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Arthur had ended up sleeping through most of the day, partially thanks to Reverend Swanson's ‘generosity’ with his pain relief, and partially because he just sort of felt depressed and would rather be asleep. It was well after the sun setting that Arthur finally pulled himself out of his cot and half-heartedly got himself something to eat.
‘Betrayed’ is definitely not the word Arthur would use for how he felt having been used as bait by Colm O’Driscoll and left to fend for himself by Dutch Van Der Linde. He mostly felt a mixture of frustration, melancholy, and perhaps a slight bit of uselessness, as though Dutch hadn't thought Arthur was worth the trouble of getting back. Arthur flip-flopped between feeling sorry for himself and being insulted by the whole ordeal.
He ate, debated going back to sleep, but ended up moping about around his horse, Reba. She seemed pretty antsy, and Arthur knew it was because she needed to be taken out to let off some of that energy she'd been building up. As mild mannered as she was, being a fox trotter, she was still a horse that'd been cooped up for quite some time, now. She visibly brightened up a bit when Arthur stopped near her, and Arthur wondered if she could understand what happened and if she was worried for him. He quietly cooed at her, apologizing for not being able to take her riding for a while, giving her coat a gentle brush with his good arm.
“Arthur,” came Charles' voice from behind, a quiet, casual greeting. He rounded Reba's flank, stood on her other side so that he could face Arthur with her between them. “You good?”
“Charles,” Arthur gave him a slight nod as way of greeting. “You headin' out on watch?” He didn't pause his brushing while speaking, briefly glancing up.
“No.”
“You should get some rest then, big guy. I know you, Sadie, and Javier’ve been over-workin’ yourselves since I got back. I may not be awake all day to see it, but I've been keepin' my eyes on you guys.”
“I'll be fine.” Charles paused, leaning against Reba's side, watching Arthur very pointedly. “Do you need a hand with anything?”
“I'm good.”
“OK. Just saw you lookin' real down over here and wanted to make sure you--"
Arthur interrupted him, knowing already that Charles had an idea of what was going through his mind. “If you want to take Reba out for a ride, you can.”
Charles blinked back at him, pausing. Then he said “What about you?”
“Ain't in any shape to go out ridin’, right now. Ain't even sure I could keep my bearings in the saddle. But Reba needs to be worn down a bit, and she doesn't seem to mind you, so…”
“No,” huffed Charles, “that's not what I meant. I was askin' if you wanted to join. I'm sure you wouldn't mind getting out of camp for a while.” He didn’t falter when Arthur gave him a funny look. He patted Reba’s back, looked back to Arthur, and is if it was all the explanation Arthur was looking for, he said “You ride behind. I’ll pull you up, you just hold on. Hands still work, don’t they?”
“It’s just odd, isn’t it?”
“Only if you make it out to be.” A ghost of a smile passed over Charles’ lips. He motioned for Arthur to step back before gripping the horn and pulling himself into the saddle. He held his hand out expectantly. “C’mon, cowboy.”
Arthur blew out a laugh, kind of waiting for Charles to say he was joking. When he didn’t, simply sat there patiently, Arthur pursed his lips thoughtfully, glanced around the camp. He gave a capitulating sigh, taking Charles’ hand in his and allowing himself to be pulled up onto Reba. He winced at the pain that shot through his shoulder as he tried to readjust himself on her back, but it was tolerable. He hooked his fingers in his friend’s dotted, long shirt. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”
“And you ain’t much better.” Despite not being able to see his face, Arthur could tell Charles was amused with himself. He reached around, taking Arthur’s wrists and directing them around to his front so that Arthur was actually holding onto his waist. “Ain’t gonna do you any good to fall off.” With that, he gripped the reins and pulled Reba away from the hitching post she’d been idling near. He started down the back trail leading out of Clemens Point. “I’m just going down the shore toward Flatneck, if you’re OK with that.”
“That's fine…” Arthur muttered absently, careful on how he adjusted the way his hands rested. His neck burned, being that close to Charles. He smelled of river water, campfire, and bar soap. Arthur had the insane urge to rest his chin on Charles’ shoulder, which he quickly repressed and tried to forget about. Charles probably would have knocked him off Reba if he did that.
They rode at walking pace until they navigated their way out of the forest and past the treeline, only picking up some speed once they made it out onto the sand of the lake shore. Luckily, Reba had the gait of a deer, each step taken purposeful and smooth, so neither he nor Charles were being jostled about.
They were quiet up until they passed over into New Hanover, at which point Charles broke the long silence. He simply asked “Do you want to talk about it?”
It took Arthur off guard for a heartbeat. He scoffed under his breath. “I'm fine. Ain't the worst thing I've been through, not by a longshot.”
“I can tell you're still bothered, is all. I know Colm has a nasty record, and I just want to make sure you're alright.”
“It's nothin’ like that…” Arthur glanced up at the night sky, trying to decide if he even wanted to get into all this. Charles remained silent, prompting Arthur to continue. He lifted and dropped his good shoulder in an apathetic shrug, looking at the back of Charles' head. Finally, he admitted “I feel like a weight on everyone's shoulders, right now. It was stupid to even entertain that ‘parley,’ but I went along with it anyway, and it nearly got me killed.” Knowing he's saying too much, but goaded on by his friend's silence, Arthur quietly added “And no one even came lookin' for me. I feel… disposable. Maybe I'm dwellin’ on it too much, I'on't know, but it's somethin’ I can't stop thinkin’ about.”
“I wasn't going to share this,” Charles started quietly, “but I went out to that parley spot and tried tracking you down. Wasn't much left to go off of by the time I got there, though.”
“Oh.” Arthur grimaced, suddenly feeling like an asshole. Instead of apologizing for whining like he wanted to, he asked “Did Dutch send you looking?”
“No. I went on my own. That whole situation didn't feel right, and when Dutch came back without you…” A hint of annoyance came through in Charles' words. “I knew somethin’ was wrong, and I wasn't happy that there wasn't anything being done about it.”
“Well… thank you for tryin'. That means somethin’ to me.”
“Of course.” Another lull, and Arthur could tell Charles wanted to say more. After a few moments, he continued “I didn't know if you were going to make it after you went septic. I wouldn't have stuck around much longer if it killed you. Ain't sure I'd have it in me.” He laughed lowly, mirthlessly. “At one point, I was pissed at you for agreeing to be a part of that shitshow. Not anymore, though I still wish you hadn't agreed to join them.”
“I had to. If I hadn't gone, Colm probably would've taken Dutch in my place. I needed to keep Dutch safe.”
Again, another pause, this time he could feel Charles go stiff in the saddle. In a level tone that did more to convey his anger than raising his voice would have, Charles firmly stated “Dutch's life is no more important than yours. He's not your charge, his life isn't in your hands. If he makes a stupid decision, that's one thing, but havin' you suffer for it while he walks away without a scratch ain't how it should be. You deserve better than that.”
“He's family, Charles. I can't just let something happen to him because I might get hurt.”
“And so you should die in his place just on account of ‘family?’ Come on, Arthur. At this point, you're living for Dutch Van Der Linde, not Arthur Morgan.” Charles slowed Reba to a stop on a grassy slope leading toward the main trail up the hill, obscured by some trees. He awkwardly pulled himself off the saddle, then offered assistance to Arthur, again. Though Arthur didn't know if he wanted to linger this far from camp on foot, he slipped off Reba's back with Charles' help. Charles steadied him, looking very seriously into his eyes. “If you were killed on that ‘parley,’ I wouldn't be able to look at Dutch the same way. I wouldn't be able to stomach the rage I'd have to swallow back. I'd simply need to leave.”
“Charles, it's real nice of you to say, but you don't owe me anything. You don't need to go out of your way for me, you don't need to fight on my behalf.”
“You're right. I don't owe you anything, and I don't need to do anything on your behalf. But I can choose to, and I choose to care about you. You're not disposable, you ain't a burden. You're someone I'm quite fond of, and you deserve to hear that, whether you believe it or not.” Charles gave Reba's necks a few smoothing pets before moving around her and back down the slope, stopping just before the sand of the shore. He glanced over his shoulder at Arthur. “Lots of us care about you, more than you'd choose to believe.”
“Sure, but that don't mean any of this is Dutch's fault. He's just doin' what would be best for us all.” Arthur followed after him. “It's no reason to leave.”
“There'd be no reason to stay.” Charles gave him a very earnest look when he joined him at his side. “All my life, I've been on the outside looking in. No family, no friends, and no one to mourn me when I die. I've drifted from group to group and never stayed much longer than a month or two. Never felt comfortable enough to stay longer than that. Then I fell in with you lot, and there are a few folk back at camp who treat me right, but I'm never more comfortable than when I'm around you.” He stiffly looked back out to the lake, crossing his arms tightly. “It was all I kept thinkin’ about while you were delirious in your cot, looking like a strong wind would take you out.”
Arthur stared at him with a furrowed brow for a few moments. His brain was still foggy, but he was pretty sure he knew what Charles was trying to say. “I'd hope you wouldn't take off if somethin’ did happen. Y'know, Sadie and Abigail are pretty attached to you, at this point. I know Jack would be disappointed, and John seems pretty warmed up to you. Hosea’s given you his stamp of approval, which ain't easy to get.”
“Maybe. Maybe you just think that ‘cus you know Dutch'll get you killed one day. If it ain't Dutch, it'll be Micah, and if it ain't either of them it'll be one of the other fools who think Colm O'Driscoll is willing to extend an olive branch.” He blew out a deep sigh. “Point is, I wouldn't be comfortable staying after all is said and done.”
They stood in silence for a few minutes before Charles lowered himself into the grass and sat cross-legged. Arthur followed suit, sitting next to him, their knees touching lightly. They stared out at the calm waters of Flat Iron Lake for a little while, Charles picking at some blades of grass absently. Arthur got the impression that he wanted to say more, but he remained silent for a long while. It wasn’t until Arthur spoke that the silence was broken between them.
“Colm strung me up,” he said quietly, “kicked me, tortured me. Let my wounds rot and fester. And all the while, there were only two thoughts I had: no one was coming to save me, and that I had to find a way out myself before I died.” Arthur picked a closed dandelion head from its stalk, carefully began undoing the petals to open it up. “It felt like… no one really cared whether I lived or died. Certainly didn’t feel like Dutch cared, and he and Hosea are the only people I expect to feel that way.”
“It’s an awful thing to feel.”
“I’m sorry that you felt that way before you started runnin’ with us.” Arthur looked at Charles. “That’s changed though, right?”
Charles hesitated, not looking at Arthur. “I’d… like to think so. But you can never truly know how someone feels about you. Or how they’d feel if you were gone.”
Arthur returned to opening up the dandelion head. “I care about you. You’re a good friend. And if somethin’ ever happened to you, I’d be the first one at your side.”
“That’s… kind of you. Thank you.” Charles split a blade of grass down the middle, parting it, tossing the two parts away before finding another blade to toy with. He was quiet for a little while, and Arthur decided not to fill the silence, feeling like Charles was trying to figure out how he wanted to word something. After a minute or two, Charles finally said “The others at camp, I can only gauge how they feel about me. I know Micah doesn’t like me, and Bill has his own thoughts about my people. But I don’t really care all too much what they think. It’s them that matter who I care about, like you. And I don’t want you dying on account of someone else’s foolish actions. I want you around as long as you’ll be here.”
“Ain’t goin’ anywhere just yet, cowboy.”
“You almost died.”
“Almost…”
“Arthur, I’m fond of you.” Charles’ words came out bluntly, like he couldn’t quite control his tone. “I mean… fond.” He still didn’t look at Arthur, but Arthur could see that his cheeks were darkening. Arthur didn’t quite know what to say to that, and he wasn’t sure if he was reading the situation correctly; if he was, then there was very little for him to say in that moment without making a fool of himself. Charles picked up on that silence. He shifted so that their knees were no longer touching. “I’m sorry. I regretted not saying anything when you were on your deathbed, and… now I regret sayin’ anything at all.”
Arthur stared at him, a little taken aback. It’s not what he expected from someone like Charles. Besides, he’d seen the man’s hand around a saloon girl’s waist not that long ago, so there was no reason to believe he wasn’t a feller for just the ladies. Not that Arthur minded how a feller went either way. It was just unexpected. And all Arthur could think to say was “It’s OK…”
“You’re one of the only fellers who treat me decent,” Charles continued frankly, “don’t change that on account of what I’ve said. Please.”
“I don’t plan on it.”
“Good.”
“I’m pretty fond of you, too.”
“I don’t need you to say it back, Arthur. I just want us to stay how we are, friends who can talk. Don’t treat me different.”
Arthur tossed the opened dandelion head at Charles, hitting him on the forehead. “Don’t be stupid.”
Charles barely flinched at that. He wiped the spot that the dandelion hit. “Arthur…”
“Seriously, Charles.” Arthur gestured back down the shoreline toward camp. “You’re the only one of them fools with a brain between your ears. You’re kind enough to help a family whose language you don’t even speak. You bathe, which, let me tell you, is a major leg-up on any competition out there. You’re beautiful and interestin’, and you have all these skills that just continue to amaze me. What isn’t there to be fond of?” Charles’ cheeks were a deep crimson at that point, and he had a hard time maintaining eye-contact with Arthur. Arthur shifted closer to him so that their knees were touching again. “If you can say it, why can’t I?”
“‘Cus I don’t want you sayin’ something that you don’t mean.”
“Well, I mean it. I think you’re fantastic.”
Charles let out a mixture between a grunt and a laugh. “‘Fantastic…’” he echoed. He nodded and finally looked at Arthur directly. “I think you’re pretty fantastic, yourself.”
Arthur chuckled, feeling his own neck and face burning. Even his ears felt like they were on fire, by then. After a moment or two of eye-contact, he leaned in a little, speaking quietly between the two of them. “Thank you for telling me all that, Charles.”
Charles mimicked his posture, leaning one hand back in the grass so they could speak in softer tones and still hear each other over the orchestra of crickets surrounding them. “Of course. It kills me to think that you were alone with Colm, truly believing that no one cared enough to go after you. And generally thinking no one cares about you… it hurts. I care about you. I’m glad that I have someone who cares about me. I—”
Arthur cut him off after leaning in and kissing him. He found Charles’ lips to be soft, though that was of no surprise to him. Charles didn’t reciprocate for a moment, obviously shocked. But then he brought one hand up to the side of Arthur’s face, cupping it ever-so lightly. He kissed Arthur back, ran his thumb over Arthur’s cheekbone. It was slow and tender, with just enough heat behind it to light a fire in their bellies. When they parted, staying just inches away from each other’s faces, they stared back at each other in amazement.
Behind them, Reba let out a loud snort. Startled, they both whipped around, expecting someone to be there after having forgotten Reba was idling in the grass a few yards away. When they realized it was just Arthur’s horse, they broke into nervous laughter, looking back at each other.
“We should probably be getting back to camp,” Charles said, still sounding a little scattered from the scare. He started to get up, dusted his ass off.
“What’s the rush?” Arthur asked coquettishly, though he also got to his feet, dusted himself off.
“Grimshaw will hunt me down and hogtie me herself if I don’t get you back to camp for bedrest,” Charles chuffed, giving Arthur a playful side-eye. He led the way back to Reba and mounted up. Once again, he held his hand out for Arthur. “Let’s go, cowboy, before we get in trouble.”
Arthur scoffed, though Charles’ joke was probably more accurate than he’d like it to be. He let Charles pull him up onto the back of Reba, adjusted until he was comfortable. This time, he put his hands around Charles’ waist properly.
Charles turned and spurred Reba down the hill and onto the sandy shore. He didn’t push her, let her walk along the edge of the lapping waters. “Would you like me to find you tomorrow so we can take her out again?” he asked. “Maybe we could ride into town, get you a haircut, have a drink or two.”
“That would be nice.”
“Good. I’ll find you when I’m done my chores, tomorrow.”
Arthur nodded and absently licked his lips. Hesitantly, he rested his chin on Charles’ shoulder, essentially laying against his back.
“Sounds like a plan to me, cowboy.”