Chapter Text
A shiver ran through Albert as he started his compact rental car, and he immediately reached for the temperature dial to turn the heat on full blast. He rubbed his hands together in an attempt to warm them, blowing on them before buckling himself in. Thanks to living in New York his whole life, he was used to cold winters and all they entailed. Yet, it was only October, and back home, it had stayed at a pleasant sixty degrees the week before he’d left. Of course, it was no secret Alaska had colder temperatures. He had come thoroughly prepared for that. However, there was no amount of prepping he could’ve done to brace himself for the low twenty-four degrees that chilled the air.
Once the car had finally warmed up, he began his drive from Cairn’s small airport to its downtown. As he admired the neat row of two and three-story buildings lining the street, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts linger on the differences between the old, small town and New York City. There was over a hundred years difference between the two cities. Yet while New York was older, it dressed up its history by restoring and repurposing old architecture and buildings that had long outlived their original purpose. Cairn, on the other hand, felt frozen in time. Its elongated wood-paneled buildings and hand-painted signs reminded Albert of an old western movie set, and he found himself smiling at the thought. It was a charming former mining town, and while its downtown hardly stretched more than five miles, Albert was glad that he’d decided to stay in the small town over the other places that had come up in his many Google searches.
Albert knew he was taking a huge risk by leaving his cushiony city life to live in the remote town of Cairn for a month. Yet as terrifying and daunting as the task seemed, Albert was thrilled by the idea of it. It was the change of scenery he’d been longing for, and despite his limited knowledge of survival, he was confident that he would somehow manage despite his previous indulgence in modern comforts.
As he drove through the heart of Cairn, a bar on a street corner caught his eye, and above its entrance was a neon sign that read Grizzly Tavern. Its antiquated appearance contradicted its modern interior, as Albert could see the colored lights and the few TVs mounted to a wall through its long windows. Even sitting outside in his car, he could tell it was a place well-loved by the locals, making it a great spot to get a feel for the town folk. While it was his desire to photograph the Alaskan wilderness that had brought him to Cairn, there was a part of him that was curious about the people who called this place home.
The cold air took his breath away as he exited the car, and he pulled his coat tighter around him before stepping inside. His eyes scanned the crowd of people, and he quickly realized he stood out like a sore thumb. The patrons were weathered by the life they lived compared to him. It suited the town, and the locals seemed unaffected by the chilling draft that lingered from his entrance. He received more than a handful of stares, and he deduced that the town of Cairn didn’t get many visitors.
Albert tried to offer a smile to those he made eye contact with as he took a seat at the only empty chair at the bar’s counter. As he ordered a hot toddy, he couldn’t help but notice the man beside him sizing him up. He swallowed and shifted in his seat as he tried to ignore the man’s unnervingly scrutinizing gaze.
“You ain’t from around here, are you?” the stranger finally drawled.
Albert looked over at him. He appeared to be the same age, and he found that he couldn’t look away from his striking ocean-blue eyes. “No, I’m not.”
The man chuckled to himself before taking a swig of his whiskey. “You a city slicker?”
“I suppose you could say that,” he replied. The question was an odd one, and he wasn’t sure why he was even answering it in the first place.
He shook his head to himself as he finished off his drink and rose from his seat. The man then patted him on the back, almost sympathetically, as a crooked grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Best of luck to ya, then.”
Albert watched him as he sauntered out the door before shaking his head. “What an odd fellow."
“That ‘odd fellow’, mister, was Arthur Morgan,”
Albert turned to find it was the bartender who had responded to him as he cleared the stranger’s whiskey glasses. "Oh?"
He nodded. “You’d do best to steer clear of him.”
Albert furrowed his brow as he studied the man, his curiosity thoroughly piqued. “And why would I do that? Is he dangerous?”
The bartender scoffed. “I’ll let you be the judge of that, but let’s just say people don’t just spontaneously move to Cairn. Usually, people move someplace nice, a place closer to Anchorage or Juneau, unless your goal is to live off the land. Hell, even Skagway and Sitka are better than here!” he said with a shake of his head. “Arthur Morgan’s got a criminal record, although no one knows for sure what he did other than being lucky enough to be bailed out and fully pardoned. Rumor has it he was sentenced for life and got off scot-free.”
Albert soaked in the new information as he was handed his drink. “How long has he been living here?”
“About a year and a half,”
“Has he done anything since?”
“Other than starting a few fights at my bar, not really. Man's nothing but trouble, though, and people can get away with all sorts of things living in the middle of nowhere.”
“I appreciate the warning,” Albert said. Although he wasn’t usually one to gossip, and so he decided to take the bartender’s words with only a grain of salt.
By the time he finished his drink, Albert was finally warm enough to brave the cold again and begin making his way toward the Airbnb he’d booked for the next few weeks. It took him about twenty minutes to arrive at the rustic cottage, and he was thankful for finding such a beautiful place. Inside, the walls and ceiling were wood-paneled, giving the single bed and bath apartment the feeling of a log cabin with a modern twist. When he had finished bringing his luggage inside, he got a fire going in the wood-burning and settled himself on the loveseat that was nearby before pulling a throw blanket over himself. The heat rolling off the stove freed him of the cold that had gripped him moments ago, and it wasn’t long before he drifted off to sleep.
--
Arthur absentmindedly tapped his pencil against the blank page of his journal as he stared out the window of the small coffee shop known as the Ambarino Cafe. It was the best coffee shop in town, and thankfully not because it was the only one in town. He easily found himself lost in thought as his gaze lingered on the looming snow-capped mountains. His thoughts, however, were soon interrupted as his friend, Charles, took a seat across from him.
“Here you go, dark and bitter just the way you like it,” he said as he set a cup of coffee down in front of him. “I don’t know how you enjoy drinking it like that.”
He shrugged and offered him a lopsided grin. "It suits my personality."
Charles frowned at that. "You know that isn't true."
"Come on, Charles, I’m only joking," Arthur said as he closed his journal before taking a sip of coffee.
He skeptically eyed him as he did, thoroughly unconvinced. When the two of them were still with the gang, only Charles and a few others had been keen enough to pick up on Arthur's depressive tendencies, and it wasn't until they had moved to Alaska when Charles came to intimately know that side of him. With a sigh, Charles decided to change the topic instead of questioning him any further. "Did you hear about the new guy in town?”
“If you’re referring to the city slicker who blew in yesterday, then yes. I was unfortunate enough to meet him.”
“I give him about a week from the sounds of it,”
Arthur scoffed to himself. “I give him two days before he either packs his bags or gets himself killed.”
Charles took a sip from his mug and shook his head. “Of all the places, why’d he even choose Cairn? I mean, we chose Cairn to put as much distance between Dutch and us after he practically abandoned you on death row.”
Arthur frowned as his eyes lowered to his coffee. “He bailed me out, didn’t he? I mean, it was Dutch who arranged my pardon despite all the evidence stacked against me. Hell, I even confessed to doing it.”
“I’m still convinced he had other motives,” he replied. “Like keeping you from talking, for one.”
His nose wrinkled in disgust at the very thought of doing such a thing. “I never would've talked. He knew that.”
“The way I remember it, Dutch wasn't so sure," Charles gently countered. "I couldn't have been around for more than three years at that point, but from what I heard, Dutch isn’t the same man he used to be.”
He scowled as he ignored Charles’ truthful comment. Arthur knew he was right. Yet, there was a part of him that refused to accept it. It was no secret that Dutch had changed over the years. Yet he was his mentor, someone who had practically raised him. Regardless of the subtle change, Arthur tried to convince himself that Dutch had only left him and John behind to help Hosea. Even after a little more than two years, he still vividly remembered the moment the job went south, starting with the police sirens and the gunshot that had found its mark in Hosea's side. Arthur hadn't been surprised when Dutch had instantly returned fire, killing three of Colm's men, and he couldn’t blame him. Losing Annabelle all those years ago had already been hard enough, and Arthur wasn't sure if Dutch would recover at all if he ever lost Hosea.
Hell, not even Arthur knew what he would do without him. He still remembered the moment like it was yesterday, the fear he’d felt when he’d realized Hosea had been shot. For what they did to Hosea, a part of Arthur was glad that Dutch had killed the three O’Driscolls.
To ensure that the gang had a clean getaway, Arthur had stayed behind, taking the blame for the mess. It had been the best option for Hosea's sake, and Arthur was willing to make the sacrifice for the man who was more than a father to him. After falsely confessing to the murders to keep the law from looking for the gang, he was given the death penalty. Somehow, Dutch had caught wind of it, and the man had worked hard for a year to leverage enough financial incentives to secure his freedom. While Charles was convinced it was to keep his mouth shut, Arthur wanted to believe otherwise.
After a moment, Arthur cleared his throat and changed the topic in an attempt to avoid talking about it any further. “I’d bet money that city slicker chose Cairn as his vacation getaway for a stupid reason.”
Charles watched him as they continued to drink their coffee. Arthur’s gaze had shifted back to the window, staring out into the distance at nothing in particular. “You really think he’ll only last two days?”
"If he's lucky. My guess is he’ll either go back to where he came from or wind up dead. Either way, it ain’t my problem.” Arthur said.
Charles raised an eyebrow at his dismissive comment. “That’s a little cold, even for you.”
He shrugged. “That’s just how Alaska is. There’s a thousand ways to die here.”
Charles didn’t see the point in arguing with him any further, so he redirected the conversation onto other things before Arthur eventually excused himself after finishing his coffee. There were a few chores he wanted to cross off on his to-do list before the temperature dropped again for the night. While he was used to the cold, it didn’t change the fact that this autumn had been colder than usual, and as accustomed to it as he was, it still made daily outdoor tasks unpleasant.
His 1987 Ford Bronco started after some mild protesting, and he began his drive back to his home. He kept one hand on the wheel as he admired the fiery trees that lined either side of the road. The dying leaves were absolutely radiant. The Midwest had never offered a single ounce of such beauty in autumn, and his time on the East Coast had been too short to even be able to compare the two.
As the height of the tree line decreased, his keen eyes caught a thin line of smoke in the distance. His eyes narrowed as he roughly pinpointed the location of its source. He deduced that the smoke was coming from a house that had been vacant for most of the season, and when he reached the property, he pulled into the driveway to investigate. The homeowners, an older couple, were his closest neighbors and some of the few Cairn locals who treated him decently. Of course, they were never in town long enough to hear the latest gossip to know any better. They were the typical snowbirds that migrated to and from Alaska to the lower forty-eight when the weather turned cold. Although, Arthur didn't mind. In his opinion, it made them easier to get along with.
Arthur drove up to the house, where he found a fairly new sedan parked in front of the apartment. He eyed the car and the rest of his surroundings before finally exiting his truck and knocking on the glass-paneled door.
Arthur wasn't sure who he was expecting to answer, but it certainly wasn’t the urbanite he'd encountered at the bar the night before. They stared at each other, both stunned and rendered speechless, and it was Arthur who finally broke the silence by clearing his throat.
"Say, ain't you the fella I met last night who just blew into town?" he asked.
"I am, and I assume you're Arthur Morgan?"
Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. "I take it you've already heard about me, then."
The gentleman tensed as if realizing the implications of his words and offered an apologetic smile. "A little here and there, I suppose, but small towns are known for their trifle gossip."
"I guess, and you are?"
"Albert Mason," he said as he shook Arthur's hand.
"Well, Mr. Mason, I apologize for interrupting your day, but I didn't realize my neighbors had rented out their home already. I saw the smoke and wanted to make sure there weren't any squatters."
"I completely understand. No need to apologize!"
He nodded before gesturing to the small woodpile beside the house. "Your rack is getting low, by the way. You might want to chop some more wood before the sun gets any lower. That woodpile will only last you maybe a week, and winter comes quick around here."
Albert peered out the door and looked over at the pile Arthur was referring to. His jetlag had not been kind to him, and while he had been up since six in the morning, he had been too tired to even consider how much wood he would need for his stay. “I was actually planning on getting some at the store today.”
Arthur scoffed at the suggestion. “You want to buy your firewood? I take it you’ve never chopped a log before,” he said as he made his way over to an ax leaning against the nearly empty rack.
He folded his arms across his chest, feeling both exposed and mildly insulted by the accurate assumption. “Forgive me for being so inexperienced, but the average apartment in New York City lacks a wood-burning stove. Even if I had one, I would have no other choice than to buy firewood as there aren’t any trees I can legally cut down in the city.”
“So that’s where you’re from, makes sense,” Arthur smirked as he rested the ax’s handle on his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll teach you a thing or two.”
Albert warily eyed the ax over his shoulder, whose sharp blade glistened in the sun, and hesitated as he recalled the bartender’s warning. Arthur, however, must’ve read his thoughts, and Albert couldn’t help but regret his hesitation as the upward quirk of his lips fell.
“On second thought, I’ll just do it myself,”
Albert rubbed the back of his neck as the man turned away. There was no doubt in his mind that it was wise to keep some distance between himself and Arthur. After all, he hardly knew the man. Albert had every reason not to trust him, which only made the twinge of guilt he felt even more confusing. Why did he feel, against his better judgment, so compelled to go with him? Perhaps, he reasoned, it was the offer of a free survival lesson that was too good to refuse. Yet, common sense begged him not to go into the woods alone, especially when the questionable man had an ax. Albert was thoroughly torn, and he bit his lip as he finally came to a decision.
“Wait, let me get my camera first,” he called out before ducking back inside.
Arthur turned, unsure of what had changed the gentleman’s mind and even more confused as to why he would even need a camera for what they were doing. "What the hell do you need a camera for?" he asked as Albert reappeared with a camera bag and a jacket that had a thickness only a tourist would wear at this time of year.
"Ah, yes," he grinned as he walked over. "I forgot to mention that I'm an aspiring wildlife photographer. You never know when you're going to see something worth photographing."
"Uh-huh,” he replied skeptically, still unsure if he followed the man’s logic. “Grab that wheelbarrow by the rack, would you?" Arthur instructed as he began to head into the woods. Albert did as he said before following him, and it was only a moment later when Arthur spoke again.
"Do people really buy your photos?" Arthur hoped that his tone hadn't sounded sarcastic. He was genuinely curious if Albert made money off something as simple as a photograph of things he thought were commonplace.
Albert shrugged as he trailed behind him, wheelbarrow in hand, trying his best to keep up with Arthur's long strides. It was a challenge, as they were the strides of someone who had thorough experience trekking through the wilderness. Knowing his luck, as well as his unreliable coordination, Albert had to balance between keeping his eyes on Arthur to keep from getting lost and watch where he was stepping. "Sometimes, I mostly post them on my blog or sell them to the local paper to use."
Arthur glanced at him over his shoulder. "And that pays rent?"
"Oh, heavens no! I work for a photo studio on the side. It's not my favorite thing, but it puts food on the table and keeps a roof over my head."
He grunted to himself as he stopped beside a pile of logs. "I figured. Now watch and listen carefully. I'm only gonna explain this once, and I sure as hell ain't gonna do this again for you, you understand?"
Albert nodded, knowing he meant every word.
"Good," he grunted as he placed a log on a chopping stump. Albert intently listened as Arthur explained the process, trying to take as many mental notes as possible. Although, there wasn't much to it other than looking out for knots and recognizing the split in a log. It seemed easy enough, up until Arthur handed him the ax a few split logs later.
"Your turn,"
Albert studied him for a moment before taking the ax. The man had hardly broken a sweat, which led him to believe that chopping wood couldn't be that hard. Yet one glance at his broad shoulders and the muscles in his arms had him reconsidering the thought. The ax itself weighed more than he expected, and he carefully lined up the blade with the next log's split and swung.
While the blade had found its mark, it had wedged itself nowhere near where it needed to be. Albert furrowed his brow, brought the ax up with the log, and tried again. His effort, however, was fruitless as the ax budged only a hair.
Arthur sighed, and when Albert glanced over at him, he only gestured for him to continue splitting the log.
It certainly took longer than it should've, but by the end of it, Albert could at least say that he'd successfully split a log. However, it was clear that Arthur didn't want to be there all day as he wordlessly took the ax from Albert's hand. The photographer wiped the sweat beading on his brow as he watched Arthur settle into a rhythm. Arthur made it look easy, and he felt guilty for not being able to do more.
Albert scratched the back of his neck before walking over to where he had set his camera down. He would've left it behind had he realized they would be so close to the house. Yet there was nothing Albert could do about it now, and so he decided he might as well snap a few photos in the meantime.
After adjusting the settings of his DSLR, he tested them by taking a picture of Arthur, catching him in an upward swing. While it had only been a test, Albert was pleasantly surprised by how well it came out. The ax was still over his shoulder, providing a clear view of his face, and the light filtering through the trees provided the perfect lighting. He paused as he stared, finding himself transfixed. It was no secret that Arthur was easy on the eyes, but Albert found that his photo only highlighted Arthur’s rugged features and fit physique.
Albert forced himself to refocus and busied himself by snapping a few other photos of the forest. He then returned the camera to its case and decided to help Arthur by gathering the split logs into the wheelbarrow.
It took them a while before Albert had enough to last him a few weeks, and he couldn't help but feel indebted to Arthur. He wasn't sure what had prompted Arthur's generosity, which only made him wonder what had warranted his life sentence. Sure, he was rough around the edges, but Arthur seemed like a nice enough guy. Albert shook his head as he followed him back to the house, this time with the hefty wheelbarrow in Arthur's hands and the ax in his own.
"Do you drink coffee?" Albert asked as he helped stack the logs onto the rack.
Arthur cocked an eyebrow. "I do. Why?"
"Well, why don't you let me treat you to a fresh cup of coffee? It's the least I can do after all the help you've been."
He glanced at his car as he secured the tarp over the now full cord of firewood. "I dunno, I really should get going."
"Are you sure? You can take it with you if you're in a hurry."
Arthur thought it over for a long moment before finally shaking his head. "Fine, but only for a few minutes."
"Excellent!" Albert smiled as he walked over to the front door. "Come on in."
Arthur begrudgingly followed him inside and took in his surroundings. It was unsurprising that the apartment offered as many amenities as it did. Considering that the gentleman was incapable of chopping his own wood, Arthur reasoned that it was probably for the best.
He took a seat at the kitchen island as Albert set to work making a fresh pot of coffee. Arthur studied him as the photographer busied himself, unsure of what to make of the man's genuine hospitality and gratitude. Arthur didn't know how to respond to it, and he settled for staring out the window in silence, content to sit there without speaking a word.
Albert, on the other hand, felt differently. The silence was stiff and awkward, and eventually, he cleared his throat after starting the coffee pot. "Do you take anything in your coffee?"
"Nope, not unless you've got some whiskey,"
"Unfortunately, that is one thing I don't have. Alcohol and I don't normally agree with one another, at least not in excess."
Arthur chuckled to himself. “Well, maybe if you put on some muscle, the two of you would actually get along.” he jested.
“That’s not quite what I meant.” He replied as he leaned against the counter with his eyes lowered to the floor.
Arthur studied him with a curious stare. While it wasn’t clear what Albert was referring to, Arthur knew it wasn’t his place to ask. What was clear, however, was how quickly the gentleman’s demeanor had changed. He’d gone quiet and antsy as if he regretted mentioning such a thing at all.
Arthur was considering apologizing for bringing it up when the coffee pot beeped, signaling that it had finished brewing. Albert was eager to get their coffee poured, glad to find something productive to do with his hands as a way to distract himself. He passed Arthur his cup before fixing his own by adding cream and sugar.
“So, have you lived in Cairn for long?” Albert asked as he stood across from him and leaned forward against the island.
“About a year and a half, give or take a month,”
“Where’d you live before? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Arthur halted mid-sip, and his eyes narrowed as he swallowed. He had no intention of delving into his checkered past with anyone, regardless of how good their intentions might be. “I do mind, as a matter of fact.”
His sudden bristling had Albert verbally backpedaling. “My apologies,” he stuttered, “It's just, Cairn’s such an odd town to move to. It’s so desolate and—”
“That’s the point.” Arthur snapped, suddenly tired of his stammering. He hated being reminded of how empty and secluded the town was. It only reminded him of the insufferable distance between him and the people he called family. “Why are you so damn nosey?”
His sharp tone caused Albert to flinch. “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to keep a conversation, is all.”
“Well, quit trying,”
He furrowed his brow at the stinging comment and silently watched Arthur as he continued to drink his coffee. Albert’s gaze then lowered to his own cup as he second-guessed his decision to invite the brusque man over at all. However, he was too stubborn for his own good to give up finding some common ground with Arthur just yet. After all, he was the only person he knew by name in a land that was foreign to him. “I’m planning on photographing some of the wildlife tomorrow. As a local, are there any spots in particular that you would recommend?”
Arthur heaved a sigh but gave in to his second attempt at a casual conversation. “Yeah, there’s a few. Although I recommend taking a gun with you to most of them. That or bear spray.”
“A gun? Why on earth would I bring a firearm with me?”
“For starters, self-defense. The people around here can get hostile if rubbed the wrong way. A lot of them just want to be left alone, and I can't say I blame them. The bears around here are also getting ready for winter, which only makes them less picky about the food they eat and how they get it. Some even get less skittish around humans, although they ain’t as bad as the lone wolves around here.” He paused as he eyed him. “You did bring a gun, didn’t you?”
“Please, I’m from New York City. Do you know how arduous the process is to even get a license?”
Arthur swore under his breath. “Figures. You don't look like the type who'd carry anyway.”
He frowned at that. “I’m sorry that my only intention was to live among the locals and take photos.” Albert huffed. Arthur’s curtness was beginning to wear on his patience. It was one thing if it was unintentional, but he had the feeling that Arthur was purposefully wearing an antagonistic veneer. It only made him wonder who Arthur Morgan truly was. There was something he was hiding, and Albert could tell the man only wanted people to see him as the brute he painted himself to be.
So, who was he really? A criminal, as rumored by the locals? Or the kind man who had gone out of his way to help him restock his firewood?
Regardless of whatever the answer might be, Albert was determined to find out. He decided that it was his love for photojournalism he had to blame. Yet if he was honest with himself, he was simply curious.
Arthur shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to find someone to protect you.”
Albert’s brows pulled together as he brought his mug to his lips. “Excuse me?”
“Well, you’ll need someone who knows the land and has a firearm,"
“Forgive me for being so bold, but I thought maybe you might be that someone.”
A sudden gust of laughter escaped him. “ Me? You’re more naïve than I thought, city slicker!”
“And why not?” Albert asked, struggling to keep his tone pleasant. “I certainly don’t have the time to search for someone else who’s safe and reliable, so it’s either you or no one.”
Arthur stared hard at him as he rose to his feet. If Albert knew the truth, he'd know he wasn't either of those. The photographer had no idea who he really was, and Arthur had no doubt he'd want nothing to do with him if he ever discovered the truth. “Then I wish you the best of luck.”
Albert skirted around the island to grab hold of Arthur’s arm before he could leave. “Wait! What if I paid you?”
He raised an eyebrow as he stared at him, unsure of what made Albert so determined to have him, of all people, stick around as help. “Are you serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, playing dumb.
His eyes narrowed. “You’ve heard the rumors.”
“And they’re just rumors, aren’t they? Just mere speculations?”
Arthur didn’t answer as his gaze shifted to the hand on his arm before pulling away. “Find someone else. The gunsmith in town will be able to point you in the right direction.”
Albert watched him leave, and he took a seat at the kitchen island as confusion clouded his mind. He folded his hands as he rested his chin against them in pensive thought, unbothered by the fact that his coffee grew colder with each minute that passed. Arthur was a puzzle with contradictory pieces that seemed forced together as if he was a man he didn’t want to be and yet chose to continue being. Albert sighed. Arthur was no doubt a conundrum. Yet, for reasons he couldn’t explain, Albert was determined to figure him out. A part of him was intrigued by the challenge, and in a town as small as Cairn, he had a feeling he would be seeing the man again.