It was a loud night, that much was certain. Voices rang out from all sides, laughing, talking, singing… These days, it was rare when a celebration was in order, and this rarity was something everyone in camp reveled in.

John Marston, in particular, was enjoying himself greatly. He sat in the heart of it all, on a log, looking into the glow of the campfire before him. His thoughts swirled pleasantly. The flames warmed his skin as the whiskey warmed his gut. This, John figured, was something close to Heaven. Even the sound of Micah Bell's voice couldn't break John's euphoria, as he heard him telling Javier some joke from across the fire. The two broke into laughter, John watched curiously. Some miracle this night was, if it made Micah pleasant company.

John's eyes lazily scanned along the horizon as he took another long sip from the bottle in his hand. There was nothing but the shadows of the distant treeline, and the fire that lit the tents around him. Good. Nature was calm tonight, at least, unlike the people that lived in it.

"JOHN!"

The outlaw nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt a hand make contact with his shoulder. Some of his whiskey spilled onto the grass, and he groaned as he turned to see Arthur Morgan smiling down at him.  

"What's wrong with you?" John's lips twitched as he righted himself, but Arthur only barked out a laugh and sat down next to John, with that arm now firmly wrapped around him.  

"What'chu so stiff for?" Arthur guffawed. He was beaming, and his cheeks glowed from the drinks he'd had. "It's a party, you gotta relax! Loosen up!"

"I think you're too loose for your own good, friend." John scoffed and pushed Arthur to the side, but Arthur kept a grip on him.

"Maybe so, maybe so, but damned if it ain't a good night!"

"Yeah, Arthur." John regarded the other man with a tilt of his head and a squint of his eyes, just to make sure he was seeing right. Arthur wasn't usually this… Touchy. Not with John, at least. Especially not since he'd returned to camp after his year-long absence. Was this some kind of forgiveness? Some joke? To John, the second explanation seemed far more likely.  

A realization seemed to come to Arthur, and he shook John by the shoulder gently. "Reminds me, John. Listen. John, I got to tell ya somethin'. S'important. Real important, OK?"

"What?" John asked, awaiting whatever punchline Arthur was going to deliver.

"You're a good man, John."  

John blinked. Once. Twice. He scanned Arthur's face for any sign that he wasn't serious. When he found none, his brow furrowed. "Well, thanks. I guess." A beat of silence, and the intruding hand still lingered on John's back. Again, he shoved it away. "Now, would you get off me, you ol' fool?"

There was a grunt of surprise and a thud as John was suddenly pushed backward. He hit the grass beneath him hard, and, for a moment, struggled on the pure survival instinct of a wild animal. His thoughts, sharpened by his quickened heart, told him twenty ways to kill the man who'd pinned him down before he remembered who it was.

"Not without a fight, Marston!" Arthur laughed again, a sound that rocked his chest and brought John back to his senses.

Out of all the ideas John had to get out of this situation, he chose the least harmful. Struggling, still, he shot his foot up a few times toward the man above him. Once he was able to land a kick to Arthur's stomach, he freed himself while Arthur wheezed. In a frenzy, John propelled himself backward by his elbows, and Arthur didn't make another move for a moment.

"Hell're you playin' at!?" John barked.

The party quieted slightly as Micah and Javier watched for any real danger in the fight happening in front of them. Micah darkly curious, analyzing Arthur's weak spots, and Javier just praying that he wouldn't have to break up two drunken idiots.  

"C'mon, you used to be good at this," Arthur grinned crookedly at John, "you too yella now?"

"Yella?" John repeated, now allowing a small smile to cross his own face. "Get here, I'll show you yella."

The two collided again, this time a few more feet away from the fire. Arthur might've had the advantage in size, but John was quicker, and when Arthur's hands met John's arms again, the latter forced both of them backward. Arthur's back hit a nearby tree, and he retaliated by pushing back. Again, Arthur had John pinned, and again, John wouldn't stand for it.  

They fell into a rhythm of hard pushing and grappling on the ground, almost like they were dancing. John was sure his own dancing would be just as graceful as this; that was to say that he wasn't a person with a graceful nature. Neither of them were. Even so, John let the laughter he'd been holding back escape him, and it mingled with Arthur's in the night air; two voices as one. As they did, the party's joyous air picked back up again.

"Who you bettin' on?" Micah had leaned backward, tipped his head Javier's way.

Javier shrugged and picked up the guitar that lay beside him. "I don't bet."  

Arthur had gotten the upper hand at one point. He'd slung one arm over John's midsection and viciously rubbed his fist over the top of John's head, which had ruffled his hair tremendously. It had been years since Arthur had done this to him. Memories from his childhood days flooded his mind, when he and Arthur would fight, as did memories from recent. Arthur had been doing this same move against Jack, whenever he'd roughhouse with the boy. John saw it, occasionally, and it brought a bitter taste to his mouth that he couldn't explain.

It was this that inspired his next action: a hard kick to Arthur's leg using the back of his heel, hard enough to make Arthur pause.

"Let go of me, dammit!" John's spurs rode dangerously close to Arthur's skin, and the bigger man paused before loosening his grip and freeing John.

"Y'alright?" Arthur muttered, now, his voice brought down from the boisterous roar he'd been speaking in earlier. John took his chance once Arthur let his guard down. He tackled him, and Arthur's shoulders quickly met the dirt.

"Course I am. You fell for that, old timer?" John grinned as he pinned Arthur's wrists down with his hands.

"I guess," Arthur broke into a laugh, "I guess I did!" Arthur fought against John for a few moments, struggled to escape his grip with little avail. His movements were sluggish, and his breath was heaving the more he struggled.

"Give up yet?"

"Yeah. Yeah, alright. Turn me loose." Arthur finally relented.  

Triumphantly, John let go of Arthur. He stood up, brushed himself off, and offered a hand to his friend, who still lay on the ground. Arthur took it, and leaned his weight against John as he led them both back to the log by the fire.

Micah had up and left the fire a while ago. Javier, who'd remained, raised his eyebrows as the two approached.

"You see that? Remember it. I just won!" John jutted his chin toward Javier.

Javier shook his head as he calmly plucked a few notes on his guitar. "Doesn't look like either of you won."

"It don't matter what it looks like! Still won!"

"Yeah… You're strong, you know." Arthur rubbed at one of his shoulders once he'd sat down. "For someone with them tiny arms and skinny legs."

"Or," John said, as he fixed his hair with his fingers, "you're just gettin' soft."

"Don't make me fight you again." Sighed Arthur, though he still had a gleam in his eyes. John scoffed.

"What, you just real excited to lose a second time?"

"Excited to break your jaw, more like."

The conversation faded after that, into the quiet of crickets and soft music that Javier was now playing. A comfortable quiet, it was, and as John felt Arthur's arm over his back, he could only think one thing: