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The sun rose carefully over the horizon. The warm beams kissed the trees of the forest, morning finally come, but Arthur had been awake for hours. He can’t remember the last time he slept, let alone rested.
The small clearing he finds himself in isn’t much, just a reliable hunting spot. But to Arthur, it was something more. It was a place where there weren’t overwhelming scents of alphas and betas. Here, he could just be, without having to worry about any of that.
With a good amount of game strapped to his horse, perhaps far more than he needed, Arthur knew he should be getting back to camp. Someone always needed something—Dutch always needed something—and the sooner he got going, the sooner he could be out again, on another job.
And yet, he couldn’t make himself move.
Why?
Well, Arthur shifted against the log he sat in front, he knew why. Was it selfish, to just want a bit more time to himself? He thought it over as his pen moved along his journal pages. Switching from an entry about the latest job he’d done for Dutch, to an unfinished depiction of the clearing in front of him. Yeah, it probably was.
Guilt settles in his chest, a weighted, heavy feeling. He knows he has to get up soon, there really isn’t any other choice, and he hates that he’s even hesitating. Everyone at camp needs him to keep working, and here he is, wasting time. Even if Dutch is forever chasing that “one last heist”, he needs Arthur to be by his side. And yet, here he sits, miles away.
The uneasiness these thoughts have brought forward is calmed somewhat when a breeze blows through the area. A scent—familiar and full—is brought to him.
It’s a mixture of the bold smell of the forest trees they’d go hunting in; the fresh smell of grass in the camps they rested in; the smell of lemon bar soap, ever so slightly; but most of all, it's the heady smell of an alpha. His alpha. Charles.
He rides his horse into the clearing in the same calm, self-assured manner he does most things. That feeling is contagious, and Arthur lets himself rest a bit more, breathe a bit easier.
“Arthur,” Charles nods to him. He gets off his horse and walks over. Doesn’t make Arthur come to him; treats him like an equal, and goes to his mate himself. Even that, such a simple gesture, is one he’s starved of and makes his heart lift.
“Charles,” he greets back, and he can’t stop the smile that appears on his lips. Like a schoolboy with a crush, and yet, when Charles sits next to him, close enough so their shoulders brush, arms against one another, but choosing his left side so Arthur can continue to draw if he wants, he can’t find it in himself to stop the grin.
Arthur puts his journal away; gives his alpha his full attention. Charles smiles, easily, right back at him: “Been a while since I’ve seen you in camp.”
Arthur nods. He tried to come back to camp more often, not wanting to worry his alpha, but at the same time, Dutch always had something else for him to do. The moments he got to himself were few and far between, and the moments between him and his mater were fewer and further. It seemed they only got this: the times when Charles would come looking for him, on Dutch's request.
“Been huntin’,” he says, in lieu of an apology. He fails to mention the people he’s gone after recently, beating them for their debt money. Or the stagecoach robbery that ended worse off than he’d have liked, with a bad brawl with two alphas.
Charles knows all this, of course. Even if he weren’t Arthur’s alpha, the scent of an omega that had been in a bad scrap is unmistakable. And he’s covered in two other alpha’s scents, overlaying that of his bond. Charles must smell it, be aching to scent him again and reclaim his body, but he holds off. He knows that Arthur tries to please everyone in his life, and fears the ire that comes from lack of doing so. He needs to take things at his own pace, so Charles lets him. Doesn’t push when Arthur gives no further explanation.
“Caught a lot,” he says, nodding to Arthur’s horse. The whitetail on the back, the few rabbits on this side, and what looks some kind of bird on the other side isn’t bad at all.
Arthur perks up at the praise, “I’ve got more in my satchel, too.”
“So you’ve been eating then?” Charles questions, his tone light, even though he knows the answer. He reaches for his own bag, passing over a piece of jerky.
“Been busy, s’all.” Arthur eats the food, gladly. It’s almost serene, sitting in the rising sun’s light, Charles by his side.
They sit in silence for a little, enough for the sky to bleed more orange than blue. Charles turns to Arthur, and he didn’t even have to ask before Arthur is barring his neck, showing his bond mark, and silently asking for him to scent him. He wastes no time in making Arthur smell like his once more, kisses and a few bites placed on his neck for good measure.
It calms the omega, making him feel better than he had since... Well, since he had left camp, and Charles, about a week ago. It’s almost enough to make doze off, but—
“Have you been sleeping?”
Arthur bites back a sigh. He knew his mate would ask this, because it’s so obvious he hasn’t. This morning was the first that he’d not been constantly moving since he left camp.
“Been busy,” he says again, voice sounding smaller than he meant it to. “Dutch needed me.”
That causes Charles to pull away, and makes Arthur wish he hadn’t said anything.
“Arthur,” Charles says, concerned, but Arthur can’t help but feel like he’s about to get scolded. It’s a topic they’ve never really breached. Few arguments rose between them, but this was surely to be a point of contention.
“Charles,” he replies in kind. The comfortable silence is gone, and now he really wishes he hadn’t said anything. As much as it pains him to talk back to his alpha, his lover, his best friend, he feels he has to. Has to justify the countless hours spent running from county to county, risking himself. “I’ve got to be loyal to him.”
The past months haven’t been kind. Hell, it’s been rough since Blackwater, maybe even before, but these past few months especially have been rough for the gang. Now isn't the time to be slacking, or selfishly thinking about one's self. If a few bumps and bruises, scrapes and cuts, are what it takes to keep everyone alive, then that's what he'll do. It's the least he can do, for Dutch.
“After everything that’s happened, we got to stay together,” Arthur finds himself saying. “Just trust in him.”
Dutch’s words feel odd in his mouth, and he doesn’t like being a parrot, but there’s little else he can do. Justifying Dutch’s actions to himself has become increasingly hard, and in front of his mate, nearly impossible. Still, he feels like he has to try. It's the least he can do.
“Loyalty can’t be one-sided.” Charles allows his hand to meet Arthur’s, fingers intertwining to ground both of them. The touch is one of the few they're allowed in camp; it's quick and doesn't take time away from the seemingly countless chores. So it's familiar; welcome. Still, even Charles can't shield him from the harsh reality of his past.
There had been a time when Dutch would have told him to jump, and he'd ask how high; told him to steal, and he’d ask how much; told to murder, and he would only have asked how many. The omega muscle that was eager to please; to show his worth. To the gang, but more so to the alpha that risked so much to take him in.
Dutch had bet the safety of the gang, and even his respect as an alpha, to have the first member of his gang, besides the women, be an omega. And Arthur couldn't ever let him down. He'd given him a place to live, food, advice, a family, so what if maybe he had to fight to keep his trust? Sure, maybe he wasn't as accommodating as Charles, didn't meet him halfway for everything, and sometimes he questioned Arthur's loyalty, but that just means that Arthur wasn't showing his loyalty enough, wasn't it?
It wasn't with Charles. It was always fifty-fifty. A split; a compromise. The give and take of equals, even if he was an omega. Is that why their loyalty feels different? Unbreakable? With Dutch, it seems he has to fight to keep his trust. Never with Charles; he gave willingly.
“You can’t be the only one making sacrifices,” Charles continues. Arthur looks away. Wishes he still had his journal out, something to distract him.
“He took us in,” he urges. With Charles, it was different; an alpha’s chances are always better than an omega’s. Especially if that omega is a scrappy orphan, son of a known, hated alpha. If Dutch and Hosea hadn’t taken him, he’d be dead now, simple as that.
“I know why you’re loyal, Arthur,” Charles soothes, too understanding for his own good. The solid timber of his voice is just as calming as his scent, and has the omega, unwillingly, turning back to him. “But that doesn’t have to be all there is.”
His words take a moment to settle in Arthur’s mind, but when they do, they have the effect of cold water rushing over him. He whips his eyes to Charles’, and tries to hide the sinking feeling of dread in his heart, at least enough to keep his voice steady. “What? You want to leave the gang?”
It doesn’t work.
But he doesn’t really care. Doesn’t care if he sounds like a desperate little omega, because that’s his alpha talking about leaving him. The bond mark on his neck burns, and he wonders if it was just temporary, fleeting, a placeholder.
“Not alone, no.” A warm hand comes to rest on the mark, thumb running over it in smooth circles. The tension that had built up quickly fades just as fast and is all but disappeared with a kiss.
“The gang’s family,” he insists. “Can’t just leave them behind.”
A future with Charles is something he’s barely dared to hope for, but the thought of it coming at the price of leaving John, Hosea, even little Jack? It sets an uneasy feeling in him.
Charles nods. This isn’t something he’s going to convince Arthur of today, so he steps back. Gives Arthur the chance to go about it at his own pace, set his own boundaries. It means more than he’ll ever know.
The silence that overtakes them is calm once more, met with the sun higher in the sky than either of them would have liked. The sure, steady breathing of his mate is almost enough to let him doze off.
But he can't. Their conversation weighs over him. And though the silence is nice, he can’t help but try and justify;
“Someone has to do it.”
“It doesn’t have to be you,” is Charles’ easy reply. “At least not alone.”
He says it simply, like it’s obvious. Offers his help as if he wasn’t the first person to do so. That stirs emotions Arthur isn’t sure he likes, something that far too akin to butterflies, and much prefers to lean against the strong shoulder next to him. Maybe if he weren’t so tired, hadn’t been able to rest for so long, he would have cared more, but he doesn’t.
“It’s always been this way.” Arthur says it with a sigh, something even he wasn’t expecting. He’d always been resigned to his role, even happy to do it the first few years after Dutch let him go out on his own.
“It doesn’t have to be.”
Arthur huffs at that, something like a laugh. How is it so easy for him to be so sincere, so caring? Like... like he truly does believe he’s worth it.
“I’m not a good man,” he states, quietly. It’s a fact. While none in the gang are exactly saints, he’s far worse, especially compared to the man next to him. The alpha that’s always been patient with him, met all his walls with compassion, never pushed too far, always respected his boundaries. His alpha.
Charles seems to consider this for a bit. It’s no secret that he doesn’t agree and that he’s tried in vain to convince Arthur otherwise. It's one of the few things they argue about, and neither of them wants that now. Charles has talked at length about how good he thinks Arthur is, and Arthur has denied it in turn.
He doesn’t start again, avoiding the argument and instead saying, “That doesn’t mean you’re not deserving.”
Deserving? Of what?
Charles wraps his arm around Arthur, holding him close.
Of this, he answers silently.
He hates how safe it makes him feel. How vulnerable he felt before, in retrospect. Hates the fact that tears had threatened to spill over, at such a simple gesture. He's so starved for this intimate kind of attention, and he never wants it to stop, and he hates that too. He hates the feeling that rises in his chest most of all: something so close to love it scares him.
“He needs me,” is Arthur’s final attempt at rebuttal. With his eyes closed, voice heavy with sleep as he rest against his mate, the argument must sound so weak, so hollow. But he has to try, because he doesn't like being this tired, even though he really doesn't have a choice.
Still, Charles refutes it: “I need you.” His arm stays in place around Arthur’s shoulders as the other comes to rest on his hand. Arthur watches as his calloused fingers intertwine, solidifying the moment.
“Healthy.” A quick poke to his too thin stomach makes him smile. He pauses before continuing, a breeze sweeps through the trees.
“Safe.” His voice is as steady as ever, and it holds some resolve. Neither of them knows what will come, but right now is all that matters. Being together.
“Alive.” There’s a hint of desperation in Charles’ voice, and it’s enough to have Arthur sitting up, despite how his weary body protests, and capturing his lips in a long-overdue kiss. Mouths pressing together, perhaps too harshly for what is supposed to be a caring gesture, but it’s what Arthur needs to ground him. To calm his the whirlwind of emotions he'll blame on tiredness and his long time away from his alpha.
“I don’t know what to do," he finally whispers when they break apart, in between panting breaths.
“Stay,” Charles says. Asks. Not commanding, not forcing. Allowing Arthur to make his own decision. Allow him to breathe, clear his head. He gives Arthur a choice; a chance at stability, a chance to inhale the Alpha’s scent for just a moment longer.
So he does.
There was never really a choice.
Arthur’s head comes to rest against Charles’ shoulder. Inhales deeply, taking in the scent of the alpha, much more calm than his own; grounding. Neither of them says anything. The silence stretches on, and Arthur, finally, rests.