Work Text:
Something was different with Arthur. He was sneaking away from camp more often and hiding away in his tent—which he had hung more tarps from to block off the once-open walls.
Sometimes Arthur would move clumsily through camp despite no one having seen him drank any alcohol. He would hold a hand or two to his stomach sometimes, as if feeling unwell.
It concerned Charles to the point he began tailing after Arthur and asking him more frequently if he’d like to go hunting. Arthur kept coming up with lame excuses as to why he couldn’t, and his reclusion worried Charles.
Then one day Charles saw Arthur mounting his horse, ready to take off out of camp again. Charles ran up to him, waving a hand around and causing Arthur to pause.
“Do—do you want to come hunting with me?” Charles panted. “I see you’re ready to go.”
Arthur shook his head, annoyed. “I’m going out alone, I’m busy.”
Suddenly Hosea was upon them, approaching the scene. “Arthur, why don’t you join Charles? We could use some more meat.”
Now Arthur was irritated. Hosea just ruined his plans to go off alone and do God knows what. Now he was going to be stuck with Charles and under someone’s eye.
“Fine!” Arthur huffed. “Hurry up.”
They began riding out into camp and Charles noticed a hesitance in Arthur to pick up speed. He’d never been so slow to get going before, was he hurt? Is that why he’d been so secretive—he’d been hiding a bad injury?
“Are you okay, Arthur?”
“Peachy.”
“You just seem…”
Arthur turned to him. “What?”
“You’re acting different. Hiding away, staying alone. Are you okay?”
Arthur gave Charles a confused look before returning his eyes to the road. Something switched in his brain and he began chuckling. “Shit, Charles, you think I’m depressed or somethin’? That’s rich,” he laughed out.
“Well, then what’s been going on with you?”
Arthur opened his mouth to reply, swiftly interrupted by a small “meow!” Charles about fell off his horse when he saw a small furry head with two triangle ears pop out of Arthur’s shirt.
“Is that a cat?”
“No.” Arthur lied. The cat meowed again. “It’s… a kitten.”
“How—why—when?”
They pulled their horses off to a clearing and stopped moving, the cat getting irritated by the movement of the horse.
“Look, I was out one day looking for a harmonica for Sadie and I heard this pitiful little cry. So I follow it and find this little guy alone, soaked, and shivering in some bush. Poor little feller was apt to freeze to death. I couldn’t leave him, Charles.”
Charles took in the image of the small kitten peaking out from the collar or Arthur’s shirt, big eyes looking all around and little whiskers twitching.
“Tickles,” Arthur gently chided the cat. “You really gotta do that?”
Charles laughed. “Never in my life did I think I’d see Arthur Morgan babying a cat.”
“Hey! I’m not babying him… and even if I was, he’s a baby! I’m s’posed to baby him!”
Charles shook his head, a smile on his face. “Whatever you say, Arthur. But why hide him?”
“Because Dutch would never let me keep him,” Arthur stated. “He’d tell me to go give him to some kid in town and forget about it. But I can’t, Charles, look at his face.”
“It is a very cute face,” Charles agreed. “But just how long do you think you can hide him from everyone? It’s only a matter of time before someone hears him.”
Arthur placed a protective hand around his kitten, cradling the sweet little bundle of fur closer to his chest. “We don’t need this kind of negativity, now do we, William Shakespaw?”
With a deer carcass on each horse, the men made their way back to camp. The kitten, whose name was subject to change, had gotten riled up and kept trying to escape Arthur’s hold to pounce on the dead deer.
“Mewlius Caesar, you stop that!”
Charles shook his head. He’d never seen Arthur like this, so protective and giddy over such a small creature. “We’re almost there, you should probably hide him.”
Arthur muttered a curse and reached back to pry the kitten off the carcass. The little thing was hyper and wanting to play, bunny-kicking at Arthur’s wrist and digging his sharp kitten teeth into his hand.
“Goddamn it, boy,” Arthur hissed. He was running out of time and could almost see Bill standing guard around the camp. He panicked, unable to force the wiggling kitten down his shirt, and instead quickly pushed his hat up and stowed the kitten on top of his head.
Charles held back a chuckle at the panicked display. Arthur’s hat moved.
They greeted Bill and entered the camp. Horses hitched and deer across shoulders, they walked quickly to Pearson to drop off their kills. Arthur was ready to run to his tent and get this clawing cat off his head, but he was stopped by Dutch, who looked ready to talk his ear off.
“Good work, boys!” he cheered to them, happy with the deer they brought in. “Arthur, would you come with me? I want to go over some plans with you.”
“Can it wait a minute? I gotta, uh, do something.” Arthur twitched and felt the kitten take a bite at his scalp.
“Are you alright, son? You look pained. Did you get hurt out there?” Dutch was getting closer, way too close, a hand reaching out to touch Arthur.
“I’m fine, Dutch, just gotta—” the kitten rolled, and Arthur’s hat very clearly moved on his head.
Dutch’s eyes stared up at the black leather and back down to Arthur’s eyes. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“Your hat moved.”
“Probably the wind.”
“It’s not windy,” Dutch narrowed his eyes and reached up at the hat, grabbing it and lifting it away before Arthur could react.
The entire camp stopped and stared at the bewildering sight before them. A dead confused Dutch staring, mouth open, at a sheepish Arthur, who now sported a fuzzy black kitten on top of his head where his hat should have been.
“Meeeooooow.”
“Arthur… why is there a cat on your head?”
“Look, Dutch, I’m just as shocked as you are.”
“Arthur Morgan!” Dutch bellowed, scolding Arthur like a child. “Why is there a cat on your head?!”
If someone hadn’t seen the commotion going on in the middle of camp, then they sure would hear it now. Dutch was practically screaming at this point.
The only thing to soften that crazed look in Dutch’s eye was when that kitten atop Arthur’s head looked up at him with big eyes, and reached a paw out. That tiny paw, reaching as far as it could, toward Dutch’s face.
Dutch crossed his arms and stared at the creature. “What’s its name?”
“Genghis Kat. Or maybe Oedipuss. Or Meowses…”
Dutch sighed and reached out for the cat, easy holding the black furball in one hand. “I’m confiscating this. Arthur, just… go to your tent. Try not to pick up any more strays.” He turned around and retreated to his own tent, cat in hand.
Arthur stared in disbelief and a little worry—what if Dutch got rid of his poor little Sir Isaac Mewton? What if Dutch put it down to punish Arthur? He felt sick thinking about the fate of his poor cat.
That was until later at the campfire when he came out from his tent and saw Dutch sitting at the fire with the kitten asleep in his lap, a large hand gently stroking down the kitten’s back.
When Dutch noticed him he pointed an accusing finger at him. “I thought I grounded you.”
Arthur sputtered. “I’m a grown man, you can’t ground a grown man!”
The other people scattered around the fire laughed at him.
“Arthur, you’re on punishment, go to your tent,” Dutch somewhat teased. “And little mister Onyx here is going to sleep in my tent tonight… or until you’re done being grounded.”
Arthur pouted and gave the kitten one last look before turning around to retreat to his tent. At least Dutch was gonna let him keep the cat… though it seemed like he would soon become Dutch’s cat.
“What kind of a name for a cat is Onyx. Stupid name…” Arthur muttered, entering his tent. “Not gonna get any respect from the ferals with a name like that…”