When Charles caught up to Dutch, Micah and Arthur somewhere in the depths of Roanoak Ridge after an ill fated attempt to rob the fence in Van Horn, it was just in time to watch Arthur jump off his horse before it had the chance to come to a sliding stop, storming straight at Micah. He was fuming, fists clenched tightly at his side.
Micah had talked Dutch into following up on a lucrative tip he'd allegedly gotten from a heavily drunk stable hand in the saloon in Van Horn, insinuating that the fence was stashing bars of gold worth forty grand. Apparently the fence keeper was an old, crippled man and the law in Van Horn had been diminished by a shoot out with the notorious gang around Alexandre Caivard a few days prior.
What Micah had failed to mention was the location of the fence, out at the end of the pier, practically surrounded by water on three sides and a long line of buildings on the other. The other small detail Micah had left out was the fact that the Caivard gang had taken over law in Van Horn, placing their men in each sizeable building in town and of course they didn't appreciate the attempt of Dutch's men to rob their gold.
Arthur, Charles, Dutch and Micah had barely escaped the shower of bullets and had to thank their horses for getting enough space in between them, Van Horn and some angry Caivards to grant them a safe place to stop and regroup. Micah barely had time to turn around after setting foot on the forest floor before Arthur was in his space.
"What thefuckwas that, Micah? Are you totally insane? Did the rats eat what little brain you have in that bone head of yours?"
"Arthur, stand down," Dutch warned as he dismounted his white stallion. "It wasn't Micah's fault."
"Oh, wasn't it?" Arthur sneered without taking his eyes off Micah. "Remind me, Dutch, who came up with the idea that was supposed to be... uh, what were the words? Ah, yes, child's play?"
"How was I supposed to know the Caivards would be in town?" Micah growled at Arthur.
"How? Well maybe by following up your tips by finding out if they're goodbeforeyou risk our lives. It's called recon, dumbass!" Arthur spat, shoving Micah back against his horse.
"Arthur, that's enough," Dutch hissed, walking up to the disputants. "I will not have you discuss this any further before you calm the hell down!"
"Why should I calm down? He's been sabotaging our missions time and again, only you are feeling too flattered by his loyalty to you. You don't even notice how deep he's got his head up your ass, Dutch, and I've had enough of this bullshit!"
"Arthur," Charles spoke calmly, trying to break through the haze of anger his friend was caught in. He understood why Arthur felt like he did. And he admired the older man for not having decked Micah a dozen times over in the past weeks. But Charles knew that this was neither the time nor the place to resolve this situation. Before Charles could continue however, Dutch arrived at the scene.
"Step down, Arthur," he repeated his earlier words.
"Or what?" Arthur grunted, sparing Dutch a fleeting glance. "You gonna kick me outta your gang, Dutch? Don't forget, I've been here for years and years. This rat is sucking up to you for merely eight months."
"I mean it, Arthur. Let him go or there will be consequences," Dutch replied, voice rising.
"Listen to him, cowpoke," Micah grinned. A split second later Arthur was knotting his fist into Micah's shirt, pulling him close.
"Shut your mouth, Bell," he hissed menacingly. Dutch shared a fleeting glance with Charles, who looked worried, and then put his hand on Arthur's shoulder to pull him away.
Shoving Micah back, Arthur spun to face Dutch, throwing a measured jab at his leader's jaw. Dutch stumbled back, surprised, hand immediately coming up to feel his split lip.
"Stay out of this, Dutch, before I really hurt you!"
"Now you've done it, Morgan," Micah sneered. Surely Dutch wouldn't ignore this behavior. He knew damned well van der Linde would never send Arthur away, but maybe the man would get his ass kicked to keep him in line. As it was, Arthur was back at him before he could finish the thought and the furious glint in his eye finally brought fear flooding his veins.
The sensation of cold steel at his throat caused Micah to gasp and then freeze. A moment later the cocking of a gun echoed from the trees.
"Drop the knife, Arthur." Charles voice penetrated Arthur's rage and he froze for a moment. "He's not worth it."
"I've just had enough of him," Arthur growled in reply, knife drawing blood now from being pressed at Micah's neck. Dutch aimed the gun at the man he raised like he was his own. Knowing Dutch just pulled a gun in his defense, Micah pulled his lips to a twisted grin.
"What's that, cowpoke," he snarled, "lost your balls at the sound of a gun being cocked?"
From the corner of his eyes Charles saw Dutch's gun waver slightly and he knew he had to act. Drawing his fist back with determination, Charles grabbed Arthur by the shoulder to spin him around.
"Arthur!"
Startled, Arthur turned his head, ready to fend off whoever dared to stop him from teaching Micah a lesson. As it was, he turned right into Charles' fist, that caught him full on the jaw, snapping his head back. The knife fell from slack fingers and he dropped to the ground, out cold.
"Whoahaha, redskin, I didn't know you had it in you," Micah roared as his hand came up to wipe at his neck.
"One more word outta you and you're next, Bell," Charles threatened.
"Boys, enough," Dutch stepped in between the two before Charles could kill Micah with looks. "Micah, get on your horse."
"But..."
"Now, Micah!"
Micah raised his hands disarmingly, taking a few steps back.
"Okay, okay. I'm gone."
Dutch watched Micah saunter a few steps, leading the horse before mounting up. Then he trained his gaze on the man on the ground. Arthur's hat had rolled off and his dirty blond hair had fallen into his face. Features slack in unconsciousness, Arthur looked as vulnerable as that day many years back when Dutch had taken in the retractable, frightened fourteen year old.
"Make sure he's calmed down before you bring him back to camp, Charles," Dutch instructed the mixed man before walking over to his own horse.
"You know he was right, Dutch," Charles replied. Dutch only raised an eyebrow and swung up in the saddle, kicking the white horse into a canter to catch up with Micah.
Charles watched the two men disappearing between the trees. Arthur hadn't as much as stirred yet, but Charles knew how to throw an efficient punch. Bending down, he collected the knife and the hat and secured them on Arthur's coal black horse.
Then he walked back to the downed man and picked him up like it was the easiest thing in the world. They had brought a good distance between themselves and Van Horn, but Charles didn't want to take any chances staying too close to the road. Luckily Roanoak Ridge was made of rolling hills and green trees and Charles soon found a spot sheltered enough to wait until Arthur would wake. He whistled for the horses and placed Arthur on the ground, head resting in his lap.
Gently, Charles pushed the hair out of Arthur's face, relishing the feel of the other man's skin underneath his fingertips. The right side of Arthur's jaw was swelling up from when Charles' fist had connected. Charles hated that he'd had to hurt the man he looked up to, but if he hadn't this could have turned very ugly.
Micah was the one man in their gang that knew how to push everyone's wrong buttons. Only Dutch somehow managed to be impressed by the man. Why was beyond Charles' comprehension. Micah Bell was one nasty fellow.
Arthur moaned softly, causing Charles to look at his eyes, but they didn't yet open. Gently, Charles ran his finger along Arthur's unhurt, stubbled jawline, murmuring in his mother's tongue. If the circumstances were less dire, Charles would be thrilled to have Arthur in his lap like this.
Right from the start when Charles had joined the van der Linde gang, Arthur had caught his eye. He was just as tall as himself, ruggedly handsome but above all he treated Charles like an equal. Came to ask for advice when it came to handling a bow or improving his tracking skills, stepped in when men like Micah or Bill voiced their lack of respect for any man of color without ever making Charles feel like he was thinking Charles couldn't fight his own battles.
It had hurt Charles to see Arthur suffer whenever this Mary Gillis, or whatever her name was now, used what they once had to make Arthur do her bidding. He wished he could be the one to take that hurt away, but it was up to Arthur to close that chapter in his life for good. Until then Charles had made it his mission to make sure that the man's sense of loyalty didn't get him killed, even if it meant he had to knock Arthur out for his own good.
Another moan drew Charles' attention back on Arthur's fluttering eyelids. In his peripherals Charles saw his hand twitch and he knew it wouldn't be long until Arthur would open his blue eyes. A faint smile brightened up Charles' features and he bent down to press a soft kiss to Arthur's forehead. When he straightened up, it was to Arthur opening his eyes and trying to focus on his surroundings. After a few moments they came to rest on Charles'.
" 'd y... ow," Arthur hissed, hand moving up to his jaw. " 'd ya punch me out?"
His voice was soft and slightly slurred, but it held no malice. Charles grinned.
"I did. I'm sorry. You're welcome."