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The dust had begun to settle in Horseshoe Overlook. Arthur didn’t feel so sure as to say they were out of the woods yet, but things were on the upturn. It felt like a dry day after weeks of storms and rain, and he didn’t feel like he had to watch over his shoulder quite so much. The women seemed more settled; he had heard them laughing and singing more loudly and more often. That was always his measuring stick for how good things were, if the women were happy, then it meant things were okay.
But this hardly meant it was time for putting up his feet and relaxing. There was still a lingering chill in the air that wouldn’t let up. Fires needed to stay lit, folks needed to stay warm and well fed. And if that meant Arthur had to go without the luxury of regular sleeping, or if he had to eat a little less so others could eat a little more, he was glad of it. He sat alone at the campfire on a cold late morning, tossing a log onto the fire from the dwindling pile of wood. Someone needed to start chopping more firewood, and he knew food supplies were running thin and they’d have to stock up soon. And then there was Abigail asking about a new blanket or fur because Jack had been getting cold at night-
“Arthur.” Came a warm voice, pulling him out of his reverie.
Charles had appeared at his left, hands buried in the pockets of his warm hide jacket, and Arthur could tell there was a question on his tongue. Other folks seemed to agree that Charles was hard to read, but Arthur just thought they weren’t looking close enough.
“Hey Charles.” Arthur gave him a small nod, “Anything I can help you with?”
“Pearson asked if I could go hunting again, since we’re running low. Thought I’d see if you wanted to come with me.”
“Sure.” Arthur replied, already on his feet. Sitting idle was doing him no good and he’d already been planning on going hunting or shopping for food. With Charles he’d be glad of the company. “You got a place in mind?”
“Saw some more deer in the woods not too far from here. Should be simple.”
“Alright then, I’ll let you lead the way.” Arthur gestured. Charles’ face brightened subtly, and he nodded, heading over to get Taima saddled up and ready. Arthur stopped a moment to remove his hat and shake out his hair. It was long, longer than he’d like it. But the last time he’d been able to visit a barber was before Blackwater, and well, a haircut hadn’t exactly been on his list of priorities. He pushed the front back to stop it from getting in his eyes and irritating him, and he scratched the back of his neck where it felt uncomfortable and itchy before putting his hat back on. From across camp, Arthur could feel Charles’ gaze on him.
He headed to his wagon to retrieve his bow and arrows, his hunting rifle was already on his saddle should he need it, and he went to join Charles. As Arthur mounted his horse, Charles gave a few words to Lenny who stood on guard, letting them know where they were going and when they would likely be back, and they set off.
“So, how’re you feeling about this place, Arthur?” Charles asked, after a few minutes’ ride in comfortable silence.
“Good, I think.” Arthur called back, thinking “The mood feels like it’s improvin’. Think folks are starting to feel more comfortable.”
“I agree. Let’s just hope it lasts, and that this cold weather eases up.”
“And let’s hope we catch us some deer.”
Arthur heard Charles hum, perhaps in amusement “We will.”
The site that Charles had scoped out wasn’t far, and they didn’t feel the need to fill the short ride with unnecessary talk. That was something Arthur had always liked about the other man. The others seemed to mistake his lack of words for a lack of care, but Arthur didn’t see it that way. Charles spoke when he felt something truly needed saying, which meant he spoke true. It made conversations with him feel like something private and precious.
“It was ‘round here I last saw them, let’s turn off here.” Charles announced, leading them off the road and up the hill through the woodland. They slowed their pace, their horses picking a careful path through the trees on the sloped terrain. The pair of them watched the ground as they went, checking for signs of the animals. Arthur thought himself to be a fairly decent tracker, but Charles was more skilled by far.
“They were here not too long ago.” Charles told him, gesturing to the ground with one hand and holding his reins with another “If we head over this ridge and wait, it should give us some good cover.”
“Sure.” Arthur agreed, happy enough to let Charles take the lead. Didn’t matter how they did it as long as they brought back something to show for it.
They rode down the other side of the ridge and dismounted, hitching their horses to a nearby tree to keep them out of the way in case they disturbed the deer. They each retrieved their bows and arrows, and Arthur his rifle, and headed back up the ridge on foot. They laid down on their fronts and peered over their ridge like they had up in the mountains, waiting quietly and patiently for the deer to show, if they were to show at all.
Arthur enjoyed hunting with Charles. He had a calm assuredness about him and an endless well of patience to draw from that made him skilled at the art, if you could call it an art. Arthur had always been a graceless man, preferring his guns over the sleek bow that Charles favoured. But Charles had been kind and patient enough with him to teach him how to shoot with the bow, and he hoped that they could make hunting together a habit. Arthur knew he still had plenty more to learn.
Surprisingly, the chilly late morning had turned into a warm afternoon. Arthur shifted as quietly as he could, and felt Charles watch him as he took off his hat and carefully set it aside. Predictably, his hair fell forwards into his eyes and he bit back a curse as he pushed it back off his face and tried to tuck it behind his ear. Arthur met Charles’ gaze, in perhaps more of a challenging manner than he intended, and the other man looked away without saying anything. Talking might disturb the deer anyhow.
Arthur didn’t mind the waiting and he didn’t mind the quiet. He didn’t feel the need to check his pocket watch but he hazarded maybe an hour had gone by, or longer. His hair fell into his eyes several times throughout and he fruitlessly pushed it back every time until he gave up and let it hang there. The warmth of the afternoon was comfortable, almost too comfortable, as was the soft grass they were laying on. Arthur felt his head loll slightly, eyes slipping closed. He hadn’t been sleeping much at night, what with feeling like he had to keep one eye open all the time. But laying here in the warmth with Charles, sleep took him easily and he didn’t even know it until he felt Charles nudge him awake.
“Arthur.” he whispered, and Arthur’s head snapped up alert to look at him. Charles replied by putting his finger to his lips, and then pointing over the ridge. Arthur blinked, feeling sluggish for a moment before he remembered what they were here for, and then he shifted up onto his elbows to look over the ridge. Sure enough, their wait had paid off and the deer had come.
Arthur could count four or five visible, a small group from a larger herd he thought. There was one fawn but the rest were full grown does, and if luck was with them they’d be taking at least two home with them. Charles carefully shifted back to draw his bow and stare down the length of his arrow, poised and waiting. Arthur followed, nocking his arrow as quietly as he could and drawing back the string.
“You take the left one.” Charles told him, voice low, and Arthur gave a tiny jerk of his chin in acknowledgement. Arthur lined up his shot, arrow tip aimed at the creature’s neck, and held fire. If he was using his gun he’d be itching to pull the trigger, but Charles had emphasised patience with the bow. Arthur held his breath and waited, holding off for just a moment longer, until the deer shifted and the shot felt perfect.
Charles loosed his arrow first and Arthur’s came half a second later, right as his hair fell into his eyes. Charles hit his mark in a clean kill and she went down without a sound, but Arthur slipped and the arrow sank clumsily into the doe’s shoulder.
“Shit.” He cursed, as the deer let out a yelp and tried to scramble it’s way to freedom. Arthur stumbled to his feet, discarding his bow and reaching for his gun, but Charles was already standing. Arthur looked up at him in awe, his second arrow was already nocked and aimed at the retreating deer. It sailed through the air with a high whistle and embedded itself neatly in her skull, and the deer crumpled. The other deer had scattered and fled, leaving them with their kills.
“Sorry.” Arthur huffed, hauling himself up to his feet and stretching his back “I screwed that up.”
“It’s fine.” Charles replied, shaking his head “We still got what we came for. This’ll keep everyone fed for a while.” Arthur sighed and nodded.
“Your hair is bothering you.” Charles added, and Arthur looked away from him, quelling irritation at himself for ruining his own shot, and his bashfulness that Charles had noticed.
“S’fine.” Arthur brushed the statement off, sweeping his hair back off his face and hiding it under his hat “Let’s get these back to camp so folks can eat.”
“Alright, Arthur.” Charles agreed, but his eyes still seemed to be on Arthur, looking at the back of his neck where his too-long hair stuck out at awkward angles from under his hat. Arthur just ducked his head and set off down the ridge to retrieve the deer. A moment later, he heard Charles’ comforting heavy footfall behind him.
Charles was leaving something unspoken, or had a question on his mind, that Arthur could tell.
Dutch and Pearson sung their praises as they arrived back to camp with a deer each, but Arthur didn’t feel worthy of the compliments, making sure to let everyone know it was Charles that did most of the work. Still, their success seemed to raise spirits around camp. By evening when the beasts had been butchered and cooked, folk seemed happier than they had in a while on account of having a good meal in them. Even Arthur admitted to himself he felt better for it. Some even stayed up later than usual for a drink and a song, but as everyone slowly drifted off to bed one by one, Arthur stayed by the fire. He knew sleep would evade him again like it had for so many nights in a row, and he’d rather not chase it.
He sketched by the light of the dwindling flames, picking out the soft shape of a deer with a crooked arrow in her shoulder. He didn’t notice that Charles had approached him until he heard his voice. The man could be surprisingly light on his feet for his build and stature.
“Arthur-” Charles announced his presence. Arthur looked up, suddenly aware that he was the last by the fire. The flap of Dutch’s tent hand long since closed, the camp had fallen into the heavy quiet of sleep, save for the sound of Javier snoring nearby. Arthur closed his journal and opened his mouth to answer, but Charles beat him to it.
“- I have scissors. Let me cut your hair.”
The words took him so strongly by surprise that it took him a second to realise what it was Charles had said. Arthur looked up at him quietly for a moment, making sure he was certain of what he heard.
“What?” He asked, feeling stupid.
“You need a haircut.” Charles said again, calm and insistent “Let me do it for you.”
“I-” Arthur floundered “You don’t need to do that. I could go into Valentine any time-”
“But you haven’t.” Charles argued, his voice still measured and calm. Carefully he sat next to Arthur on the log by the fire. “You’re not looking after yourself right.” Charles told him, and Arthur felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him, finding it difficult to swallow “You spend so much time lookin’ after everyone else that folks don’t notice when you ain’t looking after yourself. But I notice.”
Arthur felt at a loss for words. Charles had this way of seeing right through him, making him feel vulnerable and exposed, but not unsafe, never unsafe. Just shy, and embarrassed, and more than a little foolish.
“Charles, I-”
“It’s alright. Just…” Charles paused, suddenly seeming uncharacteristically nervous, “I would like to, if you would let me.”
Arthur’s head felt a little light. He had come to cherish Charles’s company over these difficult weeks, and thought he’d count himself lucky if Charles favoured him in the same way. But this seemed like something straight out of Arthur’s imagination. Dumbfounded, he nodded.
“Alright.” He said quietly, and Charles nodded. He stood and walked around to his bedroll, crouching and rooting in his satchel until he produced a pair of silver scissors and a comb. Arthur wasn’t really sure what to do with himself, sitting with his hands placed awkwardly in his own lap, but he felt his heart jump in his chest when Charles came to stand so close behind him.
“It won’t take long.” Charles assured, his voice a warm tenor. Even though he was braced for it, Arthur had to suppress a shiver as Charles began to run his fingers through his chair, chasing them with the comb.
Charles’ hands were big, warm and rough, but surprisingly delicate in their touches. This didn’t feel the same as the clinical act of having his hair cut by a barber. There was a softness, a gentle care with which Charles snipped away at the hair he had been neglecting.
Arthur couldn’t recall the last time he had been touched so gentle. It almost made him feel delirious.
Charles seemed to know what he was doing, making careful cuts and removing the length that itched at the back of Arthur’s neck and fell over his ears. He ran the comb through Arthur’s hair, easing out the tangles. It made Arthur’s head tingle. When Charles stepped around to take a look at his hair from the front, Arthur felt his face heat up slightly as Charles’ warm dark eyes carefully scrutinised him. He brushed aside the locks that fell over Arthur’s eyes with his fingers, cutting them away until the length felt comfortable and right again.
Finally, Charles seemed satisfied with his work and their eyes met. There was an unguarded softness in Charles’ face that Arthur hadn’t seen before, and he was certain he was mirroring the expression right back at him.
“Okay.” Charles said low “I think we’re done.”
Arthur blinked at him, thinking of a thousand things to say but saying nothing at all. As Charles went to move away, Arthur carefully caught his wrist.
“Thank you.” He said in earnest, summoning the courage to keep their eyes locked. Charles exhaled softly, and nodded.
“You’re welcome.”
“Would you-” Arthur continued, still holding onto his wrist, and forcing his words out before he lost his nerve “Let me do something like that for you?”
Charles blinked owlishly and shook his head “I keep my hair long Arthur, you know that.”
“No, I don’t mean that. I mean-” Arthur carefully reached down, and took the comb from Charles’ other hand, “Just this.”
“...Oh.” Charles sounded softly surprised. He looked down at the wrist that Arthur was holding, and then to the comb, and then finally back up at Arthur. Gently, he nodded.
“Okay.”
Arthur almost wasn’t expecting him to say yes, and felt a surge of warmth at the answer. He gave Charles’ wrist a gentle tug, to encourage him to sit down next to him. Charles sat and Arthur stood, and he moved around to stand behind Charles, reversing their positions from before. Arthur had done this before, with women. He’d combed Liza’s hair, years ago, and Mary’s. He’d even done it for Karen once, when they’d both been drunk and silly and her hair had fallen out of it’s ties.
Touching Charles’ hair was something Arthur had never done, but had secretly thought about often. Sometimes he’d looked at it, how the black seemed to turn a fiery red in bright sunlight, and thought about how soft it might feel. He had been right. Charles’ hair felt soft and cared for, and Arthur carefully ran his fingers through it, beginning to comb right at the ends so it didn’t tug too much.
Arthur took as much care as he could, moving slowly. He thought on how nice it had felt with Charles combing through his hair, and he wanted to make Charles feel the same. Cared for. The man was right, Arthur did neglect himself on account of caring for everyone else in the gang first. But… letting himself get taken care of by Charles once in a while? That didn’t sound so bad, especially if Charles would let Arthur care for him in turn.
He worked from the ends of Charles’ hair up to the top, from his right to his left. His hair wasn’t all that tangled to begin with, but Arthur was thorough. He may have stayed brushing it for longer than necessary, if only because Charles’ hair felt nice between his fingers, and because he wished for the moment to last just a little longer.
“Think I’m about done.” Arthur told Charles softly, and at first, Charles didn’t stir. Arthur moved around the log to look at Charles’ face, and found him blearily blinking himself awake. He had been so soothed that he had fallen asleep sat right there. Arthur couldn’t help the soft smile that broke on his face, or the way his heart fluttered in his chest.
“You fallin’ asleep on me?” Arthur asked quietly, still smiling. Charles smiled back, ducking his head in a manner that seemed surprisingly shy. Arthur had never seen him shy before. He offered Charles his hand to pull him up to his feet, and the two of them stood regarding each other in the dying firelight. They both seemed unsure of themselves, and of what to say.
“... Thank you Arthur.” Charles spoke. Their hands were still gently clasped. “I think we could both use some sleep.” Arthur nodded slowly.
“I think so. Think I’ll sleep a little easier after this.”
“Good. I’m glad.” Charles replied. Both of their voices were low, and Charles’ hand felt warm and right in his grasp. Slowly they parted, their fingers lingering until the last second when they finally released each other’s hands.
“Well… goodnight, Charles.” Arthur said, ducking his head in a somewhat awkward, somewhat gentlemanly fashion.
“Night, Arthur.” Charles nodded back to him, turning slowly to head towards his bedroll. Arthur turned in the opposite direction, towards his cot at the ammunitions wagon. He looked back over his shoulder once as he went, not knowing if Charles had done the same. Out of his eyesight, Arthur gingerly ran a hand through his own hair, enjoying the feeling of the shorter locks between his fingers. Knowing that Charles’ had taken great care to do it and do it right, that Charles knew the exact length Arthur usually wore his hair to do it so perfectly.
Arthur felt warm from his head to his feet, recalling the feeling of Charles’ hands in his hair, and the feel of Charles’ soft hair between his own fingers. He knew that tonight, for the first time in a long time, he would sleep well.