SOUTH DAKOTA, NOVEMBER 1858

The sky had turned purple. Flecks of the retreating sun glinted off the snow, casting a faint glitter on every surface in town. It had been a particularly rough winter throughout the mountains, and Fort Pierre did not go overlooked. The two men rode in side by side, their horses leaving behind empty channels as they kicked up the thick blankets of snow. Not a word had transpired between the two for an hour, not that there was much to say.

Django tried to sound out the words to himself as he sauntered past the town's wooden placard.

"...Welcome...to Fort," he squinted. "Py-ree...Chot-Chotao."

He heard King chuckle ahead of him. "Pierre Chouteau, my boy. It's French," he pulled ever so slightly on Fritz's reigns as they approached a familiar log cabin.

"This where the sheriff live?" Django asked, slowing his own horse to a halt by the wooden steps. King hopped off his saddle and dusted off a sprinkling of snow on Fritz's rear.

"Indeed it is," he took Tony's reigns as Django jumped down, tying the two horses in place. "Do you-"

"King Schultz!"

Django and King turned their heads to find the door to the cabin swung wide open, the sheriff leaning against the frame. "Wasn't expectin' you back so soon."

King hummed. "My apologies for the short notice- the blizzard out east died out much quicker than I anticipated." He smiled, taking his hat off as he walked up the steps towards the taller man. Django followed wordlessly.

"Oh, Sheriff, I'd like to introduce you to my deputy, Django. Django, this is Sheriff Don Gus," he chirped, allowing the men space to shake hands.

"King's told me plenty 'bout you, Django. Says you're one hell of a shot." Django glanced at Schultz, who shrugged nonchalantly. "Y'all hungry? The missus is finishin' up some rabbit stew. Dinner'll be ready by the time y'all're done unpackin'."

"Sounds delicious. Django?" King called, holding the door open. He slunk inside, thumbs in his pockets.

Gus gestured towards the freeman. "Quiet feller, huh?"

"Full of mysteries," King raised his eyebrows and chuckled, leaning back further into the door. "After you, sheriff."

"Doctor Schultz?" the child stared across the table at him, his brown eyes wide and glassy.

"Yes, my boy."

"You kill people, right?"

"Solomon!" Mrs. Gus could've reached across the table and choked him. "Not at the dinner table."

Marion Culver Gus was, in appearances, quite unremarkable. Blue eyes, light hair that greyed at the roots. Not too thin, but not full figured. Pale, as were most women in the mountains. Exhaustion from dealing with three unruly children all day clear on her face, but a cheerful attitude to make up for it.

King chuckled and bit a chunk of rabbit off his spoon.

He could feel something kicking him under the table.

He glared up at the girl sitting across from him. She hadn't bothered fixing the stray hairs she'd mussed up. The dark strands flopped in her face and she blew them up from her bright eyes, scowling as they fell into the contents of her spoon. She was trouble wrapped in pink paper and silk ribbon.

King had known her since a year prior, when he'd rode into town alone in need of a bounty. The sheriff had generously offered a meal and a room to board in until the mid-December freeze thawed enough for him to keep moving.

At first he didn't quite understand. It confused him immensely that such a fresh young girl with such prospects in life would even look twice at a man like him, but that was quickly forgotten when her soft lips brushed against his in the dark guest room, touching just enough to feel the electricity but not enough to satisfy him. She moved no closer, daring him to kiss her.

He couldn't bring himself to do it then, thinking it indecent to shove his tongue down the throat of his kind host's young daughter.

That consideration of decency, he noted, did not make her very happy.

Now approaching nineteen, Violet already had her mind made up. There was nothing else she wanted more in the world than him. He was hers.

"So," she implored unamused, shifting her catty gaze to Django. "Who's your little friend, doctor?"

King cleared his throat and put his hand on the taller man's shoulder. "This, Miss Violet, is Django Freeman-he's my deputy. He's come all the way from Texas to assist me in my work."

She hummed in accordance, seemingly now more interested in picking at the broth that was now drying in her hair. She bit her lip as she placed her elbows on the tabletop, fanning the strands up against the light.

"Violet Abigail," Marion gritted, her jaw tight. "Elbows off the table, young lady."

The girl stifled a grin and laid her hands in her lap, fiddling with the skirt of her dress. As her mother whispered something to little Solomon, Violet slinked back in her chair, her blue eyes locking on King's. She smirked, tongue running past her lower lip. He found himself unable to look away from her, silently wishing that he had kissed her a year ago. What would it feel like to kiss her now, to give in and just give her what she wanted? He couldn't deny the desire to touch her. And the toe of her boot stroking intently up his calf didn't help.

Django sat impartial and silent, setting his spoon back in his bowl as he glanced from King to Violet and back to King again. Schultz squinted in response to her advances, as if warning her to stop, yet beckoning her to continue. She shot him a cocky look.

Django knew that look- that smug little grin. It was too familiar. Women- playful women- did that face. Hildi did it.

Django wondered imperviously if they loved each other; if King would think to marry the girl when she got older.

At least King wouldn't get the chance to lose her.

"Have you fellas got anyone picked out yet?"

"A few, yes," Dr. Schultz perused the wall of wanted posters in the sheriff's office. "We'll be tracking along the mountains for the next couple of months." One particular name caught his eye and he plucked the page off, folding it neatly into quarters and tucking it into the waist of his pants.

"Well," Sheriff Gus sat at his desk, flipping through a wad of bills. "Here's your seven-fifty for the Millers and two-hundred for Cowell. Got your things outside?"

"We do." King slung on his fur coat, glancing at Django, who stood patiently by the door. He pocketed the money and shrugged. "I suppose we'll be on our way then, Sheriff."

"We'll see you around, Dr. Schultz. And Django, nice meetin' you, son." Django nodded and tipped his hat silently before holding the door open for King.

The warmth from inside was instantly sucked away, puffy clouds billowing as they breathed in the cold air. Schultz walked down the steps of the Sheriff's office, pulling out his pocket watch as Django trailed behind.

Making his way around Fritz to load his bags, he almost bumped right into her and knocked her over.

"Um...hi," Violet murmured, the tail of her dress just barely touching his bags. She glanced over to make sure Django wouldn't see her and shivered.

"What are you doing here?" King hissed, holding her by her arms and walking her to the side of the building.

"I wanted to say goodbye." She looked at him sadly, her eyes red and glossed over. King felt a most intense surge of guilt in that moment, one he hadn't felt so strongly in years.

"I won't be gone long, my dear," he assured her, rubbing up and down her arms.

"I'm gonna miss you," she sniffled and stared at the ground. King lifted her chin to make her look at him.

"I'll miss you more than anything."

With that, she wrapped her arms around him and held on to his coat for dear life, burying her face in his chest.

Snow crunched under Django's feet as he stepped away from Tony. He had, of course, witnessed their little tryst, but elected to leave it private. Schultz turned at the sound and left a chaste kiss on Violet's head.

"I'll see you soon, meine schatz."

She lifted her head up and stared at him with intent. He could see his reflection in her sad eyes.

"Please be careful, King."

He smirked. "When am I not?"

"Shut up," she sighed, pushing him back towards his horse.

King simply chuckled and started to load his bags up for the winter ahead.