ANYTHING, ANYONE ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

━ xi

You raise a brow, lean your side against one of the wooden walls. It creaks. "What do you mean?"

"Because in New Austin it's real warm. Everyone we buried there isn't gonna get cold, but Davey's gonna need a blanket to stay warm 'round here."

Smiling widely, you tiptoe back to the bedside, floor creaking below you when you move to kneel beside the cot.

"That's very sweet of you, Isaac. But Davey won't feel a thing, trust me."

He frowns, looks at you with both eyes open and curious.

He's very much like his father in that aspect as well — gifted with an insatiable thirst for knowledge and a place to keep it all too.

"Can I give him my old blanket?" He asks. "Just in case."

You cup his face gently, then nod. Isaac smiles and hugs your arm, and from there it doesn't take much longer until his eyes flutter shut and his hold on you loosens.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The cold is relentless, some snowflakes even pierce through the walls, and the howling wind makes you think fondly of Dutch's gramophone. It's well past midnight when the door creaks open and a tall figure slithers inside.

In spite of how tired he is, Arthur's still light on his feet. The lengths he'll go to avoid bothering the ones he cares about still surprise you — hell, if you'd been treading through waist-high snow for the past four hours at the very least, not making any noise would be the last of your concerns. You'd dive straight for the bed.

He stops beside Isaac's bed, reaches for one of the boy's hands. They must've been cold, you think, because the next thing you know Arthur is taking off his coat and placing it on top of Isaac's blanket.

"Hey." You whisper and he looks your way with guilt because you're awake, but his expression softens when he sees yours.

He reaches out to you when he's beside the cot, palm facing up, and you place your hand in his, squeezing. It's a tradition of sorts by now, your way of wordlessly saying hello when there's no prying eyes around.

Arthur's warm, in spite of being out in the cold for so long, which is a pleasant surprise. He'd always been impossibly warm even in New Austin, but now it's finally put to good use.

"Get in here, it's freezing." You tell him and he nods.

Arthur slips his hand out of your loose hold in the favor of undoing his gun-belt and kicking off his boots. He smells like sweat, crisp winter air, but most redolently of gunpowder, still fresh and vivid.

As always, he lays down across from you, on his side, facing your way. He looks sad, shaken up, almost, so you shift a little closer and speak up.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Jus'...been a long day. Found some poor woman in a house up north, Sadie Adler." Arthur closes his eyes, sighs. "O'Driscolls killed her husband."

"Did you and Dutch—"

Arthur nods. "Yeah, she's safe now. With Grimshaw n' the girls."

You let go of a breath you didn't even realize you were holding in. "I'll check in on her tomorrow. Losing your husband—" You frown. "That's...that's a lot to take in."

Arthur hums in thought, then tugs his blanket upwards, up to his chin.

"Did I wake you?" He asks. "When I came in."

"Was already awake." You answer and smile with only one corner of your mouth. Arthur has no idea how much his presence improves your sleep — when he arrived late at night, you often pretended you'd already been dozing off. "Isaac was starting to get worried."

Arthur looks over your shoulder, at Isaac's sleeping form, and smiles in a bittersweet way. A few seconds pass before his gaze drifts back to you.

"Wish I could stick around more often." He confesses. Arthur falls silent, moves to lay on his back and stares up at the ceiling. "Sometimes I—"

Arthur scoffs at himself, shakes his head when he finds you looking at him intently.

"Sometimes you what?" You ask.

"Nothin'." Arthur answers. "'S foolish."

"I bet I've told you much more foolish things at one point or another." You smile in encouragement, and Arthur's frown melts into something softer at the sight.

"Nothin' beats the story of you gettin' drunk for the first time and thinkin' a raccoon was a breed of cat—"

"Shush!" You whisper and lightly slap his shoulder. "You said you wouldn't bring it up if I told you."

Arthur tries to tame his quiet laughter with a deep breath, raises his palms in mock surrender. "A'ight, sorry."

"Apology accepted." You whisper, then nod at him. "Now c'mon."

He stops, looks down at his hands as if to gather his thoughts. You suppose you'll never get to the point where Arthur speaks freely and without inhibitions, self-consciousness has been instilled into him from a very young age.

"I just...when I saw that woman's house, I...I thought how that'd be nice someday." Under your patient, warm glance, he feels understood and at peace. Even though you're surrounded by shabby walls and in the middle of a snowstorm, he feels a strange sense of homeliness. "For Isaac, me, n' you...if you'd ever want to, I mean."

You're silent. It's not like you don't have anything to say, quite the opposite. To say you're moved by what he's just told you (admittedly a bit clumsily) is an understatement.

"Not this far up north, o'course, but...you get my meanin'." He pauses, trying to make something of your expression. Before you can hope to add something, Arthur shrugs."But, like I said, 's just a foolish thought. I don't...I don't know 'f I'm ever gonna deserve somethin' like that. Or 'f I'm ever gonna be able to afford it. N' then there's Dutch, Hosea, the whole gang..."

You nod, reach for one of his hands, trail your fingertips over the palm of his hand. There's blood under his fingernails, or dirt. You hope it's the latter, but the other part of you knows better. "It's still a nice thought." You say softly.

"Yeah." Arthur smiles. "A real nice one."

[I am SO sorry this took so long. School is really hating me rn. Thank you lots for your patience!]