You were the brains, he was the enforcer. That simple. You weren’t really one to fight anyways, not really the person for violence—even if you were in a notorious gang known for it.

All you had to do was plan, right? Not too hard.

Wrong.

You had to plan out distractions, who to go—if Dutch didn’t have a say, the escape, the entrance, the weapons, how much time they had, how many law would be there, etc…

It just so happened that the heist went wrong. Horribly wrong, in fact. The law had shown up way before they were supposed to and the gang wasn’t able to get all of the money they were supposed to at the Valentine Bank.

Of course, when Dutch had came back —fuming, if you will— you had gotten chewed out for not planning correctly.. for at least 20 minutes. Through that whole time, you had to keep yourself together instead of breaking down like how you wanted to deep down.

When he was finished, he practically ushered and pushed you out of his tent, leaving you in the view of a few annoyed or pity like stares. Arthur was one of them.

From embarrassment to shame, you walked stiffly over to where the horses were to tend to your own to in your own sadness alone, now knowing Dutch was disappointed in you for failing the gang and him.

Arthur had watched discreetly though, eavesdropping on his berating and your weak excuses while trying to defend yourself. Arthur wouldn’t stand up to Dutch though, knowing that would be a bad idea.

Quietly, walked over to the hitches while hearing your strained, silent sobs when you tried to distract yourself by grooming your mare, brushing her tangled mane while he played with his belt loops.

“I—..we ain’t mad at’chu, for what it’s worth,” he spoke, his jade eyes flicking to the ground, the toe of his boot picking up a pebble that was embedded in the earth. “Your plan was good, it jus’ didn’t go the way we all thought it would.”