shocked to stand.
"It's good to see you, Officer!" Arthur's chest swelled. This pride, this almost giddy sense of triumph, was something he rarely felt even among the gang. But with Mary, it ignited, a fierce, burning need to impress, to show her what he had become. He craved her shock, her reaction.
He knew the truth: it was Dutch's political machinations, the senator's looming influence, and the constant flow of "benefits" that twisted these men into mere servants. But none of that mattered. Not when Mary was watching. Not when he felt this surge of raw pride for his gang, for their impossible ascent. Why else had her damn father tried to tear them apart?
"And who might this dear lady be?" The officer's smile stretched wider as he turned to Mary, his politeness almost nauseatingly saccharine. He had little choice. Mr. Arthur's clothing factory was now an engine of commerce, and the promised police uniforms, thick and exquisitely tailored, had already arrived. They were so perfect, so expensive-looking—easily twenty dollars in a general store—that the officers barely dared to wear them.
Sheriff Malloy's name might be on the ledger, but everyone knew their real benefactor was Mr. Arthur. Free drinks and meals at the Old Veteran Restaurant every single day! It saved them a fortune! In all of Valentine, who would dare cross Mr. Arthur? The police department itself would lead the charge against them!
Listening to the officer's query, Arthur hesitated for a beat. "Mary, Mary Lint—"
"Mary, Mary Morgan, sir." Mary interrupted, her hand gripping Arthur's arm, pulling him subtly back to her, her smile unwavering as she delivered the words to the officer.
Oh, shit!
Oh, shit! Shit! SHIT!!!
Arthur froze, utterly dumbfounded. The world spun. Only one name echoed in the vast, roaring emptiness of his mind: Mary Morgan.
Mary Morgan?
Mary Morgan??
MARY MORGAN!!!
A ridiculous, idiotic grin split Arthur's face. He felt lightheaded, disoriented, a puppet on strings. He vaguely followed Mary as she bade farewell to the gushing officer, dazedly retrieved his horse, dazedly pulled Mary into his arms onto the saddle, and dazedly rode towards the new stronghold of the Van der Linde Gang: Hope Ranch.
It wasn't until the horse's pounding hooves kicked up a refreshing breeze against his face that the haze began to lift.
"Oh, Mary Morgan?" He tightened his arms around her, the words a raw whisper. His eyes, unfocused, stared at the blurring landscape.
"Yes, Mary Morgan." Mary shifted, moving his hand slightly from her chest, her fingers finding his palm, pinching it gently, a silent, powerful affirmation.
"Oh, Mary Morgan!" The dam broke. What followed was not wild ecstasy, not a shout of triumph, but a searing rush of emotion that stung his eyes and choked his throat. His voice, when it came, was hoarse, thick with unshed tears.
"Mary Morgan. Oh, Mrs. Morgan. I've waited for this day… for too long. I dream about it every night."
His words came in broken gasps, each one a battle against the overwhelming tide of emotion threatening to consume him. Adult emotions were restrained, yes, guarded, but this raw, burning fervor was beyond any suppression.
Mary covered his large hands on her chest with both of hers, her own eyes shimmering with tears.
"Me too, Arthur."
The horse thundered across the wilderness. If ever there was a moment to strike down the legendary gunslinger, Arthur Morgan, it was now, lost in such profound thought. But fate, for once, was kind. The wilderness was empty, save for a few distant travelers who saw the pair and felt a pang of their own.
"Damn it! This cursed world! Another family forced onto the road by horse, damn it! Can't they control these rotten gangs?!"
The distant complaints of passersby drifted past Arthur and Mary's ears, unheard, unheeded. For gamers, Mary might be an unpopular choice, her presence often sparking desires for Sadie, Mary-Beth, or Charlotte to be by Arthur's side. But for Arthur, none of them held the same sacred space in his heart as Mary.