So I meant to get this out around Christmas/ New Years timeframe, but uhh... So much for that. Anyway, here it is! Thanks for your patience and- of course- enjoy.
Chapter 2
Well, I suppose it had to happen eventually, regardless of how unlikely it might've been. John Marston finally had an idea. And a pretty damn good one, at that.
Stop the train with an oil wagon. Hell, almost wish I'd thought of it. But it's so damn simple, I don't think anyone besides Marston could've.
We do it this way, there's no dynamite involved. No derailing. Most importantly, I ain't gonna have to jump on it while it's still movin', neither. I still don't think Javier fully appreciates how lucky he got when he didn't snap his neck or get caught under the wheels falling off of the last one.
I ain't in any hurry to go doin' that again any time soon. Turns out I like living. Or, at least, not dying.
We're trying to keep the job small. As few people as possible, and even then only the ones we can trust to keep their heads together when everything goes south- Which it will. That means me, Marston, and Charles. Maybe Javier. We ain't expecting anything too exciting though, so we may not even wind up needing him.
The train don't come through 'til tonight anyhow, so we've got time to think on it. For now, everything is as prepared as it can be. Now we just wa-
"Hey, Arthur." Abigail's voice interrupted Arthur's scribbling.
Arthur shut his journal, looking up at her as he tucked it away. "Miss Roberts."
Abigail's hands wrung together nervously, and she didn't seem to want to meet his eyes. "How ya doin'?"
Arthur smirked, leaning back on the bench he'd settled in on that morning. "One of these days, you might actually ask me that question without a request followin' right after."
Abigail's shoulders slumped slightly. "Am I that obvious?" She asked, the smile gracing her lips looking a little guilty.
"I would say 'no', but I do my best not to lie to you. I'm a dishonest enough man as is."
"Fair enough," She replied, letting out a breathy chuckle. She gestured at the empty spot on the bench beside him. "Mind if I join you?"
"Be my guest, Miss Roberts. It's a free country- or so they keep sayin', anyway."
"Just 'Abigail' is fine, Arthur." She said as she settled down beside him.
He gave a slight nod. "Sure. So what is it I can do for you?"
She chewed on her lip for a moment, mulling over her words. Finally, she let out a sigh, and her bright blue eyes found his. "It's Jack."
"What about him?" Arthur asked.
"He just- I don't know. He's been so… Withdrawn lately. He doesn't talk as much. He barely smiles." She looked so crestfallen in that moment, seeming lost. It was clear enough that she didn't know what to do, or she wouldn't have sought out his help. Abigail liked to handle things herself, typically. Stubbornly, even. She wouldn't reach out until she was near the end of her rope. Arthur's chest couldn't help but tighten just a little at the thought.
"I don't know what to do, Arthur. All this moving around, and- and losing folks. It can't be easy for him, but he ain't talking to me. I- I just…"
She looked on the verge of tears, and Arthur felt more than a little awkward. He reached out, tentatively placing a hand on her shoulder. "Now, now. None of that." He was never really sure what to say in these types of situations. "Just… let me know what I can do to help."
Abigail sniffled a bit, frustratedly wiping at her eyes. "I don't even know why I'm like this, I just-"
"You're a mother worried about her kid." Arthur interrupted. "Frankly, I'd be a little concerned if you wasn't upset."
She was quiet for a moment after that. After a bit, she seemed to collect herself, turning to him. "Would you… would you do something with him?"
"Like?" He asked.
She shrugged in reply, and he arched an eyebrow.
"Well I can't take him on a job. I don't think he can shoot straight enough to rob anybody yet." He pointed out.
Abigail chuckled lightly. "No, not like that. Just- get his mind off of everything for a little while. Take him somewhere."
Arthur paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Don't you think that's something the boy's father ought to be helping with?"
"You know his father is useless." She replied dismissively.
Arthur's mouth pressed into a thin line. He'd said as much about Marston himself- recently, even- but something about hearing it from her seemed worse. The man really did seem to be trying to make amends. In his own way, anyway.
"Sorry." She said quickly, gaze dropping to the floor. "I don't mean to sound so callous but- well you know John. Maybe somewhere in there is a good man, but... I just don't think I'm ready to trust him with my son just yet. Maybe not ever."
Arthur noticed the way she said 'my son', excluding John entirely. Not the best sign. He didn't comment on it though, instead simply asking, "Well why me, then?"
"Well, Jack likes you. And I… I'd just really appreciate it." She looked back up at him then, bright blue eyes seeming to shine in the early morning light.
Arthur coughed, quickly getting to his feet. "Well… your lack of faith in Williamson as a caretaker has been noted, Miss Abigail." Arthur said with a grunt as he stretched his arms out. "But it's also probably justified. Alright, I'll take care of it."
"Thank you." Abigail said, sounding relieved. She stood up, smiling earnestly. "I knew I could count on you, Arthur."
"Don't mention it," He replied, grabbing his hat from its place beside where he'd been sitting. "So where is the little man?"
"He was over on the edge of the camp, by the horses." She told him, pointing.
He turned his head in the direction she'd indicated. Jack was sitting by a tree not too far from where the horses were grazing. The boy looked like he was drawing something in the dirt using a thin stick.
He turned back to Abigail, giving her the little mock salute that he did so often before he walked away.
She watched him walk over, her hopes high.
From what she could tell, Arthur really was one of Jack's favorite people in the camp. Charles could hold the boy's attention for hours by telling him stories of the native folk, and their way of life. Shaun could have just about anyone smiling and laughing with his sharp tongue and easygoing manner, though Abigail really didn't want him repeating most of the stories he knew when Jack was present. Javier was excellent at lifting everyone's spirits when he settled by the campfire with his guitar.
But Arthur? He just had a sort of effortless charm about him, once you got past the gruff exterior.
"Whatchu up to?" Abigail heard Arthur's voice carry across the distance between them.
"Playing." Her son replied.
"Anything fun?"
"I guess…" Jack sounded unsure. It made Abigail's heart break a little every time she heard that downcast tone in her son's voice. He ought to be playing with other kids his age. Doing chores. Getting in trouble for little things.
She almost wished that he had other children around, but would never wish this life on any other child. He wasn't supposed to be out here, constantly hiding and dodging the law like they were.
"It's about time you started earning your keep, right?" Arthur's voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Okay." Jack replied.
"So let's go catch us some fish!" The older man said encouragingly. There was a child-like enthusiasm in his voice that brought a smile to Abigail's face. He could try to sell the tough-guy image all he liked, but everyone knew Arthur was soft as melted butter when it came to kids. Or Jack, at least.
"Okay!" Jack agreed again, this time with more excitement in his voice. He hopped up to his feet, bolting over to where she knew he kept the rod Hosea had made for him. It was difficult to tell from this distance, but Abigail could've sworn she saw a toothy smile on her son's face.
She glanced over at Arthur, hoping he would catch her appreciative look. He didn't though, already heading over to get his mare ready for the short ride to the river.
She let out a relieved sigh, standing to rejoin Miss Grimshaw and the other ladies in their duties to maintain the camp.
As she walked, she thought about Jack. In the life she lived, raising a child was a colossal undertaking- especially alone. She was doing the best she could, given the circumstances, but was it enough?
She kept trying to teach the boy right from wrong, and tried pushing him towards the people she considered to be good influences. Well- better influences. But what if he grew up to be like Williamson, or worse- Bell?
She knew she couldn't stay. Not if she wanted her son to grow up doing anything besides robbing and killing, anyway. The only problem was, she had no idea what she would do if she left. This gang had been all she'd known for such a long time, she couldn't imagine being on her own.
Abigail shook her head, trying to push away the train of thought for the time being. There wasn't much she could do at the moment anyway. All she could really do was bide her time and hope that an opportunity would present itself eventually. If not, well… She'd make an opportunity.
She looked over in the direction that Arthur and Jack had ridden off. For now, Jack would be fine. He was still too young to get involved in anything overly dangerous, and the other gang members treated him well. For now he was safe, and that was what mattered.
And hell, maybe he could even have a little fun in the meantime.
-RDR-
"I'm booorrredd." Jack complained.
"Well, that's good." Arthur replied.
"It's good?" The boy asked, with more than a little confusion in his voice.
"Sure." Arthur said. "That means you're doing it right."
Jack looked down at the fishing rod in his hands, an expression halfway between concentration and aggravation etched on his tiny face. "We're not doing anything! Fishing is boring!"
"Well, yeah, it's boring. Boring as hell." Arthur agreed. "But then, something happens. And when it does, you gotta be ready."
"You don't look ready. You look like you're falling asleep."
Arthur tipped the brim of his hat upwards, just a bit, so he could look at Jack. The kid wasn't wrong. He'd found a nice spot to sit down, lean back, and pull his hat down over his eyes. He'd actually been drifting off for just a moment before Jack had started complaining.
"'Course I'm ready. I'm just relaxing. The fish can tell if you're tense."
"They can?"
"Sure."
"Is that why we haven't caught anything yet?"
"Probably."
"So we just need to relax?"
"Yep."
"Like Uncle?"
Arthur's face scrunched in distaste. "What Uncle does is well beyond relaxing. That man is just lazy as hell. Don't compare me to him. I'm ugly, but I ain't that ugly."
Jack smirked, as though he'd just remembered something amusing. "Miss Grimshaw says that you're a handsome young man." Jack said, sounding like he was withholding a laugh.
"And what's so funny about that?" Arthur asked with mock offense.
"Why does she call you that? You're old!"
This time, Arthur was actually a little offended. He sat up, looking at the boy defensively. "I ain't that old. Besides, everyone's young compared to that crone." Arthur said, then caught himself when Jack started laughing. "Don't tell her I said that."
"I won't."
Arthur still felt like word would somehow reach her- it usually did- but he was content with that answer for the time being.
He leaned back a little, letting himself relax again. A mischievous smirk worked its way into his face.
"So… Anyone else say I'm handsome?"
"No, just Miss Grimshaw." Jack replied off-handedly, almost without thinking.
Arthur frowned, settling fully into his original position. "Well I guess I walked into that one."
He pulled the brim of his hat back down over his eyes, laying back against the bank of the river once again.
A surprising amount of time passed without any questions or conversation. Eventually though, Jack had to break the silence.
"Uncle Arthur?"
"Yeah, kid?"
"You brought my poppa back down from that mountain, right?"
"Me and Uncle Javier, yeah. Why?"
"Thank you." Jack said earnestly. "Momma was sad when he was gone. She didn't say anything, but I know she was."
"Yeah, I kinda figured the same thing." Arthur agreed. "That's why I went to go get him."
It was a partial lie- most of the convincing had come from Javier pestering him- but there was enough truth there that Arthur didn't feel guilty saying it to the boy.
Jack went silent again. Arthur tipped the brim of his hat back up to see the kid, and this time he could plainly see the pensive look on his face. It was obvious he had more to say.
Sighing, Arthur fixed his hat and sat up straighter, looking out over the water. He could see the splashes of fish swimming near his line, but none of them went for the cheese hooked at the end- the bastards.
"Momma still looks sad now." Jack finally said.
"Well… I think she might still be worried."
"But Poppa's okay now."
"Yeah, more or less. How you doin', kid?" Arthur asked, looking over at Jack.
"I'm fine." The boy replied quickly.
"You sure?" Arthur pressed. Jack nodded.
Arthur felt like he was supposed to do more. Somehow he doubted 'well the kid said he was fine' would fly if he had to speak to the mother later. That and- well… Damn it if he wasn't a little worried, too.
His lips pressed together as he exhaled slowly from his nose. "These last few weeks can't have been easy." He finally said. Jack looked at him, looking more curious than anything else. "I mean- I know they ain't been. Lots of movin', and packin'. Then the blizzard and-" We lost some folks, He didn't say.
"It's just been a lot to take in." He eventually settled on something less direct. "I know it has. 'Specially for you and your Momma, having that scare with John."
Jack didn't say anything. When he wasn't spouting off questions, the boy had a thoughtful demeanor about him. He just seemed to soak it all in, processing everything at once.
Arthur pulled himself up to a crouch, kneeling in front of Jack. The kid was short enough that Arthur found himself at about eye level with him. "You've been really brave. You've been strong enough for you and your Momma both." Arthur searched the boy's eyes, looking for some indication of what was going on in there. The kid's face was a blank slate. He'd make a hell of a poker player.
"But you don't gotta be strong all the time, you know." Arthur continued. He removed his hat, plopping it into Jack's head. He wasn't completely sure what had possessed him to do so. It'd just felt right, at the moment.
"That's my job, okay?"
Before he could fully register what was going on, Arthur felt a pair of tiny arms wrap around his neck. It felt as though Jack was trembling slightly, and Arthur had no idea what to say or do. He settled for slowly patting the boy's back, letting the hug play out.
"There you go. You're alright." Arthur muttered softly, distantly noting that he used the same words to calm horses. Thankfully, it seemed to work.
Jack pulled away steadier than before, wiping his nose with a sniffle.
"You'll be alright, kid." Arthur assured him, holding him by his shoulders. "Just- look, if you ever have something you need to talk about… but you don't wanna talk to your mother? Come to me or Hosea, okay?"
"Okay." Jack agreed.
"Alright then. Just try not to bottle anything up. It ain't good for you. You had your Momma worried."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it. Just… Think about what I said."
"Okay." Jack promised. His face suddenly lit up. "I think I know what'll make Momma feel better!"
He bolted upright, making to run off, but stopped at the last second. He looked down at the fishing rod that he'd left abandoned on the riverbank, then back up at Arthur. Arthur's hat nearly fell off with the motion, too big for the boy's head.
The older man chuckled, fixing the hat for him. "Go ahead. I'll keep an eye on the fishing rod for you."
Jack smiled appreciatively, then dashed off. He ran between patches of plants, picking flowers as he went.
A grin found its way to Arthur's face as he watched the kid work. Jack seemed visibly animated, darting between flower patches with more enthusiasm than he'd seen the kid show in weeks.
Job well done, Morgan. He mentally congratulated himself.
His attention was pulled away when he heard a tug at the line. He picked up his rod, confused. He hadn't seen it so much as twitch. Maybe he was just imagining-
Another pull. Not on his line, he realized.
"Oh you gotta be kidding me." He said, watching as Jack's little fishing rod- practically a toy made for him by Hosea- was tugged closer to the water.
He dropped his own rod, reaching down to grab the smaller one before it was pulled into the river. He picked it up, pulling back as the fish fought against him.
The next minute or so was simply repeating the techniques that Hosea had taught him. Pull, let off some slack, reel when it got tired. Repeat. The little bastard was a fighter, though, and it actually took Arthur a fair amount of effort to haul the fish back to shore.
When he finally did, he beamed with pride at the eight-or-so pound salmon that dangled off of the line.
"That was on my line?" Jack asked from behind him.
"Sure was." Arthur said, not taking his eyes away from the fish. "What were all them flowers for, anyway?"
"I made Momma a necklace. Look!"
Arthur had begun to turn around when an unfamiliar voice made itself heard.
"My my, what a charming young man. In such… complex circumstances."
The fish fell from Arthur's hands. Before it had even hit the ground, a gleaming silvered cattleman revolver had already replaced it. Arthur held the gun with practiced skill, aiming directly at the newcomer.
Two men in pressed suits and bowler hats approached. The lead one- a man with a thin, rodent-like face- approached unarmed, wearing a smile that looked about as clean and fabricated as the clothing he wore. The man who followed behind had a broad, stern-looking visage decorated with a thick mustache.
The second man had a shotgun shouldered and aimed at Arthur, but Arthur himself kept his revolver centered on the leading man's forehead.
"Now Sir, no need for that." The rodent faced man said, smug smile remaining in place. "We wouldn't want things to become… Disagreeable in front of- your boy, I presume?"
Arthur used the handle of the fishing rod in his other hand to guide Jack behind him, shielding the boy with his body. "I don't make it a habit to answer personal questions to folk I don't know. 'Specially the kind aiming a shotgun at me."
"You're absolutely right, Mister Morgan. Agent Ross, lower the gun please."
If the man expected a reaction from Arthur over the fact that he knew his name, he would've been disappointed. Arthur kept his expression carefully neutral, with only a slight scowl tugging at his lips.
If anything, the man's partner- Agent Ross, apparently- looked more surprised than Arthur did at the order to lower his weapon. He did so, albeit begrudgingly.
"There, you see? We can be civil about this. Now why don't you lower your weapon as well, so we can talk like decent folk?"
"I'm a lot of things, Agent. Decent ain't one of 'em." Arthur said, but still holstered his revolver nonetheless. His hand never moved far from the holster, though.
"Oh, I believe that, Mister Morgan. Isn't that right, Agent Ross?" The man said, turning to his partner. "After all, you've read the file too. Arthur Morgan: A classic case study in unfortunate life choices. Ran away from home, fell in with a gang…"
"Is this where I'm supposed to be impressed that you can read?" Arthur asked, sarcasm starting to leak into his voice. He caught the slightest twitch of irritation at the corner of the man's eye in reaction to his tone.
"Cute, Mister Morgan." The man said, fabricated smile becoming strained. "If a bit juvenile."
"Yeah, I get that pretty often, Mister."
"Ah, where are my manners? I'm Agent James Milton, and this is Agent Edgar Ross."
Ross gave Morgan a sarcastic- and slightly bitter- tip of his hat, and Arthur gave a curt nod in return.
"We're here representing the Pinkerton Detective Agency. I'll assume that you know what that is, and what that means for you."
"Sure." Arthur replied. "Means you're here at the beck and call of some overstuffed pig or another. Means you're here for me." Arthur said, hand still hovering over his holstered cattleman.
"Not you, Mister Morgan. Though you may be interested to hear that you do have a rather sizable bounty on you. What was it the last time we checked, Ross?" Milton asked.
"Five thousand." Ross supplied.
"Ah, that's right." Milton affirmed. "Very impressive, Mister Morgan. Five thousand, for your head alone. You must have some enemies in very high places."
Arthur gave a low whistle. "Five thousand dollars…" His smirk returned. "Can I turn myself in?"
"We're here for your associate, Dutch Van Der Line."
"Old Dutch?" Arthur asked. "I ain't seen him in… Years now." Arthur lied.
"That's funny." Milton commented. "Because we just recently spoke to the victims of a train robbery conducted up near Granite Pass."
"Train robbery?" Arthur asked, doing his best to sound surprised. "Ain't that a little… Old fashioned?" Arthur asked with a breathy chuckle.
"Evidently not." Milton answered flatly. "These poor souls told us all about the violent robbery, the cold-blooded murder of their compatriots, and all the details that they could remember about the gang that perpetrated the whole ordeal." Milton explained. "And you know the damnedest thing about it all, Mister Morgan?"
"What's that, Agent Milton?"
"They told us that a man- very much fitting your description, no less- was not only present, but spared their lives at the end of it all. Now I find that very curious indeed… don't you, Mister Morgan?"
"I have a very common look, Agent. They must have me confused with someone else."
"Indeed." Milton replied, though his tone suggested he was doubtful. "So while you've been down here fishing, the man we've had you confused with has been robbing trains and sparing lives."
"Sounds about right." Arthur agreed.
"Well how about that." Milton said, rolling his jaw slowly before setting it. He continued to stare Arthur down with narrowed eyes. "Well… since either way you'd be showing signs of being one of the few outlaws to be capable of something other than murder, we'd like to strike a deal. If you happen to run into your old boss, we're willing to grant you complete amnesty in exchange for any information regarding his whereabouts." Milton said. "That means no more file, and no more bounty. You'd be a free man, Mister Morgan."
Arthur paused for a moment, unable to keep the unimpressed look off of his face. He wasn't planning in betraying Dutch at all, but especially not on the word of this greasy little rat of a man.
"Like I said," Arthur repeated slowly. "Ain't seen him in years. If I happen to run into him, though, I'll be sure to point you gentlemen in the right direction."
"That's all we ask, Mister Morgan. You have a fine day, now." Milton said with a tip of his hat. He turned to leave, but stopped himself just before he began to walk away.
"Oh, I almost forgot to mention." He said, turning back to Arthur. "The Van Der Linde gang actually hit Blackwater a week or so before the train robbery."
"Is that a fact?" Arthur asked.
"Yes, it is. That was some nasty business, back there."
"Sounds unfortunate." Arthur said.
"Yes. We did, however, manage to thin their ranks just a bit. Mac Callander- not sure if you recall him from your days with the gang- was shot and killed."
Arthur felt his Jaw muscles tighten.
Milton continued, his smile returning as he spoke. "He was already pretty badly shot up by the time I got there… Didn't have much time left. It was… More of a mercy killing, really."
Before he could really think about what he was doing, Arthur had already thrown Jack's fishing rod to the ground. He felt his muscles clench and his hands ball into fists.
Ross already had the shotgun trained on him.
Arthur had slipped up. He'd let Milton stir him up, and he'd lowered his guard in his anger. Now Ross had the drop on him, and there was little he could do about it.
He clenched his teeth, angry at both the agents and himself.
"You enjoy being some rich man's toy, do ya?" He hissed.
"I enjoy society, Mister Morgan- flaws and all." Milton shot back. "Van Der Linde and all others like him venerate savagery, and will die savagely."
"Oh, we're all gonna die, agent." Arthur said.
"Yes." Milton agreed. "Some of us sooner than others. If that's not what you want for you or your boy there, then I'd recommend that you do your best not to stand in our way." Milton swiveled on his heel, stomping off. "Good day, Mister Morgan."
"Goodbye, agent." Arthur replied. He stopped the second man as he turned to walk away. "You- Ross."
The man stopped, shouldering his shotgun. "What?" He asked irritably.
"You tell your friend there to watch who he riles up out here. Some folks ain't too forgiving of strangers threatening their family."
Ross smiled, but there was nothing kind about it. "I'll keep that in mind. You enjoy your… fishing, Mister Morgan."
Arthur continued to watch them as they walked away, mounting up on their horses. It bothered him that he hadn't even noticed their approach. He was getting complacent.
He finally looked away when he felt a tug at his sleeve. He looked down to find Jack trying to get his attention.
"Is everything okay, Uncle Arthur?"
Arthur snapped out of whatever reverie he was in, kneeling down to Jack's height. "Yeah, of course." Arthur assured with his most comforting tone. "Why don't you go ahead and grab your fishing pole so we can head back out?"
"Okay." Jack agreed. He didn't turn away, though. He continued to stare at Arthur, clearly at odds with himself.
Arthur sighed. "What's on your mind, kid?"
"Why did you lie about Uncle Dutch?" Jack asked.
"Well…" Arthur began. "Those were… Some disagreeable men, that's all. Didn't want them to find him and make any trouble."
"What do you mean?"
"Try not to worry about it." Arthur said. "Tell you what, you hurry and pack everything up… And then we can stop by the general store in Valentine. You can pick out a new storybook to replace that other one you lost, and I'll buy it for you. Sound good?"
"Yeah!" Jack agreed excitedly, bolting off to collect his things.
In the meantime, Arthur ran over what he knew in his head.
The Pinkertons were closer than they'd realized, hot on their trail. Not good, but good to know.
The fact that they'd assumed Jack was his son rather than John's- coupled with the fact that they couldn't disprove his claim of no longer running with the gang- told him that their "files" weren't quite as up to date as they'd like him to believe. Not necessarily huge advantages, but he'd take what he could get. Every small bit of misinformation that the Pinkertons had could only make things easier for the gang in the long run.
"I'm ready to go, Uncle Arthur!"
Arthur snapped out of another reverie. "Yeah, alright. Hang on just a second." Arthur called back, walking over to his horse to unhitch her from the nearby tree where he'd left her. The horse nickered softly while he worked, angling her muzzle down toward the satchel at his side. She knew where the snacks were kept.
He relinquished one with a chuckle, patting the horse's neck as he fed her an oat cake. "Hungry today, ain't ya?" He asked, leading the horse away from the tree. She followed along calmly, munching happily on the snack.
In the late morning light, the horse's light brown coat seemed to shine. Arthur made it a point to brush it well and often, and so the American Standardbred was likely in a better state of personal grooming than he was, what with his tenancy to forget to shave. The horse had patches of tan doppled along its flank, and the lighter color also applied to the horse's mane and tail.
He climbed up into the saddle, settling in with practiced ease that came from spending nearly as much of his life on horseback as on his own two feet. He gave the reins a light tug to the side, giving the flank a light tap with his boot at the same time, prompting her to turn.
He brought the horse over to the riverbank, where Jack was waiting eagerly.
"You almost forgot your fishing pole too!" Jack shouted.
"I did?" Arthur asked, feigning surprise. He looked at the rod in the kid's hand with a mixture of betrayal and resentment. The damn thing couldn't even manage to catch something before the little toy fishing pole Hosea had made the boy. He'd left it behind on purpose.
"I guess you are getting old!" Jack laughed.
"I guess so." Arthur chuckled, taking both of the rods from Jack's hands. The kid had somehow managed to bundle them up in such a way that the lines had gotten horribly tangled, but that was something he'd worry about later. For now he just tucked them into the side of the saddle, reaching down to help Jack up.
Jack settled in pretty easily. The kid seemed to be a natural on horseback, and Arthur had no doubt that the he would be a great rider, in his own time. For now, he seemed content enough to share the saddle.
"I like your horse, Uncle Arthur." Jack commented.
Arthur gave the horse a little tap on the flank with the heel of his boot, signaling for her to get going. He didn't wear spurs, since he figured the animal could get the message easily enough without them. So far, he hadn't been disappointed.
He'd bought this particular horse from the stables in Valentine, just before riding off on that hunting trip with Hosea. She'd been a little temperamental in the beginning, but once they'd bonded, he'd found her to be an excellent mount. She had his own stubbornness and loyalty, and- he suspected- at least twice the intelligence of Williamson.
"Me too, kid." Arthur replied, giving the animal a little pat on the neck.
"Why'd you call her Cinnamon?" Jack asked.
At the sound of her name, the horse gave a little snuff out of her nostrils, turning her head slightly to look back at her rider. Arthur briefly entertained the notion that she was curious, herself.
"I honestly couldn't tell you, kid. It's what came to me at the time. Seemed to fit well enough." Arthur explained.
"It's funny." Jack commented, giving Cinnamon a little scratch just under her mane. "But I like it."
Cinnamon gave another nicker, turning her head forward once again.
"Well I'm glad you both seem to approve."
-RDR-
Both their trip to Valentine and the ride back to camp were largely uneventful. Arthur had made the trip to throw the agents off of his scent, but it seemed as though the extra step had been unnecessary. He'd kept a sharp eye out for any signs of unwanted tagalongs, but it looked like the Pinkertons had shown little interest in pursuit.
Either they'd believed him when he'd told them that he was no longer with the gang or- more likely- they felt it was only a matter of time before they found the Van Der Linde hideout anyway. Arthur had to begrudgingly admit that they weren't the most inconspicuous of gangs out there.
Either way, it was a relief to return to camp and find that everything was as he'd left it.
He was still in the process of hitching up his horse when he heard Abigail's voice.
"There's my handsome man!" She shouted delightedly.
Confused, Arthur turned his head in her direction, only to find her making a beeline to Jack.
Ah. That made a lot more sense.
"You two took your time coming back, didn't you?" She asked, kneeling down to give Jack a hug and a messy kiss on the cheek.
"Momma…" He whined, but couldn't keep back a little chuckle.
Arthur couldn't help but watch the whole exchange. It seemed strange to him. Well, actually, it seemed so normal. Which was what made it seem so out of place.
"How'd it go?" Abigail asked.
Arthur stared dumbly for a moment before he realized she was talking to him now. "Oh, uh, it went fine. That boy of yours is a natural. Caught a fish without even trying."
"Uh huh." Abigail agreed absently, her eyes roving over Arthur's face. She seemed to be looking for something, and Arthur felt a little unsettled under the assessment.
He coughed lightly, turning to Jack. "Say kid, why don't you show your momma what you got?"
Jack nodded excitedly, thrusting the book right in front of Abigail's face. Thankfully, that broke off her scrutinizing gaze. "Look Momma! Uncle Arthur got me a new book! It's about Knights, and dragons, and-"
"No, kid. The other thing." Arthur said.
Jack looked confused for a moment before seeming to remember. "Oh yeah!" He ran over to Cinnamon's saddlebag, pulling out the weave of flowers he'd made earlier and presenting it to his mother. "I made this necklace for you, Momma!"
"Oh, sweetie, that's wonderful. Thank you." She said, hugging him close.
Arthur pulled his eyes from the display of maternal affection, walking over to his horse. He dislodged the hopelessly tangled fishing poles from their place in the saddle, giving Cinnamon another little snack as he did so.
"Hey, Jack. Why don't you take these over to Hosea to see if he can't cut the line off of 'em." Arthur said, holding the rods out to the boy.
"Okay!" Jack agreed, starting off to find the older man.
Arthur stopped him one hand on his shoulder, taking his hat off of Jack's head with the other. "Gonna need this back for a bit. Go on, now."
Both adults watched him leave before turning to look at one another. Abigail crossed her arms expectantly, waiting for Arthur to say something.
Arthur, for his part, wasn't sure how to broach the subject of the Pinkerton's visit. Abigail was… Protective. If she felt as though he hadn't done his damnedest to protect Jack, he was unlikely to hear the end of it any time soon. So the silence remained, guilty and uncomfortable.
Abigail was the one to break it. "So what happened?" She asked flatly.
Arthur decided then that she didn't seem in the most patient of moods at the moment. It would probably be best to tell her about it later.
"Eh, just a run in with some… undesirable wildlife. Nothing I couldn't handle, and nothing you need to concern yourself with. I took care of it."
Abigail looked unimpressed.
"Well…" Arthur said, starting to turn around. "I need to talk to Dutch before I head out with John, so-"
"Not so fast, Arthur Morgan." Abigail ordered.
Arthur froze in his tracks.
She walked around to block his path, blue eyes boring into his. "This morning you told me that you tried not to lie because you were dishonest enough as is. Now I see you're just terrible at it."
Arthur was about to argue. The number of cons that he, Dutch, and Hosea had pulled off over the years suggested he had at least some talent for misdirection. It was just something about Abigail's cold stare that was enough to set any man off balance, really.
However, he somehow felt that arguing his capacity for dishonesty wouldn't help him here.
"Look, I really do need to talk to Dutch. But I'll tell you everything before I leave with John. You have my word on that."
She stared him down for a moment longer before- finally- relenting. "Alright, fine. But if I catch you trying to leave without speaking to me, I swear I'll poison your next meal, Arthur."
Arthur believed her, but he felt as though he'd disarmed the situation enough to slide in another glib comment. "You're really gonna try to convince me that Pearson ain't already trying to poison us?"
"Arthur…" She growled threateningly.
"Alright, alright." He relented, raising his hands. "All jokes aside, then. I'll come find you right after I'm done with Dutch."
She seemed satisfied with that, giving him a curt nod before striding back into the camp. Arthur watched her leave, letting out a deep breath of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding when she was out of sight. Somehow, that bear he'd faced down with Hosea had seemed less intimidating than that woman could be when she was angry.
John certainly had his hands full if he really intended on trying to win her back over.
He shook his head, fishing a cigarette out of his jacket pocket. He wasn't actually in that much of a rush. It was still about mid-afternoon. He could afford a minute or two to have a smoke and collect his thoughts.
Lord knew he needed it.
He sat down heavily on a fallen tree trunk, letting out a sigh as he lit the cigarette.
He missed the quiet, sometimes. It felt like the more folks they gathered, the rarer his stolen moments of solace became. Which wasn't ideal, seeing as recent events had made them all the more necessary.
It wasn't that he couldn't handle complications. Arthur hadn't really ever known an "easy life". All these people from the east- The city folk, the gold rushers, and those "manifest destiny" nutjobs… They didn't know half of what it was to struggle every single day for the barest of necessities.
Arthur however, did.
Everything he had, he'd worked for. If something wasn't given, he'd taken it. Life was too cutthroat to get hung up on the particulars of kindness and decency.
And through it all, Arthur had kept everything tied down. He was the dependable one. Every time Hosea and Dutch backed themselves into a pit, he'd toss in a rope and pull them right back out.
Lately though- the load felt heavier. He had to look out for more people. More mouths. More souls. More mistakes.
More deaths.
They were reaching a point that the slightest slip up could spell doom for just about anyone, and it didn't help that the margin for error was getting narrower and narrower.
The O'Driscolls were still roaming all over the county. Lawmen and bounty hunters were still combing the countryside for them. Now the Pinkertons were damn near knocking on their door.
They were probably going to have to pick up camp and move again- only a few weeks after settling in, too. That wasn't likely to be a very popular decision. Still, Arthur was confident that Dutch would make the right call, regardless of how poorly it sat with the masses.
After all, it was only a matter of time before someone did something stupid, and got them all found out. With the Pinkertons so close, that wasn't an option.
As he flicked the butt of the cigarette away, he briefly let his thoughts drift back to fishing earlier that morning.
For a minute there, he'd let himself forget about all of it. For a while it had just been him, the kid, and a couple of fishing poles between them. It'd been… simple. Peaceful, maybe.
It was kinda funny how you never really seemed to realize that you were living in a good moment until you looked back on it. Or, Arthur didn't, at least.
That seemed to be a common problem for him. Always looking back.
He shook his head, willing himself to focus. He had work to do.
Talk to Dutch, find John, catch a train.
He started toward Dutch's tent, striding purposefully.
Wait, hang on. He caught himself halfway there. Talk to Dutch, talk to Abigail, find John, catch a train.
Pearson's cooking was bad enough without Abigail getting "creative" with the ingredients.
I'm not super pleased about the ending to this one, but hey: had to post it eventually. In case any further clarification is needed on the structuring of this story, There'll be chapters scattered throughout the events of the game's timeline, either changing or fleshing out moments I enjoy/ deem necessary for the story. After that, it'll settle into a more structured, linear format following the events of the main story. That's where the main part of the AU bit of this will come in.
Anyway, just wanted to post a more light-hearted chapter this time around, with a slightly more substantial dad moment by the river. Because I felt a little cheated by this scene in the game. Not to say it wasn't good or that mine is better, but I just wanted a little more, you know? That and Jack is like no 4-5 year old I've ever seen in my life. I've babysat siblings and cousins before. They ask questions, they say things you probably didn't want them to, and they're very frank. Wanted to include a little more of that here. Let me know what you think!
Now I'm gonna reply to some reviews here, so feel free to skip to the bottom if you're even reading this.
iKloudz: I'm interested to see what you think as it progresses. There'll be some stuff that's pretty similar to canon, but rest assured there will be some divergences down the line. Stay tuned, and thanks for reading!
Cosmic Castaway: Well, I hope I keep your interest as the story goes on! Thanks so much for giving it a chance.
(Guests will be numbered. I trust you'll know who you are. I'd appreciate you signing in beforehand so I can know who I'm thanking, but just you taking the time to review at all is appreciated.)
Guest 1: I like to see you so curious. Hope you stay tuned as it goes on!
Guest 2: Oh shit, indeed.
JaneValentine007 : I love that song. That and "Hurt" by Johnny Cash sum up my feelings for the deaths of both protagonists pretty well. Also yeah, this might get pretty sad on some parts, if I do it right. So, brace for shock on that one, I suppose. There'll also be plenty of levity and heart to balance it out though, so I hope that makes up for it. Thanks for reading!
Guest 3: Hey, I appreciate that. Dialogue is a big thing for me. I read some other books and fanfictions where the people talking sound really mechanical and awkward. Even some film writing suffers from this. I try my best to write using good Grammar and syntax, until it doesn't suit the story. People both speak and think in flashes of thought, snippets of sentences. I do my best to capture that in the writing, leaving in the pauses and hiccups where I think they'd be in real life, you know? People ain't perfect.
shaojoey: Yeah, like I said, some of these early chapters are going to be semi-familiar. At least until the story starts going its own way. And as I said in one of the previous replies, there will be feels. But also laughs, and awws, and everything in between.
Guest 4: I'm glad you like it. I will absolutely keep this going, but just not at the pace I really want to. I'll try to get better on updating, promise. Thanks for reading.
Grompit: Thanks! Definitely gonna continue. Thanks for reading so far!
Guest 5: Here you go! Happy belated Chistmahannuhquanzikuh.
Shahaan: Thanks! Hopefully the thought of losing him isn't enough to deter you from continuing. I appreciate you reading so far, though!
Guest 6: More chapter, you're welcome.
Guest 7: I totally agree. There's always so much beneath the surface layer of dialogue that we get in-game. And not just with the Marstons, either. Arthur's relationships with everyone across the board are interesting to me. He's such a dynamic character, better than John even, to me. (Don't kill me.) I'm looking forward to exploring some more of his interactions with everyone, and I hope this chapter helped you get some of your Arthur and Abigail fix. They're fun to write together.
Indiana Smith: Dad Arthur is the best, I agree. Well actually, dad/ family moments in general are what sustain me. Pretty sure both main fishing trips in the game and the house building montage added four or five years onto my lifespan.
SKIP HERE IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ REPLIES
And that's all of them. Thanks so much for the feedback so far, guys. And I hope to get better on the frequency of updates for both stories I have up right now. I could also use a beta, if anyone's interested in diving into the disorganized mess that is my brain and trying to sift through the early stage first drafts for chapters.
Anyway, until next time guys, stay amazing.
Cheers,
Specter