Chapter Text
Charles hadn't spent a lot of time in Valentine, but it was enough to see the strangest case of criminal the sheep-smelling farmstead town had seen compared to the murky bustle of Saint Denis. Or what was better known as the city filled to the brim with smog and sweat. A godless, polluted town dedicated to preserving the memory of a snake in human skin that was Leviticus Cornwall.
Right before news got out about him being shot and killed, " Cornwall Canned " as the papers called it, he'd been after an unusual bounty. One for a man, a butcher really, named Edmund Lowry Jr.
A particularly gruesome killer who's price had went up nearly three times that of a podunk town bank robber after he attempted to murder a lawman while in custody, and managed to escape and flee south. Charles saw pictures of him, a beady-eyed man with a mustache and a look that gave him a stronger chill than a cold forest brook in the dead of winter.
Next to some text and pictures of a rugged man by the name of Arthur Morgan were sections about Edmund's newest taste for blood. An uneasy feeling it was to see tabloids were still going on about him.
Lowry opted from choosing his victims at random and had taken to skinning lawmen, bounty hunters, and the like. The details in the warm black print of the Sunday paper left his stomach churning. He thought it best to give up on the loose thread that was New Hanover's first publicized human-scalper, as even after weeks of searching he'd only been met with dead ends.
He'd gone west, resigned himself to a cozy little town called Strawberry. The hotel he was staying at was homey, matching the atmosphere of other mountain cabins nearby. Though cheap it was much cleaner than any hotel in Saint Denis. It was nice enough, as all the shops were in the same place, and most importantly was somewhere with a roof for him to rest his head. It was simple, humble.
On the steps outside the post office, he dawdled for a bit with the day's paper, the ink starting to run from drops of soft morning rain. Beside him, a cup of coffee that tasted like hot bath water and mud more than any bean. He was reading a refreshing column about the local plants, some recipe for blackberry jam. Not entirely useless, but he'd eaten enough fruit based canned foods to make him sick for the next year.
His eyes moved up from the page to the townsfolk. One man amongst the plethora of thin farmers in even thinner cotton coats had caught his eye, leaning against a tall signpost beside a set of stairs, arm crossed and looking up from under the tip of his hat directly at Charles.
He was a man with a certain age to him, the budding downpour wetting the dried dirt on his feathered hat, washing it away and catching itself in the deep creases of his face.
He kept his gaze on Charles light enough not to arouse suspicion, and yet he felt increasingly vulnerable the longer the man's eyes lingered. Despite his apparent age there was a youthful air about him giving Charles a wink before pushing off the pole, and walking away towards the hitching posts.
Not more than a vaguely flirtatious gesture that made Charles feel like the man, with his teasing smile and sunspot-covered cheeks, could see right through him.
Something that Charles would've chalked up to another day of odd townsfolk being odd, even mocking, if it weren't for the owner of the general store bursting out the side entrance practically screaming.
"That son of a bitch robbed me!"
When he looked back at the man, he froze, grabbed the reins of the horse closest to him, and bolted off quick as a bullet.
Something that Charles would have considered just a semi-eventful day for Strawberry, until he realized it was his horse, Taima, the man had taken in his haste.
He had other horses, good ones too. Not ones he liked enough and were as fast as Taima, but they were hardy horses nonetheless. She held a special place in his heart, as while he simply owned other horses he's ridden, Taima was his.
It was exactly why well into the afternoon, he was a dramatic thunder and lightning strike away from looking like judgement day itself. The now nameless horse he gripped galloping and digging down into the mud, along whatever trail was still left in the ever-growing storm. His face scrunched at his eyes, droplets cascading downwards along his clenched jaw.
The rain was heavy now, pattering deep in the dirt like small marbles. It was when he started feeling water pool at the bottom of his boots did he reach the end of the trail, where hoof prints were fresher, leading into a loose collection of trees. And as he anticipated, Taima at the end of it.
The man was with her too, squatting down with his feet ankle-deep in mud over an iron box. He didn't care much for what was in it. Cash. Pricey liquors. Sour tonics. It could have been a hay bale-sized stack of last year’s cigarette cards for all he was concerned.
The mud squelched under his own feet, splatting every which way when Charles hopped off the horse. The man froze once more to look up at him, and scrambled quickly to gather the box's contents and stuff them in Taima's saddle bag.
He'd spent too much time bathing in rain water and drenching his belongings to let him get away, not now, when Taima was still with him. The man looked over bracingly when Charles grabbed his pistol in a tight grip, firing thrice consecutively up at the sky.
He'd never been more grateful for the loud blast of a gun next to his ear when Taima had whined and reared, trotting forward and leaving the thief to fall backwards in a pathetic splat on the ground.
Charles rushed over and grabbed Taima by the reins, looking down at the mud-covered cowboy.
"You know how long it took to find you in this mess? I almost can't believe you'd let yourself be found that easily after the stunt you pulled stealing my horse."
He almost lost it when the man chuckled and sat up, all this time spent running in messy downpour and all this man could do was laugh. Charles nearly left him to his own strange devices when he got a better look at the man's face, closer this time.
"You.."
"Me." he laughed again.
"You're Arthur Morgan?" he said more of a statement than a question, he already knew who he was, recognized him from the morning paper.
"You're not leaving, I changed my mind. Turn over and make this easy for the both of us."
"If you chased me all this way for a horse an' a quick lay in the rain you could'a just asked."
"Enough with the jokes, do it now. Or the next few bullets I fire won't be in the air."
Arthur heard the click of a gun's hammer, and put his hands up, flipping onto his stomach.
"Alright, alright. You've made your point. Just don't go shootin' me by accident."
The barrel now pressed to his spine, he heard Charles clip the holstered guns off Arthur's belt.
"I'm not that careless."
The recognizable feeling of rope made its way to Arthur's wrists and ankles, and he felt the need to fill the silence, as he knew bounty hunters to at least make some snide comment when they finally captured him.
"So, I suppose you're taking me in for Cornwall. Didn't think news'd travel that fast.. Could I at least know who's taking me in?"
"Charles Smith. And no, I wasn't going to at first, didn't even know who you were. Only came for my horse and then saw you looked an awful lot like the wanted mugshot of a man I saw."
"Ahh, I see."
"Mm-hm. Could be a lot of money in those blue eyes of yours."
"Mm-hm." He mimicked. “Oh there is.”
The rain kept onwards, whatever dirt that wasn't already wet was now soaked three times over and then some. Charles made a note to himself to wash Taima, and himself, the second they got out of this stormy mud-bath.
"So, Mr. Smith. You plan on taking me back to Strawberry?"
"That's the plan."
"Well.. fine lookin' man as you are.." he murmured. "You're not doin' a very good job of it."
"Excuse me?"
"Apologies, Mr. Smith, but we've passed Big Valley a couple hundred trees ago."
He sighed, a quiet grumble, thought about hitting his bounty on the head, but Charles didn't know this area as well as the east. In his hurry to track down his horse he figured it wasn't impossible for him to have gotten lost.
"Alright, we'll stop somewhere for the rain to let up, then I'll find our way."
"I could lead you back. We got another horse after all. Nasty storm this is getting to be, but shouldn't take longer than a couple hours."
"Did you really think I'd trust you with that after the stunt you pulled?"
Arthur laughed to himself.
"No, guess not."
As he rode, searching the trees for an alcove at the very least, he thought maybe he really had gone too far. Gotten lost. The more he stared at the forest, at the road ahead, even at the sky, it felt like he was walking in place. Charles feared if he carved into a tree he'd be able to count the marking over and over again with every corner he turned.
Everything looks the same here I'm going in a damn circle.
Charles heard the cowboy snort, something that no doubt would continue to pester him.
"What."
"Aw, nothin' really, just.." A beat. "Forgive me if I thought you came to be on your knees for me when you first got here, 'till you pointed your gun at me..."
It was easier than anything for the cowboy's own remarks to entertain him. Though Charles didn't think the same and his silence made it apparent.
"Back in Strawberry? Thought I damn near gave you whiplash with the way you were lookin' at me."
"It's arrogant for you to assume anything like that."
"What were you thinkin' then?"
"I wasn't . Just... people-watching."
"That's what you call that? People-watching?" He could almost hear Arthur's wide toothed grin, amused in what Charles was afraid Arthur had spotted in him.
"Your laugh's starting to get on my nerves."
The trip had been mostly quiet afterwards, aside from the small comments he made about Charles, each some type of flattery or just plain out trying to aggravate him.
"-Can't believe you were able to lift me up, you used'ta pushing men around like that?"
If you don't shut up I'm going to.
"You've got quite a mouth on you, Morgan."
"Well, why don't you cut me outta these ropes and I'll show you just exactly how much of a mouth I've got, Mr. Smith."
Charles knew bounties like these. Outlaws or murderers or conmen who'd spout lies and charms even after they're caught, in a poor attempt to weasel their way out of a noose and a sudden drop. He'd met plenty of smooth-talkers, but not many were as quick to be suggestive the way he was, not male bounties, anyway. It made Charles sit uncomfortably, and irritated him in more ways than one.
What he wasn’t going to do was picture the snarky fugitive against a wall, with the same shit-eating grin he imagined he wore the whole horse ride so far, Charles' hands curled at the collar of his shirt.
"Quiet."
As night hit the darkness didn't cease the cloud’s tears. It was almost blurry outside, the light within the cave granting the only real tell of how bad it was, its mouth drooling from the storm.
Charles poked at the small flame he started in a log pile, focused and unbothered, Arthur stared at him. He'd catch Charles looking up at him, and like in Strawberry he refused to say or do more than an intimate passing glance.
"How long you guess the rain'll keep goin' for?"
"Not sure, could be until sunrise if we're lucky."
Arthur saw him digging through his satchel that he noticed was more like a throw with pockets more than anything. The entire bag made out of what looked like well-groomed animal fur, small trinkets like teeth or horns carved meticulously into what could only be assumed miniature figures matching what beast they'd come from. He saw Charles eyeing him cautiously as he leaned to strike a match on the cave floor and light his cigarette with it.
"Is there something you need?"
He watched Charles blow smoke from his lungs. How it mixed with embers of the fire and faded smoothly into the air as it crawled up to the cave ceiling. He watched the fire in front of them flicker as it grew and how it made Charles' rain-wet hair glisten. He stared at the way his lips wrapped around the cigarette every time he lifted his hand up to inhale, achingly slow. The way he held his mouth open slightly so the smoke would meet the air once more.
"You smoke, Mr. Smith?"
It was obvious his patience was tried, but the question was harmless enough.
"Only when I spend my mornings going after an arrogant criminal and then be forced to spend the night with him."
Arthur laughed weakly.
"You don't suppose you could give me one one a' those, could you?"
He didn't know if Charles decided to ignore him or was caught up in his thoughts, as he'd purposely looked away from Arthur into the fire.
"Aww, come now, Mr. Smith. You're going to deny a man his right to smoke?"
Charles was wary of him, even as he was tied up and without his guns. His face was lathered in skepticism.
"Fine... but don't try anything."
Against his better judgement, he sat closer to Arthur, raising a cigarette up to his mouth.
"Here.." Charles' voice was quieter now, a low rumble, locking eyes with Arthur as he lit it.
"Tell me, Mr. Smith… When's the last time you've had someone? That wasn't roughin' them up for the law?"
He'd burned through half the cigarette when he caught brown eyes at his lips wander back up at him, something that made the side of Arthur's mouth turn up ever so slightly, knowingly.
"I reckon it's been a while.. Feeling the touch of another person…”
Charles became restless at the question, though it wouldn't have been as obvious if he wasn't sitting close enough to feel Arthur's breath.
“...another man."
Every fraction of a sly smile, the glint in his eyes. Proud. A ccomplished. The cowboy barely tried hiding. He loved seeing the reaction to the words his loose tongue produced.
"I think you've had enough to smoke, Mr. Morgan."
Charles pulled what was left of the cigarette delicately from his lips, stubbing it out on the cave floor.
"Y’know.. fire's almost out, and with this rain, we're as good as invisible."
Charles, near ready to pull away, kept his composure rock-solid.
"What's'a matter, Smith? I'm all tied up.. I couldn't hurt you if I wanted to. You on the other hand," he started, his voice still holding that playful tone in a deep lull.
Charles thought, staring at Arthur like he was considering his offer. Like the entire cave had suddenly became a small enclosed space with just the two of them, voices now much more intimate than the monotone echo they first spoke in.
"Why.. you could do anythin’ you want with me."
For only a second Charles thought, what would happen if he did say yes? Loosened the ropes, and gave into his foolish newfound attraction to a no doubt dangerous man. For only a second his mind flooded with countless scenarios, clothing haphazardly torn away from him, the outlaw's hands wandering to every unspeakable place his brain cared to muster.
"Come now, Mr. Smith.."
He was torn from his thoughts. He ignored the shiver he felt, because looking at him, Charles felt like a damn fool.
"Well, Arthur,"
Charles leaned in to whisper, nearly pushed up against him. Saying his name deliciously, giving Arthur that age-old familiar stirring low in his gut. He swore he could feel Charles' lips brush at his neck.
As he spoke against his ear, his thumb traced Arthur's bottom lip, a gesture that made him ache sorrowfully.
"I don't much care for your poor attempts to get me to cut you loose, it's not happening."
Feeling Charles pull away from him was like being hit across the head with a cast-iron pan.
"Don't make me beg, Smith."
It was the first time Arthur heard him laugh, or what was more accurately a sort of quiet scoff.
"You already have.”
Charles felt played like the cheap fiddle he was.
Awake as he had been all day he laid on the cave floor atop his bedroll, in his head he continued to curse himself for nearly walking into that trap. He knew that was Arthur’s game. Flirt with him and sweet-talk him all the while Arthur got him to untie the knots around his wrists. Charles would almost bet on the fact that if Arthur had been able to touch him in some way that he would've batted his eyelashes and set him free without a second thought. He rubbed his face in exasperation.
Christ’s sake..
Well, it could've been much worse if he actually went through with it instead of his lonely body aching for touch and forcing him to dangerously teeter the lines. And whether or not Arthur would've kept his promises of heated intimacy, it wasn't worth waking up to an empty cave. A night that could've ended as a sore morning and all of his possessions stolen. Or worse, with a knife in his back or bullet in his head.
The fire burnt on, lower than it was but light enough for Charles to roll over and see Arthur had fallen asleep, facing the fire with his spine twisted and head uncomfortably tilted at his neck from hours of a lack of support.
Nothing looked as uncomfortable as that, perhaps aside from the rest of him. Sleeping with not only tied hands but legs left for an almost laughable sight of a spaghetti-limbed man.
An overturned hat, his jacket folded over in certain places, his shirt not tucked in and covered in dirt, Charles was sure even his belt didn't stay on right. And a bag. Slung over his sleeping shoulder and thrown about. A bag? One not unlike his own, though clearly worn, fraying in some places with the latch already open and a book spilling out. It was opened to a page, and he fell victim to curiosity.
He felt the edges of the paper with his fingers before reading any of them, noticing how Arthur had beautiful handwriting, and even better small doodles and drawings on the back of some of the pages. Of animals, flowers, herbs, some of people. Charles wondered if he’d be one of them, carefully dusted in graphite and into Arthur’s memory.
Arthur stirred, but stayed asleep. He was nervous for a moment that he’d be caught but the only sound coming from him was the movement of him turning over and the soft thud of his head on the bare cave floor.
“Had a chat with Mary-Beth this morning. She's a nice enough girl, soft-spoken and thoughtful. Enjoys robbing and looting as much as the rest of us, but I wonder if her kind-hearted nature isn't fit for something more honest.
Even if Mrs. Grimshaw hadn't told me, I knew for a while now Mary-Beth had been keeping her eyes on me. She asks about Ms. Linton every so often, in the kind way she does. I know she thinks of my best interest with how she talks but I can't help but feel there are times her young heart sneaks its way into our conversation.
She reminds me of myself in an odd way. Of a time I was sweet on someone, though more reckless and careless with it than I think Mary-Beth would ever be with anything, or anyone.”
He turned the page.
“Met a monk. Helped him free a couple of poor bastards from the island someplace who were kept prisoner.
The monk - what was his name? Brother something or other, was a good fellow. One of these innocent people who make you feel better about human beings and even about yourself a little.
Must be odd to see all that goodness in the world. Place always seemed dark and brutal to me.”
And another.
“I found some of Dutch's speech notes near the scout fire. I wouldn't noticed if I didn't spend the last few days working errands around camp. He's something else, Dutch. Writes like he's on stage in a play. Even had little footnotes telling him what to do and when. Funny thing, I always thought he just came up with those in his head.”
The last entry he read, made Charles twinge with guilt and pity for the cowboy.
“Got a letter from Mary. What did I expect? What did I want? Weren't never meant to be and never really was, and yet somehow, in the end, I discovered I had a heart because it was broken. Oh, you fool. You sad, deluded fool. Torn in two by different ideas of who you were, and it turns out you weren't neither of them.”
A pathetic tugging feeling sat in Charles’ chest. Pity. A small sort of understanding. He hadn't ever had a bounty he’d taken the time to know, or a bounty with pages worth of journal entries that left him with a closer look into who Arthur was, his life. He barely knew him and the more he decided to read the more Arthur was less of a bounty, and more of a human.
He got up, grabbed a blanket from Taima’s back, folded it, and slid it under Arthur’s head.
You’re really in it now, aren't you.