Chapter Text
“Has anyone seen-“
“She’s out talkin’ to Pearson,” Karen already has the answer to Arthur’s painfully obvious question. He tries to hide his flush behind the collar of his coat, hoping to deflect blame to the cold. It fools no one. Karen rolls her eyes dramatically while Mary-Beth and Tilly poorly attempt to muffle their giggles.
While Arthur has taken it upon himself to ensure the safety of all his fellow gang members, it’s no secret why he spends a majority of his time looking after you. Their teasing is vehemently ignored by the gruff outlaw to the best of his abilities. He briskly takes his leave with a tip of his hat before venturing out into the bitter chill Colter “graciously” provides them.
To say it’s been miserable would be an understatement. Lives were lost, and the spirits of the Van der Linde gang were fractured. Arthur wasn’t sure how to even begin rebuilding their faith; he believed his hands were only capable of destruction and bloodshed. But he could at least provide them with the basic necessities in the meantime: shelter, safety, and full bellies.
Arthur sees you at Pearson’s ramshackle “kitchen” with Charles. As he approaches he can practically feel the agitation radiating off you. Your brow is furrowed, arms crossed sternly over your chest with your bow slung over your shoulder.
“Listen, I just don’t think it’s a good idea sendin’ you out there alone.”
“And why is that, Mister Pearson?” You bite back, tone icier than the howling mountain winds. Pearson falters and looks to Charles for assistance in quelling your ire. He finds no such assistance.
“Now that we have Charles with us, there’s no need for a lady such as yourself to-”
“Might I remind you Mister Pearson, that this lady has been providing meat for your pot for well over six years now.” Your voice is even, calm, but your displeasure is greatly apparent.
“And I will continue to provide for the aforementioned pot as to see we all do not go hungry! Especially because Charles is currently suffering from an injury. Now,” you take a step closer. Pearson flinches in response.
“Is that a problem, Mister Pearson?” It’s posed as a question, but there’s a threat hidden among the syllables. Arthur doesn't think he's ever seen you so...fierce. He quickly finds he quite likes that side of you.
“I-I…” he nervously sputters, unable to meet your firm gaze. Charles continue to watch the spectacle unfold, mildly entertained, until Arthur finally decides to intervene. While watching Pearson continue to pour oil on an already raging fire is amusing, he can’t have the entire camp burning down on his watch.
“Well it certainly is nice know somebody can shut you up, Pearson,” Arthur laughs, clapping a hand on Charles’ shoulder before nodding his greeting to you. “My lady.” His presence seems to alleviate some of your tension, shoulders relaxing and eyes softening. You smile for the first time all morning.
At him of all people. It has a familiar heat rushing to his face, again, like some pathetic lovelorn boy. He mentally reprimands himself for acting needlessly foolish.
“Mister Morgan,” you greet him gently. You open your mouth to pursue a thought but Pearson has taken quite a liking to enraging you as he interjects.
“Arthur! Maybe you can talk some sense into this girl,” Pearson barks, rudely pointing at you. You scoff in defiance but Arthur cuts you off before the two of you can start up again. You don’t seem to mind as much when he interrupts you.
“Now, I think the lady has more sense than the three of us combined. And that ain’t sayin’ much, considerin’ you are included in that.” Arthur jabs at Pearson, pleasantly relieved when he's momentarily rendered speechless. The peace doesn’t last very long.
“It’ll be more beneficial if you and Charles do the huntin’ today. Y’know, two brutes such as yer’selves could bring back twice as much than the little lady could all by her lonesome.” Pearson tries his best to explain without angering you yet again. It doesn’t work.
This time Charles speaks up, hoping his logic can make it through Pearson’s overly thick skull. “As previously explained,” he holds up his bandaged hand, “my burns are too severe to be of any use. I can barely hold a bow, let alone draw one.”
“I think it’s in everyone’s best interest if we let her do the hunting in my stead. She is more than capable,” Charles turns to you with a small grin, “I’m more upset I won’t be able to join her this time.”
His praise has you stunned; such high regards from another accomplished hunter? You feel as if you yourself single-handedly hung the moon.
Many had doubted you, and the more stubborn folk had completely disregarded your ability simply because of your gender. Charles knows the feeling all too well, spat on and tossed aside, albeit it for different reasons. It’s gratifying to know that others recognize your capabilities as a huntress despite appearances.
Another smile is playing on Arthur’s lips at how overjoyed you look.
“I’ll go with her,” Arthur states, garnering the attention of both you and Pearson. “That way we’ll be able to bring back ‘twice as much’,” he mocks the cook’s hoarse voice and you try to stifle a snicker. Pearson throws his hands up, clearly outmatched and defeated with the lot of you.
“Fine! So long as we don’t starve, I don’t care anymore!” He promptly shoos the three of you out so he can enjoy the company of a lady called whiskey. At least he won’t find any ridicule at the bottom of a bottle.
“A pleasure as always, Mister Pearson,” you grouse, giving him a mocking curtsy before turning on your heels. You always tried to remain cordial, ladylike, but stubborn mules like Pearson thrived on testing your patience it seemed.
Arthur however seems to enjoy when you throw your manners to the wind, chuckling to himself. He sounds nice when he laughs, you think.
Perhaps you should be thanking Pearson, sincerely this time.
After all, his bleating did grace you with the rare (and exciting) opportunity to hunt with Mister Morgan himself.
You smile to yourself, hoping your giddiness goes unnoticed.
Arthur notices. And suddenly the Colter mountains don't feel too cold anymore.