HIS II | Arthur Morgan x Reader

Unfinished Business

The tiny bundle wiggles and stretches drawing his attention down from the sky, his calloused palms dwarf Alfie's frame in comparison, highlighting the fragile size of his newborn. Arthur adjusts his grip, pulling down the blanket to see his son's face clearer Alfie frowns, protesting when the cool air hits his face.

"Sorry fella." He chuckles replacing the fabric carefully and returning his gaze to the faint stars twinkling above.

Arthur hated the city for several reasons, but he particularly hated how the lights muted his view of the night's sky. He'd come outside to get some air, taking Alfie from your arms when he'd noticed you had fallen asleep. The evening had worn both of you down, Abigail had taken the news of your eviction as expected, ready to drag Mary from her room and confront her, at one point John and Arthur had had to block the door and grab her to stop her from charging out on the warpath. John had finally calmed her down, taking her out under the cover of night to cool off and figure out where to head next.

Staring up at the sky he closes his eyes, sighing as the weight of everything once again settles on his shoulders, the warmth of his son in his hands reminded him of the higher stakes their situation now held; three children, including a newborn and a recovering new mother. Never, in all his years of robbing and planning had Arthur ever felt as heavy and tired as he did now.

"What would you do Hosea?" he whispers rubbing his eyes tiredly.

It was times like these that he really missed the old man; Hosea never failed when he needed help in the past, always offering the perfect pearl of wisdom that cleared up whatever problem Arthur was stewing over. Now, whenever Arthur was faced with a particularly challenging time, most recently when Tris was younger and going through a period of toddler tantrums, he would find himself wandering outside and staring at the stars asking what to do, in some ways feeling the presence of if departed father figure guiding him along, giving him the words and strength to get through whatever he faced.

"I could really use some of that advice right now old man."

Arthur listens, hoping that just once he'd hear Hosea's answer, telling him that it would all be okay, but instead there's quiet, the only sound the never-ending hum of a city that never quite seems to sleep. Alfie babbles grumpily, once again demanding attention and pulling Arthur from his thoughts. The newborn grumbles, frowning and raising his arms, squeezing his miniature fists angrily.

"What're you so grumpy about?" he asks.

Arthur continues to watch his son's growing tantrum, knowing from previous experience that what came next would likely wake the whole house, tentatively he leans down and sniffs.

"Well, it ain't that. So, what is it?" He asks, concerned at the ticking bomb about to explode in his arms, "Your mother is much better at this." He sighs, scanning his eyes over Alfie, hoping that the answer will simply appear on his reddening face.

Finally, Alfie has had enough, sucking in a breath he begins to wail, testing out the full capacity of his fresh set of lungs.

"Shit, hey hey c'mon buddy, shhh." Arthur hushes, standing and rocking his son gently, conscious that the rest of the house is sound asleep.

"C'mon son, what's wrong with ya?" He begins to panic when Alfie's wails grow louder, his cries echoing from the balcony and into the empty room.

"He needs winding."

Startled, Arthur turns, his mouth falling open when he comes face to face with Mary's form, her arms hugging her white housecoat tightly to herself; she stands at the balcony's threshold, her hair braided loosely across her shoulder. He blushes when he sees what she's wearing, his eyes quickly moving back to her face, conscious of her inappropriately intimate attire.