Chapter Text
Arthur Morgan was a man of many hats. Besides the worn and scuffed leather one that fixed itself permanently to his brow- he could wear the hat of the hunter, the fighter, the survivor, the killer even. Some hats he liked more than others, some did not fit him as well. Yet, throughout his three decades on this earth there was one hat that he never quite got a grasp on- not for any lack of trying. Yes, Arthur Morgan could be the hunter, fighter, survivor, killer, but he could never quite figure out how to be the lover. There was always something between him and being a good lover, perhaps his hands were too clumsy, his words too improper, tone too gruff. Women liked him fine in the saloons, until they spoke to him. Their half lidded eyes catching him leaning against the counter with a lit cigarette hanging from his lips and a glass of dark liquor in his hand. It was always the same song and dance with them, they would spy him like a predator finds their prey, and they would sway over with their best assets forward only to be shrugged off by the most disinterested cowboy they’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. It’s not like Arthur had never been with a woman, he had… twice. He tries not to think about either of those times.
Maybe there was something wrong with him. Growing up with John he was always shocked at how easy such a moron could get beautiful women to look his way, with his dark unruly hair and his crooked smirk. When Arthur was his age he was too busy getting pulled into schemes with his two curious father figures and learning how to break horses to even look at women. But for John it just seemed natural, he would be out of camp for nights on end and Hosea would shake his head and joke that soon ‘this town is gonna be nothing but little Marstons”. Now, as these things go, John had his wife and boy and Arthur had… Well. He had his family, though a little different from John’s. He had his horse, his sweet but stubborn Paint that lil’ Jack Martson helped him name. The boy had demanded the white and brown patchwork mare be given a strong name, so none of the other horses would mess with her. After days of deliberating, lil’ Jack had settled on ‘Dandelion’ because it had the word lion in it- a truly formidable name. Arthur also had his closest allies, those that he knew he could rely on no matter what despite their shortcomings. He had Hosea, the sharp old conman that could charm a beggar out of his last coin. He had Sean, Javier and Lenny, young and frighteningly naive, but there’s no other little shits he would fight beside. John, despite his apparent stupidity (a brother is still a brother). And of course then there was Charles.
Charles.
Now that is a man that Arthur would gladly fight for. Built like a brick house but with a gaze so warm it could melt the snow off of Mount Shann. Out of all the other men in the camp there was not a single one who worked as hard as Charles did, outside of maybe Arthur himself. Every hat Arthur could wear, Charles wore it better. And perhaps the best part of Charles- he was good. Sure, he could kill, rob, and steal with the rest of them, but there was no doubt in Arthur’s mind that goodness came as naturally to Charles as did shooting his bow. Now if only he could teach Arthur that as well.
So yes. While Arthur was not exactly rich in love and affection, he had what mattered.
A sigh tumbled out of his lips as he turned his attention away from the sketch of Dandelion he had been working on and gave his stiff shoulders a roll. The sun was starting its descent and Arthur breathed in the fresh air of the prairie as he watched the shadows of the world around him begin to lengthen. In front of him, Dandelion grazed in sweet contentment, huffing from her nose as she sniffed the ground below her. He watched her chew for another moment or two and closed his journal, tucking it back in the safety of his satchel and throwing his pencil in after it. It had been a solid week outside of camp going from job to job and he was starting to miss the humdrum of Horseshoe Overlook. He missed sitting with the ladies as they folded laundry and hearing their gossip about who is doing who in Valentine and losing to Hosea in dominoes. He could probably do another couple of days away from Bill and Micah- scratch that- Arthur could do with a lifetime away from Micah. He missed lil’ Jack, hopefully John had done something with the boy while Arthur was away, but sadly he doubted it. Trying to get that man to act his age was like pulling teeth with rubber pliers.
Standing up and dusting off his fraying jeans he reached in the pocket for a peppermint to taunt Miss Dandelion with. The mare snorted again and shuffled over, abandoning her grazing for the sweet morsel in Arthur's palm. She took it from him excitedly and licked his dirt stained palm in thanks.
“You ready to get back to camp girl?” He smiled and gave her neck a pat before lifting himself up into the saddle. A small groan left him as his knees protested the sudden movement- he wasn’t a spring chicken anymore and he had sat far too long.
The mare shuffled with the new weight and pulled impatiently, not waiting for her rider to fully settle before setting off back in the direction of camp. They set off at a slow pace before the once wild Dandelion got bored with all the trotting and decided for Arthur that they were going to gallop the rest of the way.
“You beast” He laughed as he adjusted his seat in the saddle and put both hands on the reins, not caring enough to correct an already stubborn horse. She had behaved so well the past week, what was life without a little rebellion here and there.
They cantered into camp just as the sun had dipped below the highest peaks of the Grizzlies, painting the sky with fire. John was on watch (for once) and called out his most intimidating, “Who goes there!” prompting Arthur to grunt out, “It’s Arthur dumbass”. Extra oomph with the dumbass.
Arthur patted his mare's neck once more before sliding off her saddle and hearing the soft crunch of dead pine needles under his boots. He pulled out another snack to distract her as he started the long process of untacking her, starting with her halter. As he slipped into autopilot he barely noticed the soft footprints approaching him. When his hands went to the cinch of her saddle Dandelion reared, suddenly remembering she used to be feral as she reached around to try and bite at Arthur’s hands, ears pinned and foot stamping.
“Hey!” He nudged her head away with his arm but she just came right back at him, “You- dammit Dandelion I’m getting it off of you-you- damned- HEY” He growled, stepping back and letting her huff and stamp the ground.
A chuckle to the right of him nearly made Arthur jump out of his skin. His head snapped to the side as he locked eyes with the deepest amber eyes he’s ever seen.
“Looks like you could use a hand.”
Charles.
Arthur tore his eyes away and huffed out an embarrassed laugh, turning his head and covering it with a cough, ignoring the slight warmth dusting his cheeks. He really shouldn’t stay in the sun so long, his face must be sunburnt. His mare however could not have been more pleased to see Mr. Smith, her demeanor already changing at the sound of his voice.
“Oh now look who it is Dandelion- your boyfriend’s here,” Arthur smirked, regaining his composure and crossing his arms. He wasn’t jealous or anything. Of course he wasn’t.
Charles’ mouth quirked into a small smirk, so fleeting you’d have to squint to see it- or have a trained eye. He shifted his weight and popped a hip out, crossing his arms to mimic the man next to him. “It’s not my fault she likes me more than you,”
Arthur rolled his eyes and looked over at his stubborn mare again. Charles stepped forward with a hand out and the Paint’s ears rotated towards the front once again, visibly relaxing at the sight of him. She bumped her velvet nose into his hand and sniffed, expecting a treat but not overly heartbroken when Charles’ hand was empty. “Hey there beautiful,” his voice dropping down to a whisper, meant just for him and the mare. Arthur felt that twinge of warmth back to his cheeks and dipped his head, praying the brim of his hat kept his cheeks hidden. He tore his attention away, watching Charles’ large and nimble hands unbuckle the cinch wasn’t helping the sunburn on his cheeks for some reason.
God Charles really did have big hands didn’t he.
He ignored that thought.
Camp looked just the same as he left it. The horses grazed at the edge, flicking their tails and bringing their large heads up to sniff and groom each other. The ladies were folding laundry, flashes of color and the curve of a ruffle indicated they had washed some fine gowns or petticoats, he couldn’t tell which. Arthur smirked to himself- they had a job of their own coming up soon, something that required a bit of a costume change. Javier and Lenny were arm wrestling on the dominoes table within convenient viewing distance of the ladies and their washing, struggling against each other, casting sideways glances towards the girls to make sure they were watching. A little farther back in camp he could hear Dutch’s booming voice long before he saw him, after the boom came the rasp of Hosea, like thunder and lightning, forcing a frown to tug at Arthur’s mouth. They were arguing again. He couldn’t help but feel like a child when those two had it out. Something about it just dragged him right back to being 13, standing before his two fathers, dejected as they argued about another mistake he made.
“Arthur”
His attention snapped like the breaking of a branch at the sound of his name from Charles’ mouth.
“Huh? Sorry- I was-” he tried collecting himself but Charles just stared warmly at him.
“You were away,” He looked at Arthur warmly, not quite smiling, but something close. “Welcome back”
Arthur smiled, catching the double meaning.
He chuckled again, deep in his chest and tore his eyes away from where they roamed across camp, settling back on his now untacked mare. She shook her mane out appreciatively and walked off to join Taima where she was grazing near the hitching posts, utterly uninterested in the two men. Arthur was glad to see his demon of a horse cuddle up to another mare, especially one as kind and sensible as Taima. Maybe she could be a good influence.
“Thanks for..” Arthur trailed off, nodding his head towards his horse and Charles nodded back, curt and understanding. “I swear she would buck me in a heartbeat just to get loved on by you, you goddamn horse thief.”
Charles laughed under his breath, “Someone sounds jealous” he smirked, scar rippling on his chin.
Arthur spared another second to stare before looking away again. He tried to open his mouth again, to retort something quick and witty, but the sight of Dutch and Hosea stomping away from each other in the distance smothered any wit he could have mustered. Charles followed his gaze and sighed softly. “They’ve been at it like that since the day after you left.”
The frown he wore deepened. A deep pull from inside of him told him to go over and fix it, to repair whatever damage had been done because surely a part of it must have been his fault. Charles must have noticed his change in demeanor, because just as Arthur was about to let his gut pull him away to play marriage counselor, a heavy hand settled on his shoulder. Arthur dragged his eyes away and met Charles’ stern amber stare. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them needed to. Instead he sighed, heavy, weighed down with a week on the road and a lifetime of fixing other people's problems. A nod followed and Charles let his hand slip from Arthur's shoulder.
He felt colder all of a sudden. Must be the sunset.
“Well.” Arthur shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked some dirt, mimicking his mare in more ways than one. “I guess I’m gonna go… eat somethin’...” It was a weak excuse but Charles didn’t mind. He nodded and let Arthur start to walk into camp proper before piping up once more.
“Arthur,” he called out, low and sharp. Arthur snapped his attention back and Charles smiled again, soft but more noticeable this time. “Welcome back.”
Hearing those two words twice over had done something to him. That pesky warmth creeped from his cheeks to his ears as Arthur got lost in the brightness of Charles’ smile. Smiles like that were so rare, so precious from the usually quiet and reserved man before him. He tucked the memory of the smile in the back of his mind for safekeeping and forced himself to turn around, lifting his hand in a two finger salute before stomping off to his lean-to. With each step away from Charles, Arthur could feel his heart rate returning to normal. Surely he was getting sick or something. There’s no other explanation for the betrayal his own body was inflicting upon him. The only remedy he could muster at the moment would be a full belly of stew, and a good night's rest. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t get much farther until the giggling voices of the ladies turned their attention to him, calling at him across camp with their chipper ‘Hey Arthur!’ and ‘Come ‘ere Mr. Morgan, we wanna talk to you about somethin!”, sharp and high like a flock of songbirds.
His umpteenth sigh of the day escaped his lips, this one a hair softer than the others. Turning and correcting his trajectory he lumbered towards the ladies, casting a longing glance at the stew pot just across the way before seeing now in full view the gowns that they were in the process of divvying up and folding. The gowns were gorgeous and even more surprising, they looked brand new. Flashy colors, unfaded and unmarked drew his eye in as he gawked at the silks in their hands. Each gown had a dangerous neckline and white lace to accentuate each curve and fold of the fabric. As much as he loved these women, he knew that none of them had over owned gowns as fine in their entire lives. At least not without a little thieving involved.
“Now where in the hell did you steal those from,” Arthur placed his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes down at Karen before glancing over at the other girls, assuming they were all guilty in whatever heist brought the gowns into their possession.
Giggles passed through the ladies as they all looked deeply proud of their handiwork. Tilly smirked as she tucked the baby blue gown in on itself and held it close to her chest, ruffles and lace flying everywhere trying to escape her hold.
“That’s mighty accusatory of you Mr. Morgan” Tilly raised her nose and scoffed at him, “What makes you think that we stole them?”
His eyebrows flew up towards his hat. “What makes me- now Miss Tilly,” He chuckled and leaned forward to get a better look. “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter” A smirk dragged across his face. “If any single one of you gals actually spent a dime on those gowns I will lasso you the sun and moon to make y’all a pair of matching earrings.”
The ladies smirked and scoffed, dropping the act but not before Karen could chime in, “...well technically we spent more than a couple dimes getting the feller that had these gowns drunk so we could steal them,”
Arthur couldn’t help but laugh real and proper at that one, smiling brightly down at them. “That don’t count and you know it,”
The group giggled and smiled, easy humor passing between them before Mary-Beth spoke up this time, knowing Arthur was going to ask them sooner or later. “We got them off of some fancy tailor.” She said, waving her hand dismissively, “he kept sayin’ that these gowns were made special for a new troupe of dancin’ girls sposed to come in from Saint Denis”
“Only, the girls from Saint Denis ain't goin nowhere now without their new fancy gowns,” Tilly smiled devilishly as she hugged her gown again and swayed, already antsy to get gussied up and twirl the night away.
That smirk felt contagious. As Arthur looked down at the three of them he couldn’t help but feel a prickling of pride against his heart strings, they really had thought every part of this through hadn’t they. Only question now was-
“So we figured, we go and pretend to be these dancin’ girls,” Karen spoke up again and the other two nodded along with every word she spoke, “And we get the boys in the saloon drunker than Uncle on a Friday night,”
“Now hold on ladies, are you tryin’ to rob these men or kill them,” Arthur laughed with his whole chest, picking on their perpetually drunk Uncle never got old.
“And while those boys are all too drunk to remember where their pricks are, they won’t remember where their wallets are neither,” Tilly finished where Karen left off, smiling smugly.
Arthur had to admit, the plan was actually sort of genius. He knew the girls had been champing at the bit ever since coming to the Overlook to get out into Valentine and exploit its male occupants for everything they’re worth, he was just shocked that they had such an intricate backstory to go along with their scheme. Usually the girls took to luring men away and having them privately divulge secrets, thinking their information was safe with their new arm candy. This, however, was starting to look like a real heist.
“Well I’ll be damned ladies,” he was careful to not let too much pride spill out into his next words, knowing the ladies would never let him hear the end of it. “That’s not half bad,” He nodded in disbelief and the girls passed pleased smirks back and forth. “When is this grand heist then?”
Mary-beth chimed in this time, “The dancin’ girls were supposed to be in town this Saturday, apparently they had the whole saloon booked out just for their performance,”
Saturday. If Arthur remembered the date correctly that meant that-
“We only have three days to prepare,” Tilly answered his internal thoughts before he could even finish them, the mind reader. “Good thing we still have our old routine from Blackwater still memorized, or else we’d have to shove you in one of these gowns just to keep the audience interested,”
Arthur properly guffawed at that one, but Tilly’s little joke had the group of ladies clutching their stomachs in laughter, their outburst attracting the attention of Javier and Lenny who had just realized that none of the women were actually watching them arm wrestle.
“Hey girls! What’s so funny?” Lenny called, dropping Javier’s hand like it was infected and wiping his sweaty palm on his pants. Javier grimaced and did the same. Arthur wondered just how long those two had been begging for some female attention.
“Thinkin' about Arthur in a dress,” Karen snorted and Javier and Lenny yelped in laughter after them.
“What’s so funny huh? You think I ain’t got the figure for it?” Arthur huffed, mock offended as he snatched the light pink gown out of Mary-Beth's hands and held it up in front of him, pressing it against his broad chest and giving a fake twirl.
Now the entirety of this little corner of camp was bellowing in laughter, the girls were gripping each other and rocking back and forth and Javier had resorted to wolf whistling as Arthur gave one last joking twirl before tossing the gown back to Mary-Beth. God he had missed these sweet fools.
“Arthur please I can’t- I have to boil my eyes just to get the image out,” Lenny gripped his own stomach as he bent over the table in laughter. He slapped a hand down hard on the wood, making a loose domino fly off and land somewhere in the grass.
“Seriously amigo that’s going to be haunting my nightmares for the rest of my life,” Javier dragged a finger under each eye, swiping away a tear while still laughing deep from his stomach.
“ Hmph ,” Arthur crossed his arms, shaking his head and the last of his laughter out, “Alright you ingrates, thanks for further shatterin’ my self esteem- now if you will excuse me,” Finally, with the five of them giggling still behind him, Arthur set off on his original journey, stomach rumbling in protest. He managed to get to the stew pot just as Pearson was about to discard the last portion and helped himself to a bowl of remnants and trimmings, but something was better than nothing.
After his meager meal was finished and he had greeted the rest of the camp's inhabitants that were still milling around, he finally made his way to his little abode in the corner. As he passed through his eye caught his own reflection in the tiny mirror he used to shave. Another frown tugged at his lips as he stared back at the brute in the mirror. “Ugly sumbitch ain’t ya,” He scoffed and tore his gaze away from the disappointment in the mirror. There would be time to trim his scruff tomorrow, not that it would fix his face, but it would make him feel slightly better. He scratched at his overgrown facial hair absentmindedly before undressing down to his underclothes to tuck in for the evening. He shrugged his suspenders off, sighing at the slight twinge of relief. The tension continued to melt away as he deftly unbuttoned his shirt, peeling out of the slightly sweaty fabric and tossing the shirt off to the side to deal with later. When his hands travelled to his belt buckle his mind flashed to a not so distant memory, earlier, when he had watched as Charles’ hands uncinched Dandelion’s saddle. He had been so quick with the buckle that Arthur couldn’t help but gawk.
What’s a cinch if not just a big belt.
He shook his head and hoped the memory would tumble out of his brain with the movement before undoing his own belt buckle swiftly and methodically. Too many strange thoughts for one night, he must be more tired than he thought. He scooched out of his jeans and they too fell to the ground, joining his discarded shirt and gunbelt. He tucked his revolver under his pillow as he has done since he was old enough to shoot and he slowly laid down on his cot. Aches surged over his thighs, knees, and lower back from a week worth of riding and running. He was getting too old for this. Now that he was finally back to camp he was hoping the next few days would be calmer, letting him catch up on a little much needed shut-eye. He knew better though. Tomorrow someone would come up to him in his brief moments of peace and ask for help with something or another.
It’s not like he didn’t like helping out. Of course he did. He just, sometimes wished that other folks around the camp would pull the same amount of weight that he and Charles did. It always seemed that when something serious needed to get done, Arthur was always thrown right in the front lines. Except… well. Except Blackwater.
His stomach churned anxiously at the thought. It had been weeks since the incident, and another couple of weeks since fleeing from the frigid tundra of Colter and still Arthur had no idea what actually happened on that job. The thought of it was enough to keep him up at night tossing and turning through different scenarios. The first major job in ages that he wasn’t there for and it all fell apart. Maybe if he was there they could have pulled it off, gotten the money, and slipped away to the west before the law even noticed they were gone. Or, more likely, perhaps nothing would have changed if Arthur was on that job. Perhaps it would have gone just as poorly but with Arthur’s face landing on the bounty posters rather than Dutch’s. And of course he would take the fall for Dutch. He always did, and he would gladly keep on doing it because that’s what loyal sons do. He just wished this time of uncertainty would end, he wanted to put Blackwater behind them and just move on, get away from the law and find someplace they could truly be safe. Somewhere the girls didn’t have to steal fine gowns but instead could own as many as they wanted. A place where little Jack didn’t have to play with sticks and cans but instead
real
proper toys, and his momma wouldn’t have to ask for petty cash to buy the boy new clothes. A place where they all could just- be. Arthur adjusted his head on his pillow, feeling the impression of the hard metal barrel of his revolver through the thin down padding, and slowly he drifted off to sleep to dream about open ranges, cleared bounties, and big hands.