WOLFISH ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

Ch. XIV

Sometimes you got credit for trying, but when it came to sleeping, just trying accounted to absolutely nothing.

You hadn't rested more than two hours the previous night, your thoughts racing with not only anger at yourself and your obliviousness, but at Arthur too. He'd purposefully acted like a gentleman to have you wrapped around his little finger, or so you assumed. He couldn't have known you were a bounty hunter, but, considering how sloppy you tended to get sometimes, you couldn't be sure. Who knew how he'd figured it out.

One thing you did know, however, was that you were neither planning on falling for his charms again, nor letting him slip through your fingers, not like that.

So you had made an impromptu decision at three AM that it was best you got on your way right away. Which would make it easier for aunt Cathy too, you supposed. So you'd made quick work of writing her a letter, then snuck out of the house. Through some miracle, you'd managed not to wake Lobo.

You took your horse, bought a train ticket, and set off to Rhodes.

By five in the morning, you'd reached it already. The southern city was slowly but surely waking as more and more citizens were starting to roam around and go about their business.

Finding the fence didn't prove to be a genius' task either. Two brothers were the ones running the business, though it was more one of them, called Clay, than the other, who was turned idiot or something of the sort.

You'd known Clay's type the moment you'd set eyes on him. Slippery, treacherous and sly. But still your best shot at tracking Arthur down.

"You lookin to—"

"Looking for someone, actually." You interrupted him, tone insistent and firm. He raised a brow, seeming suddenly all the more interested in you. "Grumpy, tall, blonde, broad shoulders, stubble. Came in with a white Arabian?"

A sly grin tugged at the bastard's lips. "Now why would I tell you anythin' about my clients?"

"Because I'll pay you." You reached inside your satchel, retrieving a 50 dollar bill from the cash Arthur had given you. You supposed it was dirty money, and tried to make yourself feel less bad about spending it on such things With an insistent look, you held out the money between your pointer and middle finger. Clay practically ripped it out of your hands, coy expression never fading.

"Well, why didn't you say so?" He paused, seeming to think. If he was even capable of that, of course. "Came in with two horses, an English halfbred and the Arabian. Sold the halfbred and kept the beauty."

"And where'd he go?"

"Back to Rhodes, I reckon. Haven't seen him around since."

"Good."

"You're very much welcome."

God, how your hands were itching to punch that grin off his face.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You'd checked the saloon, the hotel, the general store, and even the gunsmith. Your last resort was the train station, where you stumbled across a strange man who turned out to be quite useful nonetheless. You'd described Arthur to him, and after a while of mind-searching, he confirmed that the man you were looking for had taken the train to Saint Denis not more than a few hours ago.

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of diving headfirst into civilization and urban surroundings. You failed to tell if it was out of fear or excitement.

Yet you didn't hesitate longer than a second to push it all away and get yourself a ticket.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You had to admit the city streets brimming with people, one more pompously dressed than the other, or more strange were borderline terrifying. There was something going on behind every corner: pocket thieves, street musicians, salesmen, protesters, beggars, businessmen and whores. It all seemed like some kind of weird fever dream in which your brain had thought of every single archetype of person existent and had mashed them all together, crammed into one single hellish city.

And yet you found yourself allured, curious. If it hadn't been for Arthur, you'd started exploring everything without a second thought, so maybe it was for the best you had come with a purpose.

Considering the city's overwhelming size, it took you a little above two hours to check most of the important shops and a small saloon—to no avail. Your last, but also best option was...the biggest saloon in the entirety of Saint Denis.

The Arabian hitched near it was the only confirmation you needed. Arthur had to he close.

Standing in front of the saloon's immense doors did not feel the way you'd thought it would. There was no trace of the intimidation you'd expected, similar to when one would face a huge beast, but instead, you felt welcomed. So you pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

The saloon was bustling with men and women, some playing poker, others eating, chatting, laughing, joking, drinking by the bar. Just like a familiar, broad-shouldered silhouette leaning against the counter, idly sipping on whiskey.

You'd found him.

Arthur.

In spite of the gazes resting on you and the whispered cusses, you quickly pushed through the masses of people, eyes trained on him as if he'd vanish if you looked away even for a second.

But he didn't. When you reached the bar, Arthur Morgan, that sly, clever bastard was still very much there, and still very much staring into his drained glass, ignoring his surroundings.

Just then did you realize how stupid of you it was to approach him like this, in the middle of not only a packed saloon, but also a saloon in the middle of a huge city. You couldn't exactly knock him out over the counter right then and there and then tie him to a horse and gallop off into the sunset.

So you decided to do the only logical thing one would come up with, given your situation. Which was trying to get the outlaw as drunk as humanly possible.

You cautiously took a step closer, calling out his name in pseudo-disbelief. "Arthur?"

Disturbed in his thoughts, he frowned at first, perhaps in disbelief at the fact that the call was directed at him. When he finally decided to look around to assure himself and his gaze landed on you, his frame tensed, confusion in his eyes. Before he spoke a word, his expression suddenly morphed into something you could not recognize nor categorize. Aside from the fact that it seemed...halfway positive? If it weren't for his hat, you could've sworn his eyes smiled from his cheeks.

"Miss (l/n)." He tipped his hat as a garnish to his greeting. "The wolf hugger hersef." He said with friendly mockery, then nodded for you to come stand beside him.

Which you did.

"And the horse expert too, mind you." You answered on the same tone, gesturing for the bartender to refill his drink and get you one for yourself. You were playing your part of still being his friend far too well, and a side of you screamed that there was nothing even remotely fake about the way you treated him. But there was. You knew who, or more precisely what he was, you knew about the things he'd done. No matter how hard you'd have wanted it to be a lie, Arthur Morgan, the outlaw, the killer, the cold-blooded robber had not only saved your life, but befriended you. And you'd done so too.

"Of course, how could I forget." He grinned, then reached to pay for his order. You wrapped your fingers around his wrist, fast as lightning, then smiled warmly at him.

"Drinks're on me tonight, cowboy."