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tiredcowpoke · 5 years

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TITLE: Wedded Woes [4] PAIRING: Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: Trelawny talked up a big game at a scenic boarding house and, playing some newly weds, you and Arthur are paying the price for it. WARNINGS: Cliche tropes ahoy?

A dreamless sleep was all you really could have asked for.

Which was what was given to you, but it took a moment for reality to really sink in. Over the years, you had gotten used to hearing the shuffling of grass and dirt under foot, the rustle of the trees moving with a morning breeze, the odd passing conversation, snoring. Just camp. However, what greeted you was silence, sleep starting to fade as you could feel some of the ache in your legs from sitting for so long the day before and just how warm the room was getting. However, you were aware of the deep breathing beside you, barely there in the silence of the room, and the warmth of something pressed against your cheek.

With a sleepy inhale, your eyes opened slowly to note that you weren’t facing the window like you had been when you had fallen asleep, but partly on your back. Much as you had tried to will the thought, it seemed you had rolled over in the middle of the night, your shoulder and part of your face pressed into Arthur’s back. However, it didn’t seem like he had woken up yet, considering the steady breathing and the fact that he hadn’t moved himself or you. It wasn’t that you had wrapped yourself around him in the middle of the night, but it was enough to wake you up all the more at the idea of him waking up to that.

So, sparing him of that, you shifted to lay on your back near the edge of the bed, sitting up slightly you pressed a hand against your eyes and yawned. It was hard not to shake the acknowledgement that this was the strangest job you had done for the gang, or perhaps you were just being a bit dramatic. Time would tell on where you would side, but most of your previous cons were very quick. Get in, steal whatever it was you needed, and get out of there. There weren't really any moments where you could sit around, and it was odd that as soon as you stepped out of the bedroom, you had to put on an act. It was strange to wait, even if it was just for your partner to open his eyes.

Might have been nice, if...well, if you could actually relax and not have to worry at the same time how the Dupoints thought of you and how Arthur would act about the whole thing.

He had said he would do better, and you had said you would take him at his word.

With a small sigh, you shifted carefully to get out of the bed and wandered over to change clothes, your limbs still somewhat heavy with sleep. You picked out another outfit, avoiding anything too heavy with how warm the room felt at the moment. You weren’t sure what time it was, but the sun was up and you could feel it.

Thankfully, you weren’t the only one up for too long, Arthur shifting in the bed to glance around himself a moment before he blinked blearily in your direction from where you had situated yourself in one of the chairs by the window. Upon meeting his gaze, you gave him a quick smile and nod.

“Good morning.”

“Mornin’,” he returned, his voice still rough with sleep as he furrowed his brow, “...You just been sittin’ there watchin’ me sleep?”

“No,” you returned with a soft chuckle, “Not really. I haven’t been up long, and I figured after last night you might want a chance to change tune over breakfast.”

He let out a small hum, an unenthusiastic sound, as he placed his head back down for a few moments. You thought he was going back to sleep before he shifted his legs out and rolled up into a sit, rolling his shoulders some before you turned your head to glance out the window toward the trees.

“So, what’s the plan? For this money that’s supposedly here, that is,” Arthur asked, causing you to let out a small sigh before shrugging your shoulders lightly.

“Wish I could come up with an idea on that without any leads, but...well, there is that study up here I noticed that has the only closed door in this hallway.”

Might as well write suspicious on the front of it. Still, you weren’t sure so asking Trelawny might be worth a try. It was all you, had anyway.

“Alright…” Arthur replied, “Uh, let me get dressed and we can see what they’re plannin’ down there.”

“Food,” you returned with a soft chuckle, “Hopefully it doesn’t upset your stomach, having something other than coffee first thing.”

“Ain’t like I seen you eatin’ any better,” Arthur returned, causing you to raise an eyebrow as he walked toward his case was.

“You know what I eat in the mornings?” you returned back, your tone lighthearted but it was a genuine question under it all.

Again, you couldn’t exactly say you were one of the closest people he knew in camp and vice versa. Still, you both were some of the early risers in camp during the odd time when he actually found himself back in camp to sleep, always out and about in a way you had to envy a bit. You couldn’t say you were much of a traveller, but trying to get out from under the thumb of Grimshaw and chores around camp was difficult. Might have been why you had pestered Dutch and Hosea so much about getting you in on something, and of course this was what Dutch had returned with.

You weren’t sure if he genuinely had faith in that you were the person to do this thing or just getting you off his tail for a bit.

Either way, throwing it at you in a way where saying no felt like it would go sideways wasn’t great.

“No,” Arthur returned, the defensive tone jarring you a bit out of the quick trail of thought you were following, “You just pick up on things ‘round camp, I know more than I wish I did. Could ask you the same thing.”

“I was just joking,” you returned, watching as he seemed to catch himself, casting you a look before bending down to dig around in whatever was packed for him, “I’ve seen you during the odd morning, too, it’s not a big deal.”

“Mmhm.”

You let out a small exhale, rubbing a hand against the back of your neck. Really, you could have let the first statement stay as it was, you weren’t too sure why you wanted to add on the second bit. Though, with sleep still lingering at the corners of your mind, you figured you could blame it on that. Once Arthur had gotten dressed, you let the conversation go as you both headed downstairs.

Breakfast, at least, went a little better than dinner.

At least, in your opinion. Really, the night before could have gone worse should they have caught onto what was actually going on, but there was a little more tension off your shoulders throughout the interaction. Arthur didn’t blossom into a whole new person, but at least he tried to play a little more off the conversations with the odd input and touch or look when it seemed appropriate. It put you at ease a bit, allowing you to talk lowly with Trelawny at some point about the study at some point, and it ended with him and Arthur wandering off with Gregory to talk about the grounds and send you upstairs with a lock pick that Josiah had put in your palm.

“Thought you were avoiding weapons?”

“Not much trouble you can cause with a lock pick when it comes to that, and it’s a lot quieter than just shooting the knob off.”

So, with your new tool, it made the process of getting inside all the quicker once you knew you were alone. The space was cramped with shelves of books lining opposite walls and a desk sitting by the door. Trelawny had mentioned Gregory was paranoid, would it be too busy to just find the money in the desk? As it would turn out, it was, you being able to pull open the drawers easily enough but couldn’t come across anything outside the odd document and list of operations around the house. However, you did find a set of letters tucked away in the bottom of a drawer, staying crouched down there as you tried to skim them for anything useful.

However, the story there was different than you were expecting.

The first letter seemed to be something close to thanks addressed to Gregory for letting a man’s family stay with them during the winter months while Agatha had been ill, and you realized it was the only good one of the bunch considering the ones that followed. It went from informing of a deal that had been struck to almost pleading to let the man’s family back in as promised, one of his children falling very ill…

Typical. You could almost hear Dutch’s enthusiasm about robbing them increase and he was miles away.

Still, you ended up tucking the letters back into the desk, trying to make sure nothing looked too out of place. You had wandered around a bit, trying not to make too much noise but did stomp once or twice to test the floorboards but nothing seemed odd or out of place. With a sigh, you approached one of the shelves, looking over the titles of the book until a blank spine caught your eye. A small frown settled on your face, eyebrows furrowing. No…

Surly enough, when you tried to grab the book, it weighed oddly in your hands. Almost hollow.

Really…

However, you didn’t get to check the book too much before you heard some hurried footfalls coming quickly toward the study, some panic cropping up at the realization that you hadn’t closed the door fully. Stupid mistake. You shut your eyes a moment as you fought back a curse, Agatha pushing open the door with a confused and surprised look upon seeing you there, before it shifted into something close to anger. Really, you didn’t have to pretend to look all too surprised in return.

“What are you doing in here?” she demanded, “This is off limits!”

You took in a breath, mouth parting as you tried not to look like a fish out of water. “I-It was unlocked, and I…”

“Was it?” Agatha asked, narrowing her gaze as she tilted your head at you.

Slowly, an idea started to form as you decided you might as well do something you knew best. Most people seemed to be more sympathetic to wet eyes and trembling lips, you taking in a couple quick breaths as you willed some tears to sting at your eyes as you did so. It was almost routine, you had figured how to cry pretty easily when you were a teen and it had been a useful tool ever since. With a low groan, you pressed a hand against your eyes as you sniffled in a breath.

“Oh, I’m such a fool. Can’t do a thing right today, oh...I’m so sorry…” you glanced back up, pressing your lips together as a couple tears fell from your eyes, “I just...I saw it was open, and I was just looking for... anywhere to get away from it all.”

“Well…” Agatha started, seeming to pull back on her approach just slightly. You let out a sigh, letting your hand drop to your side as you shook your head. Might as well run with what you had…

“I just...I love that man, I do, but he runs so... hot and then so cold. I had...expected different and instead it’s what it is and...Oh, I don’t want to disappoint my family or my cousin. As soon as he had left with Mr. Dupoint I had just...I went up here and I wasn’t thinking. You must forgive me…”

“Oh, dear…” Agatha muttered around a sigh, some relief leaking in at the fact that her anger had melted into a look of understanding that honestly put some guilt in you about the fake tears, “I know that feeling all too well. I...well, I feel it’s inappropriate to speak of my marriage to you but...well, I’m sure he loves you dearly. Even I can see that.”

Could she? You had to fight back a scoff at the idea, considering the acting you and Arthur put on likely wouldn’t make the drunkest theater guest raise an eyebrow.

“I...I know you’re right,” you replied, calming the crying a few moments as you shook your head, “It’s just...so hard to know.”

“I...well, we have a couple more guests to arrive and I feel I might be able to do something to remedy that feeling,” she said, offering a small smile as you felt your eyebrows furrow slightly.

“Oh, I do appreciate--”

“I will get that sorted, don’t worry,” she stated, stepping forward to usher you out of the room, “In the meantime, I will let this go but please do avoid rooms that are locked. I will have to mention that to Gregory, but…”

“I promise,” you stated with a nod, not too sure what she was talking about beforehand but set it aside for the time being as you let out a slow breath. That book, though. It didn’t take much to tell it really wasn’t a book and that was something notable.

“You notice somethin’ off ‘bout that Agatha?”

Arthur’s voice was low, but it still made you jump when he had approached you as you were looking over some of the grounds from a railing outside, keeping an eye on Agatha and Gregory introducing some new arrivals. More people like them, rich and distant. Really, you were kind of glad to see some of the attention pulled from you and Arthur, though his question had you giving him a slightly confused look as he came to stand next to you.

“I...suppose so, why?” you asked, your voice equally as low as Arthur turned to glance back toward the way he came.

“Thought breakfast was fine this mornin’ but now it’s like I spat in her face…” he remarked, “I think I’ve only seen a meaner eye in Susan…”

Ah, Christ…

You instantly wanted to shrink into yourself a bit at the realization, your shoulders tensing a bit as you tried not to curse out loud as you pressed your lips into a thin line. Really, you thought it had been an innocent enough “complaint” that it wouldn’t paint Arthur in some bad light, but you were starting to learn that she wasn’t going to react in the way you were expecting. However, your shift in expression wasn’t lost on Arthur, who’s eyebrows furrowed in return.

“What?”

“I…” you started, letting out a sigh, “I got caught digging around in the study.”

“What?”

You raised your hands slightly at the tone, “I talked my way out of it, or...cried. I figured she might get swayed by some tears, she seemed the type, and she was. However...I may have made it out to be where you...weren’t being the greatest husband.”

“In what way?” Arthur asked, his tone tight.

“I-I didn’t say you... hit me or anything, just that you’re distant and hard to read. Which you are, but...I wasn’t expecting her to take that as a sort of personal issue for her to take on, but she seems to want to.”

“See, I was thinkin’ we agreed that we wasn’t goin’ with that but you went ahead and told her all them things anyway?” he asked, making you rub a hand across your mouth in frustration.

“I was in a tight spot, I needed to get suspicion off myself in that moment and I didn’t think it would be put back on you, but...I see it might be…” you stated before letting out a sigh, “I’m sorry. I’ll find a way to fix it, I know that was my mistake.”

Arthur seemed to accept that, still looking frustrated but didn’t seem to bristle like he had a few moments before. He leaned forward to rest his hands against the railing as he bowed his head, guilt and frustration sitting on your shoulders for a few moments as you did the same.

“Why’s this damn thing gotta be so complicated?” he asked around a small chuckle, “Trelawny’s bein’ his usual cryptic self and now…”

“I’m sorry,” you said again, bumping a shoulder into his slightly, “You can make up any story you want in return if anybody asks.”

“Nah…” he stated around a sigh, “Might be more convincin’ than whatever Trelawny’s sold ‘em on.”

“Agatha said she was going to do something to remedy that, but I haven’t a clue what she means by that.” Indeed treating him like he spat in her face certainly wasn’t helping, if that was her grand plan.

“Great…"

“I did come across some letters, though…” you started, “They’ve been shutting out this poor family for a while now, despite promising to help them. If anything, I think they’re due for some misfortune of their own. However, there were these books, felt hollow inside? Can’t say I know what’s in them, but it’s worth looking into...”

Arthur hummed slightly, sounding a little more interested but you could tell his frustration with the situation wasn’t resolved. You bit the inside of your cheek but didn’t bug him any further with it as you looked back out around the grounds. Again, it was a beautiful and relaxing place in the middle of nowhere, it seemed like a damn dream if everything you were trying to do wasn’t trying to turn belly up. Still, you weren’t too sure what the exchange earlier with Agatha and how you were going to fix this.

Arthur was right, you weren’t sure why this had to be so complicated but you knew you would have to do something about it soon before it got any more difficult.

#my writing.#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader

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galadrieljones · 5 years

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That he may hold me by the hand - Chapter 10

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Albert Mason

Rating: Mature (Adult Themes and Situations, Violence, and Sexual Content)

Summary: After saving Albert from stumbling off a cliff in the Heartlands, Arthur invites him to Valentine for a drink. What ensues after that is a quiet love story, in which both men find themselves completely undone.

Masterpost | AO3 | Epigraph

Chapter 10: Was life always this strange?

Albert’s opening at the gallery in St. Denis was a pretty affair. The space was small, but the owner decorated with subtle bouquets of chamomile, and lavender sprays which made the room smell almost as good as the open fields in the Big Valley. Albert drew a well-established following of collectors and debutantes, as well as fellow artists and photographers who had traveled a long way, and who seemed to know him beyond his art and asked him questions about his life and about his mother, too—How have you been since Haverford? Is Cynthia well? Your work has changed so much, Albert. Explain your muse. Arthur had gone with Josiah to the barber for a shave that afternoon and then the tailor where he bought a simple but elegant brown jacket to wear over his white shirt with the French-cut collar. He didn’t want to look too fancy, just put together. Josiah was very good with aesthetics.

“You want to look like a cowboy,” said Josiah. “But not too much like a cowboy. If you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do,” said Arthur, studying himself in the mirror.

“You are more than just a guest tonight, Arthur,” said Josiah. “You’re a muse. People are going to see your face in those photographs. They’re going to want to meet you. Do you have anything prepared?”

“Like what?” said Arthur, straightening his cuff links.

“Like, a backstory? Something interesting to tell about yourself.”

Arthur shrugged. “I reckon I’ll just make some things up as I go along.”

“I thought you were the master conman,” said Josiah.

“That’s Hosea,” said Arthur. “Though I’ll admit, he has taught me a fair bit over the years.”

“I’m sure he has.”

Arthur sighed. “I just don’t want to look like a fool,” he said. “I’d prefer not to be memorable, if we’re being honest, but more than anything, I don’t want to look like a fool.”

Josiah gave him a canny look. “I’m sure you’ll be a hit, dear boy.”

“Albert is the hit,” said Arthur. “I’m just…a nobody. And to be frank, I quite like it that way.”

“Being a nobody?”

“Yeah,” said Arthur, straightening his lapels. “Just being in the background. Not taking point, for once.”

“I believe I understand that,” said Josiah, smiling. “At least when thinking from your point of view.” He stood in front of Arthur in the mirror, helping him with his collar. “You look very good, Mr. Morgan. Almost upstanding.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Arthur. He did not know if he felt upstanding, but he felt better than he had in some time. It was almost enough to make him suspicious of his happiness, a nagging anxiety that he knew best to ignore.

Now, Mary Beth stood in her fanciest dress, holding a glass of champagne and making idle chit chat with a man in a top hat who said that he was from Philadelphia and that he had known Albert from childhood. This man’s name was Delvin Montague, and he was a businessman in town on holiday. He seemed interested in Mary Beth for her broad vocabulary and contradictory disposition as some sort of country bumpkin with a pretty face. She read him easily and on any other day, he would have been a mark. But she was not pickpocketing today. At least not here. Today, she was just an attendee at an art gallery opening for her friend Albert Mason, the nature photographer.

“Excuse me,” said Albert, interrupting them to say hello. He shook Delvin’s hand and after some rote pleasantries, sent him on his way. He then stood by Mary Beth’s side with his hands clasped neatly behind his back. He said to her, “Thank you for coming, Miss Gaskill. I must say, I’m flattered you're here.”

“Over me?” she said, blushing. “Hogwash, but thank you. I ain’t fancy, but I do appreciate the invitation.”

“No hogwash about it,” said Albert, rocking back on his heels as he regarded the room. He was well-groomed that day, very sharp. “Do you think I know any of these fancy people here, really know them?” he went on. “They never gave a shit about me until this day. They are here mostly to make acquaintance with each other, or to worm their way into my connections at the gallery for their own gain. It’s always something under the surface with these people, I assure.”

“Golly,” said Mary Beth, scandalized. “And I thought I lived the gutter life.”

This amused him. “I assure you, everyone here looks glamorous and experienced, Mary Beth, but they’re just…imprints. Of culture, and wealth. There’s nothing inside. Not all of course, but most. I wish I could say I did not used to be one of them.”

“Oh, please,” she said, smiling. She put her hand on his wrist briefly and then hid it away. She was so demure, he thought, but he could tell that she had seen more than she let on. She was not a spring chicken, or a child. She had some telltale roughness around the edges, like Arthur. But she was very pretty, uniquely so with all of her wild freckles. He wanted to photograph her but he thought it would be impolite to ask, as they did not know each other that well. “Ain’t nothing phony about you, Albert. You’re just you. I can tell.”

This made him warm around the rim of his collar. “Well, thank you, Mary Beth.”

“The pictures are good!” said John, coming around out of nowhere with his champagne. He had his hair combed to one side and everything. “I like the ones of Arthur best. I never seen him so…I don’t know. In his element, I guess.”

“Thank you, John,” said Albert. “And thank you for coming. I agree. He’s a good subject.”

“Where the hell is he, anyway?” said John, looking around. The room was bustling. Servants popped in and out with silver trays of champagne. “I saw him just a second ago.”

“He’s over there,” said Albert, nodding toward a corner where they saw Arthur holed up with some wild Frenchman with a pencil mustache. He looked utterly confused.

“He looks like he needs rescuing,” said Mary Beth.

“Nah,” said John, sipping his champagne. “It’s good for Arthur to be in over his head every once in a while. He needs to…let go. You know what I mean?”

“I do,” said Albert, smiling. “And I agree.” He took his leave then, at the behest of both John and Mary Beth who assured him that they might look out of place but that they were just fine. He crossed the room, shaking hands, making small talk as he went, but never lingering for too long. He was proud of the turnout and even prouder of his work on display. He nosied into Arthur’s conversation and, despite his earlier exchange with John, rescued him. Arthur looked relieved as Albert smiled and seamlessly dismissed the Frenchman who went away to his business, a little tipsy. Arthur was drinking his champagne while Albert lit a cigarette. Together, they stood at the top of the room, surveying all the people—John and Mary Beth standing casually by the window, joking, and it all seemed okay.

“This is some turnout,” said Arthur. “Very good work, Mr. Mason.”

“Thank you,” said Albert, smoking.

They were not entirely sure how to conduct themselves. Publicly, they existed only as friends. Arthur was Albert’s “muse,” of course. That was the romantic vocabulary of artists. But looking at him, anyone would have to agree that, as subject matter, he was objectively interesting. Everything about Arthur, from the way that he looked to the way that he seemed. He was unique—uniquely American was what one of the critics had said. Arthur found this ironic, considering has actual station and his line of work. He was neither swindled by nor too good for the luxury and decadence on display that day. He was a good chameleon, and he knew it. He could fit anywhere, with anyone. It wasn’t a con. It was just his nature.

“What time does this thing end?” said Arthur.

“Nine o’clock.”

“Jesus,” he said.

“You don’t have to stick around,” said Albert. He finished his cigarette, put it out in a nearby ash tray. A man came then to hand him a glass of champagne. “I’ll meet you back at the apartment when it’s over.” He sipped. “Granted, without you here, I’ll die of boredom. So you may be met with a ghost.”

Arthur laughed. “No, sir. I will stay until the end.”

“Perhaps we could corral John and Mary Beth after this. And Mr. Trelawny. It would be fun, I think, to get inordinately drunk with them,” said Albert.

“Well I don’t know about letting John Marston get inordinately drunk in a place of civilized manners,” said Arthur, “nor myself if we’re being honest, but I think a couple drinks would be okay.”

Albert was pleased.

They watched the people go by. Josiah was on the other side of the room making conversation with a very short man wearing a very expensive smoking jacket. He performed a magic trick with a card and a coin and the man looked offended and confused, as if he had just witnessed devil worship.

“Hmm,” said Albert then, something having caught his eye.

“What’s the matter?” said Arthur.

“That man,” said Albert, gesturing to the tall fellow with the light hair, standing with his back to them on the other side of the room. He was looking up at a picture of Arthur and smoking a cigarette with one hand in his jacket pocket. “I don’t recognize him. Do you?”

“Ain’t this thing open to the public?”

“Unfortunately not,” said Albert. “I tried to make them do it, but the owner wouldn’t hear of it. He’s very stuffy that way. The exhibit opens publicly tomorrow morning.”

“Maybe he’s a friend of somebody else’s. Or—”

Albert sighed. “Oh well. I was just wondering. Anyway.”

But Arthur was staring now, at the tall man as the people passed by and in between. He was dressed subtly, blending in, but Arthur could tell that he was not of the same station as the others. He was something else. Arthur squinted, unsure. Then the man turned around, but he did not look at Arthur. It was clear. “Hosea?” he said.

“You know him?” said Albert.

“Yeah, I know him,” said Arthur. “It's just very unexpected. What the hell is he doing here?”

“You said his name is Hosea?”

“Yeah,” said Arthur. He felt his heart sinking, kind of cold, into his gut, as if he had been caught. He handed his glass to Albert, asking if he could hang onto it for him for a minute.

“Of course,” said Albert.

“I’m just—I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Who is he?” said Albert.

Arthur looked at him. He must have seemed a little overwhelmed, as Albert looked genuinely curious now, even a little concerned.

“He’s—can I tell you later?” said Arthur. He placed his hands on Albert’s shoulders. “Please. I’ll tell you everything, Al. I promise. And I will be right back. I ain't going anywhere.”

This took Albert by surprise, the promise. He hadn’t expected this. He was so trusting, so full of patience and calm, nowhere near as bumbling as he had once seemed before they were lovers. He nodded, quietly, and said, “Okay.”

Arthur wanted to kiss him very badly, but instead he just squeezed Albert’s shoulders once. When he turned around, Hosea was gone. “Shit.”

“He went that way,” said Albert. “Toward the stairs.”

“Thank you.”

When he was gone, Mary Beth came over. She seemed to have sensed Albert’s sudden loneliness and she stood by his side with her champagne and said, “Was that Hosea?”

“I believe so,” said Albert, confused, staring after the place where Arthur had disappeared. “It seemed rather urgent.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she said, sipping. “Hosea is like a father to Arthur. But it an’t that simple. Don’t worry, Mr. Mason. He wouldn’t be here on business.”

“A father, you say?”

“Sort of,” she said. “They known each other a long time. I think since Arthur was something like fourteen? It ain’t my business, but Hosea is good, Albert. He’s kind of a fuck-up, because ain’t we all. But he’s good inside. He’s a good man. He cares about Arthur.” The way she was smiling, he couldn't help but believe her.

He was grateful. He said, “Thank you, Mary Beth. Would you excuse me?”

“Of course.”

Arthur caught up with Hosea right outside the gallery, in some sort of patio. It was open in the middle with plants and vines hanging from the balconies overhead. You could hear the talking from inside and also some music from a gramophone in one of the nearby apartments. The sky above was dark, and the stars were hidden by a thick layer of fog.

“Hosea,” said Arthur. “Hey.”

Hosea stopped, turned around. He had his hands in his pockets. When he saw Arthur, he smiled, but it was strained and distant. Like he was smiling from behind a screen door. “You caught me,” he said.

“What are you doing here?” said Arthur. “You on a job or something?”

“I followed Mary Beth,” said Hosea. He took his hands out of his pockets, studied his knuckles. It was an old habit that Arthur had picked up from him long before. “She left secretively from Shady Belle, and I had a feeling she might be coming to see you.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I wanted to see you,” said Hosea. “To know that you were okay. I was a little worried, that’s all.”

“Of course I’m okay,” said Arthur. He straightened up, felt himself getting sucked back into some sort of cycle he had been avoiding. He was embarrassed and ashamed all of a sudden, as if he had been caught in a lie, but he had not told any lies. “Don’t worry.”

“You’ve been very absent lately,” said Hosea. “Ever since that horrible business with Colm O’Driscoll. Jesus Christ, I don't blame you. I’m sorry, son. I should’ve—I should’ve stopped it. We never really talked about that.”

“It weren’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was,” said Hosea. His smile wilted, saturated in guilt, an intense anger directed at himself. “Even still, you were distant before, Arthur. You have been for some time. I tried to understand, but I never figured it out. I assume now it must have something to do with all this? With that photographer in there. His pictures of you are marvelous. Whatever’s been going on, you should be proud.”

“I am,” said Arthur. “But I don’t understand. Why didn’t you say hello?”

Hosea shrugged. He looked older than Arthur remembered, unwell. He coughed into his jacket sleeve, rolled his shoulders back as if he were gathering his courage. “I didn’t tell Dutch where I was going, Arthur. There’s talk around camp that you’re leaving the gang. Dutch is messed up over the rumors, but I’m not here to change your mind. I just wanted to see you.”

“I’m sorry,” said Arthur. “I should’ve told you. I don't know why I didn't. Or, I do know. But it was the wrong choice."

“Don’t be sorry,” said Hosea. He smiled, warmly, like he had used to before things got bad. “Things have changed, Arthur. I want you to find something better for yourself, if it’s in the cards. I never thought it was, but that’s my fault. I was wrong.”

Arthur looked away. He looked at his boots and where they were positioned on the expensive stone tiling of the patio. He found himself unable to contain his guilt and endless sadness now, there, in front of Hosea. Being with Albert had pried something open inside him that he could no longer shut. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Is it the photographer?” said Hosea, serious. “You can tell me, Arthur. I’ll understand.”

“I’m not sure you can.”

“You think I stay with Dutch because of his leadership skills?” said Hosea. He shook his head. “Don’t be a fool. Use that brain of yours, Arthur. I know it’s in there, and I know you hear me when I say that. Do you hear me now?”

“Yes,” said Arthur.

“Good. Now, look at me, son.”

Arthur looked up, tried to look right at him, but he couldn’t. It was like staring into the sun, or something worse. He looked slightly away and stood taller than he had been.

“That man in there," said Hosea, "he has something, something that you can have, too, if you want it. Am I right?"

Arthur nodded, once. He closed his eyes.

“Do you love him?” said Hosea.

Arthur nodded again, his eyes still closed. When he opened them again, they were wet, but he wiped that away quickly and bit it back. “He’s descent.”

“I get it,” said Hosea. He clasped Arthur hard on the shoulder. “Now, go back to the party. I don’t need anymore explanation, Arthur. I just came to make sure you were okay.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome, son."

Hosea smiled, very twinkling. For he had turned it on again, his charm and irresistible nature, that thing that set him apart from all the other conmen Arthur had ever known in his god forsaken life. He said nothing more, not about when they would see each other again. He did not ask Arthur if he would be returning to camp. He just said goodbye, and he walked away. Arthur said goodbye, too. He stood, alone.

Meanwhile, Josiah had been waiting for them to finish their conversation. He was on the other side of the glass double-doors. He hadn’t heard what they were saying, but he was good with reading people, and he could tell more or less what was going on. When Hosea was gone, he came out and put his arm around Arthur's shoulders. Josiah was a tall man. He was just as tall as Arthur and just as wide. Arthur flinched at first, but then he just sort of gave in. “It’s all right,” said Josiah. “Don’t let it get the best of you, dear boy. Let’s go.”

Arthur dried his eyes secretively on the back of his hand. “What do you mean, let it get the best of me?”

“Hosea means well,” said Josiah, casually walking Arthur back to the party. “He always has, but I’ve known you for a very long time, Arthur. I know the effect he has on you. Him and Dutch. Don’t let it get the best of you. That’s all I’m saying. Remember why you’re here, and what you want.”

Arthur looked at him, confused at first, but then verging on thankful as then he looked away at the walls of the hallway that led back to the gallery. They were painted a marvelous white, the walls, so white it almost served to blind him. He recalled his conversation a couple nights before, up in the foothills, Albert's earnestness. His seriousness when he told Arthur that he loved him.

When they got back now, Albert was sitting in a chair outside the door, looking bored. He was still holding a glass of champagne in each hand. This sight of him out there, the artist on display, avoiding his own party, was almost comical. It snapped Arthur back into reality with unrecognizable force.

“What are you doing out here?” said Arthur. “You should be inside, Mr. Mason. Mingling. Or, whatever.”

Albert rose when he saw them, handed Arthur his champagne. “I was waiting for you.”

It was silly, thought Arthur, as he took the glass. Sometimes he still did not understand it. But it was all he needed to hear at the time.

That night, they all went to the saloon. After several shots of whiskey, which John had bought, and Josiah’s drunken magician act involving a rabbit escaping from his hat and jumping up the skirts of a very fancy prostitute who had been chatting idly with Mary Beth at the bar, Albert and Arthur stole away and went upstairs to Albert’s apartment, just for a little while. They went out to the balcony to smoke cigarettes and to sit, simply, beside one another, in the stillness and the quiet of the evening. Together, they regarded the foggy night sky and let their pulses slow and their minds go free.

“Hmm,” said Albert, smoking, inquisitive. He was rumpled, his collar loosened since the party.

“What is it?” said Arthur.

“I can’t tell,” said Albert, “if I’m going to miss this place, or not.”

The question was complicated. Perhaps much more complicated than, up until that night, Arthur had realized. “Me neither,” he said. He asked for a cigarette. Albert lit him one of the end of his own.

"Do you ever miss our days in Arcadia, Arthur?" said Albert.

Arthur thought about it. He took a long drag off the cigarette, flicked the ashes, and put his arm around him. "Not really," he said. "But then again, in some ways, I reckon we never left."

They were both telling the truth as they sat, smoking on the balcony, searching for the moon.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #albert mason #arthur morgan x albert mason #arthur x albert #albthur #josiah trelawny #john marston #mary beth gaskill #hosea matthews

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