Chapter Text
Camping on the roadside was something that you and Arthur had vastly different experiences with.
To Arthur, spending time away from the gang’s camp was usually a welcomed change of pace. There was something satisfying about building his own fire and pitching his tent and just idling for a little while as the sun turned overhead. Life in camp was a community affair, and as much as Arthur liked his little space nestled against one of the wagons, getting away from everyone’s noise for a couple nights made him just as content.
You, on the other hand, were restless, much to Arthur’s annoyance. To you, camp was secure; it was anchored and it was sound. Living in a tent on the side of the road made you feel vulnerable, made you feel watched. You never understood how Arthur could just fall asleep with no one watching out for him but his horse.
As evening approached, you sat fidgeting by the fire, casting glances down to the road and trying to distract yourself from your own fretfulness by going over your plan again with Arthur, who lounged against a rock with journal in hand and gun by his side. Your makeshift home-away-from-home was perched on a rocky outcropping that rose above the road just enough to keep you out of sight.
Dutch had sent the two of you out to catch a stagecoach headed through Valentine towards Saint Denis. You had caught wind of the small fortune it likely held, as it belonged to a particularly successful landowner coming from some business in Blackwater. According to your sources, the coach was meant to leave from Valentine in the morning and pass through the plains by the main road, right past where you and Arthur laid in wait.
The job itself was hardly worth your worry, for you and Arthur both had robbed stagecoaches plenty of times, and you worked well together. No, it was the waiting that drove you stir-crazy. You wanted to move. You alternated between pacing back and forth slowly while reading over some notes you had jotted down and sitting on your bedroll, nervously tapping your knee and listening to the fire pop and crackle.
Meanwhile, Arthur sat calmly, listening to your muttering and flipping through his journal. He had just finished writing out his stray thoughts about the robbery, and was absently sketching your horse that stood hitched nearby. Arthur knew well enough that you had your reasons for fretting — it was wild country — but you were starting to make him anxious and your pacing was fixing to drive him over the cliff.
“Y/n, can you stay still for just twenty minutes?” he finally said, setting his journal down in his lap. You looked up from your notes as if you hadn’t even realized what you were doing, before glancing down at your feet. It was almost comical, and Arthur was having a hard time not breaking the stern expression he had donned.
“Sorry,” was all you mumbled as you plopped back down by the fire, your gaze returning quickly to the scrap of paper in your hands. Arthur eyed you expectantly for a moment, returning to his journal once he was sure you had settled. Every few minutes he would glance up again, though you never seemed to notice, and he smirked.
Not long after the sun had gone down, you let your papers fall into your lap with a loud sigh. You had finally decided that you were as ready as you were going to be, and all that there was left to do now was wait and watch. You feared it was going to be a long night.
Your gaze wandered across the fire to the man sitting next to you. Arthur had one knee drawn up to prop up his journal, and you watched curiously as his brows knit over whatever he was scribbling onto the page. You craned your neck, trying to be discrete as you moved to catch a glimpse of what he was drawing.
“I ain’t drawin’ you, if thats what yer wondering,” he stated, deadpan, not even looking up from the page. You sat back, huffing out a little laugh.
“I can’t help that I’m curious,” you said imploringly. Arthur hummed and continued to sketch. It wasn’t until your attention had wandered elsewhere that he glanced up at you once more. The firelight caught in your eyes as you kept vigil, and the dancing shadows over your face made your features difficult to capture, but at least you had stopped moving so much.
The moon was high overhead by the time you had decided to get some rest, and you sleepily murmured your goodnight to Arthur as you curled into your bedroll.
“G’night,’ he muttered. He waited until he was sure you were asleep before placing his journal down in his lap and letting the dying firelight flicker over it. It wasn’t a perfect likeness by any means, not for the amount of time he had spent on it, but he supposed that meant you would just have to go camping together again sometime.
Arthur smiled at the thought, and settled in to keep watch until morning.