Isaac settled in quick – finding sport in entertaining Jack by the lakeside. They built fortresses and wilting castles out of the mud.

Arthur and John sat at the poker table, playing without urgency. The camp was quiet. Dutch and the other men were in Rhodes, playing their terrible game of chicken between the Capulets and Montagues of the upper south.

John's hand was decent, but he was more interested in being alone with Arthur, so he played slow, betting one or two cents at a time. Arthur followed suit, placing light bets with his small poker smile.

Every so often, Arthur's eyes strayed from his cards to the boys by the lakeside. Isaac rested easily with one knee in the mud or propped up on his heels. He gestured wildly with his hands, enabling Jack's storytelling and working as a vehicle to execute Jack's little world. They had been at it for hours since midmorning, a little longer than Arthur and John's poker game.

"You look…different," John said, still staring at his cards.

Arthur hummed and placed a bet, his eyes jumping to John. "How's that?"

"I dunno You seem happier somehow, more at ease I guess." He was cagey. Arthur could see the internal pacing of his thoughts in the restlessness of his fingers, the bouncing of his knee, the constant adjustment of his shoulder and the tension in his neck.

"Makes sense enough to me." He looked at the boys again. "We've been shaken up, it seems."

"That's true enough." Leave it to Arthur to understate the return of his son, presumed dead. In fairness, he'd underplayed John's return, but that was my own fault.

They were quiet again for a moment. Cards were flipped, John won the hand and it was his turn to deal. The cards were loose in his hand

"I'm sorry, ah…shit. I don't really know how to start." John leaned back and put his cards down, adjusting his hat on his head.

Arthur was quiet, watching him.

His teeth worked on the inside of his lip as he thought. "I get it more now. I think."

"What do you get now, you think?" Arthur's tone was something that could be described as gentle but teasing.

"My leavin' and Jack'n everything. I get why it was hard to forgive. Even now. Even for Abby. I just…I think I understand better. Seeing Isaac." John's eyes were glued to the table, his fingernail tracing the grain of the uneven wood.

Arthur's lips upturned into a smile. "You talk to your wife about this?"

"Plannin' to. Not sure how so I figured I'd start with you." He smiled and lowered his voice. "You're less likely to smack me."

"Wouldn't be so sure of that," Arthur chuckled. When Abigail and John fought…Lord.

John looked nervous for a moment before Arthur sat back in his chair and grinned at him.

"You bastard." John removed his hat and threw a hand through his hair. "I come out here and pretend to play cards and you make fun of me."

Arthur sobered and leaned forward, looking for John's eyes. John obliged, looking across the table at Arthur with clear, focused eyes. Arthur sighed and stationed a hand on John's shoulder. "Show your wife and your son how much you love them. That'll be enough apology to me. You're a good man, John. I think you could be a great father if you just tried a little harder."

Abigail unpinned her bun, letting her hair fall in heavy waves over one shoulder as she brushed it out. Arthur rocked Jack, whose eyes were fluttering closed. He watched the little boy rather than Abigail, electing to give her privacy.

This had become routine over the past few weeks. John had returned but remained distant and surly.

Abigail sighed and sank to the floor with her head in her hands, her hair falling around her in a sheet. "I just wish he'd try at least."

Arthur sighed along with her. "I know, Abby."

John fought the defense crawling up his throat. He nodded, swallowing his pride. He broke Arthur's gaze and looked at Jack and Isaac for a long moment. He startled himself, seeing himself in his son for the first time. He'd always seen Abigail, but that was obvious. He wasn't even sure if he saw it in a literal sense. He saw himself in the way Jack perched on the log above Isaac. He saw himself in the way Jack talked with his hands. He saw himself in the way Jack furrowed his brow before he spoke. Products of his influence over a little boy he loved so much, but couldn't figure out how to express it.

Arthur seemed satisfied and sat back. He picked up his cards again and threw down the blind. John turned back to the table and did the same.

Abigail watched the exchange, pretended she didn't, and sewed a patch onto one of Javier's work shirts. She smiled to herself. Sons of Dutch. Brothers. Of all the men in camp, Arthur and John embodied that notion more than anyone else, especially when they were alone together. It was easy to forget, in the years since John's departure, that they knew each other better than anyone else, save for Dutch and Hosea.

She'd have liked to know Arthur when he was John's age, or maybe even when it was just he and Dutch with Hosea making up the gang. The three of them, she'd heard, were real heartbreakers back in the day. She'd seen the photos. There weren't any pictures of John as a kid, but she could imagine he hadn't changed much.

In a relative sense, she was new to John's world. He was new to hers. But they were so wrapped up together now that it seemed as if it had always been this way. She loved John. She loved Jack. She loved Arthur. Nobody ignited her like John, though. She was surrounded by special, odd, and delightful men. Men that were stronger, kinder, more focused, more attentive than John. But he was it for her. She could only hope she was it for him.

Isaac, meanwhile, started to succeed in exhausting Jack. He was directing the architecture of their mud palace, but his eyes grew heavy as the sun crested in the sky. It was nearly noon. He looked up, searching for Arthur. When he caught his eye, Arthur waved him over.

"Ready to head in, kiddo?" Isaac stood and offered a hand to him.

Jack nodded, rubbing his eyes. He took Isaac's hand and they wandered to their fathers. Abigail tabled her task and stood, brushing her skirt of any debris. She met Isaac and Jack at the poker table. Jack reached up to her and she lifted him into her arms, rocking him back and forth as he tucked his head into the crook of her neck. She closed her eyes, pressing her cheek into his sun-warmed hair.

"Ready for your nap, my sweet boy?" She opened her eyes over Jack's head and smiled at Isaac in a silent thanks.

Jack nodded, his eyes already closed and Abigail's shirtwaist collar balled in his hand.

"Want any help?" John stood, his eyes searching and hands outstretched looking for a task.

She took a breath to refuse him but changed her mind with a small smile. "Sure. He'll need his bed shaken out before he goes down."

John nodded and passed her, a hand brushing her waist. She followed him slowly, meandering in that indirect, bouncing way mothers do with their sleeping children.

Arthur stood, lightly smacking his thighs. He collected the cards, returning them to the little box at the end of the table. "Ready to head to your folks? If we leave now, we can be back by nightfall."

The ride back through the countryside was an easy one. The humidity grew less oppressive as they rode north through The Heartlands.

Side by side, they kept an easy canter.

"What do you remember of my mother?" Isaac asked after a while.

Arthur smiled, sitting back in his saddle and adjusting his grip on the reins. "I remember much of Eliza. She's very special to me'n I didn't rightly deserve her, especially at the time." He thought for a moment. "Her ease'n grace are prominent in my mind. She always made good out of the things she had." He smiled at his son. "You, me. She didn't ask for it, but she was happy to have it and made it work for all of us, far as I knew."

Isaac nodded. "That's what I remember, too."

"Did we do alright by you, Isaac?" The question was an honest one, but Arthur kept his eyes forward.

Isaac looked at his father's profile, trusting his horse to keep her feet while he did so, and saw the insecurity and concern in his brow. In such a short time, it was clear to him that Arthur cared deeply, but was convinced he wasn't capable of good. I'll have to talk to Abigail. She'll know. But to answer his question, "You did. I think you both did what you could, and I have fond memories of my life as a young child." His lips upturned. "I remember missing you both after momma passed. The Treems were my family, but it was never quite the same as I remembered."

Arthur softened. "'m glad we didn't set you up too badly."

"Not too bad, no." Isaac gave a faint smile and pulled ahead, leading them both off the main road to an overgrown side path.

Arthur followed dutifully, ducking around the overhanging limbs and encouraging his mount over the knotted roots and debris trailing over the ground.

The house approached them, small and nondescript, from a clearing. As homesteads went, it was somewhat sprawling, reaching out into the surrounding forest with little rooms like fingers. Isaac didn't speak, and there was something in Arthur that settled in his chest a little like fear.

Selfish. Selfish, ugly bastard. If he stays, he stays and he's better for it. You leave him. You leave it alone. Don't poison him.

They hitched their horses at the post by the porch, tying them without much urgency.

"Isaac!" The door flew open, and a young girl no more than seven sailed into Isaac's arms.

He lifted her with ease, laughing lightly. "Hey, Lizzie!"

Arthur stood by his horse, hanging back and feeling a more than a little misplaced. Mrs. Treem, or who Arthur assumed was Mrs. Treem, opened the front door and held out her arms.

"Hey, Noná." Isaac tromped up the front steps and melted into her embrace. She smiled into the top of his head – oddly, mournfully.

Noná? Curious. Arthur stepped around his horse and removed his hat. Mrs. Treem looked over Isaac's head, meeting his eyes.

"Ma'am."

She released the children and she pushed them behind her and into the house with a significant look. They were left alone on the porch. Arthur studied her.

The woman was close to sixty, with grey-streaked brown hair tied back in a loose braid. She wasn't heavy nor was she waifish – indicative of a life of work. The wrinkles on her face came from smiling or squinting, which warmed Arthur to her.

She seemed to study him as well. "I'd always wondered what you were like." Her voice had a light accent Arthur couldn't place.

Arthur dipped his head, his hands wringing his hat. He didn't know what to say – whether to apologize, attempt to explain himself. He was lost in the face of the woman who raised his son. Failure. You should be

Mrs. Treem saw this on his face. "Come on up here and we can chat while the children fix dinner." She stepped to the side of the stairs and took a seat on the farthest chair of three on the porch, gesturing to the one beside her.

He followed her, stepping gingerly up the wooden stairs and seating himself beside her.

She stared out at her yard, relaxed and at ease. Her hands rested easily on her knees, her arms open and extended. "Arthur Morgan," she started. She looked at him. "I wasn't sure I would ever meet you in person."

"Not sure if that's a good thing?" He tried to lighten the heavy weight of her words and the implication that hung between them.

"No. I'm not." She returned her gaze to the yard. "I suppose you've come to take him from me."

"Now, ma'am –"

"Stella," she corrected. "Now, I don't mean to question you. It is your right as his father." She leveled him with her gaze again, her walnut eyes boring into Arthur's blue ones. He shifted under her scrutiny. "But I would be remiss if I did not share my concern with you."

He could feel the flurry of activity behind him, the children set the table, speaking in English and another language he didn't recognize, exchanging barbs and laugher and the clinking silverware. It was comfortable inside. The porch was an island – the discomfort was palpable. Arthur didn't know how to respond.

"I don't mean to necessarily take him anywhere." That seemed like a good enough place to start.

"Then why do you come? To return him?" Her lips belied a smile. "That's not what he expressed in his letter."

Arthur thought for a moment. "I'll be honest with you, ma'am…" He floundered for a moment. "I don't know. I got a letter, and I came, and I found Isaac and…"

She placed a hand on his, balled into a fist on his bouncing leg, with a sigh. He looked at her, and she softened, eyes warm. "You don't have to explain yourself. We would give the world for our children."

He swallowed and nodded.

"I have no doubt you have Isaac's best interests at heart." Her eyes narrowed, and Arthur knew what came next. "Which is why he should stay with us."

The door opened, and Isaac stood there, bag and bedroll in-hand. The pair looked up, startled.

"No. I'm going."

A/N:

Thank you all for the lovely feedback! I appreciate each and every one of you. For those of you that asked for specific scenes, I will do my best to include them in upcoming chapters!

It makes me so happy you are all enjoying this, and please leave a review or request if you have the time! I would be happy to write for you all.

Love,
Tali