What a lovely day.

It wasn't the sort of thing anyone else would have noticed. Around camp, silence wasn't unusual. Men came home from jobs with blood on their sleeves and thoughts they weren't ready to speak aloud. Some evenings, the fire did all the talking.

But you'd spent enough nights beside Arthur to know the difference between a man who was simply tired and one who was carrying something heavier.

He answered when spoken to. Laughed quietly when Jack nearly stumbled over the dog. Even tipped his hat toward Tilly when she teased him about tracking mud across camp.

From a distance, he looked exactly like himself.

Up close...

You caught the way his eyes drifted somewhere beyond the wagons when conversation lulled, how his coffee sat untouched until it had gone cold in his hands, and how, after seeing to his horse, he'd lingered a little longer than necessary with one hand resting against the animal's neck before finally turning back toward camp.

It wasn't unusual for Arthur to brood.

Lord knew he'd made an art of it.

Still, this felt different.

You watched him over the top of the shirt spread across your lap, guiding your needle through a fraying cuff while the camp settled into the slow rhythm of evening. He'd returned nearly an hour ago, yet every so often his attention slipped away from whatever was happening around him, as though some part of him was still walking the streets of Valentine.

You knew why.

Everyone did.

Mary.

The name had drifted through camp in quiet conversation after Arthur returned. Never loudly enough to invite questions, never long enough to become gossip.

"Saw Mary, did you?"

"Mm."

"She doin' alright?"

"Seems it."

That had been the end of it.

No stories.

No reminiscing.

No wistful smile lingering on Arthur's face.

Just a few words before he'd wandered off to tend to his horse as though the conversation had meant nothing at all.

It should have put your mind at ease.

Instead...

It left far too much room for your own thoughts. They crept in quietly, dressed in reason instead of jealousy, which somehow made them harder to dismiss.

You weren't angry.

Not at Arthur.

Not even at Mary.

How could you be?

She'd been part of his life long before you'd ever stumbled into it. Before the gang. Before the running. Before years of hard living had carved permanent lines into the corners of his eyes. Whatever had existed between them had belonged to another time, another Arthur, and you had never once expected him to pretend otherwise.

Still...

You found yourself wondering about that younger version of him.

The one who laughed easier.

The one who'd looked at a woman and believed there was still enough goodness in him to build a home instead of another campfire.

Had she known that Arthur? Had she watched him smile before life had taught him to hide behind tired little huffs and crooked half-grins?

Your needle caught against the fabric.

You frowned down at the shirt in your lap, easing the thread free before you'd pulled a knot into it.

It was a ridiculous thing to dwell on.

Arthur had come back.

He always came back.

The thought should have been enough. Instead, your eyes drifted toward him again.

He'd settled onto an empty crate near the fire, elbows resting on his knees as he stared absently into the flames. The conversation around him came and went without much notice. Javier and Charles were debating the best route west, Sean insisted they'd both get lost before they crossed the next county, and somewhere behind you Susan scolded Uncle for tracking mud near the wash line.

Arthur didn't join in.

He simply listened, turning his coffee cup slowly between both hands as if the answer to whatever occupied his mind might be hidden somewhere inside it.

You hated that you noticed.

Hated it even more because, until today, you probably wouldn't have.

"Need a hand?"

You startled at Tilly's voice.

She smiled knowingly as she nodded toward the shirt spread across your lap.

"You've been sewin' the same cuff for near twenty minutes."

Heat rushed to your face.

Had it really been that long?

You looked down, only to discover you'd stitched barely an inch since sitting there.

"I reckon I'm more distracted than productive."

"I reckon you are."

Tilly lowered herself onto the log beside you, gathering another pile of mending into her lap. For a while neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the quiet pull of thread through worn fabric.

"You alright?"

The question came gently.

Not prying.

Just... observant.

You smiled without looking up.

"I'm alright."

She hummed, unconvinced, but kind enough not to press.

After another moment she nudged your shoulder with her own.

"You know..." she said, tying off a loose button. "Mr. Morgan's looked over here about six times since he sat down."

You blinked.

"...Has he?"

"Mhm."

Almost against your better judgment, your eyes lifted.

Arthur wasn't looking now, he was speaking to John who had wandered over carrying two tin bowls of whatever Pearson had declared stew that evening.

Just as you convinced yourself Tilly had been mistaken...

Arthur glanced up.

His gaze found yours immediately.

His expression softened in that quiet way it always did when he saw you. The corners of his mouth tipped upward just enough to be called a smile before he raised one hand in a small beckoning motion.

Come here.

Simple as that.

The invitation warmed something in your chest.

It also made the guilt settle a little deeper.

Because even now, with Arthur looking at you like you were the easiest thing in the world to find… Your mind insisted on asking whether he'd ever looked at Mary the same way. 

You held his gaze for only a moment before looking back down at your sewing.

Coward.

The word came unbidden, earning the smallest shake of your head.

Arthur hadn't done anything to deserve your uncertainty. If anything, he'd spent the better part of every day making sure you never doubted where you stood with him. He sought you out without thinking, reached for your hand whenever the two of you walked anywhere together, and never once crawled into bed without first making sure there was room for you against his side.

This wasn't his burden.

It was yours.

You just weren't entirely sure how to put it back down.

By the time supper had been scraped clean from everyone's bowls and the campfire settled into easy conversation, you'd managed to convince yourself the feeling would pass if you simply ignored it long enough.

It was a convincing argument.

Unfortunately, Arthur Morgan had never been an easy man to fool.

You were rinsing the last of the tin plates near the water barrel when you heard his boots behind you.

"You keep scrubbin' that thing," he said, amusement tucked into his voice, "there ain't gonna be much plate left."

You glanced down.The bowl in your hands had been clean for quite some time. A sheepish smile tugged at your lips as you set it aside.

"Suppose I got carried away."

"Suppose you did."

He stepped up beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Arthur reached for the towel draped over the barrel, drying his hands with slow, absent movements before hanging it back where he'd found it.

It was the sort of comfortable silence the two of you shared often.

Tonight, it felt heavier.

Arthur seemed to feel it too.

"You feel like takin' a walk?"

You looked over at him.

"...Now?"

"Ain't much farther than the edge of camp."

His tone was light, almost casual, but there was something behind his eyes that made it clear this wasn't really a question about stretching his legs.

You hesitated only a second before nodding.

"Alright."

The two of you wandered away from the fire without much fanfare. Nobody called after you. Nobody thought anything of it. Couples disappeared for a little peace all the time, especially after a long day.

The sounds of camp faded behind you with each step, replaced by the steady chorus of crickets and the soft rustle of evening wind through the trees.

Arthur kept an easy pace, his hands resting in his pockets as he walked. Every now and then, his arm bumped yours.

Not enough to make you stumble.

Just enough to remind you he was there.

"You been quiet."

It wasn't an accusation. It wasn't even really a question.

You let out a small sigh.

"I know."

"You wanna tell me why?"

"I don't."

Arthur nodded once.

"Alright."

That was it. No pushing, no disappointed look, just acceptance.

You'd almost convinced yourself he was willing to leave it there when he spoke again, his voice carrying that same quiet steadiness you'd come to lean on more times than you could count.

"...Can I tell you what I think, then?"

You looked up at him.

The moon caught the tired lines around his eyes, silvering the edges of his hat and softening the hard angles of his face.

"You've been lookin' at me all evenin' like you're waitin' for me to disappear."

The words stopped you where you stood.

Arthur took another step before realizing you'd fallen behind. He turned, his brow knitting together ever so slightly.

"I ain't sayin' that to make you feel bad."

His voice was gentler now.

"I'm sayin' it 'cause... whatever's got hold of you..."

He closed the distance between you with two slow strides.

"...I want you to quit carryin' it by yourself."

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

The breeze stirred the grass around your boots, carrying with it the distant murmur of camp. Someone laughed behind you. A horse snorted somewhere in the darkness. Life carried on, blissfully unaware that your heart suddenly felt lodged somewhere in your throat.

Arthur didn't rush to fill the silence. He simply stood there, watching you with the same patient expression he wore when coaxing a frightened horse or waiting for a wounded animal to stop struggling.

"I know it don't make much sense," you admitted at last, your voice scarcely louder than the wind.

"It don't have to."

"It does."

You let out a quiet breath, dropping your eyes to the ground between you.

"'Cause if I say it out loud..." You gave a humorless little laugh. "I'm afraid it'll sound as foolish as it feels."

Arthur's mouth twitched, though not quite into a smile.

"I've said plenty foolish things in my life."

"I know."

"I still do."

That pulled the smallest laugh from you, and for just a second, the knot in your chest loosened.

Arthur caught it.

He always did.

"Better?"

"A little."

"Good."

He shifted his weight, crossing his arms loosely over his chest.

"Now tell me."

You looked at him again. Really looked at him. The familiar crease between his brows, the scar near his chin, the silver beginning to creep into the stubble along his jaw. There wasn't a single part of him you didn't know by heart.

Which somehow made this harder.

"It's Mary."

He blinked.

Not because he was offended.

Because he hadn't expected the answer.

His brow softened almost immediately.

"...Mary."

You gave a small nod.

"I know there ain't anythin' between you anymore. I know you came back." You managed a weak smile that disappeared almost as quickly as it came. "You've never given me a reason to doubt you."

The quiet stretched just long enough for you to find the courage to continue.

"I think..." Your words caught for only a moment. "I think people don't just stop lovin' someone because enough time passes."

He didn't disagree.

He didn't look away.

He simply waited.

"I ain't askin' if you still love her," you said softly. "I'm not even sure that's what I'm afraid of."

You sighed, shaking your head at yourself.

"I kept watchin' you after you got back today, and all I could think was... what if seein' her reminded you of the life you thought you'd have?"

The question lingered between you.

"A home. A family. A place where you could finally stop runnin'."

You looked past him, toward the faint orange glow of camp through the trees.

"What if, for just a little while..." Your voice grew quieter. "You remembered the man you were when you loved her."

The thought had lived in your chest all afternoon, growing heavier each time you tried to ignore it.

"And then you came back here."

A humorless smile tugged at your lips.

"Back to Dutch. Back to the gang. Back to all of..." You gestured vaguely toward the wilderness around you. "...this."

You finally looked at him again.

Arthur held your gaze for a long moment.

Something in his expression shifted, so quietly you almost missed it. Whatever he'd expected you to say, it hadn't been this. He'd been prepared for anger, perhaps even jealousy. Instead, he'd found you grieving a future that had never been yours, afraid that a single afternoon had reminded him of everything he'd lost.

"You been carryin' that around all day?"

You gave the smallest nod.

Arthur let out a slow breath through his nose, his eyes dropping to the ground before lifting back to yours.

"I reckon..." A faint, almost wistful smile crossed his face. "I reckon you're right."

Your stomach sank.

"I don't think people just stop lovin' somebody because enough years've gone by."

The words were gentle. Matter-of-fact. Honest.

"I loved Mary."

He didn't rush past it or soften it with excuses. He simply let the truth exist between you.

"I loved who she was. I loved what we thought we might have together."

His gaze drifted for only a moment, toward nothing in particular, as though he could still see two young people making plans neither of them understood life well enough to keep.

"That ain't somethin' I can pretend never happened."

His eyes found yours again.

"But, honey..." His fingers curled just a little tighter around your hand. "Missin' a dream ain't the same thing as wishin' you were still livin' it."

A quiet breeze stirred the trees around you, carrying the distant sound of laughter from camp.

"When I saw her today, I remembered who I used to be." He smiled to himself, though there was more sadness than joy in it. "Young enough to think life listened when you made plans."

He gave a small shake of his head.

"For a little while... yeah. I thought about it."

The admission stung, if only because he'd trusted you enough not to hide it.

"But then I rode back."

His smile softened as he looked at you.

"And I came home to you."

There wasn't a trace of hesitation in his voice.

"I ain't sayin' that because it's the right thing to say. Lord knows I ain't ever been much good at findin' the right words."

A quiet huff of amusement escaped him.

"I'm sayin' it because it's true."

He took your hand in his, just enough for his thumb to brush across your fingers.

"I can't change the life I almost had."

His eyes never left yours.

"And I don't spend my days wishin' I could."

For a long moment, you simply looked at him. The ache that had settled beneath your ribs that afternoon was still there, but it had changed somehow. Softer now. No longer sharp enough to steal your breath every time you thought about it.

"I didn't know," you admitted quietly.

Arthur's brow furrowed.

"I didn't know if you ever... let yourself think about it."

"I don't much make a habit of livin' in the past."

"No..."

You smiled faintly.

"I suppose you don't."

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. The breeze stirred the leaves overhead, carrying with it the distant laughter from camp. Somewhere behind you, Pearson was almost certainly arguing with Uncle again.

Arthur gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

"I ain't gonna tell you I never wonder how things might've turned out," he said after a moment. "Everybody does."

His eyes drifted briefly toward the trees before returning to yours.

"But wonderin' ain't the same as wishin'."

The words settled over you with surprising ease.

You'd spent the better part of the afternoon convincing yourself those two things were one and the same.

They weren't.

"I reckon..." You let out a quiet laugh at yourself. "I made the two sound awfully similar in my head."

"They usually do."

You searched his face for another moment before shaking your head.

"I'm sorry."

Arthur looked almost offended.

"What're you apologizin' to me for?"

"For..." You gestured vaguely between the two of you. "All this."

He huffed a quiet laugh.

"Honey."

There it was again.

Warm.

Steady.

The way he said it made the knot in your chest loosen just a little more.

"You don't owe me an apology for tellin' me what's on your mind."

His thumb brushed over your knuckles.

"I'd rather know."

The words settled between you, quiet enough that for a moment all you could hear was the breeze moving through the trees.

You'd spent the better part of the afternoon convincing yourself that Arthur had ridden back from Valentine carrying the weight of a life he'd rather have lived. Somewhere along the way, you'd forgotten that if there was one thing Arthur Morgan had always done, it was tell the truth, even when it would've been easier not to.

A small smile tugged at your mouth.

"I've been an awful fool."

His own smile answered yours, tired around the edges but warm all the same.

"I wasn't gonna say it."

"You were thinkin' it."

"...Maybe a little."

A quiet laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

It felt good.

Arthur seemed to think so too.

He stepped closer, the space between you disappearing so naturally it hardly felt like a decision at all. One arm slipped around your waist, drawing you in until your forehead found the familiar place against his shoulder.

"There." he murmured, more to himself than to you.

His chin rested lightly against the top of your head, and for a while neither of you spoke. There wasn't much left to say. The fears that had followed you through the evening had finally run out of places to hide, and Arthur had met every one of them with the same steady honesty he'd always given you.

You smiled into his shirt.

"I do love you, you know."

His arms tightened around you. 

"I know."

You pulled back just enough to look up at him.

"I was sort of hopin' you'd say it back."

That crooked grin finally appeared.

"I love you too, honey."

He said it so simply that it stole the breath from your lungs.

Then, before you could think of anything clever to say in return, he ducked his head and pressed a lingering kiss against your forehead.

It wasn't hurried.

It wasn't meant to fix anything.

It simply felt like Arthur.

When he leaned back, his smile was still there.

"C'mon," he said quietly, giving your hand another squeeze. "Let's get back."

You let him lace his fingers through yours without another word.

By the time the glow of the campfire came back into view, the knot that had followed you all afternoon was gone.

Not because Arthur had promised you'd never worry again.

But because he'd reminded you that when you did...