Work Text:
Never Give Annabelle a Gun
“I almost lost you today,” Annabelle murmured, eyes affixed to the bedroom door in front of her like she expected Henry to burst through the door at any moment and whisk Butch away all over again. She was sitting on the floor with her back against the base of the old wire-framed bed, fingers tugging at the hem of her favourite red dress where it was fraying from the chaos of the day.
“Well, y’ain’t lost me, Annabelle, focus on that, yeah?” Butch said gently.
The pair sat in silence as the busy night sky began to twinkle with stars. The cool midnight air floated in through the open window: carrying in the thick scent of dried grass and the cacophony of crickets chirping to one another in the Kansas darkness.
Annabelle sighed and let her head flop back against the plush mattress, allowing the weight of the day to slip from her shoulders. From this upside down angle, she could see Butch stretched out on the bed above her. Even like this, she was stunning. Especially like this, in fact.
Butch’s tie hung loose at her collar and her dark curls fell in ringlets around her sun-kissed face. Annabelle’s own long blonde hair was always loose (she liked the way it billowed behind her when she rode, making her look wild and untouchable - like some kind of outlaw). But Butch’s hair was so often tied back that Annabelle considered herself lucky when she got to see her best friend this way. She looked holy, not like an angel or deity, but in some completely ineffable way that made Annabelle want to kneel at her feet.
“What woulda happened if I had’ve lost you?” Annabelle pondered aloud.
Butch exhaled, deep and weary, but before she could speak, Annabelle pressed on.
“It would’ve been my fault. That’s for sure.”
“Annabelle, nothin’ ‘bout today was-”
“If we hadn’t’ve been in that damn bank, none of the mess with that creep would’ve happened.”
“Hey,” Butch said, sitting up, brows drawn tight. “We said it from the start: this was a joint enterprise. Don’t you go carryin’ that weight all on yourself!”
Annabelle didn’t answer. Her thoughts spun slow and heavy and fruitless, like wagon wheels in mud. Butch rolled over onto her side and began to comb her fingers through Annabelle’s blonde curls, soft and tender as if the strands themselves were spun from gold and might slip away into nothing if she wasn’t careful.
Annabelle’s dazzling blue eyes fluttered shut as she leant back into the touch, like a barn cat butting against a warm and trustworthy hand.
“Still, if I’da just been brave and told y’how I felt rather than just ‘let’s rob us a bank!’ maybe we woulda-”
“Don’t, ‘Belle,” Butch winced. “Don’t go wishin’ it different. I don’t wan’ a world where this moment don’t happen. I need this moment exactly as it is.”
Annabelle opened her eyes as something warm and cheeky stirred in her chest.
“How d’you always say the right thing that’ll shut me right up?” She giggled.
Butch didn’t respond. Why would she need to? She had no doubt that Annabelle knew precisely what she was thinking - hell, Butch was certain Annabelle was thinking the same thing. One simple question rattling around in both of their heads, clinking like a marble in a mason jar.
As Butch continued to thread her fingers through Annabelle’s golden hair, she was sure she could feel that little marbled thought chinking against the cogs of the girl’s sharp mind.
One question: who were they?
It was a simple query with a simpler answer. They were Butch and Annabelle: horse ridin’, gun slingin’, bank robbin’ lesbians - the finest pair of outlaws the central Kansas cowtowns had ever seen. But beneath the grit and fire, lay a reality not a single man, woman or child alive had ever seen. Beneath the surface, they were nothing more than two scared little girls, dreadfully in love and dreadfully afraid of love in a town where such easy feelings were wicked to the bone.
Who they truly were, they didn’t know - couldn’t know.
But now, with a single lock of shining hair coiled around her finger, Butch let herself imagine, just for a moment, what they might be. After the two achingly tender kisses they had shared up in Henry’s dingy room, just for a second, anything had seemed possible.
Maybe one day, they could settle down like they’d talked of as girls. Maybe one day they’d settle some place quiet: keep chickens, grow corn, live off the land so they never owed nothing to nobody. Maybe they’d ride out across the prairies, rest down by the creek with their hands interlocked simply watching the clouds sail in the heavens above. Maybe one day, after a hard day’s work, they could collapse into their bed together - window open and candles flickering, with Annabelle’s head coming to rest on Butch’s shoulder as they whisper their good nights.
It all seemed so possible, so normal, until the reality of 1865 would inevitably come knocking at the door and shatter any illusion of this life being anything other than sinful.
But until then, Butch could make do with this: the quiet permission to run her fingers through Annabelle’s hair and the memory of her first and last stolen kisses with the woman she loved.
“You’ll stay here tonight, won’t you?” Annabelle asked into the silence, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Here?” Butch echoed. “I ain’t sure, it don’t- well, it just don’t feel proper, do it?”
“Butch, you’ve stayed in my bed ‘undreds of times, what’re you on about?” Annabelle blinked, confused.
“Yeah, as best friends,” Butch said, gazing straight through Annabelle as if looking at her too directly might burn. “But now… well, I don’t want it bein’ said that I’m defacing your honour or nothing.”
Annabelle let out a surprised laugh and shuffled around until she was on her knees, face to face with Butch who was still avoiding her gaze.
“‘Defacin’ my honour’, ‘not proper’, listen to you!” Annabelle teased with a soft giggle. “I’ma bank-robbin’, gun-shootin’ lesbian, Josie - I ain’t got no more honour left to lose!”
Butch finally met her eyes, and Annabelle’s mischief softened into something more gentle. She reached out, laced her fingers with Butch’s, and brought their joined hands to her lips. She pressed the lightest kiss to her knuckles, so reverent it almost hurt.
“There ain’t nothin’ proper ‘bout any of this,” Annabelle whispered. “If we were good little country girls, we’d be out there huntin’ ourselves husbands and practicin’ recipes for pumpkin pie. But we ain’t. It’s better tha’ way.”
“But-”
“But nothin’, Butch!” Annabelle interjected gently. “Forget out there, out there don’t matter nothin’! It’s just us, in here, me and you, the way it’s always been. We’ve got Daddy, we’ve got each other, we’ve got a door that shuts real good.”
The pair fell into silence as Annabelle watched for any kind of reaction. She rested her chin down on the mattress and smiled softly at Butch who was still lying there, a bashful flicker crossing her features.
“I wan’ you to stay here wi’ me, tha’s all that matters,” Annabelle implored, quiet and honest.
“If you wan’ me here… then I’m here, darlin’,” Butch finally said, shy but sure.
“You ain’t ever called me darlin’ before!” Annabelle giggled, lighting up.
Butch’s ears flushed a deep red: “I can stop, if you-”
“Don’t you dare!” Annabelle grinned.
“Well sure, darlin’.” The blush of scarlet prickled from Butch’s ears across to her cheeks.
“I do love makin’ you blush!” Annabelle said coyly.
Annabelle shifted and knelt up so she was just hovering over Butch who was still curled on her side against the pillows. She carefully reached forward and cupped Butch’s jaw, thumb stroking ever so gently over her freckled cheek. A tiny smile played at Annabelle’s lips as she leaned in so slowly, giving Butch chance to pull away if she wanted.
But instead of pulling back, Butch’s eyes fluttered shut: her breath hitching slightly and head tilting up with sweet anticipation.
Just before their lips met:
Rap Rap Rap
A sharp knock at the door shattered the delicate silence of the bedroom.
“Girls?” Mr Parker called through the old wooden door. “All decent?”
With a soft shout of ‘yeah’, Annabelle giggled embarrassed and dropped her forehead to their interlocked hands.
When Mr Parker pushed open the door, he paused in the doorway - struck by the rather precious scene before him. His beloved daughter on her knees, her flowing scarlet dress pooling like red wine on the floor around her, hands clasped with Butch’s as though in prayer to her. The pair were giggling softly - melting Mr Parker’s old, weathered heart just a little.
“Anythin’ I can fetch you girls, ‘fore I turn in?” He asked gently.
Butch unlocked her hands from Annabelle’s and sat up to rest on her elbows, the physical intimacy Mr Parker had walked in on was gone but the emotional intimacy was very much hanging on.
“You’ve done more than enough for me already, Sir. Thank you kindly.” Butch bowed her head in respect before smiling bashfully at Mr Parker.
Annabelle quickly straightened up, sitting back on her heels and smoothing down her dress.
“We’re just fine, Daddy!” Annabelle said. Her voice was bright but her eyes shifted awkwardly between the floor and her father.
Butch nudged Annabelle’s shoulder gently and a quick look passed between them.
“Oh!” Annabelle turned and gathered her composure. “Um… Butch is gonna stay the night, Daddy.”
“Good,” Mr Parker said with a slow nod. “I wouldn’t have her ridin’ out home the way she looks. Backroads’re no place for tired bones.”
“She’s… she’s gonna be sleepin’ in my bed, Daddy,” Annabelle clarified.
“Well, good! After all she’s been through, sh’could do with a comfy night’s sleep!”
Annabelle hesitated slightly, biting her lip and watching the encouraging smile forming on Butch’s lips.
“She’s gonna be sleepin’ in my bed…” Annabelle repeated slowly, “...and I’m gonna be sharin’ it with her.”
Mr Parker looked quietly between the hopeful looks on the girls faces for a long moment, then he spoke again, quiet and kind.
“Well,” Mr Parker said softly, “it’s a good thing you girls’ve got someone decent to hold y’close after a day like this.”
Annabelle grinned up at her father - she knew he’d be supportive, he always was, but it was still nice to hear it aloud. Mr Parker cleared his throat and turned to Butch.
“Now then, Miss Josie, what’re y’plannin’ on sleepin’ in?” Mr Parker asked. “I’m guessin’ y’ain’t brought any nightclothes and, I don’t mean this with no offense, but I don’t reckon any of our Annabelle’s nightdresses would come close to fittin’ you.”
It was true, of course. Butch was easily a head taller than Annabelle and had broader shoulders than even Mr Parker himself. The image of Butch trying to squeeze herself into one of Annabelle’s dainty little nighties was enough to make Annabelle stifle a giggle.
“Well, Mr Parker, I’m sure you’re right,” Butch said, rubbing the back of her neck, “I’m not really a nightdress person anyhow, Sir.”
“Didn’t think so,” Mr Parker muttered. He thought for a moment then glanced at Annabelle with a hint of amusement in his eye, before heading for the door. “I’ll see wha’ I can dig up for you, yeah?”
After watching Mr Parker head out of the bedroom, Annabelle and Butch were left in silence as the reality of the night settled across them heavier than it had before. As insistent as Annabelle had been about Butch staying, the words of her best friend still echoed through her head: things were different now, they weren’t just best friends anymore, this wasn’t proper.
“C’mon, you,” Butch said gently, swinging her legs off the bed. She offered a hand to Annabelle, guiding her up to sit beside her. “No sense sittin’ here in y’boots all night, you might’s well get ready for bed.”
Annabelle took her hand and sat beside her, letting their fingers linger just a second longer than necessary. She toed off her boots before padding over to the small wooden dresser in the corner of her room, trying to summon more of the courage she had felt earlier. Watching her reflection in the mirror, Annabelle took a slow, steadying breath and stretched her hands up behind her back to begin unlacing her dress. But even such a practiced motion had become clumsy and ineffective under her jittering hands, she fumbled the silky ribbons that bound her dress and huffed, frustrated at her own body betraying her.
“Here, darlin’,” Butch said softly.
She followed Annabelle to the dresser, meeting her eye in the mirror with the kind of intimacy only two people who had known each other and loved each other for so long could share.
Butch’s long fingers brushed lightly over Annabelle’s as she took over the unlacing, carefully tucking her friend’s flowing blonde hair over her shoulder. Butch worked slowly and quietly to unhook each twist of the ribbon at the small of Annabelle’s back, fingertips grazing the curve of her spine until she unhooked the final loop between Annabelle’s shoulder blades.
“Can I?” Butch murmured, voice so gentle and quiet.
Annabelle nodded, unable to trust her voice.
With a soft sigh, Annabelle’s eyes fluttered shut as she rested back against Butch’s chest, letting her head drop back onto her shoulder. Annabelle turned only ever so slightly to tuck her face into Butch’s neck, nuzzling in, nose bumping her jaw and lips ghosting over her skin.
Without any further fanfare or commotion, Butch carefully eased the dress off Annabelle’s shoulders and down her arms before slipping it to the floor, the red fabric fluttering out around them like rose petals.
They stood there for a moment, bathed in the warmth of the summer night, listening to the hum of crickets floating in through the window. Butch’s arms slipped around Annabelle’s bare waist, slow and deliberate, as if she were holding something delicate and precious.
Butch wasn’t staring at Annabelle, she had no reason to. In their many years of friendship, she’d seen Annabelle dress and undress more times than she could count, it wasn’t a new sight to her. But the permission to touch? That was new.
She dipped her head and kissed Annabelle’s bare shoulder, her fingers tracing shapes over the delicate skin at Annabelle’s waist. The breath hitched slightly in Annabelle’s throat and her hands came up to cover Butch’s. She gave them a quiet squeeze, taking a second to commit the moment to memory.
“We can’t just stand here forever,” Annabelle whispered, her usual teasing smile tugging at her lips.
“Oh, I beg to differ!” Butch giggled, kissing softly along Annabelle’s jaw.
“C’mon now, Daddy’s bound to come back any moment and we can’t just be stood here lookin’ all smitten!” Annabelle teased, smacking Butch’s arm with more fondness than force.
She reached across and pulled open the top drawer of her dresser before producing a short-sleeved nightgown with tiny flower detailing around the neckline.
With Butch’s completely unnecessary (but very appreciated) help, Annabelle slipped the nightdress over her head, watching the shock materalise on Butch’s face when the dress settled barely halfway down her thighs.
“Scandalous, Miss Annabelle!” Butch gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. Her left hand came down to fiddle with the lacy hem of the dress turning it over in her fingers. “This is downright indecent, Miss!”
Then, with a wicked grin, Butch gently teased the fabric slightly further up Annabelle’s thigh, lifting it just a little higher and watching in the mirror as a hint of new skin was exposed.
“Stop that!” Annabelle laughed, swatting her hand away and leaning back further to rest fully in her arms. But before she could get too comfortable, Butch had turned her around with slow and certain hands so they were face to face: her rough hands settling on Annabelle’s waist.
“I know I ain’t one for the words,” Butch murmured, “tha’s always been your strong suit.”
Annabelle went to interject but Butch pressed on, her voice steady and low.
“Honestly, Belle… you’re beautiful.”
Annabelle’s breath caught, and her hands jittered at the hem of her dress.
“I-”
“And I know you’ve been told it hundreds of times by every fella and lady who’s ever been lucky enough to meet you, but I need you to hear it from me: you’re so damn beautiful.”
Butch smiled, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind Annabelle’s ear with surprising gentleness for such weathered hands.
“T’only matters if it’s coming from you,” Annabelle murmured, deep rosy red flushing across her face in an embarrassed blush.
“So beautiful,” Butch whispered, like a secret meant only for Annabelle.
One of Annabelle’s soft and gentle hands settled on Butch’s waist and the other slipped up behind her neck ready to draw her down. Like magnets inevitably destined to pull together, the women drew in and, as the ghost of Butch’s breath slipped across Annebelle’s lips:
Rap Rap Rap
The knock was only gentle but it might as well have been a gunshot given how the girls jolted out of their trance, hearts pounding in tandem.
The door was carefully pushed open by Mr Parker, who hovered in the gap for a moment before peeking around the door. His ruddy red cheeks flushed as he grinned sheepishly at the sight of his only child tucked comfortably into the arms of the woman she loved.
Annabelle let out a soft chuckle and dropped back from where she had pushed up onto her tiptoes to reach Butch, she leant her forehead against Butch’s shoulder. Butch gave her waist a steadying squeeze and laughed too before letting her free to pad over to her father.
“Don’t stop on m’account,” Mr Parker said, holding up a neatly folded bundle of nightclothes. “Found you a nightshirt and some shorts, Butch. Not exactly your size but better than those stiff work pants!”
“Oh, thank you, Mr Parker!” Butch exclaimed, as Annabelle passed her the little stack of red and white striped nightclothes - Annabelle’s soft fingers brushing against Butch’s rough hands. “Honestly, really appreciate it, Sir. I do owe you one!”
“Y’don’t owe me nothin’ Butch,” Mr Parker said, clicking his tongue. “Just make my Annabelle happy, tha’s all I ask!”
“Well, I do try, Sir,” Butch said, ducking her head as her mouth twitched into a shy smile.
Annabelle stood beside her father, clasping her hands in front of her and swaying slightly - not even pretending not to stare. Her eyes were firmly affixed on Butch, with that sweet but dangerous smile playing on her lips. The smile that, since the day the girls had met, Butch had never quite been able to resist.
The flickering orange light of the bedroom's only gas lamp bathed Annabelle in a warm glow: her blonde curls illuminated golden, freckled cheeks blushing pink, gaze as soft as velvet.
“Now then, girls,” Mr Parker said with a clap of his hands, “it’s a warm night so I’m gonna go takin’ my rest out in my chair on that porch.”
“Okay, Daddy,” Annabelle sang, still watching Butch through fluttering lashes.
“Out there with the stars, nothin’ but the cows lowin’ and the crickets chirpin’,” Mr Parker added meaningfully.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Loud tonight, those crickets,” he said, eyebrows raised. “Don’t s’pose I’ll hear nothin’ but them tonight.”
Annabelle smiled sweetly. “Yes, Daddy.”
“So… whatever you girls choose to get up to, I’ll be none the wiser. Make as much noise as y’want!”
“Daddy!” Annabelle squeaked, face flaring red for different reasons now.
The glint of mischief in Mr Parker’s eyes and the teasing smirk settling on his lips were the mirror image of his daughter’s. The father and daughter didn’t look overly similar most of the time, but when they were causing trouble, the resemblance was uncanny.
Their twin smiles met as Mr Parker ruffled his daughter’s hair affectionately like he had done every night since she was little. With a sweet kiss to Annabelle’s forehead, Mr Parker whispered, “g’night, princess.”
He left Annabelle standing embarrassed beside the bed and made for the door.
“G’night, Butch,” he said, before the door clicked shut behind him.
As Mr Parker’s footsteps disappeared into silence down the hall, Butch and Annabelle were left in companionable silence.
“Here, sweetheart,” Annabelle murmured. She reached across to Butch and tugged gently on her necktie until Butch drew into her space. With deft and delicate fingers and in a perfect recreation of what she had done earlier, Annabelle loosened the tie, slipped it off, and hung it over the back of the chair. Then she took hold of the top button of Butch’s dark shirt but paused at the tiny gasp that escaped from Butch’s lips.
Not letting go of the button but just letting her hands rest there, Annabelle selected her words carefully then whispered, “if you’d rather I didn’t… I understand.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just-”
“I get it, really I do.” Annabelle smiled at her, all patient and kind, letting her fingers drop from the button to catch Butch’s trembling hand. “I’ll give you some space.”
Annabelle brought Butch’s hand to her lips and pressed a tiny kiss to her knuckles - a tiny gesture to say ‘I love you - I understand.’ And with that she slipped silently from the bedroom.
When Annabelle reappeared a few minutes later, she was carrying two steaming mugs of tea and two shortbread biscuits - with a third clenched between her teeth. She found Butch leaning her forearms against the ledge of the open window, Mr Parker’s loose red and white sleep shirt hanging awkwardly over her gangly frame.
Without a word, Annabelle padded over to the window in absolute silence to settle beside Butch.
Butch accepted the tea with a grateful, mumbled, “thanks.”
Annabelle Parker was not known for her ability to stay quiet, unless of course she was up to mischief. A quick glance across at the girl confirmed Butch’s suspicions as she watched Annabelle grin with half her (first) biscuit still held between her teeth.
“Fuel for that long and treacherous journey upstairs, was it?” Butch said with a chuckle, nodding at the biscuits still stacked in Annabelle’s hand.
“Ravenous, honestly,” Annabelle said through a mouthful of biscuit crumbs, handing one off to Butch.
The girls stood side by side as they ate, simply watching out over the prairies. It was well past midnight now and the bedroom’s gas lamp was burning low. With the negligible light provided by the sliver of crescent moon, the plains were in almost complete darkness and Annabelle’s father was definitely right: those crickets were damn loud tonight.
“I am sorry,” Butch whispered, barely audible over the incessant chirping.
“What on Earth could you be sorry for?” Annabelle asked, her brow furrowed.
“You’ve always been the brave one, Belle,” Butch said quietly, glazed eyes still fixed on the rolling expanse of the prairies. “You’re so brave. You told me how you felt when I was too confused. You kissed me when I was too afraid. You let me help you into your nightdress while I couldn’t even-”
“Is tha’ what this is about?” Annabelle asked. “Oh Butch, I- you know that I- I understand that it’s different for you. I’ve known that since we were little kids, Josie.”
Butch stared out at the flickering lights of the stars above. Of course Annabelle knew, how could she not?
“I might not totally understand how you feel about yourself,” Annabelle continued, her voice low and steady, “and I reckon you’ve only told me a fraction of what’s goin’ on in tha’ head of yours. But I don’t need to get it to get you. I swear to you, Butch, I will try my damn best never to make y’uncomfortable or expect anythin’ of you that you ain’t happy to give. But you gotta swear back to me that you’ll talk to me, yeah?”
Butch paused and looked across at Annabelle.
“S’hard though,” she whispered, “‘cause I really don’t get it myself.”
“I know,” Annabelle said with a gentle sigh, “but if I can do anythin’, please tell me. Swear?”
“You already do too much for me,” Butch said, but the stern look on Annabelle’s face prompted her to continue. “But I swear to you.”
“Good.” Annabelle was clearly satisfied and, with a smug smile dancing over her features, she interlinked her fingers with Butch’s. Once she spotted a similar smile appear on Butch’s lips, Annabelle moved in one smooth motion. She lifted Butch’s arm up and slid herself under it, nestling back into her chest like it was the most natural thing in the world, like she’d always belong there - which of course she had.
With a soft sigh and a content little wriggle, Annabelle rested snugly into Butch’s side, bringing her arm to rest around her waist.
“Comfortable?” Butch asked with a teasing lilt.
“Mmhmm,” Annabelle replied, tilting up just slightly to face her.
A single flick of Butch’s deep brown eyes to Annabelle’s lips confirmed that they were indeed having the same sinful thoughts. Butch’s hand that wasn’t currently being held hostage by Annabelle came up to rest against her neck as they pulled together. Annabelle’s cornflower blue eyes fluttered shut and Butch gasped slightly at the impending closeness. There was nothing, nothing in the entire universe that could stop them this time… apart from:
Rap Rap Rap
Butch groaned loudly and tipped her head back to blink at the ceiling and steady her breathing.
“My, my, your Daddy sure does like making his presence known!” Butch moaned.
“Relax!” Annabelle laughed. “‘S’only the shutter comin’ loose!”
Annabelle reached out past Butch and swiftly flipped the shutter latch back onto its hook.
“See!” She said. “Daddy’s probably out snorin’ by now!”
“No more interruptions!” Butch practically pleaded.
“You sure?” Annabelle asked, the mischievous glint reappearing in her eye. “‘Cause I reckon now’s as good a time as ever to consider the candidates for the upcoming State Senate elections.”
Butch exhaled with a roll of her eyes. “I swear to the good Lord, Annabelle Parker, if I don’t get my kiss right now, I’m gonna-”
And with that, Annabelle closed the gap between them. She pulled Butch down by the collar of the loose nightshirt before crashing their lips together with delicious insistence.
Butch’s arms flailed at her side in the shock of it all before snaking to find their place around Annabelle’s waist, pulling her entirely into her body.
The pair settled together, lips moving slow and sweet against each other. The moment of intensity as they had collided together quickly faded as pure adoration took over. Annabelle’s nose bumped Butch’s cheek as she deepened the kiss, pushing herself up onto her tiptoes and taking either side of Butch’s jaw into her hands, gentle fingers threading through the delicate baby hairs beneath her ears.
Annabelle pulled back, still up on her toes, and watched the kiss-dazed expression on Butch’s face. Annabelle had been with her all afternoon, barely stepping more than an arm's length away from her: she knew that Butch hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol all day yet the slight sway in her posture and the hazy look in her eyes made her look drunk on the moment.
Butch’s lips parted slightly but no words came out.
“Did that sentence have an end, sweetheart?” Annabelle asked, twirling a strand of Butch’s dark curls around her forefinger and letting it pass like silk through her fingers.
“I think-” Butch started, her voice rough like sandpaper, “I don’t- I don’t reckon it did, honestly.”
“Oh, I think it did, angel,” Annabelle cooed, “once upon a time. But I got a sneakin’ suspicion I make your mind as empty as these damn plains.”
“My mind ain’t empty, darlin’,” Butch said, drawing Annabelle infinitely closer into her chest. “How could my mind ever be empty when I got you. Since the day we first met at tha’ Sunday school, I ain’t ever had a moment’s peace in this ‘ere head of mine. Everything we’ve ever done, everything you’re doin’ to me right now, everything we’ll do tomorrow and the next day and every day goin’ forward. I ain’t ever thought’a nothin’ but you, Annabelle.”
Annabelle looked stunned to a rare silence as the confession crashed over her like waves overwhelming the shore.
“And you said you weren’t one for the words,” Annabelle murmured.
She pressed up onto her toes to capture Burch’s lips once more before pulling away to watch the dazed expression take hold all over again.
“Oh, I am gonna enjoy makin’ you feel like that,” Annabelle whispered with her trademark mischievous grin.
“You’re takin’ advantage’a my good nature, Miss Annabelle!” Butch gasped.
“I sure am.”
Annabelle giggled softly and rested her forehead against Butch’s collarbone. Butch meanwhile wandered gently over Annabelle’s back, letting her fingers trace fingers over her shoulder blades and down her spine. She wasn’t doing it for the purpose of initiating anything or trying to escalate the sweet moment they were sharing - she was doing it because she could.
For the first time in the near 20 years Butch had shared with Annabelle, she could simply let herself explore the woman she loved with no hesitation. No second-guessing, no stopping before she went too far, no fear of crossing an invisible line that a God-fearing society had enforced even behind closed doors.
As Annabelle breathed softly into Butch’s chest, her hands came up to curl into the fabric of Butch’s nightshirt - her fingers warm and gentle against Butch’s ribs.
A single soft scratch down Annabelle’s back from Butch’s nails was all it took to send the girl melting entirely. Annabelle sighed and pulled herself impossibly deeper into her lover, like she was trying to climb up to settle inside her chest.
“Mine,” she whispered.
“Always,” Butch whispered back.
With a single kiss to Annabelle’s golden curls, Butch reluctantly pulled back, giggling at the truly heartbreaking moan that marked Annabelle’s protest.
“C’mon, darlin’,” Butch murmured, coaxing Annabelle gently towards the bed. “What with bank robbin’, a kidnappin’, a dramatic rescue, and the best kiss of my life - we’ve had ourselves one hell of a day!”
“‘M the only kiss of your life,” Annabelle muttered sleepily, letting herself be guided to the edge of the bed and sat down with little ceremony.
She watched Butch with a look of nothing but pure adoration as Butch tended the dying fire with care and clicked out the gas lamp still flickering on the dresser.
Butch turned back around lit only by the shine of the glowing coals - and when she turned, she was met with a sight that even her most lucid fantasies could never have designed: Annabelle Parker.
Her Annabelle: relaxed back on her bed - her head propped up on her hand, hips curving beneath her nightie, pale legs stretched out like a painting, gazing up at Butch with those fluttering blue eyes heavy with sleep but flickering with affection.
“Heavens, Belle,” Butch whispered, eyes rolling up to the ceiling, “are you trying to kill me?”
Annabelle grinned lazily and opened up her arms inviting Butch to settle beside her.
“C’mere,” Annabelle said as Butch clambered into her gentle hold, “let’s quiet down tha’ mind of yours, huh? Stop some o’ those questions I can hear rattlin’ ‘bout in there.”
Annabelle cradled Butch’s cheeks in her hands and looked deep into her tired, earnest eyes.
“Yes, I love you. Yes, I wanna be your girl. No, I’m not afraid of wha’ the outside world thinks of us. I love you, I want to be yours, I don’t care about anyone else.” Annabelle repeated. Butch let out a trembling sigh as her eyes fluttered closed. “I love you, I’m yours, forever. I love you, I’m yours, forever.”
It became a little mantra, a vow, repeated again and again in a heartfelt attempt to silence the barrage of doubts Annabelle could only imagine Butch’s busy head would be supplying.
“I love you, I’m yours,” Butch murmured back. Her breathing steadied and slowed and she curled forward just slightly until she was snuggled softly into Annabelle’s chest: tucked neatly under her chin with a single hand resting weightless on Annabelle’s hip.
“You’re my girl, Josie,” Annabelle whispered as she tugged the sheet up over them, tucking it gently under Butch’s chin to keep her warm. “You’ve been my girl since the moment we met.
And with one simple kiss to Butch’s hair, Annabelle slipped off to sleep too - the rest of the world entirely forgotten. They’d have to talk in the morning about all of this: what it all meant and where they were going. But for this one moment, there was no outside, no Kansas, no 1865. Just the two of them curled up together, orbiting around each other like binary stars. Two brave women asleep in a world that couldn’t just let them rest.