This is a work in progress that takes place in the RDR2 universe. I was inspired by the characters in this game. I feel that Arthur's relationship with Mary Linton is deeply misunderstood and could have been developed in the game more. I was also interested in exploring the unspoken/unaddressed relationships that Arthur had.

Obviously Arthur Morgan is an incredibly complex character, one that I cannot possibly hope to improve upon. I was just interested in adding a bit more depth to his relationship with Mary Linton. The timeline begins just after Sean Macguire is rescued at Horseshoe Overlook and I intend to have it progress through Chapter 4 in Saint Denis.

I'm interested in keeping Arthur and the rest of the cast of Characters as IC as possible so I welcome any constructive criticism.

Arthur rolled his sleeves up, it was a warmer than usual evening. The gang seemed delighted that Sean had been rescued, it was the first bit of good luck they had in months. Arthur leaned against a nearby tree, clutching a beer in his hand.

His eyes fell on Dutch and Miss Molly O'Shea now. An accordion had just begun to play and they had begun to dance slowly. Molly was giggling like a school girl, starved for Dutch's attention. He wondered how long she would keep his favor. At the moment, he seemed content to hold her in his arms. Molly was attractive, for an Irish girl he thought. Perhaps others in the camp would think this meant he cared deeply for her, Arthur was more cynical. He knew Dutch had been drinking, he was whispering in her ear tenderly but there was a lustful look in his eyes. Molly was not Annabelle, and Dutch could only stand to be with her when he was drunk. He shook his head finishing his beer, and tossing the bottle carelessly on the ground.

"Arthur?"

The voice was soft, instantly recognizable. "Hello Mary-Beth" He said, tipping his hat with a nod. His steely blue eyes clearly illuminated by the flickering fire.

"Would you dance with me?"

She smiled lightly at him, her hands folded softly against her chest. He inhaled sharply through his nose, "'Aint never been much of a dancer." He said gruffly as he exhaled. He looked past her at Dutch and Molly. His hands were wandering down her back now. She looked down, and as his gaze fell back to her he noticed she was disappointed. "Suppose I could give it a try." He said, taking her hand in his. "I'm sure you're better than you think you are…" She said reassuringly.

He slipped his arm around her waist and began to dance with her. He pursed his lips together, smiling with his mouth closed. He nodded curtly and began to lead her with a soft sway. She followed him more easily than he thought she would. It seemed a bit ridiculous, hours earlier he had been in a fire-fight with bounty hunters, and now he was swaying like a ballerina. In addition, he was a large clumsy oaf compared to Mary-Beth Gaskill. They must look so unusual dancing together, with her being young and beautiful and him being the ugly old man he knew he was. He could not hide the awkwardness he felt, and Mary-Beth seemed to notice this.

"Don't worry Arthur," She said reassuringly, looking into his eyes with a kind smile. "just 'cause you dance don't mean that you 'aint still angry and sad."

He was startled by her words, so much so that he paused momentarily. She looked at him expectantly, and instinctively he twirled her and pulled her small frame back towards him. She fell back into him with grace and ease. Her movements had a softness about them that made something with in him feel warm. His face betrayed him in that moment, and he smiled genuinely now.

"Is that what you all think of me?" He said with a soft chuckle, gripping her tightly. Perhaps she was right. He tried to recall his actions around camp over the last few months. Nothing felt right since Blackwater. He was angry, and sad most days. There were a lot of reasons for that. Maybe he wasn't as good at hiding his emotions as he thought.

"Sad in a good way, like a romantic poet" She said with a kind smile.

"Well… I suppose that's all I can muster." He said with a long exhale, disgusted at himself for the way the words sounded coming out of his mouth. Was he really so old, and jaded?

"Oh Arthur." She said with a sigh and a slight giggle.

He dipped her now, and gripped her waist firmly. He paused for moment and his own eyes met hers. Her smile faded, as she stared into his eyes and she looked away. He picked her up once more, and continued to lead her.

The song ended, and she curtseyed gracefully while he bowed clumsily. "That was nice Arthur. You 'aint as bad as you say."

"Thanks for the dance Miss Gaskill." He said, tipping his hat slightly.

"Anytime Arthur."

He turned from her and pulled a cigarette package out of his pocket heading towards the edge of the camp, near the cliff that overlooked the horseshoe shaped bend in the Dakota River. He stuck a cigarette between his lips, and lifted his foot, striking his match on the sole. He lit the end of the cigarette, inhaling the smoke. He removed the cigarette and exhaled. As he did, he felt a slight head rush that was familiar to him.

He looked down at the river, gripping the cigarette with his right hand and holding his belt with his left. He took another drag, watching the smoke disappear into the evening as he exhaled. He tried to take himself away from the overlook in the moment. The rest of the camp was drinking, singing and celebrating. It took him back to simpler times out west, he closed his eyes trying to forget where he was and their circumstances. He yearned for that land out west now.

"Didn't realize you was a dancer now, Arthur."

He recognized Abigail's voice immediately. He smiled, looking down smugly with a nod. "Evenin' Abigail."

"'Aint she a little young for you? Didn't think you was the type..." Abigail appeared next to him with her arms crossed. Her voice was tired and angry. Arthur took another drag of his cigarette, and looked sideways at her as he exhaled. Although her words were quiet, there was a fiery look in her eyes and unmistakable frustration in her face. Her beautiful features were illuminated in the moonlight. Wisps of unkempt black hair fell carelessly in front of her dark, sad eyes. What a pathetic pair they made.

"You got me all figured out Miss Abigail," He said dryly, "And after all, you would know wouldn't you?" He jabbed slightly. He turned towards her now and took another long drag of his cigarette. He stared into her eyes with an aggressive calmness and she returned his gaze as if to challenge him. He stepped closer to her, as he exhaled the smoke to his right. He loomed over her, saying nothing.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, not made at all uncomfortable by his closeness. For some reason this brought a smile to Arthur's face, maybe he found it comforting that someone seemed as miserable as he was, albeit for different reasons. "Easy Arthur, I know you 'aint been with nobody in years." She said with a sigh.

"Hah. Do you now?" Arthur chuckled. He shook his head with a smug smile and turned to face to Dakota river once more. No, it had been many years since Arthur had been with Abigail. Before she fell so hard for John. It hadn't been a long fling, but her manner around him still managed to surprise him. She was very comfortable in the presence of men, and seemed to understand him in a way that no woman had understood him before. Perhaps the fact that she had been with so many men made her especially attuned to their wants, or maybe she was just talented at making men feel special. He was no longer certain if Abigail was especially alluring or if she was just exceptionally good at understanding what men want. There was a part of him that was still attracted to her, but in a way that he hadn't been when he was with her. He wished he'd known how rare a woman she was then.

"What's wrong, 'aint you enjoying the party?" He asked, even though he knew the answer.

She shook her head and looked down, her arms tightly folded against her chest. He shook his head now, and took another drag of his cigarette. "I told you." He said as he exhaled. "Don't know what you was expectin." He looked over at her, sticking the cigarette in his mouth and pulling one out of the package in his pocket for her. She looked at him and took it up to her lips. He struck another match on the sole of his boot and lit it for her. She glanced up at him as he did, and he pulled away, suddenly uncomfortable by her closeness.

Perhaps he wasn't a good man, but he did have a code. He had too much respect for Abigail and the small family her and John had created. He waved the match carelessly to extinguish the flame and Abigail took a long drag of the cigarette, still gazing sideways at him before looking down at the cigarette between her lips.

"He asks about him… every day." She said after exhaling.

"He's a good kid." Arthur said, smoke escaping from his lips as he spoke. "Smart kid." He added with a nod. "You sure he's John's?" He said sarcastically, the words left his mouth before he could think. This was a sore spot with Abigail and she ignored him.

"The boy needs his father." She snapped, her eyes facing the river now.

"He'll come around." Arthur sighed, flicking the butt of his cigarette in the mud. It landed with a sizzle and he stepped on it to put it out. "Takes time, you know…." He looked down at the ground now. "…for a father to bond with his son, 'specially in this life."

Abigail said nothing, and he could sense the confusion in her eyes. Perhaps she was wondering how he could know the first thing about fatherhood. She was right to be confused, but he didn't dwell on it.

"Thank you Arthur… for takin him fishing the other day." Abigail turned towards him after taking another drag of her own cigarette.

"Well, I'm not sure how much he enjoyed it, but I reckon I'm not the best teacher." Arthur said with a long drawn out sigh.

"That poor boy, he don't deserve this." She said her voice suddenly soft, and far away. Arthur exhaled sharply again and scratched his whiskers.

"Nope." Was all he could say. He did empathize with her, and tried to imagine how his life might have been different if he were in her situation. There were far too many men after him, it would tear him apart to have a family so close and so intertwined in this life. But on the other hand, maybe it made them safer to be a part of it, where they had John and people like himself to look after them. He glanced over at Abigail, who did not finish her cigarette. She tossed it in the mud not far from his own and she looked forlornly out into the evening. Perhaps he should've married Abigail all those years ago, she was a fine lady, one of the best he'd had the pleasure of knowing… and yet…

Mary…

He felt her eyes on him once more. "You've been to see that Mary Gillis again, 'aint you?" She said. She really did know him better than any other woman he'd met. His gaze was far away in that moment, and he did not make eye contact with her.

"Yeah."

"I thought you was done with her."

"Yeah."

"'Aint she married now?"

"He's dead now." Arthur said blandly. "Pneumonia… or some other bad business, I don't know…" Arthur lit up another cigarette and exhaled the smoke into the night. Abigail looked at him suspiciously, and he shook his head. "It 'aint like that though, she needed my help with somethin'."

"I never liked that woman."

Arthur looked down and took another drag of the cigarette. There was the slightest hint of jealousy in her voice her thought. "You 'aint never met her, what're you talkin about?" He chuckled, the smoke escaping from his lips as he spoke.

"She 'aint been fair to you Arthur." She said softly. Abigail turned to him now, and looked up at him. He was mistaken, her eyes were looking at him with pity. He turned away from her quickly, his expression hardening.

You moron, she 'aint got eyes for no one but Marston.

Not that he wanted Abigail's eyes on him… or maybe he did. He wasn't quite sure, and he knew there was no reason to bother speculating.

"Don't you give me that look Abigail." He said quietly, as he puffed on his cigarette. "Not you." He continued. "It's a long time ago now." His voice suddenly far away. "All that business... it's-"

"Lighten up Morgan, it's a party"

At the sound of Micah's condescending voice Arthur audibly groaned, flicking his second cigarette into the mud. Micah wedged himself between Arthur and Abigail, "I know you gotta maintain that strong, silent thing you got goin…" He said sardonically with a wild look in his blue eyes. With that he turned to Abigail, and put both hands on his belt. "Hello Abigail." He said his eyes invading every inch of her.

Abigail again did not seem bothered by Micah's obvious advances. Arthur thought that running with them for as long as she had been had hardened her. She seemed remarkably apathetic to Micah, despite his best efforts to make her despise him. "Evenin'." She said with a nod.

"excuse me, gentlemen. I've gotta see to that boy."

Abigail went to turn and Micah grabbed her arm, as she turned. "Stay and take in the view. The boy will be fine." Micah tiled his head.

"Careful there," Arthur said dangerously, moving closer to Micah. There was a long, tense silence until finally Abigail snatched her arm away, scowling at him with contempt. "Arthur." She said, glancing up at him once more before leaving.

As she walked away, Micah laughed. "ooh, I do love it when they have a little fight in them. Makes it fun, don't it Morgan?"

"You're a sad, sad fool." Arthur shook his head.

"She 'aint yours Morgan."

Arthur said nothing, and shook his head. With that he turned towards his tent, leaving Micah to laughed behind him. "Nobody here has a sense of humor!" He cackled.

He let out a long sigh and sat down on his cot, removing his hat and his satchel. He looked briefly over at the picture on his bedside table. A young Mary Gillis was staring with a content expression off into the distance. He rolled his eyes, stretching out on his cot as the rest of the camp settled down for the evening.