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immajustvibehere · 11 months

Text

Spark (6/8)

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader - Enemies to Lovers

Chapter 6 summary: While still recovering from your wound, you get wind of a trap being layed out for Arthur. You might be the only one who can protect him from something bad happening...

link to my masterlist

chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5

Warning: You have to live with my headcanon that Micah had something to do with Arthur getting kidnapped by the O'Driscolls.

3800 words, 18 minutes reading time

Your wound was healing agonisingly slow. Or at least, it seemed like that to you. Miss Grimshaw had sternly forbidden you to leave your bedroll for the first two days. Afterwards, she'd remain on high alert and snatch everything out of your hands that was even remotely heavy.

Grimshaw also urged you to take care of your wound, so it wouldn't get infected. She offered to have a look at it. Charles and Hosea also offered their expertise, showing that they meant well. Yet, you always refused. Though the sight wasn't a pretty one, you insisted on taking care of it yourself. Had Arthur offered...you might haven't refused. But only because he was the one who stitched you up in the first place. You knew he was capable and secretly, you longed for his gentle hands, but you’d never openly admit that.

The following week passed with a certain routine. You'd wake up early, often forced awake by the pain in your abdomen, and share a cigarette with Arthur. You never said much in the morning. The only thing he usually mentioned in a gruff and raspy morning voice what he'd do today and how the previous mission had gone. Then you'd do the chores that Grimshaw allowed you to do: cleaning weapons, washing the dishes and chopping vegetables. This aside, the days were marked by sitting by the fire and listening to whoever's story was being told at the moment.

Tonight, as it grew late and camp gradually emptied, with every person retiring to their designated bedroll one by one. Micah was the only one left. And while you had enough alcohol in your system to numb the occasional pain in your abdomen, Micah had decided to get absolute shit faced. If you understood correctly, it had something to do with losing some decent amount of money while gambling earlier. For the past half hour, your half-brother had been mumbling a bunch of nonsensical words, you had stopped bothering to listen. But suddenly, you perked up your ears.

"Ohh, I gotta tell you something", Micah rambled on, but he put such peculiar stress on the words, it made your stomach turn. "You know some people here...", he went on.

Micah paused and grumbled, opening his sixth bottle of beer. Honestly, not too much of an astonishing number, hadn't he already arrived drunk at camp a couple of hours earlier.

"Some people here ain't no good for the gang...just gonna make a lot of trouble down the line", he slurred.

Though your thoughts on "those people" had changed significantly in the last weeks, you knew better than to let Micah know that. So you answered with an air of nonchalance and a hint of mockery: "The women, you mean?"

"No, no", Micah chuckled darkly.

"The hophead of a priest?", you swallowed after delivering these words. Swanson was getting on your nerves daily, but he had proven to be a good listener.

"You ain't thinkin' big enough!", Micah gestured some huge motion with his hands, "Morgan's gone soft recently...Ain't no use for that. I'll just send him up the ridge and maybe they'll take care of it", he hiccupped. Your eyes searched the camp, you weren't sure why, but maybe you wanted to see if Arthur was still awake. At this very moment, you couldn't make any sense of Micah's words and when you looked at him again, his body was slumped over with soft snores escaping his open mouth.

The next day, lunch had barely passed when you heard the commotion, whose cause was a livid discussion between Dutch, Hosea, Pearson, Arthur and Micah. Something about Colm O'Driscoll and a parley. You hadn’t been properly introduced to the feud Dutch had with Colm, but you have had enough run-ins with his boys. After all, when you stole the bank stage with Micah and Arthur, they had almost managed to surprise you.

While you watched from a distance, the discussion seemed to have found an end. Dutch and Micah strolled off to their horses, followed by Arthur, who reluctantly trailed behind them. He wasn’t so happy about the conclusion of the conversation.

"Fuck", you mumbled. Is this what Micah had been talking about? You waited until the group had left, staring at the dust their horses had stirred up. You had to follow. This uneasy feeling in your stomach that Arthur was in danger wouldn't leave.

For a moment you took a deep breath and thought: "The heck? Why should I care?" Only to blink and admit to yourself, you cared a fucking lot. There was no way denying that. As Arthur stitched you up, his warm hands all over your body, that did something to you. You never thought anyone would ever treat you this kindly. And even though the circumstances had been...peculiar...you didn't care. If there was even the slightest chance....of chasing this feeling could pay off...

You strode towards your horse, aware that neither you, nor your horse, were carried any weapons. Grimshaw still had a stern look at you and when you tried to carry your guns yesterday, it was frowned upon with some demeaning remarks. You were still grounded to camp chores and resting your wound, though you were pretty sure it had beautifully healed the last couple of days. It didn't matter now. You sneaked to your horse and seized the opportunity to ride off before anyone could tell you not to.

Arthur was lying in the grass, the scope of his gun pressed to his eye. He didn't exactly know what the hell he was doing here. It hadn't sound like a good idea before, and it didn't feel right even now, though he had a good view of the surroundings and saw that the coast was clear. A sigh escaped Arthur’s lips when he suddenly heard grass behind him rustling. He was in the motion of turning around when the sound of a muffled groan came almost simultaneous to something warm splashing onto his exposed arm.

When Arthur looked up, he saw you slitting the throat of an O'Driscoll that had sneaked up right behind him. There was still some life in him when you whirled him around to bury your knife in his stomach. Once, twice,...

"God damn fucker!", you hissed, your knife about to stab him for a third time, when Arthur tackled you from behind and pulled you on the ground.

"Jesus, woman! What the hell are you doing here?", Arthur hissed.

"Saving your ass, you ungrateful bastard!", you yelled back. The adrenaline was rushing through your body and you feared your heart would jump out of your chest any second now. Your horse was at some distance, so nobody would hear you ride up and you had sprinted the last yards.

Arthur had to give you credit for staying almost clean after pretty much gutting the fellow, most of the blood had landed on him, anyways. When you opened your mouth again and sat up, angrily wrangling yourself out of Arthur's grip, you spoke more quietly, and yet not quietly enough for a mission where the job was to stay hidden: "This fucker was about to knock you out, Arthur! If I hadn't been-"

Before you could finish the sentence, Arthur's hand was slapped onto your mouth and he grabbed your collar, to pull you into a lower position again.

"Shhh! I hear you. Stay low, damnit", Arthur's eyes bore holes into you as he tried to get his point across. For some moments, neither of you said anything. Your heavy breathing, which you had trouble calming down, was the loudest noise. With his big hand pressed on your mouth, you feared you might suffocate if you didn't calm down. This man's blue eyes that looked you up and down did nothing to relax the situation, quite the opposite actually. The thought alone that they would be closed by now if you hadn't stepped in made you sob, muffled by Arthur's hand that was still covering your mouth.

It wasn't only that. Your suspicion had turned out to be true. Micah knew. He fucking knew. This whole thing was designed to get rid of Arthur, and aside from Micah himself, only you were in on that. Arthur too, was wrecking his brain right now. He quickly checked on Dutch and Colm before he lifted his hand off your mouth only to put his index finger onto his lips, indicating you to be quiet.

"We gotta get out of here. They know you're up here", you whispered. Your voice was shaky, which you found deeply embarrassing. But you were upset.

"M'kay darlin'. Come on", Arthur announced, gripping his rifle and crawling away from the edge before he stood up to go to his horse. You followed, flabbergasted. Darling? Where the fuck did that come from? He hadn't even given you time to react. You just hurried after him, catching up when he was mounting his horse.

"We gotta lay low for a while. I'm not supposed to be here and I dare say you aren't expected back either", you said as you pulled yourself onto your horse.

"I gotta tell Dutch that this was a set-up. I knew it was a bad idea to begin with", Arthur answered.

"No. Please", you almost whined. Arthur looked at you with knitted eyebrows. He did not understand why telling Dutch was bad idea, but he hadn't expected that tone from you either, so he decided to give in.

"Okay. I know a nice spot..."

You rode off, leaving the Heartlands behind. The next best creek you passed, you used to get some blood off of you. Despite stabbing the O'Driscoll from behind, you still had managed to get your arms dirty. Arthur watched you in silence. The last couple of questions he had asked had fallen on deaf ears, so he had given up poking for answers right now.

Later, you entered a wooded area. The sky had taken a mesmerizing shade of purple and the presence of some darker clouds in the South suggested that the drizzle that had just started was about to transform into a solid rain shower. It already smelled like damp earth. Guiding your horses with ease, you navigated through the light-filled gaps between the trees. They did a decent job of shielding you from the rain, except for the occasional drop that would land on your arm.

"I camped here a while ago", Arthur explained as he jumped off his horse when you reached a nice place, "'s a good spot."

"Yeah. I'll get a fire started", you said briefly, hitching your horse and walking off to quickly grab some dry twigs. Arthur was left behind at the spot he had picked and kept wondering at your behaviour. He noticed that you didn't have anything on your horse, no spare clothes, or a tent...So, instead of putting up his tent the normal way, he used every inch of the material, not fixing the corners in the dirt, but spanning it in between some trees.

You returned with wood and build a fire. Nothing was said until Arthur had warmed some beans and passed you the can before he had tried some. His eyes were begging for some explanations, but you sighed: "Please. Don't ask."

"I'm not", Arthur put his hands up in defence and though he remained silent, you felt his gaze on you. Trying your very best to ignore it, you gulped down the beans.

"Y/N...", Arthur started.

"Mh?", you replied, mouth full, starring into the flames. The fire had become strong enough to withstand the occasional raindrop, but the air around you had cooled significantly.

"Is your wound okay?", Arthur asked, "You have some blood on your shirt..."

You checked the brownish stain on your shirt, it was indeed at the same height as your wound should be. The wound which should have healed by now.

"Did ya take the stitches out already?", Arthur inquired when he saw your sceptical look.

"Planned on doing it today, but some things came up", you shot back.

"Want me to have a look at it?", Arthur now offered, already changing his sitting position to better accommodate you.

When Arthur caught the slight questioning gleam in your eyes, he smiled softly. You weren't someone to trust easily – he knew, because he's like that too. Yet, despite the wall you both harboured, Arthur couldn’t help but worry. He wasn't sure if you felt the same, but the events of the afternoon had surely left an impression on him. The fact that you had rushed to his side and stabbed a man a few seconds before his light would have gone out...You had been so calm the last two weeks, but today you were visibly shaken. Arthur wasn't sure if there was some deeper meaning behind this or if he let hope dictate his thoughts.

"I ain't gonna hurt you", Arthur said gently, when you didn't answer.

"I know", you shrugged, setting down the can of beans, "I just think that your reasons for getting me to take of my clothes are somewhat unimaginative." You gave a cocky smile when Arthur released a shaky breath. He mumbled a 'You're insane woman’ as you slipped one arm through your sleeve and therefor exposed your bare side.

In a moment, Arthur's hand was on you again. You flinched a bit as his thumb grazed the flesh near the wound.

"Looks good. Just a slight tear, should be all healed up again by tomorrow", Arthur assessed.

"Good", you replied briefly, getting into your shirt again quickly enough to not let Arthur notice the gooseflesh that had formed at his touch. He still saw the blush on your cheeks though.

In a tender moment, your eyes locked in a silent connection, and in that instant, you discovered that his hand hadn't budged. It remained steadfast, gently resting beneath the fabric of your shirt. It was as if an unspoken agreement held you both captive, unwilling to release the intensity of your gaze, except for Arthur's occasional stolen glances towards your lips.

The feeling of wanting nothing more than to protect you overwhelmed Arthur. He wanted to claim you as his, but not in a selfish, unreflective manner. More as a testament that he still could feel so strongly for someone. Arthur wanted to ensure that love was still possible for him. So he leaned in and in a moment, his lips met yours. The touch was so soft and loving that neither Arthur nor you would have expected that your body jerked away. The same moment, your hand met Arthur's cheek, slapping him. It wasn't meant to hurt, it was more your natural answer to this sudden invasion.

"What the hell?", you mouthed breathlessly.

Arthur's head remained frozen in the position your slap had left it in. His lips had curled into a sad smile, his eyes now avoiding yours. The slap had inflicted a sting, but it was a peculiar sensation, not one he was used to from other brawls and beatings.

"Sorry", Arthur mumbled in a soft whisper. The sad smile didn't leave his face, as if something else would surface if he dared to change his expression. "Might have gotten somethings wrong...", he added. Still looking down, he adjusted his hat, so it threw a darker shadow over his eyes.

You found yourself stumbling over your words, caught between the urge to apologize and swear at him at the same time. But your incapability to express your emotions frustrated you deeply. You managed a loud enough "excuse me" for him to hear before you stood up and walked off. Not too far, just a few feet into the shelter of forest where you thought the light of the fire couldn't reach. Arthur watched you walk off. He figured you thought yourself shielded from his gaze, but he saw as you leaned against a tree, lightly bumping your head into the wet bark.

Arthur couldn't bear watching you for long, so he took his journal out and quickly started to write. It was a momentary update of his state of mind and purposefully, he left some space before he started to sketch the outlines of the dark forest and the campfire in front of him, knowing that you would dictate how this evening turned out for both of you.

However, it wasn't long until he heard your boots rustling through the twigs and leaves. Arthur looked up and his eyes followed you, until you were seated right next to him. The closeness surprised him, but he took it as a promising sign. It was a flicker of hope that soothed the anxiety that he had felt at the thought of having offended you seriously. You had your words prepared, but Arthur was faster: "'M sorry, y/n. I should've asked."

Your eyebrows knit together in a sceptical look. You thought about snorting and and mocking him by saying 'Micah's right when he told me you had gone soft' but deep down you knew that this was just further proof that Arthur was more than what meets the eye.

After you had cleared your throat, you said: "It's okay. I didn't mean to slap you, I was just...surprised."

"Remind me to never surprise you again", Arthur joked, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. With light-hearted spirit, he continued the drawing in his journal. You caught a glimpse, but quickly averted your gaze and instead stared into the fire. You sat right next to Arthur, your arms occasionally brushed against each other, yet he didn't bother closing his journal - seemingly unaffected by your presence.

You couldn't help yourself. It was too impressive to see the drawing come together. When he sketched the shadows of the trees, you could make out the raindrops, though he hadn't specifically drawn them. Your eyes became fixated on the tip of his pencil, captivated by its movements, unwilling to tear your gaze away. But it didn't feel right, not after the last time.

Arthur noticed you were restless, so he said in an affirming voice: "I don't mind you watching, ya know?"

"All of a sudden?"

Arthur shrugged and continued to draw: "Not like you learned to read the last couple days, did ya?"

"Maybe I did. Didn't have much to do recently", you teased.

"Sure", Arthur replied, knowing you were bluffing, "So? Read it out then!"

You helplessly stared at the letters he had written, with not one clue in the world what was spelled out there. You tried to come up with something that could have been written there, but you weren't quick enough. Arthur interrupted your thinking process: "Knew it."

You sighed in defeat but lightened up when Arthur chuckled at your frustrated response. Both of you listened to the crackle of the fire. In a silent agreement, every passing moment saw you inching closer, gradually, you leaned against him. Astonishingly, Arthur showed no signs of discomfort, allowing the newfound proximity to exist, as if it were the most natural and cherished space between you.

"I like your drawings, you know", you whispered.

"They ain't special", Arthur replied. He was done with his little painting of the scenery and skipped back two pages to reveal a sketch of a squirrel.

"How can you even draw that thing with those little fuckers moving around all the time? Was it dead when you drew it?", you asked in awe at the level of detail.

"No", Arthur replied, "I jus' remember how it looks like."

Amidst the crackling of the fire, you uttered words that were almost indistinguishable, your voice muffled by your mouth pressed against Arthur's arm. Perceiving your intent, he instinctively adjusted his arm, skilfully manoeuvring it around you. Both of you were now enveloped in a half-embrace and you let it happen willingly. This was exactly what you had been craving the last couple of days. It was unusual, and yet so welcoming and soothing.

You sat like that for a while before Arthur stated his intent of laying down. You replied you'd still sit and tend the fire for a while.

Arthur lied down on his bedroll, staring at the canvas that obstructed his vision of the night sky...which probably was cloudy anyways. Aside from the usual forest noises, it was silent. About fifteen minutes had passed, but Arthur was still far from falling asleep.

"It just has never worked out for me...every time I tried the whole trusting thing...it ended badly", you explained. Your voice ended the silence and caught Arthur's attention. He sat up again.

"'m sorry to hear that", Arthur answered, "But yer still young. There are plenty people out there. I'm sure you'll find someone. If ya weren't so bad behaved-"

"Hey!", you turned towards him, to see a sarcastic smile back at you. You wondered why he’d just said that, when he kissed you earlier. When he clearly wanted you.

Arthur continued in a teasing manner: "I thought you were a nasty companion at first too, but you’re alright if ya calm down a bit and let yer guard down."

"Could say the same about you", you drew circles in the dirt.

After a while, in which you felt Arthurs eyes on you, he said: "You should try 'n rest. There's nobody around."

"Maybe a bear passes by and attacks us."

"Sure", Arthur readjusted his bedroll, "You ain't much to chew on, so ya gonna have plenty of time for running as long as it's busy with me."

Arthur had adjusted his bedroll vertically, so you could at least put your upper body on something softer.

"I bet ya taste like shit. It won't bother with you for long", you grinned at the teasing, surprised to see that Arthur had arranged a sleeping setup that would benefit you both.

"No doubt", Arthur chuckled.

You looked at the bedroll.

"If ya don't mind sharing with an old man that tastes like shit, it might be more comfortable for you like that", Arthur offered and lied down, his head now resting on one part of the soft material, while still leaving enough space between you. You joined him in the grass, turning your back towards him and fixating on random trees in the darkness. It was difficult to get those words out, but you had promised yourself to at least try expressing some of your emotions.

“I…I don’t really care if there’s plenty people out there. I think, I already found the one I’d like to trust...” You might have rushed the delivery of those words, but Arthur had understood them very well. There was a boyish smirk on his lips when he answered.

“I don’t mean to offend, miss, but you picked a real weird fella.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Next chapter HERE

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