Here I am, super late, but @artofadmin I was your secret cupid. I wrote some Arthur and Albert fluff for you, I do hope you enjoy it. So sorry again that it’s late!
Characters:Albert Mason, Arthur Morgan Pairing: 2AM, Albert x Arthur Themes: Fluff, Pre-relationship, just cute shit Warnings:None Words:3,968 [ko-fi ] || [ ao3]
Chance Meeting
Saint Denis.
Arthur adjusted himself in the saddle. Why Dutch wanted anything to do with this city was beyond him, especially after Blackwater. He slowed Ulysses to a lazy walk as he wound his way through the streets, keeping an eye out for employment opportunities in the city.
He eventually found himself on the main drag, crowds of carriages and pedestrians filled the street. The chime of a trolley car filtered through the dun of activity, the noise grated in Arthur’s ears, another reason he hated the city. Making his way to the Bastille Saloon, he tied up Ulysses and gave the horse an apple, promising to be back soon.
The saloon was surprisingly busy for how early it was and Arthur moved to the bar to order a drink. He placed a handful of coins on the table and motioned for the bartender to leave the bottle, turning his attention to the poker table, the men around the table talked raucously.
“Seat taken?” He asked, pulling out one of the empty chairs.
The man next to him sized him up, a predatory smile sliding across his face as he waved for Arthur to take a seat.
“Join us! Join us! Take a seat, stranger!”
Arthur tipped his hat and sat down, placing the bottle of whisky on the table. The men quietly returned to their conversations. Arthur poured himself a shot before reaching into his bag and pulling out a handful of cash. He held it out long enough for the other players to notice before looking up at the dealer.
“How much I got to put down to play?” He fumbled with the money in his hands.
“Five dollars.” Said the dealer, almost sympathetically.
Arthur counted out the bills and pushed them across the table, the dealer traded it for chips before he picked up the deck of cards and shuffled them.
“Alright, gentlemen. Bets in.” He said and started to deal as the men bid.
Arthur pulled his cards toward himself, sneaking a quick peek at his hand.
“So— ” a voice broke the silence at the table, ”—you don’t look like you’re from around here, lad. What brings you to town?”
Arthur filled his glass again, looking up at the man, finding all eyes at the table were on him.
“I was sellin’ some cattle to one of the farms just east of town,” he shrugged.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Albert Mason, Arthur Morgan & Van der Linde Gang
Words: 2816
Summary: The gang club around Arthur in an attempt to cheer him up.
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Cheer Up
Sean considered his trademark bastardry as usually for the greater good, and today was certainly one of those times. Arthur, as he usually was as of late, was sulking on the edge of camp and decimating a twig with his pocket knife. The more pleasantly-dispositioned members of the gang – if anyone in a den of thieves and killers could be described as such – had been sharing knowing looks since Hosea had spoken to them (a little too cryptically than Sean liked) yesterday.
Sean threw his shoulders back as cockily as he could muster and spread a beaming smile across his face as he swaggered over to Arthur’s post, bouncing jovially off his heels like he usually did.
‘Hey-a, big man!’ he chirped.
Arthur grunted in response. His hair was unkempt, flopping limply in front of his eyes – deep, sad green like a dead man’s prize emerald as they were – and his nigh-permanent frown. He didn’t look up, so Sean tipped himself playfully sideways like a bowled-over puppy to try and make eye contact. He cleared his throat a little. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Just fine, Sean.’ He ground out, elongating the first syllable to the point of uncomfortability.
‘You sure there?’ He pressed.
Arthur grit his teeth and looked up for the first time, albeit glaringly. ‘Yes. What do you want, Sean?’
The boy took the liberty of sitting down beside him. ‘Good, cos I wanted to ask you something.’
Arthur looked resigned and huffed, pushing back his hat and put the knife and what little remained of the twig down. ‘And what might that be?’ he asked, practically raking his hands down his face in weariness.
There was an awkward pause as Sean fabricated the question . A bird crowed obnoxiously above them.
‘Well, uh, I was gonna ask y’ how best to get good leads? You’ve always been real good at finding the best paydays.’ Sean said, and opened his mouth to rephrase but was cut off.
‘I’ve had a lot of experience, kid. It’s just keeping your ear to the ground and keeping quiet, which I know does not come naturally to you.’ Arthur replied, but he didn’t sound hostile. Sean saw that as a win, and smiled crookedly. ‘Thanks, English. Y’know, I only ask because – ‘cause I look up to you.’ He added quickly.
Arthur smiled a little (progress!) and shook his head in exasperation. ‘God knows why.’
*
Charles had watched Sean retreat from his ‘task’ an hour or so before, and figured that was a long enough wait to divert suspicion. Arthur, though having been slightly cheered – it was hard not to be around Sean – was still moping like a kicked puppy, having moved exactly twice to put some money into the box and relocate himself to his tent to draw. Even Dutch had been nigh doting on him, giving him a well meaning pat on the shoulder and frequent reassurances of ‘well done, my boy,’ and the like. Charles had thought it out of his place to ask why, as only Dutch, Hosea, and Grimshaw seemed to know. All he knew was Hosea’s request, and his first idea had been to take Arthur hunting. He couldn’t think of a better one, so headed to Arthur’s tent.
‘Hello, Arthur,’ he began, softly. ‘Am I disturbing anything?’
Arthur looked up, his eyes heavy and sad. ‘Not particularly.’
Charles cleared his throat and eventually met his eyes. ‘Pearson’s been on my back to go hunting as usual. Do you want to come with me?’
Arthur was physically incapable of not making himself useful, so he wordlessly closed his journal (far more gently than one may have expected) and retrieved his bow from the end of his cot.
A few hours later they were riding back to camp, their horses weighed down with enough to feed the camp for a good while. Charles remembered what Hosea had asked and cleared his throat. ‘You’re getting better with that bow.’ He commented.
‘Thanks,’ Arthur replied, brightening slightly. ‘I’ve been practicing.’
The thought of big, gruff Arthur Morgan – the feared enforcer of the mighty Van der Linde gang – taking time to practice something his friend had taught him was an endearing one. Charles’ mouth quirked up into a muted grin. ‘That’s good. You’re a- you’re a good man, Arthur.’ He said conclusively, and after the fact worried that might have appeared random.
But it must not have, as for once Arthur didn’t protest.
*
Sadie jumped a little as she felt the searing heat of a determined bullet whiz so close to the side of her head she thought it must have pulled a few hairs out. She growled profane at the O’Driscolls under her breath as she ducked in and out of cover, occasionally checking on Arthur out of the corner of her eye. He looked almost nonchalant, though that wasn’t too much of a surprise given the amount of times he must have been ineffectually ambushed by the O’Driscolls. He hadn’t bristled when they’d burst from the trees, hollering, ‘It’s Dutch’s boy! Kill him!’, instead dutifully finding cover and eliminating them with an accuracy so programmed it was eerie.
Sadie told him so as she swaggered out of cover. ‘We made short work of them.’ She smirked, jabbing one of the O’Driscolls with the toe of her boot and tucking her revolver back into its holster. ‘You’re a hell of a shot.’
Arthur holstered his revolver with the same nonchalance you would pair with a shrug. ‘I’ve had practice.’ He turned back to the wagon the O’Driscolls had jumped out of, and regarded the rolling-eyed skewbald hitched to the front of it.
Sadie hid a snicker at the new addition to the back of his hat in handwriting that was unmistakably Hosea’s. Fearing he’d hear and the plan would be ruined, Sadie approached the horse too. ‘Poor thing,’ she muttered. ‘Should we take it?’
Arthur looked pensive as the horse shuffled his hooves and kicked up goldust. ‘Looks strong enough. We probably oughtta.’
Kieran immediately perked up when he saw both the note on the back of Arthur’s hat and the new horse trailing behind him. He gave Sadie a wide berth as she snarled at him, but even the threat of being parted from several body parts couldn’t keep the twinkly smile from his face as he took the new horse – his new project, he decided – in. ‘Oh, he’s a beauty! Where’d you find him?’
‘You’ve probably seen him before, O’Driscoll. We got bushwhacked byyour old gang.’ Sadie seethed.
Kieran opened his mouth to protest but Arthur shut him off with an eyeroll. ‘Indeed we did. Good shooting, anyway, Sadie.’
‘Oh, you too.’ She remembered Hosea’s message. ‘Y’know, I’m glad we get on. You’re a good man, Arthur. Not everyone respects me as I am.’
Arthur shrugged. ‘I understand your reasoning.’
Sadie sauntered off with an appreciative nod, and Arthur set his sights on the horse and Kieran.
‘We got some work to do. I noticed a–’ Arthur began, but Kieran somehow found the audacity to cut him off with a stunned squawk.
‘We?!’
‘Yes, we. Ain’t you the horseman, Duffy?’
Kieran didn’t mention it, but he was glad he had graduated from O’Driscoll to Duffy. They both looked the horse over, Arthur talking to him softly and inspecting the grazes on his legs. It was remarkably gentle. Kieran thought better of telling him that. ‘He likes you,’ was the next best thing. ‘Most horses seem to.’
Arthur actually smiled, albeit his head tilting slightly in puzzlement as why he was getting complimented so much.
*
Someone was wondering the same. Micah was stewing over his prized guns as he cleaned them with a creepy meticulousness – he wasn’t in the mood to talk to the rest of the gang, even to jibe them, so he had resigned himself to telling Baylock his seething complaints.
‘And why’s everyone flocking around Morgan so much?’ he muttered. ‘He ain’t that special. Sure he’s a good shot, but he just mopes around camp looking all miserable. Why that girl turned down me to dance and not him I don’t know. You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with all this bullshit, Baylock.’
Baylock snorted. It wasn’t in agreement, he just had a fly on his nose. As Micah looked up to pat him, he saw Dutch sauntering over to where Arthur was drawing (something else Micah loathed) and patting him on the shoulder. They both wandered and looked like they were talking. Micah was perversely overjoyed when they got within earshot.
‘You know you’ve always been special to me.’ he caught Dutch saying. ‘I shouldn’t say this, but you’re my favourite.’
‘Please, we both know John’s the golden boy.’ Arthur scoffed mirthlessly.
Dutch looked as affronted as Micah was feeling. ‘Son, you were the first. And you got a damn sight more brains than him too, even with all your poetic moping.’
Arthur smiled with such genuine joy Micah growled to himself. Hosea limped over to put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. ‘I second that.’
Eventually they went out of earshot, so Micah reverted to training Baylock to bite on command. Dutch swaggered past, whistling.
‘Hey, boss?’
He seemed in a good mood. ‘What you want?’ He snapped.
‘Heard you talking to Morgan. What’s all the fuss about? He ain’t leaving, is he?’
Dutch scowled, as did Hosea who materialized beside him. ‘That’s none of your concern, Mr Bell. Besides, Arthur’s the most loyal man I know.’
Dutch glided off. Hosea fixed Micah with the most chilling glare he’d ever seen, and with a man as antagonistic as Micah that was not a short list.
*
‘So where’d you say this house is, Marston?’ Arthur called forwards over the sound of the hooves thudding in unison.
John turned back, a mischievous grin twisted on his face. ‘Nearby. With all that journaling you do I’d think you’d be more patient.’ He teased. Arthur would have nudged him.
‘Least I can read, Johnny,’ he muttered with a smirk, drawing up alongside him as they slowed. John mock scowled and checked his watch.
‘We’re in good time. Here’s the house.’
They both hopped off the horses and unthreaded their repeaters from the saddles with their usual discipline in such matters, before marching shoulder to shoulder to pick their way through the trees. The house itself had seen better days, a strange, dusty gap in the roof acting as a doorway for the occasional crow. ‘What did that guy say the take from this was?’
John wrinkled his nose but winced as the still-deep scar stung. ‘Gold, I think.’
As they reached the door Arthur gave John a look, who read it as be ready. John shouldered the repeater and Arthur turned the handle.
…to no effect. Arthur nearly smacked his face onto the rotted door as he stepped forward into the space that didn’t come. John laughed, a sound made up of the wheeze of a punctured lung but with the undertone of a low giggle.
‘Sonofa–’ Arthur growled, but shook his head to disguise his amusement. He smacked the door with his shoulder like a bull.
‘Calm down, you thug.’ John chuckled. ‘That looks more like it.’ He threw a hand at the gap in the roof and raised an eyebrow when he realized the extremely ladder-like formation of the tree branches next to it.
‘No,’ Arthur said lowly, a grin tracing across his face.
‘It’ll be worth it!’ John chirped. ‘The guy said the gold’s under the middle of the floor anyway.’
Arthur thought on this a moment. ‘I’ve got some dynamite.’
‘That’s typical of you.’ John remarked.
Arthur shoved his shoulder. ‘Not what I meant, you fool! I was gonna say we could climb the tree and drop the dynamite on said floor.’
‘Why?!’
‘How else do you suggest we rip up all the floorboards?! And I’d like to stay in one piece, so I’d rather not be that enclosed with an explosion.’
John blinked. ‘You’re smarter than you look, brother. Who’s climbing?’
Arthur just stared at him. There was a pause.
‘Well I ain’t doing it! You’re smaller!’
John rolled his eyes, catching how much they sounded like kids assigning chores. They sort of were, really. ‘Flip a coin?’
‘Every time you’ve suggested that since you was twelve years old I’ve said no.’
John huffed and rubbed his hands together as he approached the tree. ‘Fine,’ he drawled. ‘Just pass me the dynamite when I’m high enough up.’
Seconds later John was covered in pine needles and old floorboards, but they had four fat gold bars. Arthur snickered at his brother’s appearance.
‘Don’t I at least get an extra bar for my troubles?!’
‘No. I came up with the idea, Johnny.’ Arthur said, smugly tucking the gold into his satchel.
John looked a little absent as they remounted and he saw the note still on Arthur’s hat. ‘That you did, brother. That you did.’
*
Arthur was still so perplexed by the sudden onslaught of compliments that he went to tuck himself in the woods like he was prone to. He didn’t expect to see Albert Mason again, despite how he had been thinking of him so often – not of late necessarily, as he had other things of his mind: more ghosts on the wall than anything, a soft-eyed woman and a little boy with curly brown hair, two hastily-lashed wooden shapes in recently disturbed earth. Admittedly, the strange increase in attention paid to him had served a good distraction, but it was times like these when he was riding along alone that they still plagued him.
‘Down, boy! I just need to… there. I promise we’ll go to the butchers later.’ The voice that was, oddly, emanating from a cluster of bushes and trees.
‘Mr Mason?’ Arthur asked, sticking his head through to the small clearing the trees concealed. He was lucky he wasn’t being ambushed, to be honest. It seemed the sort of place the O’Driscolls would like. As it happened, Albert was getting ambushed, albeit the culprits weren’t gun wielding thugs dressed in green. It was a mewling mass of brown fluff that, on closer inspection, was a bear cub. ‘Oh, hello, Mr Morgan!’ Albert said, blushing slightly. His boater hat looked decidedly chewed.
‘What’s that?!’ Arthur all but squawked.
‘Oh!’ He replied, leaping up from the earth and brandishing his camera. ‘I’m trying to photograph some field mice but they’re awfully quick.’
‘That ain’t what I was referring to.’ Arthur quipped back. He pointed softly at the bear cub.
Albert beamed down at the cub, which he was holding on its back like a baby. ‘This is Achilles.’
‘What, like Homer?’
Albert suppressed how taken aback he was. ‘Yes. I thought it suited him.’
‘I like it. Hey there, little feller.’ Arthur reached to stroke the bear’s head, who whined and clambered onto him. ‘Aww.’
‘He likes you – he’s positively biddable! More than I can say for me.’ Albert rolled his sleeve up to reveal a few telling scratch marks. ‘But we get on now, don’t we, boy?’
The cub squeaked in agreement.
Arthur chuckled. ‘Here’s your baby back then, mama bear.’
Achilles didn’t let go, instead making a quiet keening noise and snuffling into his jacket.
Albert tilted his head lovingly. ‘I think he’s more our baby now.’
*
Arthur rode back the following day in high humor, albeit with a few baby bear claw shaped rips in his shirt. He’d promised he would come and visit: that arrangement was frighteningly similar to one Arthur had made before, but he figured the stakes were lower.
Nevertheless his good mood was noticed once he got back to camp.
‘Who goes there?’ Sean called.
‘It’s Arthur, you dumbass!’
‘You look cheery.’
‘And you’re already spoilin’ it, boy.’ Arthur replied fondly as he hitched his horse.
‘Hello, my boy.’ Hosea said, patting his shoulder and handing him a cup of coffee. ‘How’re the adventures?’
‘Worthwhile, mostly. Just been nice to get out – camp’s nice but everyone’s been weirdly… attentive lately.’ Arthur mused.
Hosea looked at him around a cigarette, and made a show of not looking smug. ‘Oh really?’
‘Yeah. Like everyone: Bill told me I was smart the other day. Completely out of the blue. And Javier said I was a good shot, and Sean said he looks up to me or something, and that’s not even counting Sadie and Charles and the rest. It’s odd.’
Hosea could scarcely contain his joy. ‘But you look happy.’
Arthur looked pensive, nodded, and had just the faintest twitch of a smile. ‘Yeah. I guess I am.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ hosea smiled, patted his shoulder again, and as he stood allowed his hand to ghost over the back of Arthur’s hat to remove the note he’d tucked there some time prior. As Arthur sauntered off, he traced the faded swirls of words on the note: Cheer me up!
matchmaker daisy is my absolutely fave she’s just out here shipping thomas with gay happiness and using reverse psychology to make mrs. patmore/mr. mason endgame
