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The morning started like any other. Though, if Arthur was honest with himself, he should’ve noticed something was wrong the minute you didn’t wake up before him. Usually, you were up well before dawn, having coffee with Dutch and Hosea or keeping John and Bill company while they were on watch. You almost never slept in. Not even when exhausted.
Still, Arthur shrugged it off. Yesterday had been pretty tough, especially with a bunch of Pinkerton’s stirring up trouble. He went about his morning routine, chopping firewood that the others were going to let rot, refilling the wash basins, that sort of thing. He whistled while he worked. If he was a more introspective man, he would’ve noticed that he hadn’t done that since he first started courting Mary. But as luck would have it, Arthur Morgan was about as far from introspective as he could get.
Then again, he did notice that something was different. He felt… happier. More at ease. And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that finding you in the Grizzlies had something to do with it.
Despite the hundred-and-something year time difference, you’d adjusted well to the past–well, Arthur’s present. Your past. But you were getting along better than he’d thought you would when he first met you. A few months ago, you’d been skittish as a mouse–an oddly dressed mouse at that. Now, you were pulling your own weight in the Van Der Linde gang, with little help from Arthur. Granted, there were still a few things he had to teach you, but they weren’t all that pressing.
He’d started courting you a few months ago. Still slightly unsure of himself (something he didn’t attribute to anything but plain bad luck), it had taken nearly everything he had just to ask you on a proper date. It turned out, ironically enough, to be the one year anniversary of your arrival in the Grizzlies.
Arthur could tell you were nervous about the courtship, telling him first that you hadn’t seen anyone romantically for a long time, and then eventually confessing that you’d never been in anything official. He understood–always did–and said he wouldn’t push you toward anything you didn’t want. Much to his relief, you’d said you did want this… want him. And hell, if that didn’t make him feel like the luckiest man alive, he didn’t know what would.
But when it was almost noon and you still hadn’t woken up, Arthur couldn’t ignore the knot in his gut anymore. He carefully stepped inside the tent the two of you shared. You were lying on your side, hugging your knees to your chest, eyes tightly shut. Your breathing sounded ragged and quick–too ragged and quick for his liking. Carefully, Arthur knelt by you and brushed his fingers over your forehead. No signs of a fever. Good. The last thing you needed was to get sick.
“Y/N,” he murmured, trying to keep his tone as gentle as possible. “Darlin’, what’s the matter?”
You didn’t say anything, didn’t even open your eyes. Arthur felt the knot in his stomach grow.
“Y/N,” he tried again, but this time, you cut him off.
“I wanna be alone for a while.”
He tried not to let your words cut him too deeply, but he couldn’t help the hurt that flashed across his face. It unnerved him, how you were acting. Normally, nothing could phase your happy-go-lucky personality, your quirky antics he’d grown to enjoy.
(Dare he say love?)
Still, he figured he’d give you your space. It wasn’t like he was a stranger to alone time. But as he turned to step out of the tent, before he could put even one foot into the sunlight, your voice stopped him.
“W-wait.”
Something about the way your voice trembled made his heart break. Arthur froze mid-stride and knelt by you again, figuring you would continue when you were ready.
It was some time before you finally sat up and looked at him. Your eyes were red and swollen, and you wore an expression he hated seeing on anyone, let alone you.
“I…” Your lower lip trembled as you spoke. “I’m sorry.”
Arthur frowned and took your hand in his. “For what, darlin?”
“…For making you worry.” You took a deep breath. “It’s just…”
As you looked away, Arthur patiently waited for you to keep going. He wouldn’t push you. Not now, not ever.
“Sometimes I get these thoughts,” you eventually said, almost too quietly for him to hear. “I… I don’t want to get them, but… well… they’re terrifying.”
He nodded, trying to understand. “What’re they about?”
You averted your eyes again, but then looked back at him after a moment of hesitation. Arthur watched as you opened and closed your mouth, clearly trying to choose your next words carefully.
“If you can’t tell me,” he said as he brushed a strand of hair from your face, “you don’t have to.”
Careful not to alarm you, he pulled you into his arms and rested his chin on top of your head. You tensed against him for a second, then melted into his embrace. He tried not to wonder what that meant.
“You always got me, sweetheart,” he promised. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”