Chapter Text
The reservation was quiet when Charles arrived on Taima. He greeted the few guards that had spotted him, dismounting her tiredly. His bones honestly felt like jelly, and he was all too ready to drop.
“Can you take care of her, please? I’ve been hard on her today,” Charles said to the man who came to take her to the other horses, Matoskah.
Matoskah nodded with a sombre smile. He was usually the one looking after Taima, to the point that she had begun seeking him out whenever they arrived at the reservation. It was also how he knew that Charles had been running himself to the ground for the past few weeks.
Charles travelled through the reservation, greeting whoever greeted him, though he mostly went ignored. It was late, and there weren’t a lot of people awake. He found himself up during the night time more than he did during the daytime, which was certainly strange.
He found Chief Rains Fall tipi quickly and hesitated. Maybe he should wait until morning in case the chief was asleep - again, it was late. He’d be able to get some hunting done in the meantime, since he knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.
“Charles?” Rains Fall called from inside. “Come in, don’t stay long in the cold outside.”
Charles cleared his throat and entered, embarrassment coursing through him. He glanced around, glad that Rains Fall didn’t seem to be settling into bed anytime soon, and immediately felt ashamed for being glad about it.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Charles began, eyes fixating on the map spread out on the ground.
“Don’t be. Sit, you’re always welcome,” Rains Fall replied with the gentle curve of his lips.
Charles sat, gracelessly, in his opinion. He always felt out of place at the reservation, especially when he was near Rains Fall, a man so intune with his culture and his people… and Charles, who’s real name felt unfamiliar on his tongue.
Rains Fall studied him quietly, like he always did when Charles sought him out personally. The smile fell slowly from his lips, and his expression shifted into something more worried.
“Are you alright, Charles?”
Of course, Charles almost said instinctually. He stared at Rains Fall’s face for too long, trying to convince himself that the understanding in his face was real. Rains Fall was an honourable man, he wouldn’t lie so blatantly like that.
“I… I noticed that the Wapiti wear their hair long,” Charles started, dipping his head, curtaining his expression in his own long hair. “I… was wondering… if you cut it in mourning…”
He was a fool. He couldn’t even say what he wanted properly, and he was a few years off thirty.
Rains Fall broke the silence with a quiet, but smarting, “Oh , Charles…”
Charles dug his teeth into the flesh of his cheeks, blinking back tears. He had thought about the decision for weeks now, turning it over and over again in his head. Now, speaking it out loud…
“I- I wanted to cut my hair. But- I uh, don’t know how to do it myself,” he explained, almost frantically, like he had to convince Rains Fall. “If- if your people consider it disrespectful to cut hair- I understand.”
“Charles,” Rains Fall said. Charles jerked his head up and met his eyes; achingly soft, painfully understanding. “Would you like me to cut your hair for you?”
Charles nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Rains Fall rose and stepped over to place a warm, grounding hand on his shoulder.
“I will return in a moment. Please make yourself comfortable.”
Charles nodded again, watching as Rains Fall left. He felt too big and too clumsy in his skin. He breathed through the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and ran his hands through his hair.
It was too easy to think of that night, twenty years ago, his father’s hand in his scalp.
Breathe , he told himself. Just. Breathe.
Rains Fall worked quietly, movements so tender they burned. He sat behind Charles, carefully running a comb through his hair, and shaving the sides of his head. It felt strange to be touched so gently, as if he were glass.
Rains Fall hands were calloused but experienced. Charles was sure they were usually trembling from his age, but now they were as sure as any hunter’s.
It was heard to breathe while his hair was being cut.
After Charles had explained the situation - the person he loved might not be dead, but he hadn’t seen them in weeks, and they probably were - Rains Fall had explained how his hair would be cut.
Only down the sides of his head, leaving a section on the top because- it was possible- that Arthur wasn’t dead yet.
Rains Fall finished cutting his hair, though Charles was only sure because his hands fell away from his head. Charles let out a careful, measured sigh, his head strangely light after not cutting his hair for so long.
“Charles,” Rains Fall said after a moment, like he was giving Charles the time to process it. “Would you like me to braid your hair?”
Charles froze, staring dumbly at the canvas walls as he absorbed the words. He tried to speak, and had to clear his throat twice. His lips parted. Closed. Adam’s apple bobbed.
“
Please
,” he answered hoarsely.
Charles emerged from Rains Fall tipi and had to shield his eyes from the morning light streaming through the woods. He realised, with a wave of guilt washing over him, that the sun was rising in the sky over the reservation.
Maybe, somewhere, Arthur was watching the same sun rise.
He walked over to where they kept the horse, noticing once again that unlike the gang - if you could even call it that anymore - the Wapiti people were all early risers.
He self-consciously ran a hand over the shaven sides of his head, reaching the horses quickly.
“Charles! You stayed a lot longer than you usually do,” Matoskah called, approaching him. He stilled when he noticed Charles’ hair. Charles stood and wondered if he was supposed to say something about it. “Your hair…”
Charles tried to smile as Taima wandered over. She snorted and bumped her head against his, apparently trying to figure out where half his hair had gone.
“You think it looks alright? Rains Fall cut it for me, and I don’t know how good his eyesight is anymore…” Charles tried to joke.
It worked. At the minimum, it surprised a chuckle out of Matoskah. “Don’t worry, it looks just fine.”
“Good,” Charles said, mostly to himself. While he made sure Taima’s tack was adjusted properly, Matoskah walked over and patted his shoulder.
“I know you’re looking after your own folk on top of ours, but remember to take care of yourself, alright?” Matoskah told him.
Charles mounted Taima, again, unused to having none of his hair in his face as he did. “Alright,” he agreed, though he wasn’t sure if he could stay true to his word.
Lakay was a real shit hole, but he and Sadie barely had time to haul the gang out of Shady Belle, let alone find somewhere nice to stay. It was still in Lemoyne, but no one wanted to risk crossing state lines in the fragile condition they were in.
The first person to see Charles was Lenny. After being shot three times in the stomach, he was supposed to spend a month and a half in bed, but the boy had insisted on being useful, so they pretended like they needed a guard.
“It’s me!” Charles called, because he knew Lenny would try to stand if he didn’t announce himself.
Lenny stood anyway, eyes wide. Charles dismounted Taima and was about to tell him to sit back down-
“Your hair,” Lenny gasped, bewildered.
Charles gave a curt nod, and forced his hand to stay by his side. He didn’t want to ruin the braid that Rains Fall had meticulously threaded together. “What about it?”
“It- it looks good,” Lenny managed, nodding to himself. “Looks real nice, Charles.”
Charles hummed dubiously, untacking Taima for the day. He had made a quick trip to a nearby town to pick up a few supplies for the gang then doubled back, so he doubted he’d be heading anyway on Taima soon.
“I… I know why Native Americans cut their hair,” Lenny intoned as Charles hauled the saddle off Taima and put it on the ground.
Charles glanced at him, only a little surprised, because Lenny read more books than Mary-Beth sometimes. Of course, it was mostly educational books he read, history ones, though he hadn’t realised they published any on Native American culture.
“Right,” Charles said, finding a peppermint in his pocket for Taima.
“I just... I think he’s still alive. He survived three days with O’Driscoll, and he’s hardy, you know? If he did end up somewhere, I’m sure the law would be announcing it as much as they could.”
Charles nodded in agreement. “That’s why we have you on look-out. So you can greet him when he comes back.”
“Aye, Captain,” Lenny chirped, but he had to sit back down after standing became too laborious. “I’ll tell Kieren to look after Taima for you.”
“Thanks,” Charles murmured as he passed. He made a mental note to have Grimshaw look over Lenny’s gunshot wounds once night fell, because the boy would argue about staying outside until then.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Lenny check the time on his father’s pocket watch.
Charles had gotten the story after dragging Lenny off that rooftop during the Saint Dennis job. He had left Lenny in an abandoned building, promising to return, while he made sure the rest of the gang could escape.
He guessed that they did manage to escape because of his distraction, onto a boat heading to who knew where. He had returned to Saint Dennis in the dead of night and found Lenny delirious and losing blood but alive, kept him awake by making conversation, and Lenny had told him that if he was going to die, Charles should take his pocket watch.
“Not real’ m’ne. ‘S my pa’s…” a shuddering breath tore through Lenny. It was only a little closer to camp, if he just held on for a little longer- “If I die, you take it, alright?”
“You’re not going to die,” Charles muttered, pushing Taima faster, wishing she could go faster.
“Sure… wha’ter… ya say…”
Charles entered the cabin where they kept the food supplies and noticed that Pearson wasn’t in. Pearson was usually cooking at all hours of the day, even though there were a lot less people to feed now.
“You in here, Charles? If Lenny is lyin’ to me I-” Charles heard a gun being drawn, followed by Sadie’s drawl, “Who the hell are you?”
He turned around and raised an eyebrow at her, not bothering to put his hands up in surrender. “Charles Smith?”
Sadie stared at him, uncomprehending. She holstered her gun and tilted her head, as if it would give her a better look at him.
“Sorry, didn’t recognise you,” she explained, sounding faintly mystified. “Your… you changed it. Thought you folk weren’t allowed to cut it.”
Charles shrugged one of his shoulders and turned back to organising the supplies. “Some tribes don’t, other’s do.”
“How come?” she asked, and he had the feeling she was raising an eyebrow. “You take care of your hair better than me, sometimes.”
“I… It’s a sign I’m in mourning. That I lost a loved one. My mother told me that cutting it took the pain away with it, so…” he trailed off.
Sadie was silent. He heard her boots across the floor, and then he was suddenly being hugged around the shoulder. He forced himself to relax into it.
“You’re too sentimental for an outlaw,” Sadie sighed into his shoulder. “Hey, want me to put your ma’s ribbon in your hair? ‘S not like I’m using it at the moment, I’ll just tie it ‘round the bottom.”
Charles nodded, wishing he’d had a sister like her growing up. Her last name already meant eagle. “That’d be nice.”
It felt strange to be in the gang without Arthur.
No matter how long he spent away on his trips, his presence was a constant. His contributions to camp, his tent and wagon that people seemed to consider camp property…
The list went on. You could always figure out where he was by asking around, since he would ask if anyone needed anything from the place he was going.
His presence was in his tent, of which he rarely had the canvas walls pinned down, in the books he bought for Mary-Beth, the knitting materials he found for Grimshaw, and all the other trinkets he brought home with him.
Charles missed him, if he was going to be honest.
But if Arthur was dead, there was nothing that could be done about it.
Hosea shared as many dumb stories about Arthur as he could once everyone was inside for the evening to catch up before splitting to sleep.
He figured that once Arthur’s ghost got wind of his antics, it would be so embarrassed it would jump right back into his body to strangle Hosea himself.
Charles could smile in Hosea’s mirthful company. He felt a little more at ease, but at the same time he could feel the gang’s - or what remained of them - eyes on his hair.
Only Lenny and Sadie had properly asked about it.
Hosea hadn’t needed to, simply told Charles to have faith. Sadie probably asked the ladies when they asked and Lenny most definitely told Sean about it, so the only people who thought Charles had just wanted a haircut were…
Uncle and Pearson.
Not a surprising pair.
A few weeks later, a light rain had started and Charles found himself braiding his hair, idly. He had made plans to visit the reservation today, but the sky made it seem the rain would get heavier, so he decided tomorrow was the safer option.
Despite the drizzling, Pearson was outside. He had insisted that preparing fish in the rain took the stink away, and Abigail stood outside to keep him company, and Sadie went out with them to keep watch.
Lenny wasn’t allowed outside, much to his annoyance - there was too much risk in him getting sick with the rain. To pass the time he tried to teach Sean how to read, who had been stuck in bed the past few weeks.
They were definitely a sight, both fatally injured but still kicking.
A commotion began outside while Charles was finishing braiding his hair. He was a little amazed that the end of his braid almost reached his waist.
He turned away from the small room the gang had decided was his, hoping that Pearson and Abigail weren’t starting some petty argument.
But all movement - physical or otherwise - halted when he saw who was standing in the doorway.
Arthur Fucking Morgan.
His skin was bright red with sunburn and he looked tired, deep eye bags stamped on his face and a sickly tinge to whatever part of his skin that wasn’t red, but he was alive.
Charles almost pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
“It’s good to see you,” Arthur said to Tilly, as if he hadn’t been missing for more than a month. He peeked into the partitioned off area Uncle was snoozing in and rattled his hammock. “Get up you old man!”
He laughed at Uncle’s griping and moved further into the cabin, expressing shocked but pleasant surprise at Lenny’s survival and remarking how well Sean was going with his healing.
He shook hands with Hosea, grinning, embracing briefly, before finally, after a goddamn lifetime turning his eyes to Charles.
Charles couldn’t help himself.
He practically tackled Arthur, hugging him so tightly he was almost afraid he’d break some ribs. Arthur made some faint choking noises - the sunburns , a part of him hissed, and promptly didn’t care.
Arthur embraced him tightly, skin too hot and ribs poking into Charles, but he was alive and it felt like nothing else mattered.
“I can’t believe you’re alive,” Charles blurted out once they parted, staring at Arthur’s still blue-green eyes. Alive, alive, alive.
Arthur looked equally glad to see him. “Me neither, to be honest…”
“You’ve got to tell me what happened.”
It was a long and winding story, but Arthur managed to explain it all eventually, aided by aloe vera that Charles applied over his sunburns and the drink Lenny had placed in his hand.
“I’m sorry, you tellin’ me you went to the Caribbean Islands… and decided to come back?!” Sadie questioned incredulously, to the uproar of slaughter.
“Sadie Adler, listen when I tell you and listen well, I don’t care if we get that money I refuse to get on another boat and or go to Tahiti!” Arthur declared, evidently not as sober as he’d started.
People prodded him for more details and he gave them, albeit sparsely. He said he didn’t really know what had happened himself, after getting drowned then concussed.
He kept glancing at Charles, grinning like a fool. Charles could only grin back, just as dumbly.
Eventually, people began to simmer down and folks went to their cabins to sleep. Charles’ room was the best, so he offered Arthur it.
Surprisingly, Arthur had remained in a good mood throughout the entirety of the night, despite the many empty bottles surrounding him.
He was damned drunk, but acting like he had won the lottery three times over.
“Charles…” he mumbled into Charles’ shoulder. Charles was - trying to - lug him into the cot, but he was holding on tighter than a rat to a glue trap.
Charles groaned internally and all but threw Arthur onto the bed. He sighed in relief when Arthur didn’t try to leave, though it was immediately spoiled by Arthur grabbing the end of his braid.
Well, grabbing was a crude word.
It was more like Charles had turned to leave, find someplace else to stay for the night, and Arthur’s hand had tried to pull him back by his shirt. Only he missed, and his hand curled around Charles’ hair instead.
There was no tug, and Arthur didn’t fully tighten his fingers around it, but Charles froze nonetheless.
“Your hair…” he mumbled, fingers curled loosely around it. “You cut your beautiful… hair…”
“You’re drunk, Arthur,” Charles replied, not as exasperated as all the other times he had said it. “Get some rest… we’ve both had a long, long month.”
Arthur mumbled something again, and pulled at Charles’ shirt until he leaned in closer.
“What is it?” Charles asked, and Arthur leaned real close in his ear…
“Ain’t you tired? Plenty of space in this bed…”
Charles guessed Arthur wasn’t wrong, it was a double bed, but-
Before he could decline, Arthur grabbed him by the arm with surprising strength for a man on the verge of passing out and dragged him onto the bed. He shuffled over to one side of the bed but threw his arm awkwardly over Charles’ chest, effectively trapping him.
“ You get some rest,” Arthur mumbled, his tone hilariously accusing. “You look… mighty tired, Charles…”
Charles wanted to retort that they were all tired, but Arthur had conked out. He sighed, guessing an actual bed was better than the floor.
He closed his eyes, and for the first time in what felt like - and actually might be - two decades, he fell asleep within moments.
Eventually, Charles woke, but he didn’t find himself irritated about it.
He had something warm pressed to his chest, in his arms, and his face was in someone’s hair. Something heavy was resting on his upper arm, and he realised after a few seconds that he hadn’t woken up to the sun rising.
He blinked a few times and took in surroundings. The spacious cabin room, the sun outside the window that indicated it was eight something in the morning… and Arthur, sleeping peacefully in his arms.
Charles startled internally, but he didn’t dare move in case he woke Arthur. Arthur looked a lot younger in his sleep, though it was possible that Guarma had aged him by several years.
Charles… didn’t mind it.
The peace of the morning, the somewhat refreshed feeling in his body after spending so long begging for sleep that seemed like it would never come. Arthur shifted slightly, as if he could hear Charles’ thoughts, and blearily opened his eyes.
“Mornin’ Charles,” he murmured. He tipped his head and pressed a kiss onto Charles’ jaw like it was an everyday occurrence. “It ain’t time for wakin’ yet, is it?”
Charles couldn’t think very well, staring down at Arthur’s sleepy expression, as if they were some domestic couple and not the vicious outlaws they were, currently on the run.
“I’m afraid it is,” he managed, slowly extracting himself from Arthur.
Arthur groaned and buried his face into the pillow, hangover suddenly clicking in. Charles offered a sympathetic smile and murmured that he was leaving the room.
“I’ll be out just- just give me a minute!” Arthur called hoarsely as Charles left.
Charles was a bit busy pondering what the hell had just happened, so busy he almost walked right into Abigail.
“Woah, Charles, you’re a bit red in the face there,” she laughed, though her face was pinched in concern.
“‘S just the heat,” he muttered in response, rubbing his face. She looked at him dubiously, but took his words at face value and strode off.
Charles had already convinced himself to head over to the reservation, and even though Arthur was all but pleading to come with him, he forced him to stay at Lakay.
“You can ride when you don’t look like you’re about to pass out,” Charles called, patting Taima on the neck.
“You look like you’re about to pass out!” Arthur shouted back indignantly, but everyone else thought that Charles looked the most well-rested they had seen him… since meeting him.
Charles rolled his eyes fondly. “I’ll be back ‘fore sunset, so don’t go lookin’ for me or trouble, alright?”
“I don’t go looking for trouble,” Arthur grumbled, and there was a point that could be made that trouble just went looking for Arthur in particular.
“Stay safe,” Charles told the gang generally, though his eyes were on Arthur.
Arthur smirked, almost smug, and tipped his head. “Stay safe.”
Matoskah stared at Charles for a long time when he arrived.
He undid Taima’s saddle without even having to look, which was rather impressive. “For some reason… you look like you slept a full night for once. You still look terrible, but somewhat rested."
“Thank you, Matoskah,” Charles replied dryly, looking at the things he had brought for Rains Fall.
“Ey, you’re welcome! I am sure the chief will be glad to see you sleeping… for once.”
Charles rolled his eyes and walked away, though not before shoving a sugar cube down Matoskah’s shirt so Taima went looking for it.
“ Hey ! You really are an outlaw!” Matoskah cried, trying to fend off an extremely determined Taima.
“Chief Rains Fall, I have the things you asked for,” Charles said as he entered the tipi, pulling out an envelope as cash as well as the twenty vaccines he’d managed to find.
“Thank you greatly, your contributions always make a difference,” Rains Fall replied, taking the things. He paused, and scrutinised Charles’ appearance. “How did you rest last night?”
In the same bed as the man I’ve been pining over for the better half of a year, Charles thought immediately.
“Well,” he said aloud. “I rested well.”
Rains Fall smiled carefully, weathered with age but still proud. “I’m glad.”
Charles returned to Lakay a few hours in the afternoon. He hated being so close to Saint Dennis, but it felt like they didn’t have a choice until the rest of the gang returned.
He was all too willing to abandon Dutch, Micah and Bill, but Javier didn’t deserve that treatment.
He did a few chores around Lakay as he usually did. He noticed that Arthur was missing, but didn’t let himself worry.
If something had happened to him while he was gone, he was sure the gang would have tell him.
Indeed, just a few minutes before sunset, Arthur appeared.
“Here I thought you had run off again,” Charles told him, stifling a sigh of relief.
“Just stretchin’ my legs, Charles. Weren’t a lot of horses in Guarma,” Arthur explained, jumping down from Pegasus.
“Mhm, bring back anythin’ good?”
Arthur got a mischievous look in his eyes, and he crossed his arms. “I’ll show you if you walk with me.”
Charles raised an eyebrow, but with all his business done for the day, he had nothing better to do. He agreed, and Arthur led them to the boundaries of the town they were using as camp.
They walked slowly, in comfortable silence, until they came upon a small overlook. Arthur sat on its edge, swinging his legs, so Charles sat beside him.
“So, do I get to see this mystery prize, or am I waitin’ till we’re in Canada?” Charles asked, realising they were shoulder to shoulder.
“Hold your horses,” Arthur chuckled, grabbing something wrapped in brown paper from his satchel.
Charles hummed and watched the setting sun. He liked it far more than he liked watching the sunrise. The sky was painted with vibrant purples and pinks, impossibly beautiful between the slowly encroaching navy blue of night.
Arthur handed him to the package, and Charles set it in his lap to unwrap. He was expecting some trinket that Arthur had found, maybe a carved statue, definitely not a gleaming knife with a deer bone hilt.
He blinked at it.
Tested its balance and checked its weight.
Pressed the gentle curve of its hilt against his palm.
“Arthur, this is-” he began.
“-The least I can do for you,” Arthur interrupted, watching the sunset. “You’ve saved my life a dozen times over now, and helped the gang even though you don’t owe them nothing. You deserve somethin’ nice in a while, don’t you think?
Charles stared at the knife in his hands, blade so sharp it seemed to slice the sunset’s rays in half.
“Thank you, Arthur,” Charles said eventually. It was all he could say.
A smile twitched at Arthur’s lips, and he gazed out at the horizon in quiet contemplation. “Forgive me if I’m being… crude… but your hair…”
“You don’t like it?” Charles asked, mostly teasing.
Arthur’s eyes widened regardless, and he shook his head. “I think- I think you look mighty fine as you always do, er, Charles. Just, curious, you know, since you never let anyone touch it…”
Charles took a moment deliberating whether or not to tell him the truth. It had been easy with Sadie and Lenny, since they weren’t Arthur.
He swallowed, and tightened his hand around the knife’s grip.
“It signifies that I… lost someone I loved. You cut the hair to take the pain away, at least, that’s what my mother always said,” he murmured.
“Charles…” Arthur said slowly. “I’m real sorry-“
“-It was you,” Charles cut him off. “I thought I lost you when you didn’t turn up after the first few weeks. But then you showed up again. In one piece too.”
It took a moment for it to click:
“…You love me?” Arthur asked weakly.
Charles managed a self-deprecating laugh. “I wouldn’t have stayed so long if I didn’t. I’m sorry, I know you’re sweet on Mary.”
“I’m not. Sweet on Mary,” Arthur corrected. Charles frowned immensely to himself, so he elaborated. “We broke it off when we met back when we were in Horseshoe Overlook... I thought you knew?”
Charles stared at him in shock, not sure if he was relieved or mortified. Arthur stared back, the same level of shock, but for a different reason.
“You love me,” Arthur said more than he asked.
Charles replied by pressing his lips against Arthur’s - a chaste, barely countable kiss.
“You kissed me this morning,” Charles grumbled, amazed at how much more red a man could go despite being sunburnt.
“I… might have thought I was dreaming?” Arthur explained dumbly. His fingers brushed his lips, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.
“Arthur Morgan,” Charles said, exasperated.
“…Yes?” Arthur replied, sounding vaguely explained s
“C’mere, you dense, dense fool.”
Charles grabbed him by shirt and kissed him again. Arthur’s ensuing laugh was kind and bright, the most beautiful thing Charles had heard in his life.
Arthur’s hand came to rest on the nape of Charles’ neck.
Arthur was basically pouting when they pulled away.
“Your poor hair,” he muttered, as if it was his own that had been shorn off.
“It’s your fault for disappearing on a boat for a month,” Charles retorted.
Arthur huffed, but it was contradicted as he cradled Charles’ face in his hands. “Sorry, didn’t mean to.”
Charles grinned, placing his hands on top of Arthur’s.
“I’m sure you can make it up to me.”
He placed another kiss onto Arthur’s lips, slower, gentler, like they had all the time in the world. He rested his forehead against Arthur’s, feeling okay with the prospect of tomorrow coming.
“Hey, Charles?” Arthur asked quietly.
Charles hummed. The sky was slowly fading into darkness above them, and the sun had almost disappeared below the horizon. “Yes?”
“I love you.”
Charles smiled, brushing some of Arthur’s hair behind his ear, realising it had grown long in his time away.
“I love you too.”