HIS II | Arthur Morgan x Reader

Epilogue I

A few weeks later

The warm summer sun streams through the window in the hall, warming the wood under Arthur's bare feet. Balancing a coffee in one hand and a bowl of medical supplies in the other he pads towards Tris's room. Knocking on the door lightly with his knuckle he pauses waiting to hear if she was up.

"C'min." she calls softly.

He smiles when he hears her yawn dramatically, pushing into the room he finds her already propped up in bed rubbing her eyes with her fists tiredly.

"You're up early sweetheart."

He picks his way through the mess of toys on the floor, careful not to spill his coffee. Leaning over her he kisses her forehead, making sure she was okay before he begins setting about their new morning routine.

"Something wake you up?"

She nods pointing at her tummy and his chest clenches.

The memory of his daughter lying bleeding in his arms was still fresh, whenever she moved too quickly, she would groan or yelp, and guilt would immediately begin to gnaw at his stomach. Tris was strong and incredibly brave but since leaving St Denis he had begun to treat her like glass, too scared to see her hurt or in pain. You had reminded him that she was fine, that she would heal quickly, but that didn't stop him drifting from conversations and sitting on the edge of his seat whenever she began to play.

He measures the bandage and snips it to size, nodding at the quilt.

"It still hurting you now?"

"No, but I'm hungry." She kicks off the blanket and wiggles herself flat, rolling up her nightshirt and edging down the top of her pajama bottoms she assumes the regular position. Her bright blue eyes stare up at him innocently. "Can we have pancakes?"

Slowly Arthur peels back the cotton bandage, wincing when it reveals the wounded flesh. "That okay?" gently he cleans the surrounding skin, careful not to disturb the forming scab. "Pancakes again?" he asks turning to prepare the fresh dressing.

Tris nods enthusiastically, "I want syrup, and melted chocolate."

"Melted chocolate?" Arthur hums, unable to keep the smile from his face. "You'll rot yer teeth and start lookin' like Uncle."

"Please!" leaning up on her elbows she flashes him the biggest puppy eyes that she knows will get anything from her father.

Always the little trooper Arthur was proud and amazed at how well she was handling the healing of her wound.

"Hey," he places a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder making her lay back straight. "Lie still, or you'll pull your stitches."

Settling back, she cranes her neck to watch her father work. With practiced hands he wraps the gauze around her middle, the pins sticking from his mouth while lines up the ends.

"Too tight?"

She shakes her head, "Am I going to have a scar daddy?"

"Should only be a little one." He finishes securing the clean bandage and rolls down her shirt, letting her button up her own pajama bottoms that were a little too big.

Since getting home Tris had begun insisting on wearing trousers.

I don't like dresses anymore.

She had stated matter of fact, and Arthur had his suspicions that she was reminded of the frilly ensembles Mary had made her wear, with their ridiculous frills and skirts that made her look like the high society princess Mary wanted her to be.