Bards Crossings • Arthur Morgan x Reader

𝐗𝐕

Finishing up washing the mountain of metal dinner wear left by the camp, you joined Sadie perching on a rock, facing out in to the hundreds of birch's and pine's that separated Horseshoe Overlook from Flat Iron Lake. A cigarette burned between the fingertips of her left hand, the right supporting her chin that balanced on her legs, curled up to her chest.

"Hi Sadie, mind if I join y'?" You started, feeling like you had interrupted her most deepest thought.

"Sure." She replied, scooting along making space for you.

Mrs Adler was quiet, for the most part. You'd heard from other's about how the O'Driscoll's had ransacked her home in the mountains, widowing her so early into her marriage. You couldn't begin to fathom the heartbreak.

"How are y' holdin' up, Sadie?" Both of you relatively new to the gang, you knew how fearsome upping and starting a new life with a bunch of strangers could be, you'd done it more than once.

"I—I'm okay," Sadie's voice cracked, "I just.. I miss—," You wrapped your arm around her shoulder in comfort, no more needed to be said.

A tear escaped Sadie's blue eyes, the trauma she experienced ever present on her drained expression. She cautiously placed her head on your shoulder, giving into grief.

Several minutes had passed before Sadie flicked her cigarette into the hillside. "Thank you." She uttered sombrely; making her way to her bedsit.

"What was that about?" Arthur's husked voice hushed behind your form, startling you for a second. You didn't expect, nor want him to be back so soon.

"Oh, nothin', she didn't talk much." Shuffling to make room for the Outlaw. An awkward silence imposed the space between you and Arthur. You wrapped your jacket tighter around your waist, whilst Arthur interlocked his palms, elbows resting on his worn ranch pants; his Gambler hat tipped to the ground.

"Look—", "I—," interrupting each other clumsily, humiliation seeped through your veins. Arthur looking just as uncomfortable, gestured for you to go first.

"I—I made a fool—a moron, of myself," you began, "I didn't— want t', y'know—give you the wrong impression." Shame laced your tone; Arthur didn't know about your stint as a working girl and you wanted to keep it that way.

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck with his muscular hand, his gaze unwavering from his boots. "I—I ain't like that," you started again, saying anything to relieve the pressure you felt so heavily on your shoulders.

Standing up from the cool rock after what felt like hours of unshared words between yourself and the Gunslinger, you brushed his shoulder with your hand, and headed to bed. You figured Arthur couldn't face the contrition anymore than you could.

•

Arthur flicked a match across the soul of his workman boot. Lighting a cigarette in defeat, you had remained defensive; tightly guarding the walls he thought you'd let him break down. If y'd just said somethin', anythin'.. y' dumb fool. Arthur tormented himself about the lack of words said to the woman he now cared for. Standing up with a weighty sigh, Arthur whipped his cigarette butt out into the trees with frustration.

"Ar'tur!" Sean's Irish accent intruded Arthur's ears, forcing the frustration out loud.

"Not now." He growled back at Sean as he stormed over to his tent, removing his boots in discontent.

•

Your mind couldn't escape the racing thoughts that were insufferable as you tossed and turned in your bed roll. The mutters and snores from the girl's around you gnawed away at your conscience, knowing you needed rest.

You thought about creeping out to speak to Arthur once more. Self-deprecation quickly brought you back from the fantasy still running wild in your mind. The lack of words from Arthur put to bed the idea of you two ever developing past platonic.

With that thought resting heavy on your mind, you buried your face into the flat pillow that lay on the ground, hoping to eventually drift off to sleep.