Chapter Text
There were a lot of things that drove Arthur Morgan crazy. Sometimes they were small things, like Micah’s attitude, or large things, like anyone from the O’Driscoll clan interfering with his own gang.
Right now, both things were intertwined and he could feel his fuse getting smaller and smaller as he clenched his jaw as Micah would just not stop talking. More specifically making excuses as to why he had done something stupid.
“-we hadn’t been too far from the river, I know that much.” He said, rubbing his chin nonchalantly as if discussing where he lost a personal belonging as opposed to letting someone kidnap you.
“You had one fucking job, Micah!” Arthur finally snapped, standing up in a rage, bumping the map covered table and stepped closer to the man, fists balled up tight. “She fished and you set rabbit snares. Dutch told you two not to stray! Why the hell did you decide to run off after a deer and leave her alone?!” Arthur demanded, his voice low and dangerous, but before Micah could even reply, the man's fist connected with his nose with a sickening crunch. Before anyone could even really make sense of the situation Micah was on the ground under Arthur’s bloodied fists, but Hosea and Dutch jumped forward and grabbed the man’s arms, yanking him off of Micah.
“Enough!!” Dutch finally cut in, roughly dropping Arthur's arm, “Arthur, we’ll find her, but not if ya blow your fuse every time Micah opens his maw!” He stared at the man in the eyes as he spoke again, “Charles just got back. We have a lead, but you gotta calm down long enough to get on your horse and get there.” Arthur rushed to his mare and jumped on, only hoping you stayed strong until they found you.
“I’ll ask ya one more time, girlie. Where is Dutch, and more importantly his money?” The O’Driscoll asked. Jim was his name, you knew. He was tall and thin, scraggly like a street dog that was too snappy to be taken in. His long hair was greasy and unkempt, his mustache was the same, gross and too shiny to have been cleaned recently.
Jim raised the hunting knife in his hands to your cheek, pressing hard enough that you could feel the skin break under the pressure and some blood trickle down your face. You couldn't help the hiss that escaped from your lips, but between the handful of cuts and the dried blood and bruising on your scalp (from being smacked over the head with what you were fairly sure was a whisky bottle) you didn't feel the need to betray your family.
“Bite me.” You spat confidently despite your exhaustion, looking up at Jim with a steely expression. Everyone knew how loyal Dutch’s men (and women) were, even those like you that weren’t exactly the rowdy type like John or Arthur. But it seems Jim was sure that a "soft woman like yerself" would yield in no time. God you would never forgive him for calling you that.
Jim snarled, he had been growing increasingly impatient with your lack of answers over the last few hours, but before he could properly express his anger the sound of hooves and gunshots destroyed the mostly silent sunset. For the first time since sunset that day, you felt hope that your friends had finally come through.
“Get away from the girl and-” However the command, which you registered as coming from John was interrupted by the deafening crack of a pistol shot.
"John! Arthur!" You cried out in glee at seeing friendly faces after such a long, pain filled day.
“Jesus, Arthur.” John snorted quietly at Arthur's low tolerance, as he pulled his horse to a stop and began to dismount. “Any more O’Driscolls ‘round here sugar?” John called to you as he drew the knife from his boot and made his way around the fire to cut you down from the tree limb where your arms were tied up, dangling you like a skinned deer, your tiptoes just barely reaching the dirt.
“Other than Jim? There were four, but they went hunting, up on the ridge to the west. Something about a small hunting cabin past a waterfall.” You reported as Arthur slipped off his mare and walked over beside John, holding your arm as John freed you from your bindings so you wouldn’t fall over as you readjusted to being on your feet properly.
“‘Atta girl.” John smiled at you, patting your shoulder in a proud gesture, but letting Arthur take control of holding you. Everyone could tell Arthur had a soft spot for you a mile wide, and so even though John was one of your most trusted friends in the group, went back standing beside his horse, he just gave you a gentle nod.
He watched Arthur help you onto Boadicea before speaking up, “I'll catch back up with Charles and head west and see if we can’t spot this cabin. Arthur, you take her back onto camp.”
Arthur gave a nod, replying to something you didn’t bother trying to catch as you could feel the exhaustion creeping up and the adrenaline ebbing away. You felt Arthur spur his mare off down the trail, reminding you to grab onto him.
When you didn’t, Arthur stopped Boadicea, patting her neck quickly before looking back at you.
“Darlin’, ya hear me?” He asked, concerned you may have fainted or had some wound he didn’t see before. Instead, he was met with your silent tears, as you attempted to process all of your emotions from the past day. “Hey, hey, ain’t nothing to cry for.” He said gently, sliding off the saddle and standing beside you. “Yer alright darlin’.” The man paused and his brow furrowed before he asked,
“God they didn’t…touch ya, did they?” He asked, the anger starting to rise, but it was quelled almost immediately as you shook your head frantically. Arthur exhaled in relief before pulling a bandanna from his pocket and wiping the blood from your cheek, along with some tears. “Ya know, the way you held it together as John cut ya down, that was somethin’.”
“What do you mean?” You finally spoke up, wiping some of your tears too as Arthur set the cloth on your leg for you to continue using to dry your cheeks as he hopped back up on his horse once he determined you were fit to keep riding .
“I’ve seen some men break the second they see their friends comin’ Some who break the minute they get taken away. Ya held it together long enough to send Charles and John after those cowards.” The hint of pride in his voice was enough to make you crack a smile, and at last you wrapped your arms around Arthur’s waist and pressed your face into his back, just letting yourself relax a bit. "Sometimes ya just need to let it out. Don't mean you ain't tough or strong. Hell if you impressed John you're probably a step ahead of me." He said with a soft chuckle, and you smiled too as you heard the noise.
This wasn't a side of Arthur anyone usually saw. The soft, human side. If Arthur didn't have feelings for you (and you didn't feel the same) you know you'd probably never see it either. You closed your eyes and let the rhythm of riding and Arthur's scent comfort you.
“So…Micah still breathing?” You asked after a bit now significantly calmer, even if your nose was a little clogged from crying, and you could practically hear the gears grinding in his head before he spoke,
“Yeah, only ‘cause of Dutch and Hosea.” He seemed to want to leave it at that, so you took the hint and let the amicable silence fill the air as night set in, cool and soothing. "We'll get ya all patched up then you can get some rest. I can imagine your bed seems pretty invitin' right about now."
"I dunno Arthur," You said quietly, daring to take a chance after the stressful day, "Seems like someone should stay with you in your tent tonight so you don't murder Micah in his sleep."
"He deserves it, but you're right. You volunteerin'?" He asked with a smirk as he looked back at you.
"And what if I am, Mr. Morgan?" You replied with a smile, and slight blush. His smirk grew as he turned back forward, giving a soft hum as he considered his reply,
"If you are, you'd best know it ain't gonna be a one-time job."