Welcome Home (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

Chapter Two: Lionheart

The rest of the world forgets what happened in Valentine pretty quick, so you decide it's for the best if you do, too. You find out from Tilly that the guy who attacked you is named George Foreman. Immediately, your mind works on nicknames. George Foreverman. Georgie the Forgie. George Foreplay. You can't really say why you do this. If you have to take a guess, though, it's so you can insult him the next time you see him. If you ever do, that is. Hopefully, you won't. But it's best to be prepared.

It's a nice Saturday at Horseshoe Overlook. Bright sunny skies overhead, and not a trace of excessive heat or cold—perfect weather, to say the least. But you're bored as all hell. You've already finished your chores for the day, and everybody's "far too busy" to talk. Arthur went out a little while ago, too, so you can't rely on him to cure your boredom. And you can only take so much of playing make-believe with Jack before you go crazy.

There isn't much to do around camp. Nobody looks like they'd be interesting, either. Eventually, you give up and plop down on the ground by a tree, one of the bigger ones. The clothes the gang gave you aren't exactly comfortable, and you pull at the neckline of your shirt. Or maybe you're just used to modern designs. Hard to say.

You tilt your head back to rest against the trunk of the tree. Sunlight drifts down through the canopy. It's a beautiful sight, you suppose, if you really think about it—no light pollution from thousands of LED's, no sound of cars on the highway to disturb you... oh yes. It's lovely. Odd and slightly terrifying, but lovely.

"You look lost in thought, Y/N."

Hosea's voice startles you out of your reverie, and you blink a few times as he sits next to you. Over the last few weeks, you've decided you like him. He's a kind old man... but you can't help the feeling that some of it's a facade, hiding a dangerous outlaw underneath. Still, he hasn't given you reason not to trust him. Maybe you're just paranoid.

After a moment, you realize you haven't given him an answer. "'Cause I am," you eventually say. No sense in lying.

Hosea smiles and leans back against the tree alongside you. "What're you thinking about?"

Your brain short-circuits, every rational answer fleeing it like there's been a natural disaster. Before you know it, you find yourself blurting: "The sweet embrace of death."

There's a second where Hosea clearly doesn't process what you just said. But then? Then his smile slowly fades. He gives you a look, one with concern clearly written on it, and you feel your face growing hot.

"Well alright then," he says after a moment, and with an awkward cough. "... I should talk to Dutch..."

You want to kick yourself. Or throw yourself off Horseshoe Overlook's cliff. Or both. Hosea stands and walks away, murmuring something under his breath you can't quite catch. You hope it's nothing bad. You hadn't meant to say what you did. It just happened. Back in your time, you always use morbid humor. Your friends love it. But, you realize, you're over a century in the past; of course things aren't going to translate the same way.

Sighing, you get up and wander toward the horses. There's a brush beside one, and you absently start grooming it. You still don't have a horse of your own. But you want one. You find yourself thinking back to that appaloosa you saw at the stables in Valentine, dreaming of wide open trails and happy times. Maybe, if Dutch lets you tag along on a job or two, you can get enough money to buy the horse yourself. Wishful thinking, but it doesn't hurt.

"Havin' fun?"

Barely stifling a shriek, you jump and accidentally let go of the brush. It goes flying, landing at Arthur's feet as he watches you with an amused smile on his face.