A good night's sleep usually cured all hurt, but when John awoke the next morning, he found that the dark feeling that had crawled inside his chest the day before was there to stay. He was used to snippets of outside conversation greeting him upon waking, but today the sound was oddly muffled. John sat up and pulled his knees to his chest, lacing his arms around them and resting his chin on top. His head was whirling with a thick stew of interwoven emotions. It was too difficult for him to single one out.

After yesterday's events, one fact stuck out- Abigail didn't need John in her life. How could she, when she'd refused to hear his well-founded explanation, but welcomed Arthur back with open arms? Not to mention, after what John had told her, he doubted she wanted him in her life, either. He'd become a thorn in her side, as much as she was to him.

What was John supposed to do now? Logic dictated that he should stay with the gang, since they all he had on which to rely. On his own, John didn't think that he would make it. But at the same time, he was tired of quelling the urge to leave. He had no idea how to repair his relationship with Abigail, or even if he wanted to. And he certainly didn't want to be stuck in the role she'd imposed upon him for the rest of his life.

Again the little voice rose up inside John- Why don't you run? And this time, he listened.

Pulling off an escape without being noticed was nearly an impossible task. John knew he couldn't break down his tent in front of everyone, or haul any hefty baggage across camp. Fortunately, the items he'd lost the day before when Ivy went down meant that his cargo was much lighter than expected. He'd find a store to rob along the way, to make up for the supplies he'd have to leave behind. The biggest issue was finding a horse to ride, but John figured that unless he took Dutch's, none of the horses in camp would object to a different rider. Besides, he only needed the horse to get a head start and ensure no one would take after him. Once he'd ridden far enough, he could turn the horse loose and send it back to camp.

John half-expected to be accosted on his way to the hitching posts, but none of the few who were awake seemed to notice him. A knot formed in the pit of John's stomach. Part of him wanted to give the gang a proper goodbye, but he couldn't let sentimentality sway him. He'd already made up his mind.

In no time, John had made it across camp and selected his mount. As he saddled the horse, the knot in his stomach grew, but he forced himself not to worry. Soon he'd be out and free- free from the burdens of unwanted fatherhood, free from the shrewish demands of his woman, free from the conflicts that came with being part of a gang. You've got to decide who you want to make that sacrifice for, Hosea's voice rang in his head. The wife and child, or the motley lot that raised you? He'd failed to mention that sometimes, no sacrifice was necessary.

John took off at a full trot, without a glance over his shoulder. The horse he'd chosen responded well to his commands. He plunged blindly through thickets, not caring where he was going as long as it was away. Away, away, far away… He spurred the horse into a gallop, uncaring of the branches that tore at his clothing and the uneven ground below.

It wasn't long into the ride when John heard a voice bellow from behind him. "John! John Marston!" Recognizing Arthur's voice, John pushed his mount harder. Thank god it wasn't Dutch following him, or even worse, Hosea… Arthur he could handle. Arthur he could ignore. But as he rode, Arthur kept pace, and a flicker of frustration built in John's chest. For god's sake…

"Slow down, goddammit!" Arthur shouted. "We need to talk!"

Yeah, right. John didn't dare turn his head. I ain't afraid of you anymore. He tried to urge his mount onwards, but the horse refused to run faster. Soon Arthur had ridden up beside John. He steered Boadicea into John's path, and John yanked at the reins, bringing his horse to a sudden stop. The horse reared, but John clung on tightly, waiting until it had calmed down. Patting its neck, John met Arthur's cold eyes.

"You should be ashamed." Arthur spat the words like poison. "Leavin' your wife and child."

"She's not my wife," John replied automatically. The words they had exchanged would never hold up under the scrutiny of the law. He hadn't bought a ring for Abigail's finger, and she'd never asked for one.

Arthur grunted. "Well, whatever she is, you're doing her no favors by turning your back on 'er."

"Just let me go, Arthur," John pleaded. He was ready and willing, so close to impending freedom… "Let me slip out of here quietly. Please. Do it for me."

A familiar gleam filled Arthur's eyes, a look that always meant he was getting ready to deal some damage. "You're making a huge mistake. I don't think I need to tell you that."

John shook his head, glancing away. "Then don't bother."

Even without looking at Arthur, John felt the severity of his words weighing on his chest. "You walk out of here, and you ain't welcome back. Understand me?"

"I-" The words I don't care sat on John's tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to voice them. Try as he might to pretend otherwise, he did care. A sudden sense of loss swept him. Leaving the gang meant leaving Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, Bill, Grimshaw, Javier… countless faces he'd come to know and love. They weren't just his friends- they were his family. And here he was, prepared to walk off and never see them again. If the urge to leave wasn't so much stronger, John might have lost his nerve. But he stayed silent instead, holding his ground.

Apparently mistaking John's silence for defeat, Arthur's voice softened. "C'mon. Let's get back to camp. You got a family to support."

From deep within John, the words that he'd been holding back since the day Jack came into the world bubbled to the surface. "Yeah, because it worked out so well when you had one!"

Arthur's eyes widened- the only sign that John's words had struck home. His guard was down for just a split second, but a split second was enough. John wasted no time in spurring his horse, driving it around Arthur and down the sloping ground. He listened hard for sounds of pursuit behind him, but in his heart, he knew that Arthur wasn't going to follow him anymore.

The wind whipped at John's hair as he rode, and he let out a wordless yell. His heart was pounding, surging with a paradoxical mix of anxiety and carelessness. At last, he was free. Free. Free. It had never tasted so bittersweet.