Chapter Text
"Neve? Neve, hey. Hey."
She's curled up on his cot, crying.
"Hey," Arthur says again, rubbing her shoulder.
Neve jolts, then sits upright, little chest moving rabbit-fast as she pants. "Arthur."
He smiles gently at her and moves to drape the bear fur pelt over her shoulders. "Okay?" She shivers, and he folds it around her front.
Neve shakes her head.
Arthur sighs and smooths a hand down the pelt. "Alright. I'll just sit with ya."
"Not okay because you are doing my job," she finally gets out. The moonlight drifting through the open flap of his tent illuminates the tears on her cheeks, like little stars themselves.
"Ah, c'mere," Arthur says, drawing her into his arms. She goes willingly, resting her forehead on his shoulder. He adjusts the pelt again, wanting to touch more of her but far too scared of harming her. "We're friends, silly girl. You might'a moved into this tent to help with my nightmares, but that don't mean I won't help with yours." She burrows into him, still shivering, and he starts rubbing her back. Swanson had said something about circulation to keep her warm.
"The ground is so cold."
"I know. I know. I ain't gonna make you sleep on the ground. You jus' stay on my cot, y'hear?"
She shoves lightly at his chest. Insistent. "It's cold. It sucks warmth."
Arthur puzzles over this for a moment, then understands. "I'm plenty warm enough on the ground. Besides, what kinda man makes a lady sleep where she don't wanna?"
"Micah," Neve says, almost a snarl.
Ah. Micah. Bastard's the reason Neve has so much trouble socializing, even after a year with the gang. When Neve first moved into Arthur's tent, not long after his assault, the sex jokes and innuendos were near unbearable, even for Arthur. And he's by no means a prude. He'd taken to covering her ears every time they were within sight of the little rat. Neve has often come running to Arthur when Micah attempts to get her alone, asking what it's like with Arthur, insisting she needs to try a "real" man instead.
"Mm," Arthur hums. "But I wouldn't let him do that."
She sniffles, shivering harder.
"Hey, shhh. You cold or just got the shakes?"
Neve struggles with the question, then eventually pulls back to look at him. "I don't feel good."
Arthur grits his jaw. "Okay. Where's it hurt?"
She shakes her head. "Don't feel good."
"Where? I can't fix it if I dunno where."
Neve huffs, exasperated, "Don't feel good!"
Someone shouts, "Quiet!"
"Say that again and I'll make you quieter than the grave!" Arthur calls back, then turns back to Neve. She's trembling. He lets go of her briefly, digs around in his trunk, and finds a long-sleeved shirt of his. He pulls it over the night shirt she sleeps in (despite Karen's reassurances that Arthur, nor the other men in the camp save Micah, will leer at her if she sleeps in a chemise, she has stoutly refused). He buttons it up slowly, throat feeling too tight. He gets to the last one, the fabric dark in contrast to her creamy, pale neck, and his heart feels three sizes too big for his chest.
Christ, he's a goner for this one. But he keeps it to himself.
Then he rubs her arms, trying to warm her up. Slowly, the shaking subsides, and she mumbles, "Feel okay now."
Arthur notes to himself that I don't feel good is equally in reference to her body and her emotions. He'll have to remember it for next time.
"Okay 'nough to sleep?"
"Yes."
So Arthur guides her back down, gets the pillow situated under her head, then cooes, "Night," before he lies down on his sleeping roll next to the cot. He stares up at the canvas ceiling and wishes things were different.
Come the morning another day the same as the last and the same as tomorrow passes like it's nothing at all. But the monotony is enjoyable with his Neve.
(How often has he wishes that were the case? His Neve. But the notion is like wanting to call the moon his.)
He gets up first, makes coffee, sips it lightly as he enjoys the early morning alone. Once the sun has risen over the trees, Neve rises, finishes his cup, and he gets some canned fruit into her. Sometimes jerky. Then they either go hunting, or for some light pick-pocketing in town. She always bathes after the latter. When they return to camp, she grabs a bowl of Pearson's stew for the both of them, and they sit idly by at a log next to the campfire. Sometimes she watches him play with Jack, and after, she comes crying into his arms. He holds her until he fixes it. Then they wash their teeth, and Arthur stands guard at his tent while Neve changes into bedclothes. Arthur himself strips into just his union suit before he lays on his bedroll, Neve on her cot, and he tells her good night just like he has and just like he always will.
He can't have Neve in the way he can't own a deer. Too wild, too innocent, too flighty. But for her to willingly occupy his space—it is enough.
Although he knows tonight is different when she whispers, "Arthur."
"Mm?"
He watches in the dimness as she gets up, swinging her legs over the cot, and sits next to him on the ground. "It's cold."
The month is July and the air is hot and wet. So she means something else. Arthur sits up and moves to grab another shirt of his, but she stops him with a hand on his forearm. She shakes her head.
"Can you try to elaborate for me?" He asks. She's gotten better at conversation, although he suspects she'll always be more comfortable speaking in riddles. He finds it endearing, until he remembers her isolation lead to her mannerisms, and then he feels he might cry.
Neve looks down, fidgeting, little face scrunched up as she thinks it over. "Cold without you."
Arthur opens his arms, but she shakes her head. "How can I warm ya up?"
Neve looks at his cot. "Hold."
Arthur stares at his cot—tight fit for two, but he knows it'd be cozy—and then his gazes slides to Neve. Long black hair hanging down to the base of her spine. "I wouldn't wanna crowd ya."
Her big gray, kind eyes bore into his. "I don't either."
"Well I feel fine with you—" Arthur starts. Neve gives him an emphatic look. He chuckles and shakes his head. "Alright, I get it, you mean it, you feel fine with me. C'mere." Arthur eases himself onto his cot, and Neve crawls in after, tucking herself into his chest. He inhales sharply, terrified of hurting the little thing in his arms. But she lets out a sigh as tension dissipates from her shoulders, and he adjusts his arms; one under the pillow, the other chastely resting over her side. "Okay?"
"Warm."
And that's all he really needs. He can't have her, but his wild woman willingly occupies his space. It is enough.
In the morning he decides to spend those pre-dawn hours in his cot, with Neve under his arm. She's tucked right into him, the same way she fell asleep. Breathing evenly and softly. Peace on her face and looseness in her limbs. When she wakes, she peeps up at him, then smiles slowly. He grins and says, "Mornin'. Sorry I ain't got coffee."
Neve shrugs it off and sits up, stretching, then runs her fingers through her hair. Arthur tugs on jeans and a shirt, then socks and boots. He dons his hat and steps out of his tent, standing guard while Neve dresses. She walks out in jeans and a blouse Karen had given her.
"Arthur!"
Dutch's voice cuts through the air. Arthur grumbles to himself and says, "Reckon I'll be busy today." Too goddamn early for this. But dutifully, like a cow walking down the chute to slaughter, he approaches Dutch's tent. Molly is nowhere to be found. Flat Iron Lake is utterly still this morning; Arthur gazes across the water and misses Horseshoe Overlook, the place he first brought Neve to. "Yeah?"
"Gotta keep working the Gray angle, Arthur," Dutch says. Before Arthur can protest—they are not laying low—Dutch barrels on. "Bill rode in yesterday saying they was asking for security. Saddle up. Get Sean and Micah ready."
"Micah? He'll probably irritate them such that they decide the Braithewait's is more tolerable."
"Arthur. We are a gang. We are a family.." Dutch raises his voice for the rest of the camp to hear, even those just waking up. "We get along and we provide for one another!"
"Yeah, yeah, jus' havin' a go. Whatever. I'll go get set. You want Neve on this? She's gotten mighty good at snipin'. Could get her holed up somewhere."
"Now why would we need a sniper?"
"For that security detail, genius."
"Well we will tell them we have more in our hand than what we want to reveal," Dutch says, enunciating each word as if it gives his point some amount of gravity and depth. "Besides, they may underestimate a woman."
"Or maybe you is," Arthur says bitterly as he turns on his heel. He sees Neve sitting with the women as he saddles Ginger up. Abria whooshes, shuffling her feet. He slips the mare a peppermint and says, "Neve and I can ride you out sometime soon, there, lady." The mare shakes her head of flies and bends to graze.
Arthur's ears prick when he overhears the tail end of Mary-Beth's voice, shrill and amused.
"...enough, Karen!"
"What!" Karen protests, and turns to Neve, giving the girl a gentle nudge. Neve ducks her head, but Arthur sees her shoulder's shake—laughter. She's got a shirt in her lap... one of his shirts. Must be mending it. "I thought we was an open society here."
"Not so open!" Tilly giggles. "Poor Neve probably doesn't know what you mean!"
Arthur would tromp over there and ask what's what, if he didn't trust Karen to handle Neve gently. She's grown to love teasing from the women, but she definitely doesn't tolerate it as much from men.
The girls all bend forward, whispering, and Arthur shakes his head fondly and cinches up the girth. Ginger swings her head and grabs his hat. Arthur laughs and reaches up for it. "C'mon now, girl, ain't fair!" The horse shakes her head and flings it to the ground. He pats her withers, then bends to grab it from the dirt. He hears another snippet.
"Sweetie, don't pretend you haven't noticed him in those new jeans!"
Arthur feels his face heat up as he looks at his jeans. The pair he bought a week ago while in town. Neve had insisted she liked the blue. He looks over at the women, who shush one another and giggle.
Karen calls, "Sorry, Arthur! Not sorry."
He smirks, if only to pretend he doesn't boyishly hope Neve likes his body. But he is old, and ugly, and a bastard. "Sure," he says, drawing the word out. Once Ginger is road-ready, he heads over to Neve and says, "Good work, thank you."
The girls give him knowing looks, and he shakes his head, eyes just on Neve. She pauses and looks up at him, then tilts her head, What is it, really?
Before Arthur can say, Sean walks by, legs loose and arms swinging. He whistles at Karen, and she laughs and says, "I'll make you pay for that."
He says, "Oh, no problem, I'll find a lady who likes me better!" He looks at Neve and grins, all scruff and crooked teeth. "Hello to tha prettiest little bird this side o' the ocean."
Neve shakes her head. "You like Karen."
Karen pats Neve's shoulder. "I know. He's just playing."
Neve absorbs this, then nods. "Okay. From him it isn't so bad. I amn't... fond of... detached words."
"We know, dear," Mary-Beth says gently.
"I will see you this evenin', little bird!" Sean jokes, heading to his horse.
Neve twists back to Arthur, still waiting on him. She adjusts the shirt in her lap and begins to mend a tear in the sleeve seam. "We're not hunting today?"
"Nah, not today. Headin' out with Dutch and them today," Arthur says. He's all sarcasm as he adds, "Should be a short walk in a pretty town."