Chapter Text
"Why Journal, have you seen Mister Morgan this morning?"
The sound of your melodic lilt caused Arthur to lower his journal from his face. It was the first move he'd made for anyone else that morning, and he hadn't intended to make any meaningful ones until it was time for him to get up.
"Oh!" he watched your face morph into mock surprise. "Never mind I found him."
Arthur propped himself up on his elbows and looked you over. You were blinding to him in that moment, and he'd be lying if he said that was all due to your sunny disposition. Or the rising sun's soft touch on your face.
"It's great to know that even in the dead of the world you're a chipper somebody." his sarcastic drawl drew a laugh from you that seemed to color the surrounding area.
You put your hands on your hips. "Well, I learned from you. Your soul sucking joy is contagious."
"So you're bothering me because you want more lessons?" he rose to a seated position, and placed the small leather journal on his bedside table.
"I'm bothering you, old man, because it's what you deserve for leaving me when I told you I wanted to go with you yesterday."
"I could've sworn you said you didn't want to go. Must be getting hard of hearing in my old age." his wry grin was a dead giveaway to the fact that he was well aware he was full of shit.
He had, in fact, known that you wanted to go with him to collect some debts for Strauss. What he also knew, was that he didn't want you to see him like that. The irony wasn't lost on him, it wasn't like you'd joined a roving band of evangelicals. You yourself were a fantastic thief and con-artist. It was simply the nature of that job in particular that he wasn't fond of, and he wasn't fond of how it made him look and feel. More importantly, he didn't want you to see that. Arthur liked to think he looked strong in your eyes, capable. Debt collection often left him feeling sullen and drained, and that wasn't what he wanted you to associate with him. What he did want you to see, was something he wasn't being entirely honest with himself about yet.
"I'm sure you did." you rolled your eyes, and boldly entered his space. "Move over."
"I think you're turned around ma'am. Your tent is about 40 paces that way. I would know, because I believe it was my head you nearly took off with the support pole." he didn't deny your command though, and made space for you on his tiny cot.
He watched you duck your head, and unleash a laugh powerful enough to stir his heart. Somehow you made yourself more gorgeous in that moment, and he wondered if that's what made men write funny words called poetry.
"No one can spin a yarn like you, I don't recall that at all." your voice was colored with its natural joyous tone and traces of laugh-instilled breathlessness.
"I believe some of my brain can still be found in the area from where it leaked outta my ear."
You laughed, and shoved his shoulder with your own. Arthur felt a shock go through him at the contact. He tried to hide the physical evidence, a chill, behind a cough.
"Anyways, I wouldn't have gotten involved. I just wanted to go to town when you were done."
"When John and I found you, you were standin' over a man, prepared to empty his skull only after you'd knocked out his woman. Why can't you escort yourself to town?"
You threw one leg over the other and huffed in frustration. "Because, no one will lend me their horse, I don't have one of my own yet, and everybody's too busy to take me. Feeling like a goddamn child and being cooped up ain't my idea of a great time."
"Holding that in for a while weren't you?" he chuckled. "What's got you itching to go to town?"
"Blacksmith."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. He wanted to both guess for himself, and hear you say what exactly it was that you wanted with a blacksmith.
"A gunsm-"
"No, blacksmith." you reached into the pocket of your pants and produced a folded piece of paper. "Don't you dare laugh."
He unfolded the paper to find a poor sketch of some sort of sharp pole. To his credit, he didn't tell you he wouldn't laugh.
"I told you not to laugh!" though you yourself couldn't quite hold to your own demand.
"(Y/N) I'm not a nice man, I believe you knew that." he studied the paper again. "Just what the hell is the thing anyways?"
"I saw this thing about spearfishing in a book Dutch lent me. Might as well try my hand at it." you shrugged like what you just said was the most normal conclusion to come to.
In the few months Arthur had known you, he believed for you it was. You weren't afraid to try much, especially if something interested you. He believed that's what led to your jack-of-all-trades nature, and what allowed you to pull your own weight with ease in the gang. You weren't a boring person by any stretch of the imagination, and for a man who'd seen as much as Arthur had, that was attractive.
"People can call you anything but dull that's for damn sure." he looked over your drawing for a final time. "Or an artist."
"Draw a few pretty pictures in that journal of yours, and suddenly, you're a critic." you threw your hands up in faux exaggeration.
He folded the paper along the lines created by your original fold, and pocketed the paper. He ignored your cry of "hey!".
"I might be able to procure something like this for you." he rose to his feet as he saw the camp start to stir to life.
"Really?" the way your eyes lit up sent a punch to his gut that almost sat him down again. He focused on finding his vest and hat.
"Calm down, it ain't about you. I wanna see this little experiment of yours beat an old-fashioned rod and some bait."
You lounged back into the empty space he'd left behind, and it occurred to Arthur that you were probably the only one in camp with the balls (so to speak) to do so. He wondered what that said about your relationship.
"That doesn't fix being cooped up though."
"No, I suppose it doesn't." he whipped his vest at your thigh, satisfied with the yelp and move to sit up it drew from you. "But hunting enough game to feed these bottomless pits will."
----
"Good to know you can find something other than your bed." Arthur crushed his cigarette beneath his boot as John approached the tree he was resting against.
"Good to know that pillow you got for a brain knows directions. Thought for sure I'd be lost to mankind following you."
Arthur whistled for his horse, who promptly followed her master's command. "Keep that fire Marston, I intend to make you prove you've kicked bedrest."
"Prove that among other things I'm sure." John grumbled.
"No, that there is for Abigail to be concerned about. Not myself." he began a light gallop in the other direction once he saw John was close enough.
"Go to hell Morgan!" John cried from behind him.
Arthur ignored him, spurring his horse on and tearing down the hill. It wasn't his first idea, to spend his day hunting with John Marston, but Dutch had started in on the low supplies in the camp, and Arthur had immediately pretended he was up to that all along. John had been lounging, proud of the full night of guard duty he'd put in. He threw in John's name to be spiteful, but now realized it was a pyrrhic victory of sorts.
That proved to be all too true when a few hours later they had nothing but three rabbits to show for two hour's worth of hunting. The two men's bickering had been incessant, and probably responsible for driving away more prey than they would care to admit. They both believed themselves to be master hunters when in each other's presence, and wouldn't bow to the other's whims.
"I told you small game adds up." John reiterated for what must've been the hundredth time since they'd been out. "We should've focused more on that."
"And I told you, I ain't going back to camp without a big catch. Funny that's never been a problem till I brought you along." Arthur removed his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow, crinkled in frustration.
"I'll remind you, friend, you put my name out there. If Strauss was here, he'd probably find something in my favor about that. That whole sub mind thing."
"Yeah, yeah shut up. We ain't that far from camp, you can take your finds back and see how much they add up to. I'll be back to finish the job." Arthur patted his horse in sympathy for the harsh riding that day, and carefully turned her in the direction of the river down from the camp.
"In a minute, my horse is thirsty. You don't own the river now do you King Arthur?" John smirked in his direction, and Arthur was willing to bet it was more about annoying him than taking care of his horse.
"Nope. The jester is free to do what he pleases." Arthur reveled in John's side eye.
"You know, I'd take your blows, which have been particularly vicious today, to heart if I didn't know what it was about. You shouldn't take it out on me because your woman finally got her horse and breaks camp every chance she can."
Arthur nearly pitched himself from his saddle from turning to face John so sharply. A million ways to deny what John said settled with a strong taste on his tongue. It was true you'd been taking up errands for the gang so you could get out of camp more, and he had been particularly sour since. That being acknowledged, he didn't welcome that from John at all. Who else felt that way? Who else thought (knew) he wanted you to be his woman? If John suspected....
"What the hell are you talking about Marston?" he chose to feign ignorance instead.
John opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when something caught his eye. "Why I'm talking bout her Morgan."
Arthur looked towards where John nodded, and sure enough, there you were. You were in the shallower portion of the river, pant legs rolled so high they almost didn't resemble pants anymore, hair piled on top of your head. In short, you were a damp mess, but he was reminded, once again, that a person could be so beautiful it could physically hurt.
You were carefully watching the waters around you in deep concentration. He realized you'd finally gotten time to try out your spear. Something the entire camp new you'd been itching to do since he'd crafted it for you. Yes, crafted. Arthur cursed himself a couple of times for undertaking the task, he wasn't the best with iron working. He'd obtained the book himself from Dutch, and after a much better planning sketch, fashioned a spear from some scrap iron and a firm wooden pole. All of his gripes through the process felt small when, a week and half later, he'd watched you find the spear in you tent. To know that he'd made your day, made it all worth it. The look you'd given him for indulging your request never failed to bring a smile to his own face whenever he thought of it.
"Watch your mouth. She ain't mines." the words sounded absolutely pathetic, even to him.
As if you sensed yourself being watched, you looked up to see them on the hill. You waved at them, a wide grin spreading on your face.
"Why Mister Morgan, have you taken to spying on women?!" you called out.
Arthur had come to discover you only called him "Mister Morgan" when you were teasing him, and he loved it. It usually sparked some private conversation, or shared moment when you did. It wasn't lost on him that there was a unique edge to the teasing you gave to him verses how you teased the others. He wasn't willing to bet on what the reasoning behind that could be though.
He waited until he was closer to the river to answer you. "No ma'am. Now spying on folks a biscuit short of the plate on the other hand...."
Your laughter proved to be contagious for both men.
"A friend made this for me. His sanity is the one to question."
"Can't say I don't agree." John grinned at him over the lowered head of his horse.
"Books are the problem here if you ask me." Arthur grumbled, kneeling to splash his face in the cool water.
"What are you two doing out here anyways?" you asked, re-adjusting your pants.
Arthur caught John taking an unabashed look at your exposed legs and thighs, and seriously contemplated kicking him into the river. The man not really being a swimmer really sweetened the pot on that idea.
"I'm bringing home dinner." John jerked his head in the direction of where the rabbits hung from his saddle.
"What?!" you cried incredulously. "I told Dutch I had dinner under control."
John and Arthur exchanged a look that said a lot without saying anything at all. The spread sack behind you was completely devoid of fish.
"As much as I hate to see such fine craftsmanship go to waste, I had a feeling you'd come home empty handed." Arthur tsked and shook his head.
You cradled the spear to your chest, and Arthur was both warmed and somewhat amused by this. Your beautiful face twisted up into determination. Was there any expression you couldn't make look brand new to him?
"I haven't been out here nearly as long as you two. I'm just getting my bearings."
"Hey," John raised his hands palm out. "I've got dinner for the camp. Perhaps Arthur should stop hiding behind his woman and just admit I'm bringing home dinner alone, cuz he can't catch any big game."
Arthur resisted decking John, realizing that might make him appear to have a point. "That a challenge Marston? Cuz it's one the ledger don't back."
"If it's a challenge, I'll have you both licked." You had all the confidence in your voice of someone who had a mountain of fish behind them.
"Toothpicking fish ain't gonna feed nobody girl." John gave a dismissive wave.
"We'll see Marston. Gotta make my man proud after all." you winked at Arthur, before your face set with determination again. "Now get the hell on, you're scaring the fish."
Goddamn if the camp didn't have fish in just about every conceivable way that night because of you. And though he lost the bet too, goddamn twice if he didn't love John's sour excuses and mutterings.
----
It'd been awhile since Arthur felt sheets and a real bed, and the softness of the former on his bare chest wasn't lost on him. His journal lay spread before him, the two pages covered in details about the few days he'd been able to steal for himself, and of course a little about you.
"Why Mister Morgan, are you writing about me in there?" Your arms circled around his torso, as your weight sunk onto his back.
Arthur felt his muscles relax in an instant at the touch of your bare chest to his back. He hadn't even heard you come in, and while with anyone else that would bother him, it would certainly be a fine way to go at your talented hands. He glanced back at you, and his face softened at the content grin on your face.
"You know the answer to that my lady, or you wouldn't be grinning like a cat with ten canaries."
You hugged him closer, and pressed your lips onto the back of his neck. He could feel your grin widen when he shivered.
"Different question then." you nuzzled his neck. "Were you thinking of drawing me at my least ladylike?"
He rolled over, careful to catch you in his arms, and cradle you to his chest. He cupped the back of your neck in his large hand and brought your lips to his. He wasn't entirely sure how the two of you ended up together in a Valentine hotel room, but sure as hell wasn't mad about it.
He gripped your ass sliding your hips to line up with his. "You? Unladylike? I think I need a demonstration of that."