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The energy around camp hadn’t been this jubilant in quite some time.
The last few months had been nothing but terrible (for lack of a better term). Even Dutch himself would have the guts to admit that it had been one thing after another for his gang. Dutch, as problematic as he could be, poured the contents of his heart and soul into this rag-tag crew that he called his family. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard. Life was never supposed to be this hard. Yet, it seemed that no one could catch a break for even just a mere moment.
Even young Jack had been through the wringer for the last several weeks.
Jack being kidnapped had shaved some years off of everyone’s life. Abigail had undoubtedly been the most affected with the thought of her child being snatched by the most dangerous and notorious name in Saint Denis. The things that had been told to Dutch about Angelo Bronte were...alarming. He was a ruthless, power hungry man with absolutely no regard for innocent folk.
There had been no telling what kind of morale he held when it came to children.
It was a twisted world that you lived in. A world so dark and disturbed to the point where grown men had taken a boy, a literal child, as a ransom to get the attention of one person? It was abominable.
Everyone had been on edge in the midst of Jack’s disappearance. Almost everyone had made the silent wish that it had been them instead. At least then, they’d have a fighting chance at defending themselves that Jack surely didn’t have. It made you sick to your stomach to think about what they were doing to poor Jack...or even what they had already done to him.
But by some stroke of good luck, the Van der Linde gang had the first bit of good news in weeks.
“Hey, they’re back! I think I see Jack!” Bill had announced to everyone who was around in camp.
Your head snapped up at the sound of his words from where you had been sitting with Tilly by Pearson’s wagon, both of your gazes automatically going to the pathway that led straight into camp. Sure enough, the same men that had left for Saint Denis had returned, with the addition of the same bubbly little boy that had been missed so dearly.
A collective breath had been released from the chests of every single person currently residing at Shady Belle. A breath that had been being held for far too long. You and Tilly watched from afar, giving Abigail and John their space with Jack. The palm of your hand clutched to your chest as you watched the encounter, your eyes going misty at the sight.
Jack was completely unharmed, and according to the bustling child, he had apparently had the time of his life. While everyone was beyond relieved that he was back and in one piece, this only added to the gang’s ever growing pile of worries. Despite this, Jack’s safe return had granted everyone a night off. A night off from worrying and feeling perturbed about everything that had happened.
It was a night for gathering, family, and celebration.
Between Javier’s musical notes floating through the atmosphere and the gang’s collective singing, the mood had been severely uplifted. It was refreshing, a nice change in the way this gang had been running recently. This night of coming together as one, enjoying the company of one another in perfect harmony.
You settled next to Mary-Beth, who was arguably the WORST singer that you had ever had the displeasure of hearing. Even though Mary-Beth’s less than perfect pitch brought your ears close to bleeding, you were content. This was the Van der Linde gang that you had been missing. The seat next to you was free, and just as you were beginning to wonder why Arthur wasn’t there to take it, another person had taken the empty seat instead.
“Hey there, Miss [L/N].” The all too familiar voice spoke.
It took all of your willpower not to roll your eyes and/or projectile vomit into the fire in front of you. Even though you were in an extremely good mood, you were never in the mood for his antics.
“Hello, Micah.” You returned with the fakest smile you could manage.
You weren’t about to be the one to ruin the vibe because of Micah’s usual greasy behavior. As Arthur usually put it, he was nothing more than a snake just waiting to strike its next victim.
“You sure looked lonely so I figured I’d keep you company.” He spoke into your ear, drowning out the noise of the music and singing.
“I looked lonely, huh? Even though the entire gang is here?” You sassed back at him.
“I’m just sayin’. You looked like you needed some real company.” He restated, shimmying even closer to you, despite the fact that you were about to be squished against Mary-Beth if you leaned back any further in means of getting away.
“I was actually just fine before you showed up.” You hissed, hoping Micah would just shut the hell up for once.
He didn’t.
“Come on now, angel, don’t be like that.” He horribly persuaded, his eyes looking everywhere but your face.
The lack of Micah’s attention on your facial features gave your eyes an opportunity to glance past Micah to find the man you had been previously looking for.
John had just walked away from Arthur, leaving him alone and standing off on his own. He sensed a pair of eyes on him, his view scanning around until you found your line of sight. Even from so far away, you could see his brows knit together in a questionable manner, trying to decipher why you had summoned him in that weird, telepathic way that only you and him knew how to do.
Your eyes rapidly shifted to Micah and then back to Arthur, giving Arthur the most obvious hint that screamed for him to get Micah away from you. Arthur’s shoulders tensed and relaxed in a heavy sigh, his head shaking in disgruntlement at the fact that he was having to save his lover from Micah once again. His boots made heavy footfalls on the dirt of Shady Belle, grabbing the focus of Micah away from you.
“Well hello, cowpoke. Come to join the party?” Micah grinned up at Arthur, who didn’t have an ounce of amusement spread across his features.
Arthur also didn’t feel like wasting his time and energy on Micah. He rarely ever did. Arthur kept his voice low and secluded, not wanting to cause a scene in front of everyone who was oblivious to what was going on.
“Somethin’ like that,” He grumbled, “Get your ass up.”
Micah chuckled in the way that he usually did when he was about to stir the pot more than it needed to be.
“Easy, cowpoke. I’m just havin’ a chat with pretty girl here.” He remarked, referencing to you sitting next to him.
You felt nauseous at the sound of hearing Micah describe you in a way that only Arthur was permitted to speak to you. Arthur didn’t appreciate it either, based on the way his cheeks tinged red, and surely not from the heat of the fire.
“I’m sure that my pretty girl doesn’t want to talk to the likes of you. Now get the hell up, you slimy bastard.”
Before Micah would oblige (or not), Arthur gripped the collar of Micah’s coat and very forcefully brought him from where he sat. A bundle of choice words were said after that, and a few sentences fell out of Arthur’s mouth that were so shockingly nasty that it sent a burn to your own cheeks. Arthur could be very verbally passionate when it came to defending you from Micah. Eventually, Micah slithered away, retreating to where Dutch sat at one of the tables nearby.
“I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want to have to deal with that.” You apologized once Arthur sat down in place of Micah.
“Not your fault, sweetheart. He’s a prick.” He growled, sighing once again to let out some of the pressure in his chest.
Arthur was definitely the company that you preferred. His lips pressed a kiss to your temple, filling him with a rush of joy and bringing a sparkle to your eyes.
“Hi, handsome,” You greeted the rugged cowboy with a smile, “What were you doing all the way over there?”
Your right arm found its way around the small of his back, bringing him a warmth and comfort that he desperately needed to feel. His lips turned into the slightest of smiles as he stared down at you.
“Hey, darlin’. I was just talkin’ to John.” He replied with a voice thick with exhaustion.
“Is he okay?” You asked in Arthur’s ear, Javier’s music growing louder.
Arthur gave nothing more than a shrug of his shoulders as part of his answer.
“He’s glad to have the boy back. You know how John is,” He responded, his voice rumbling low in your ear, “I’ll sleep well tonight knowin’ that Jack’s okay.”
It seemed like every day Arthur grew more and more tired. The dark circles under his eyes became more visible with each new passing night that Arthur didn’t sleep well. This lifestyle had bestowed stress and burdens unto him that he never asked for nor wanted. But he’d never give up this life.
He didn’t know anything else.
“In that case, we can go to bed early if you’d rather catch up on sleep.” You offered, not at all offended if he wanted to hit the sack earlier than everyone else.
“Are you kiddin’? And miss this party?” He clamored, a real smile appearing on his face when his arm wrapped around you and pulled you snugly into his side, “If only I had snagged a bottle of liquor that I know that Italian son of a bitch had layin’ around somewhere.”
As if on cue, the party really did become a party. Bottles of whiskey suddenly appeared (thanks to Reverend Swanson, who always had plenty stashed away) for the imbibing and fooling around to begin. Arthur was never one to turn down whiskey or a beer, and he had a feeling that a few shots were exactly what he needed. You had a feeling that you were about to have a very drunk Arthur on your hands. He felt his heart beat a little faster when he felt your head loll onto his shoulder, your irises that he always found himself lost in were staring at him as he gripped the neck of one of the bottles.
He swore that stars were trapped behind your eyes in the way that they sparkled. He was always so enraptured with everything about you. Your eyes in the way they looked around at the world in front of you with admirable exploration. He lived for the way your nose scrunched up when you were uncomfortable or playfully teasing him. And he never wanted to go a day without feeling the way your lips felt on his when the sun went down every day.
Arthur shifted from where he sat, moving upwards to plant one of his knees into the log to be able to tower over you. You transfixed up at him, your brows furrowing in curiosity as to what he was doing. One of his hands came to your throat, not squeezing or constricting, but holding your head in place.
“You get the first taste,” He instructed, “Open up, baby.” He purred.
A sneaky smirk ghosted over your features for a fleeting second before your lips parted and jaw lowered to open your mouth to him. He tipped the bottle forward, a steady stream of the amber liquid landing on your tongue and radiating that familiar burn over your tastebuds. Whiskey wasn’t the finest tasting drink in the world, but you didn’t mind it. You dutifully swallowed, feeling the warmth burn your throat all the way down.
“That’s my girl.” Arthur praised, dipping down for a hot and heavy kiss.
He could taste the whiskey on you mixed with your usual taste, which in and of itself was intoxicating for him. Javier’s song died down as he came to a finish, and he was the first to notice you and Arthur making out in front of everyone who had yet to even realize.
“Get a room, you two!” Javier snickered, bringing the situation to light and granting you and Arthur stares from other people around the fire.
A few stifled giggles and low whistles could be heard from different members of the camp, Arthur’s lips breaking from yours first and shifting into a proud grin.
“You’re just pissed ‘cause you’re not gettin’ any.” Arthur retorted, moving to sit in his previous position.
You smiled sheepishly at being put on the spot like that, but Arthur didn’t seem bothered by it. Arthur’s lips wrapped around the top of the bottle, a laugh sounding out from under his breath when he took a few swigs from it. Javier’s music had been replaced with various conversations and chatter, creating just as much noise as before while mostly everyone drank.
Within an hour or so, your previous intuition had been proven correct. Arthur, along with a few others, was very drunk. His voice had grown louder, his words were well past the point of slurring, and his movements were totally sloppy.
Not to mention, he was all over you.
“Come on, pleeease? I wanna ‘nother kiss.” He begged, his forehead digging into the bone of your shoulder.
You were highly amused at his drunken shenanigans, another laugh bubbling out of you and creating sweet music to Arthur’s ears.
“I just gave you a kiss.” You argued, but adhered to his wishes and kissed him again.
He melted into it like he usually did, humming happily at the way he knew that his scruff tickled you. Arthur was feeling the best he had felt in months. Between the whiskey, everyone else’s good mood, and having you at his side loving up on him, the weight on his shoulders had been taken away for now.
“You’re my favorite person in the whole world.” He slurred, taking another drink of whiskey.
“You’re my favorite person too.” You returned with a lighter giggle.
The conversations around the fire were still scattered and random, and it seemed at the time that you and Arthur were the only ones listening to each other.
“I think about you every day. Even on days when I don’t see you.” He went on.
You let out yet another laugh, which only seemed to egg him on.
“I’d die for you, y’know,” He said suddenly, his tongue as loose as could be, “You mean the absolute most to me.”
Your smile was beginning to fade more into a neutral line at the way this conversation was turning. You never minded hearing such heartfelt things, but these were some heavy things to say in such a drunken stupor.
“Arthur, I-”
Then, before you could get another word out, Arthur said something so shocking that time seemed to cease and the world stopped spinning. It was a simple phrase, one that even someone as young as Jack could understand. It was a sentence that brought beauty to one of the greatest pleasures of sharing a life with someone. He said it so confidently and so boldly that his drunkenness almost seemed to fade out into the night sky.
“I love you.”
You froze in place, completely and utterly in disbelief. The disbelief that Arthur Morgan, one of the most innermost people to ever walk the planet, just publicly confessed his love for you for the first time in a burst of honesty.
Not to mention, he had just blurted out his feelings for you in front of everyone in the camp.
Mary-Beth was still sitting at your immediate left, her soft eyes wide with astonishment. Even Charles, who was on the other side of the fire, was staring stoically, very intrigued to see where this was about to go. There were only two people who weren’t astounded to silence, and they were Micah and Hosea.
Micah only rolled his eyes and went back to sulking from being rejected from you earlier in the evening. Hosea, though, was hiding his knowing smirk from behind the rim of a coffee cup.
All communication between your brain and your muscles was stopped short. Your head was producing words and thoughts, but your mouth was stuck hanging just barely open. Your jaw had fallen at such a bold, serious profession. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so world shattering if:
A. He hadn’t said it in front of everybody.
and
B. He wasn’t so rip-roaringly drunk.
No sounds were currently being made other than the crackling fire and the frogs of the swamp croaking in the distance. The feeling of about roughly 20 pairs of eyes boring into you was rather unsettling. It was an unspoken, but every single person who had just witnessed this knew how big of a deal this was.
And they were watching with bated breath to see your reaction.
But your reaction didn’t come. Your brain was too busy trying to even make an attempt at processing what he had just said to you. He hadn’t said “I like you” or “I care about you”.
Love was the key word of that sentence.
Arthur Morgan had said that he loved you.
Your relationship with Arthur wasn’t complicated in the least. No, your status with Arthur was as clear as the morning sky on a Sunday in January. You and Arthur were together as a couple and an item, and had been for close to a year now.
But the “L” word had yet to be spoken.
Neither of you rushed things. Taking things slowly and easily seemed like the best way to ensure that you both obtained the kind of relationship you wanted to have. One that was pure, honest, and true. Arthur had been burned in the past when it came to relationships. You often wondered to yourself in a haze of insecurity if he still thought about Mary. You surely hoped not, but you’d be a fool to think that someone could just let go of someone they had once given their heart to like that.
Still, it pained you to think that Arthur’s dreams were moving pictures of his days with Mary. You didn’t want to accept that when he sometimes sat at the base of a tree for his rest time, that he could very well be daydreaming about Mary.
You knew that Arthur wasn’t going to be quick to say that he loved you. You were almost a year in and neither of you had said it. That was something you had known very well from the beginning. You didn’t mind that, because you surely didn’t want him to say it if he didn’t mean it with every part of his being. Thankfully, you had become skilled at reading the room, and you knew that when the time was right, you’d be the first to say “I love you”.
You just didn’t expect him to say it first.
In an instant, you were painfully aware of everyone leering at you. The silence was almost painful it was so tense. You were also aware that, even in his current state, Arthur was waiting for an answer.
“Arthur, let’s...let’s get you to bed.” You requested, standing up and trying to guide him up from where he sat.
“No, no, no. Are you listenin’ to me?” Arthur questioned, looking at you through half-lidded eyes, “I said that I love you.”
Twice.
Now he had said the three most famous words in the English language twice. And both times had sent your heart leaping with elation and exuberance. You wanted nothing more than to pepper and attack him with kisses and say it back to him. Because you did.
You did love him too.
But you knew Arthur Morgan. You knew that, no matter how much he meant it, he likely didn’t want this moment to be a public one...and one where he wasn’t at his best. Arthur’s weight seemed to all concentrate to his core and his limbs when you tried to lift him up. His muscles had lost all of their tension from the effects of the alcohol, making him seem so much heavier than he actually was.
“Come on, Arthur. Bedtime.” You said again, silently thanking Hosea for rushing in to help you get Arthur on his feet.
Arthur’s footsteps were tortuous and irregular as he attempted to walk. His vision had blurred and tunneled to the point where he wasn’t even sure what was actually in front of him. Eventually, his feet were dragging on the ground, leaving behind lined trails in the dirt instead of footprints. Getting Arthur up the stairs of the abandoned plantation home had proven to be the hardest challenge, since it took heavy coaxing to get Arthur to even pick up his feet.
By some miracle, you and Hosea managed to get Arthur into his room, practically letting him go and allowing him to crash onto the small bed. He collapsed into a pile of blabbers and slurred words.
“Thanks, Hosea. I think I can take it from here.” You told the older man, offering him a winded smile from carrying the man who was twice your size up the stairs.
“Not a problem. Just holler if you need anything.” He waved you off, exiting the room to give you and Arthur your privacy.
The room was quiet after Hosea’s leave. Other than the sound of the resuming chatter from the camp outside, things were hushed in your current situation. Arthur was leering at you through sluggish eyes, his pupils constricted as he watched you begin to get him ready for bed.
Even in his intoxicated state, he could sense that you were distracted. Your mind was reeling at a million miles a minute. Arthur had just told you that he loved you. He loved you.
With monumental effort and strenuous groans, Arthur undressed himself out of his coat and his over shirt. His union suit was unbuttoned at the top, his coarse chest hair peeking through the opened top. He made a grunt when you maneuvered his feet out of his boots, leaving him clad in his socks and his usual bedtime attire.
He looked so handsome in the light coming from the lantern on the table next to the bed. The warm glow made him look so heavenly and so breathtakingly beautiful. You considered it a privilege to be able to see Arthur in his more tranquil moments. Not many people had been given the chance to see him during times where he was more serene. It allowed you an opportunity to see a side of himself that he rarely ever let swim to the surface.
“Y’know I meant it, don’t ya?” Arthur asked when he couldn’t take the suppressed sound any longer, “I love you.”
That was three times now that Arthur had said that he loved you. Each time he had said it with more uprightness and more tenacity than the last. He meant it with every single fiber of his being that his heart belonged to you and only you. You weren’t sure if it was the sudden closeness or serenity, but you could see that he meant it. He wasn’t just saying it because the alcohol had slackened his tongue and brought a certain confidence to his brain.
He said it because he meant it.
“I know you did,” You smiled, resting your hand on his leg from where you sat at the end of the bed, “I love you too.”
Arthur’s heart began to patter away in his ribcage at the sound of you returning the endearment. He had a twinge of nervousness that had been drumming at his gut when you didn’t say it back right away. He thought that maybe he had been a fool to say something so personal in such a manner. His speech was all over the place, but his words were as crystal clear as they could be.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you by sayin’ it.” He murmured meekly.
“Oh, Arthur. Honey, you didn’t embarrass me.” You chuckled leniently, moving from the foot of the bed to snuggle next to him.
Arthur’s arms wrapped around your body once you were comfortable next to his stagnant frame. He peppered kisses all over your face, trailing from your forehead to your cheeks and to your lips.
“I meant everythin’ I said,” He garbled, “You mean everythin’ to me. I’d do anythin’ for you.”
Your hand rested on his chest, your fingertips lazily stroking the skin showing through where his union suit was unbuttoned. Arthur’s scent was strong in your nose. He smelled of potent whiskey and smoke from the fire still burning outside. It brought a comfort to you that put you at ease, no matter how far from home you were...wherever home was.
Arthur had every intention of sharing the rest of his life with you. You were already the biggest part of his life. When the sun rose from the horizon every morning, you were his motivation for a new day. His last thought at the end of every day was the woman that he had fallen in love with over the course of the last year. You were the sole purpose that his heart had for beating.
He’d do anything to protect you from harm’s way.
“Even though you already have to protect me from Micah every day?” You queried, your neck craning so you could look at him.
Arthur let out a guttural groan at the mention of his least favorite person in the gang. Arthur held strong feelings about Micah, and it was just about every day that Arthur had to come to your rescue. Micah was desperate for attention and...whatever else to the point where he’d do anything to get it.
“Christ...that no-good, inbred, back stabbing piece of filth wouldn’t know loyalty if it hit him in the fuckin’ throat,” Arthur ranted, “Dutch sees somethin’ in him that really ain’t there. He’s nothin’ but a snake that’s just-”
“-waiting to strike.” You finished his sentence, an amused smile appearing on your face at his ramblings.
“He wants everything that everybody else has. Nothin’ is good enough for the sick son of a bitch,'' Arthur went on, “I ain’t whacked his ass out yet, but I’ll do it one of these days.”
“You should. It’d save all of us some trouble.” You declared, taking one of his hands into yours to fiddle with his fingers.
Arthur got visibly excited at that, his expression lightening and his voice sounding with glee.
“How would we do it? There’s gotta be a cliff around here somewh-”
“Woah, woah. Easy there, cowboy. Before you get yourself convicted of planning a murder, let’s talk more in the morning when you’re sober.” You joked, kissing his stubbled jaw.
Arthur grumbled a “fine” before he reached to pull the quilt over the two of you to keep any nighttime chill from creeping into the room. Between running around all day and the alcohol still seeping through his veins, sleep was overcoming Arthur very quickly. He kept you pulled in closely, holding you flush to him to ensure that you weren’t going anywhere.
“Are you comfortable, Arthur?” You posed, making sure that he had everything in his favor for a good night of sleep.
Arthur’s eyes had already fluttered closed to begin his descent into slumber.
“Mmhm. Are you?” He wondered as well.
“Yeah.” You replied, kissing his nose gingerly before going quiet again.
The pure feeling of care and cherish for this moment was enlightening. It was a moment you had always dreamed of. A moment in time where you’d be able to say “I love you” to the man you loved most. After today, you’d say it every day and any time that you could.
You never let a day go by where you didn’t tell him how you felt about him.
“Hey, Arthur?” You called after a few more untalkative moments.
“Hm?” He drawled, brought back from his light layer of sleep.
“I love you.” You repeated again, cradling one side of his face in your palm.
His eyes squinted open just ever so, viewing you with a small smile that said a thousand words. He was in love with you, and every part of you. And he never wanted you to forget it.
“I love you too, darlin’.”