(Author Note: This is my first ever Reader X Character atory, so please, bear with me. It was sometimes hard to remember how to do it. I'm so used to writing in third person. Anyway, this scene in the gang always bothered me. That no one cared to look for Arthur after he was taken by the O'Driscolls. Like they just went about their lives, after everything he did for them. I had to work this scene so he wasn't alone. So, anyway, I do hope y'all like it.)

Lost but not Forgotten

You had been a part of the gang for only a few months. Brought in, when you lied smoothly, then killed effortlessly, to help aid Dutch, Arthur, and Micah while they were performing a robbery. Why you helped, you still weren't quite sure. Most likely because you were bored and needed some excitement. Dutch had eagerly asked you to join them and you readily agreed.

In the span of those months, you hadn't made many friends among the Van der Linde gang, but you had become a rather valuable asset. Abigail and Sadie liked you well enough, Sean flirted from time to time, but you knew it was meaningless by the lengthy looks he gave Karen. Charles liked to pick your tracking and hunting knowledge and skill. Hosea liked to chat, finding you surprisingly well versed and intelligent for a long time outlaw. And Dutch liked to send you out often with Arthur, to back him up, since your skills complemented the rough and tough man. Where Morgan was abrasive and liked to barge in on things, you were quiet, stealthy, and observant, taking things with caution and precision.

After months of working with Arthur, you still weren't sure where you stood with the man. He was closed off. Most of the time your missions that you did with him were filled with silence, curt words when there was any, and often coldness. You didn't quite understand why he seemed to dislike you so, but in camp you tended to keep your distance. You didn't mind the man if you were being honest. He was smart, much smarter than anyone gave him credit for - even himself, strong and protective, he looked out for everyone. Hell, you even found him attractive, but never really thought anything more. You were comfortable not being in a relationship. They were too messy anyway. And the idea of love was better in the romance novels Mary Beth got you to read.

Despite being part of the camp for only a few months, you had come to realize Dutch's dislike for Colm O'Driscoll ran deep. You always were observant. So, when Pearson came to tell Dutch of a possible parlay with Colm, you happened to be sitting nearby, your feet propped up on the table, reading a book.

Mrs. Grimshaw had already passed by and told you to put your feet down once, but you did your own thing. Probably why the woman didn't like you much.

Now, you pretended to be reading your book as Arthur, Pearson, Micah and Dutch discussed a possible meeting with Colm. Were they serious, you couldn't help but think. The whole thing sounded like a trap. You didn't much care for Micah, but Arthur and Dutch you very much wanted to be kept alive. However, you were beginning to have your doubts about Dutch too. Three months ago his ideas and plans sounded inspiring. But, lately you were seeing a change in him. One you didn't like.

"Why not have Y/N tag along and be extra back up with Arthur?" Hosea suggested now being brought into the discussion and motioning to you.

"Oh no! No women! She'll just get in the way. Besides, the less we have, the less conspicuous we'll be." Micah grumbled, sending a scathing look your way. He hated you and you knew it. But the feeling was mutual, so it didn't bother you none.

"That's a big word there, Bell. Ya even sure ya know what it means?" You taunted, eyes never leaving your book. Antagonizing the man was a favorite pastime of yours.

"Shut the hell up, L/N." Micah shot back.

You merely rolled your eyes at his pathetic comeback. "I'll come if ya need me. If not... " you simply shrugged, acting as if you didn't care either way.

It was Arthur who spoke up, frowning at you and shaking his head. "Nah. Fer once, I think Micah's right. We don't wanna make Colm think we're there to start somethin' we ain't."

You just shrugged once again, "ya know it's a trap." You and Hosea said the same thing at the same time. The older man smiled at you and placed a hand on your shoulder. And you gave him a small smile in return, finding it a little amusing that the two of you had like minds.

Dutch finally spoke up. "I know it's a trap. We'll be extra careful. Let's go. I don't wanna waste any more time."

You watched as they left and sighed. Something about the whole thing made you feel uneasy. And when you glanced at Hosea you knew he felt it too.

****

Later that evening, just before Pearson started making dinner, Micah and Dutch rode into camp. They appeared to be just fine, discussing how the meeting had gone. Apparently, the whole thing had been extremely odd, they talked for a bit, Colm gave a roundabout answer in letting things go, and then they left abruptly. If that were the case... where was Arthur, you couldn't help but wonder. Everyone seemed thrilled by the whole idea and Dutch decided why not celebrate. Then again, Dutch rarely needed a reason to celebrate and have a party.

As the music started, the sickness you felt in your stomach refused to go away. Something was wrong with this whole thing. Where the hell was Arthur? Did no one give a damn? Sure, Arthur often would randomly roam the countryside, but this... this wasn't right. Especially after the meeting with Colm? It was unlike Arthur to worry anyone. Then again, no one seemed worried.

Not bothering to party with the rest, you effortlessly dodged the others dancing and singing, to find Dutch sweet talking Molly.

"Dutch!" You called out to get his attention.

"Ah, Miss L/N, what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

You waved aside his polite tone. "Dutch, where's Arthur?"

"Arthur?" The man looked around and then shook his head. "You know how Arthur is my dear, Y/N. He doesn't like to stick around camp much. Probably drawing in that journal of his, or taking a joy ride somewhere, or maybe he's getting us some much needed money. He's the only one, it seems, I can rely on to do just that. Celebrations aren't something he enjoys."

His nonchalant tone made you frown, your temper rising. After all Arthur did for this man, Dutch didn't seem to care at all what happened to him. A few of the others happened to overhear your exchange with Dutch and they too agreed, adding what they thought the man in question was doing. It was all the same though; they all thought that Arthur was probably off dillydallying.

"Really? After yer meetin' with Colm? That don't seem suspicious ta you?" You weren't about to let it go. "Wouldn't he wanna know how things went?"

"Now, Miss L/N, Colm and I have come to an agreement. He wouldn't want to jeopardize this new found peace. Arthur is a grown man, he can choose to go wherever he wishes. I'm sure he thought everything was perfectly fine and dandy and went to do whatever it is Arthur does during his alone time." Dutch then gave you a dark smile, "or maybe you're just jealous you aren't with him. You two have spent many a mission together. Are you sure you haven't developed feelings for him?"

Anger ignited inside you at Dutch's accusation. Was it wrong to simply worry for a member of camp? Maybe you did care, but that didn't mean you had feelings for the broody man. "Yer insufferable, Dutch Van der Linde!" You growl at him and march off to his laughter.

The queasy feeling in your stomach continued to grow and you sought out Micah instead. He had been there too. And if you needed to resort to force, you would with Micah. You were going to find out one way or another even if you had to go back to where they had met Colm and track the man in question down yourself.

"Micah!" you call out, "where's Arthur?"

"Why? Ya pining for him or somethin'? Ya know, there's better fish in the sea?" Micah said, slurring his words as he looked you up and down suggestively. "This fish finds ya mighty purty, if only you'd stop bein' such a pain in the ass with that attitude o' yourn."

Disgusted, you push him against the tree he was standing near with a knife at his throat. "I ain't playin' games, Bell. Now, if I were interested in a fish, it wouldn't be you. I'd chop ya up into tiny pieces, fry ya, an' then feed ya to the bears. Ya couldn't handle me!" You were snarling, every word like venom spewing from your mouth. How could he even think there was a possibility...? The mere thought made your stomach churn, wanting to dislodge what little you ate that day

"Now, where - is - Arthur?" Your tone meant business. It was cold, dangerous, and you were so very near to slitting Micah's throat and doing the world a goddamn favor.

"What the-" Micah tried to fight back but couldn't move. "I dunno. I ain't his keeper. Haven't seen him since the meeting. Now get off me ya filthy bitch!" Micah tried using more force to push you away but your knife only pressed deeper against his throat and he cursed.

A cold smirk curled at the corner of your lips ignoring his insult -- for now. "Not till you tell me what I wanna know. Where did y'all meet Colm? Did anything seem outta the ordinary? Answer me, then I'll be all too happy to oblige in letting you go."

Micah grumbled seeing no way to get you off of him. "It all seemed on the up and up to me. Nothing suspicious. We were down below and Morgan was up on the ridge watchin' us in case it was a trap. Arthur probably just went off for a ride or somethin'. Who the hell knows? Like I said, I ain't his keeper." The man paused a moment and then added, "we were supposed ta meet 'im but he never showed. Figured he knew it was safe and took off. He's always doin' that sort o' thing."

"And that didn't strike ya as odd?" You snarl at the man. "Arthur is a man of his word! If he was supposed to meet ya then he would have been there. You an' Dutch... ya both got a damn screw loose!"

"For the last damn time, I ain't his keeper, Y/N. Pretty damn sure, I've mentioned this fact several times, now." Micah growled back to which you pressed your knife deeper just for fun.

"Jus' tell me where it was ya met Colm. Then I'll leave ya ta yer sorry excuse of a life." Micah started to protest, which raised all kinds of alarms in your head. As you pressed the knife deeper, a trickle of blood started to trail down the man's throat. "Yer bleedin' Bell... wanna be gaspin' fer air next?"

Grumbling some more he finally gave you the location they had met Colm at. Before the last word was out of his mouth, however, you were running to your horse and quickly on your way. Micah's curses and threats trailed you until you were out of earshot. Micah couldn't do shit to you and you knew it.

The whole ride to the meeting point, you were lost in thought about how no one seemed concerned for Arthur's safety but you. Certainly not Dutch. Van der Linde often claimed Arthur was like a son to him, yet he wasn't worried that Arthur hadn't returned after the meeting? Arthur would have met them at the rendezvous point, especially if that's what he had said he would do. The man may be broody and probably hate you, he claimed to be a bad man, but you had come to find out he was a man of his word. Besides, wouldn't Arthur have wanted to know how things went between Dutch and Colm? It simply made no sense to you. Your instincts were practically screaming at you that something was wrong. But why were you the only one who felt that way? You had only known Arthur for about three months. Or was it four now? No matter, you were still the newest member. But certainly not the least experienced. You had ran with a gang before. One that was far different from the Van der Linde Gang.

It seemed like it took far too long for you to get to the location Micah had given you. The sun had started to set on your ride and you were worried there would be no tracks to follow. Once arriving, you thanked your lucky stars there was a trail. An easy one too. They didn't seem concerned at all that anyone might follow. Looking around, you didn't notice any sort of struggle, but it did seem like a body had been dragged before being placed on a horse. Luck seemed to be on your side as you quickly followed the horse tracks.

You followed the tracks to a small clearing where they seemed to pause. A fire had been made, but it was cold now. Getting down from your horse, you looked around. A body had been set down, making an indent in the grass then tried to crawl away, if you were guessing correctly. Following the tracks in the grass you frowned when you found blood. Kneeling down you placed a finger to it. Cold. It was hours old. "Shit!" you swore, your heart sinking.

Standing up, you looked around some more and found more tracks leading towards the thick of the Cumberland Forest. Your eyes narrowed, and you called your horse over to follow the new set of tracks...

********

The camp was hidden well, but you were an adept tracker. The blood you occasionally saw on the ground continued to worry you. Why did you feel like something bad had happened to Arthur? "Damnit Arthur, ya better be okay," you mumbled bitterly, yet worry crept into the edges of your voice.

It was dark now as you approached the campfire in the distance. The camp had a large number of O'Driscoll's scouting, drinking, eating, and playing cards. You watched them all carefully from a distant ridge as Colm O'Driscoll exited the basement of a building. Two men then guarded the front door. That was oddly suspicious. Wait... was that Arthur's horse over with the others? A feeling of dread washed over you. "Please be alive..." you whisper and stealthily make your way down below, leaving your horse hitched to a tree above. You didn't need anyone seeing your entrance into camp.

Pausing behind some crates, you watched the men at the basement door. You could hear them talking and frowned.

"Yeh t'ink Morgan will last much longer?"

The other O'Driscoll shrugged, "who knows. He's only bait."

"When yeh t'ink Colm be sendin' word t' ol' Van der Linde? T'ink dere be some bonny lasses wit' 'em. I ain't had a woman in ages."

"Who the hell knows. Soon, I think. I've heard ol' Van der Linde's got a harem o' whores. I bet we'll have our pick soon enough, eh?" The other rolled his shoulders back, chuckling at the thought and then added, "I gotta take a leak. While I'm gone, go get some more whiskey, why dont'cha? Might as well celebrate takin' the mighty Morgan down. And them women we gonna be fuckin'."

A frigid cold washed over you at the louses. Bastards! Every damn one of them. Your heart then fell at the mention of Arthur, fearing the worst. You had half a mind to rush forward, but knew to wait. As much as you wanted to rip their bloody hearts out, you didn't want to alert the whole camp.

Damn that Colm asshole. And damn Dutch for not caring to check on the people he claimed to care about.

Both O'Driscoll's soon left the basement doors and you quickly made your move. Pushing open one door, you slid inside before silently closing it behind you. No one had noticed you. Good.

As you descended the stairs, the light was dim from the one candle on the nearby table. What made you gasp was the sight of Arthur hanging from the ceiling, upside down. He had a cloth wrapped around his head and was covered in blood and bruises. He appeared unconscious, but at least he was alive. "Oh God... Arthur..." The sympathy held in your voice was soft and warm, not that he could have heard.

Moving to him, you knelt cradling his head in your arms, hoping to relieve some of the blood flow to his skull. "Morgan? Morgan!" You hissed and gently tapped his cheek. "Arthur!" You tried again being as gentle as you could.

The man groaned, eyes fluttering open to look at you. "Wha-...?" His tone was groggy. He blinked at you, not sure he was seeing you clearly. Surely it was a hallucination. You wouldn't be foolish enough... Wait, did that mean the gang had indeed come for him? "L/N that you?"

"Yeah, Morgan, it's me... what the hell happened?" You purred softly into his ear, still holding him up.

Arthur grunted, a shiver going through him, and shook his head slowly. Just that slight movement was an effort and hurt like hell. "Ya shouldn't be here... none o' ya... should be here. It's... a trap."

"None o'...?" You queried confused. It then dawned on you that he thought the whole gang was there to rescue him and your heart ached. "No, Arthur... it's jus' me. I'm gonna get ya outta here. I promise."

You watched as his face contorted into surprise, then confusion, and back into pain. "Ya shouldn't be here either. Ain't safe... they'll kill ya... or worse."

It was easy to understand what he meant. The O'Driscoll's weren't above taking advantage of women, and after what you just heard, you knew that to be all too true. They were also known for holding women captive and using them as bait or ransom. It was a surprise though to see his concern.

"I'll be fine, Arthur. I'm a big gal, I can take care o' m'self. I have fer a long time. Now, let's get ya down, shall we?" You tried maneuvering him better so you could catch him when he fell. Pulling a knife, you stuck it in the lock and turned it till it clicked open and the man fell. You made a sound, the breath knocked out of you as you partially caught Arthur. He was heavy, but that didn't surprise you. He was like a brick wall, unmoving when up to par. But now, that wall was a dead weight as he landed slightly over you.

Arthur grunted again but tried to check on you, "ya okay, Y/N?

"I... uh yeah..." you managed to say once you were able to breathe again and slipped out from under him to help him up.

The man hesitated and nodded, standing up with your help. His stance wavered and you quickly wrapped an arm around him to keep him steady.

"Cauterize... my shoulder. The bullet..." Arthur barely managed to get out feeling tired and weak.

"Yeah, I got it. Ain't the first time, I've done this." You glanced up the stairs seeing lantern light through the cracks in the door. The guards were back. Getting out of there was going to prove interesting. "Sit. I'll take care o' ya."

Arthur looked at you through pained eyes, that questioning gaze returning. "Why are ya...here?" He grunted and then added, "why are ya... helpin' me?" He did sit though, after he gained some semblance of balance and strength and moved away from your arms to the lone chair.

Carefully drawing your knife over the candle, you didn't look at him. "No time fer chit-chat Arthur. We need ta get outta here 'fore them O'Driscoll's come down here." Finally your eyes, filled with empathy, turned on him, "this is gonna hurt, but I'm afraid, ya can't make a sound, Morgan."

The man frowned and nodded. He didn't like that you weren't telling him anything, but he understood the gravity of the situation you were both in. He grunted and let out a slow hiss as the knife entered the hole in his shoulder. White spots danced before his already hazy sight and he clenched his eyes and fists shut to hide the pain. After a moment he opened his eyes and lifted his pained gaze to your face. Studying your features helped him focus.

It took a minute for you to find the bullet and draw it out, all the while biting your lip in the process. Arthur was pale and sweating profusely. You could only imagine how much pain he was in. Now came time to cauterize. Taking the shell on the table, you opened it and shook some powder onto Arthur's wound. You were still biting your lip as you lifted the candle and looked into Arthur's eyes again. "I'm sorry," was all you could say as the flame ignited the powder. It sizzled, the smell of burnt flesh and gunpowder filling the small room.

A loud grunt left Arthur's lips and spots again flashed before his eyes. The sound caught one of the O'Driscoll's attention from above. The door swung open and bootsteps sounded on the steps.

Your finger gently settled on Arthur's lips and you left his side to hide behind the wall. Knife in hand you waited as the O'Driscoll made a startled noise to find Arthur sitting in the chair rather than still strung up to the ceiling. "What the-..." His voice was cut off by gurgling as your knife glided across his throat. You carefully set the O'Driscoll down and moved to Arthur, ignoring his curious gaze. It wasn't like he hadn't seen you slit a man's throat before.

"C'mon Arthur. Time ta get outta here." At his nod you moved to help him, but he pulled out of your grasp.

"I can walk." His gruff voice sounded.

You stared at him a moment, mouth slightly open, stung by his actions. Why did he act like he didn't trust you still? Especially after all this, coming to find him and helping him. It hurt more than you let on. "Fine." You said a bit harsher than you meant to and turned to take the lead up the stairs.

Peering out the basement door, you nodded and the two of you exited. "yer horse is over there. I'll have mine follow once we're on our way." You whispered to him.

"My guns..." he motioned, seeing them under an awning not too far from where you were. "I ain't leavin' without... 'em." He clutched his shoulder as a spasm of pain hit him.

Sighing, you motioned towards his horse. "Go. I'll get yer damn guns."

Again he looked at you, questioning in his eye before he relented. Breathing a sigh of relief, you thought he was going to argue again. As the two of you split, Arthur was suddenly seen and voices cried out. Swearing under your breath, you threw a knife at the nearest O'Driscoll and rushed for Arthur's guns. Slinging the belt over your shoulder, you swore as a bullet grazed your arm. Leaping over some crates, you saw Arthur swaying on his horse waiting for you.

Pain went through your shoulder from an O'Driscoll that tried blocking your escape and shot at you. Thankfully he missed anything vital. However it was still a close call, too close to your heart for comfort. Managing to keep your wits about you though, you managed to pull your gun and shoot the offending O'Driscoll in the head.

Running as fast as you could, you leaped onto Arthur's horse. Wrapping a secure arm around him, you rode off, whistling for your horse to follow.

Dodging O'Driscoll's gun fire, you turned occasionally to shoot at any that got near. Another bullet grazed your cheek as you looked back, but you barely noticed. Soon you crossed a river taking note of Arthur's head lolling to the side. You didn't think that he would make it back to camp. Arthur needed to be treated now. Knowing of a shack not too far, to hole up in, you headed for there instead. At least, it seemed, you both had lost the chasing O' Driscoll's.

Nearly twenty minutes later you were inside the shack, deep into the woods of Ambarino. It would take a miracle for anyone, save the original owner, to stumble onto the place. You helped Arthur lay on the only bed in the room. He tilted his head to look at you with a feverish gaze. "Why... are ya helpin' me?"

"Why the hell not?" You were a little offended that he thought so little of you, that you wouldn't help him. "Jus' keep quiet an' save yer strength Morgan, while I clean your wound better." You went about pouring whiskey over the bullet wound you cauterized hoping to get rid of any infection. Arthur had passed out after that. All the better in your opinion. You had to remove his shirt to really clean the wound anyway, and preferred that he was asleep. At the sight of all the bruising along his chest, ribs, and stomach, you gasped and swore under your breath. Tentatively, you pressed your fingers along his chest, trying to see if anything was broken, equally grateful he was asleep so this wasn't awkward. A few of his ribs were broken, which caused you to frown.

"If I ever see Colm O'Driscoll again, I'll make the coward pay fer what he did ta ya Morgan," you whispered softly, and started to bandage up his wound and wrap the ribs to hold the bones together.

You were feeling a little lightheaded from your own blood loss. But at the moment, Arthur's well being was the only thing that mattered to you.

After a couple hours of nearly passing out -wrapping a bandage around Arthur had been difficult, he was heavy and it was awkward not to mention you were much closer to the man than what was comfortable-, you move to clean and fix up your own injuries. You got as far as coaxing the bullet in your shoulder out before Arthur began to mutter, his brows drawn as if he were in the throes of a nightmare.

Normally you wouldn't be one to wake somebody up in the middle of a nightmare but it pained you to see Arthur like that.

"Morgan..." you began softly.

Nothing.

"Morgan..." you tried a little louder now gently shaking his good arm. Still nothing. You tried a couple more times, gently and... nothing, just more angry mutterings from his slumber.

Finally, even with severe exhaustion in your eyes and bones, you gripped his good arm firmly and shook. "Arthur! Wake up! Yer havin' a bad dre-"

You couldn't finish, Arthur's large hand was around your throat. Those green-blue eyes were wild and distant as he pulled you on the bed and shoved you against the wall with surprising strength despite his injury. You couldn't speak. Your brows furrowed, not exactly afraid for yourself, but worried for him. You could easily tell he was still lost in his nightmare. Yet, if you didn't do something quick, you were going to pass out and then what...? Would he let go before you breathed your last breath?

Reaching out to him, your fingertips brush against the hard, strong flesh of his chest. "Mmmooorrr-" you tried saying his last name. Your voice sounded like a whisper and spots began to dance before your eyes. "Morgan..." you finally managed to get a distressed wheeze out as your eyelids began to grow unbearably heavy. Your fingertips fell, gliding down his chest to his abdomen.

Well, you thought, if nothing else at least you saved him. Your eyes were now closing, darkness encroaching, when the pressure released from your neck and you collapsed on the bed gasping for breath.

"L/N..." came your last name hesitantly from his lips.

Hearing the fear in his voice, you opened an eye to look at him still fighting off the sudden onslaught of fatigue and darkness. Arthur appeared mortified, recoiling away from you against the headboard of the ratchety bed with pained dexterity.

"I could have..."

The fear in his voice remained even as you tried desperately to wave a hand to dismiss it. It was a weak wave though, more just a slight uplifting of your fingers. You were trying not to make huge gasping breaths for air, and ended up coughing a couple times instead. This elicited a worried glance from Arthur. "Y/N?" His concerned voice entered your pounding head.

"I'm fine..." you manage to get out to try and reassure him, only vaguely wondering why he was so disturbed by what happened. The man had made every effort to be cold and distant towards you, even on missions he'd given you the cold shoulder.

"Ya don't look fine... I didn't mean ta," he started in that gruff, weathered, baritone. He was at a loss as to what to say. "I'm sor-..."

You cut him off, "there ain't no need to be apologizin' Morgan. I woke ya up." You tried not to cough in between sentences, but if you were being honest, your throat hurt. You weren't about to tell him that, though. You tried to shut out the dark look of hatred you had seen in his eyes while lost in his nightmare. He had glared at you many times, but that look, with his large hand around your neck, sent a shiver down your spine. If you were being honest it was kinda terrifying. You never wanted to be on the receiving end of that look of vehemence again. "Yer fine. I understand." And you did understand, all too well. You got nightmares too. But again, you weren't about to tell him that.

Swallowing, you moved to get off the bed, wincing at the pain in your shoulder and not noticing that Arthur was watching you intently. You didn't realize blood had been pouring from the wound in your shoulder, leaving a trail downward between your breasts. As you prepared to slide off the bed, to continue fixing up your wound and giving Arthur his space, you heard the man's voice.

"You're hurt."

Arthur's graveled voice made you stop and consider his words. You finally shrugged and slid off the small bed. "Ain't nothin' new there."

"Don't act like it's nothin'. You're bleedin'. Bad by the looks of it." You weren't sure if he was concerned or upset. His tone sounded rough though.

"That's 'cause I jus' got done diggin' the bullet out. That okay with ya?" You couldn't help the sarcasm. Somehow Arthur always managed to pull it out of you. "Jus' ain't cleaned or wrapped it yet."

"Why not? Yer gonna bleed ta death." Arthur drawled, shifting.

No shit, was what you wanted to say, but you managed to bite that back.

"'Cause I... noticed ya were havin' a bad dream or somethin'. Left it ta see if you were okay. Damn! What difference does it make?" It wasn't like he cared, not that YOU cared either. Right? Right! You were about to move away but Arthur's hand caught your arm. Shocked, you stopped to look at him.

"Why d'ya do that? Act all tough, then the next minute ya got a heart o' gold. I don't understand ya. But I ain't gonna sit here and let ya bleed ta death." He motioned to the whiskey. "Get me the supplies, I'll do it. Make sure it's done right."

"What?! Ya ain't in no condition-" you tried to protest.

"No arguin'. Ya can be stubborn at a later time, Y/N. I ain't takin' no for an answer."

You frowned. Did he think you were incapable of patching up your own wound? How dare he? Even as your thoughts made your temper flare to life, you got the cleaning supplies and bandages and returned. Setting them down on the bed, you refused to sit. "I'll have ya know Morgan, I pulled the bullet out, cauterized, cleaned an' bandaged your wound. I'm perfectly capable o' doin' my own."

"Y/N L/N, you drive me crazy! Will you jus' sit your ass down." Arthur grumbled.

"No, I don't think I will. If I drive ya so damn crazy, then I'll stick ta this side o' the room, thank ya kindly. Wouldn't want ta make ya hate me anymore'n ya already do." You had tried so hard to keep the anger and hurt from your voice, but you just couldn't quite do it. Your voice betrayed your feelings.

Before you could move away, a large hand wrapped around your arm again. He was gentle, but firm, but he pulled you back and guided you to sit down on the bed. You would have fought him, but he was holding your injured arm and it hurt. "Let me go." You hissed, now sitting on the bed, but you were stubborn and refused to face him.

"Look at me." His voice was still rough, but there was something else hidden there that you couldn't quite figure out.

"No." Damn were you stubborn.

"Y/N, look at me." His voice was firmer this time.

"I said no." This time you tried to get up but he held your arm firm. Wincing, you finally turned to glare at him --- to yell at him to let you go. But when you turned, you didn't see hatred, or darkness, or even annoyance. There was something else. Something you weren't sure you understood.

"Figured that temper o' yers would get ya to do it eventually." There was amusement in his tired eyes. "Now turn." He made the motion with his hand, for you to face him fully. "I don't think ya incapable. I think ya would put everything and everyone else first before you even thought ta look after yerself. Or have ya forgotten who's side you've been by this whole time an' whos injury ya fixed?"

Pressing your lips together, you stubbornly turned to him, but refused to look him in the eye. You were angry. But you weren't sure if it was because he was making you stay put or if it was because he was right about you.

******

Arthur felt weak. He hurt like hell. And he was angry. The only problem was he wasn't sure what he was angry about more. Was it because Colm betrayed them like he knew the man would? That wasn't that big of a surprise. Was it because Y/N had came to his rescue instead of the man he thought of as a father for years? Nobody had come to help him except for... you. It was upsetting. It was unsettling. And it opened his eyes a little. Especially when it came to you.

How often had he forced himself to be angry and distant from you? He didn't want to get close to you. Didn't want more heartache like what happened with Mary. The other women were easy. He only saw them when he was in camp. He only thought of them as family anyway. As hard as he tried, he could not view you as a sibling. You made him uneasy, so he tried so damn hard to keep his distance where you were concerned. But Dutch kept pairing the two of you together. It was frustrating as hell and he hated it or so he liked to tell himself.

In reality, he thought you were skilled. More skilled than most of those in Dutch's gang. You were smart too. He couldn't help but love when you and Micah butted heads, because you always ended up putting the nuisance in his place in the end. It left Micah reeling and Arthur beyond proud --- though he'd never admit it aloud. And by god did he find you attractive. From the color of your hair to that fire in your eyes; he had a hard time keeping his own eyes off of you. Hell, he was ashamed to admit that he had watched you sleep a few times too, admiring how soft your features were while you slumbered. Far different from the hard wall you put up when you were awake.

At times you did annoy the hell out of him. You were so damn stubborn and sarcastic. You spoke your mind and had a confident air to you. But there were the few times he had caught you off guard. Seeing you fumble for words or become flustered was endearing. It happened mostly when Charles praised you, or Javier flirted. Goddamn, you were so adorable when you were at a loss for words. Which was why it was easier to cast a glare or turn a cold shoulder. So he didn't have to get close to you... like he so wanted to do.

And now... Now! Here you were, the only one who had looked for him, concerned for him when he hadn't returned. That was kinda hard to process. He remembered your finger against his lips back in the O'Driscoll camp and he was grateful you didn't notice the pleasant chill that went through him despite the pain he was in. Your touch was like a fire. Not painful, but warm, pleasant and it made him long for more.

He wanted to keep you at arm's length, not wanting to risk heartache again, but the sight of you bleeding and knowing it was caused because you risked life and limb for him made his heart long for you. To have a woman who cared so deeply that she risked everything was honestly something he never thought he could have. But he wanted you. Damn did he want you. But did you want him too?

It was hard to hide his amusement at your stubborn nature. Why was it so wrong to look at him? And then you did, that fire flaring to life in your beautiful (e/c) eyes. The glare you gave him nearly made him chuckle, but he felt triumphant when you did at last turn towards him. Taking a cloth, he poured whiskey over it and started to dab around your wound.

A hiss left your lips, clearly at the stinging pain. "Ya should be restin' not coddlin' me when I'm perfectly fine."

Now he smirked, your words amused him. "I did rest. Figure I should repay the one tha' helped me." Arthur kept his eyes on the bleeding wound. It wouldn't stop. He lifted his eyes to see you looking purposely away from him, a frown on your perfect bow shaped lips. "You are NOT fine, you're bleedin' somethin' awful." His gaze followed the trail of blood downwards, noticing for the first time you weren't wearing a shirt, but a chemise. It was a lacey thing and it surprised him. You dressed and acted more like a man than a lady. To see you wearing something so feminine was refreshing and he liked it. Without thinking, he took the cloth and pressed it to the gap between your breasts and slid it upward to the gaping hole to clean the blood off your skin.

A gasp sounded at Arthur's actions and the man looked up to see you staring at him in complete shock. To the dirty blonde man's surprise you didn't say anything harsh. In fact, if he didn't know better you were at a loss for words. "Er..." the man began trying to act like that very intimate gesture didn't happen. "I should cauterize it... close up the wound, no more bleedin'."

"Yeah... I... that's what I was gonna do before ya thought me so incapable o' fixin' up my own injury."

Arthur watched as you rolled your eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. "I don't think yer incapable. Clearly." He motioned to his bandaged and wrapped chest. "But, I know how hard it is ta patch yerself up. And how hard it is to relax and let someone else do it."

Your lips pressed together and you turned your head away from him again. Arthur chuckled under his breath and continued cleaning the blood. He then held out his hand, "ya got a shotgun shell?" He watched as you shook your head and then he motioned to his satchel. "Grab one from m' bag."

Pulling your hair over your non injured shoulder, you did as Arthur requested and dropped the shell into his hand. Sitting back down, you again looked away from him.

Arthur was keenly aware of how you continued to refuse to look at him. Part of him wondered why. He knew he was an ugly son of a bitch, but most could at least look at him and yet you refused. He wasn't sure if you were still being stubborn or that you really thought him so hideous. Damn, he was getting a complex. Opening the shell, he gently poured the powder over your wound. "Match?" He smirked when you handed it to him without a word. "Are ya ready fer this?"

Finally your eyes turned to him. And goddamn did he love the color of your eyes. They were mesmerizing. Well, most of the time. At the moment all he could see was the defiance and confusion in your eyes. The defiance he understood. Ever since that first day he met you, he noticed the confidence you held and your stubborn defiance. But the confusion? What could you possibly be confused about, Arthur wondered.

"What choice do I got? Jus' do it," you told him, and held your hair away from the wound. You turned your head away from him again and closed your eyes preparing for the pain that was bound to come

Arthur swallowed, taking a moment to run his eyes over your features. It wasn't the first time he found you stunning. Now, you seemed almost vulnerable, baring that strong neck to him. The not so fond memory of his hand around your throat nearly made him frown. But at the same time he marveled at how smooth your skin felt under his fingers. It took him a moment to regain his senses, finding himself thinking inappropriate thoughts about you.

"Kinda bleedin' out here Morgan. Ya gonna close that wound or am I gonna do it m'self?"

Your words jolted him back to the task at hand. He looked up at your face to find one (e/c) eye open, staring at him. He quickly lowered his head, not sure if the warmth of his face was visible or not. "Yeah... I... gotcha." He lit the match and lowered it to the wound. It ignited, sparking and sizzling. The smell of burnt flesh permeated the air.

A loud hiss, pressed through your lips and you started to fall over. Arthur immediately reached out and pulled you close, your head falling against his shoulder. Thankfully nowhere near his injury, but he still grunted. Your weight hitting him caused a ricochet of pain to course through him. But not only that, your flesh against his felt like a wildfire igniting inside him. "See... tol' ya, I gotcha." He breathed gently, looking down.

Arthur's gaze softened seeing your cheek against his bare chest. A smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth at the sight. "Ya okay?"

******

Were you okay? Those words penetrated your mind but you couldn't respond. You hated when you had to cauterize a wound. It almost always made you black out for a second or two, which is how you ended up pressed against Arthur. Though, at the moment you barely noticed. The pain in your shoulder was consuming your thoughts, rather than Arthur's faint voice. Were you okay? No, not really. You were tired. The whole thing had exhausted you! The argument with Dutch and dealing with Micah, searching and following the O'Driscoll's trail, finding Arthur and helping him, escaping, hiding out, fixing the injured man's gaping hole in his chest and now your damn wound.

But you weren't about to complain. Arthur was worse off than you were. And... HOLY HELL you were practically laying on him, you finally realized. His words once again came back to you. He HAD you. Why did that comfort you more than anything ever had? And yet, you weren't quite sure what he meant by that. It seemed to promise so much more than either of you realized.

"Y/N?" Came Arthur's graveled baritone and shifted trying to get a better look at your face. His grunt of pain made you jerk up and you nearly fell over again as the blood rushed to your head and dizziness over took you

"Shit... yeah, Arthur... I'm tired, but okay."

*****

Arthur sighed, relieved and looked you over. He wasn't entirely sure you were being truthful. "Yeah? Okay then. Ya should get some sleep L/N."

"Says the man I told ta rest after bein' beat within an inch o' his life."

You were scolding him and lifting those (e/c) eyes he found himself hypnotized by, which made it hard for him to think clearly. A piece of (h/c) hair fell into your face and he wanted to reach out to brush it back. He didn't though, simply staring at your eyes. Was there concern in those (e/c) orbs of yours?

"I'll rest when you do, how's that?" Arthur quipped back and then chuckled, seeing you press your lips together. What would it be like to...---? He stopped himself. If he let his mind run away, surely he was bound to do something that he wasn't entirely sure you would like.

"If that's the case, so be it. I'm too tired ta argue." You began to move off the bed.

"Where are you goin'?" The man asked, worried curiosity in his voice.

You pointed to the chair you had previously been sitting in. "Gonna rest, that way ya will rest too."

There was no way he was going to let you sleep in that rickety chair. He may be a bad man, but he was at times also a gentleman. "You can sleep on the bed---"

"Oh no! I am not takin' the bed. You are worse off than me. Yer keepin' the bed whether ya like it or not. Now is not the time ta suddenly be all chivalrous or gentlemanly or whatever the hell ya wanna call it." You once again tried to get up, but his hand on your arm stopped you.

"Then we can share, " he grunted out, feeling kinda awkward suggesting it. "I'll sleep against the wall." He moved over, wincing as he did so. Arthur knew the small rest he had, wasn't enough. He needed to sleep... and soon. Just fixing and bandaging your wound had taken a lot out of him. His body ached, but the further you moved away from him, the colder he felt. He yearned for your warmth. "Ya said your too tired to argue, so don't. Just sleep. Ain't no way you'd get rest in that chair anyway."

"Share?" Your eyes went wide at the suggestion, the implications that could be made... "I don't... think that's a good idea..." After all, Arthur hated you, right? Or at the very least had an extreme dislike toward you.

"I ain't arguin' with ya, like I already said." He was tired too and not in the mood to argue anyway. "I already moved over. Hurt like hell too. So, lay yer ass down." He internally winced at his own gruff tone, but he was becoming unbearably exhausted and didn't want to deal with any more of your stubborn nature. He liked it sometimes, but right now he was too damn tired to deal with it. And if he had to guilt trip you a little to make sure you were comfortable and rested well, so be it.

The glare you gave him had him fighting back a smirk. Goddamn you were stubborn. But he didn't mind... normally. "Don't give me that look, L/N. Get some rest." With that he laid back and closed his eyes. Feeling you hesitate, he spoke again, his eyes still closed. "Don't even think about it."

"I swear, Morgan..." you grumbled beneath your breath and slowly laid down. You were stiff as a board beside him, your shoulder pressed against his. Your other shoulder at the edge of the bed. "Why d'ya hate me so...?" You continued to groan, believing that he truly did.

A frown curled the edges of Arthur's mouth tilting his lips downward. Why did you think that? It bothered him. Turning his head towards you, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I could never hate you." He sighed, unaware that he had made your heart beat faster. "G'night, Y/N"

*******

Frozen, barely even able to breathe, you felt him shift away from you as best as he could. He grunted again, in pain you assumed. Your heart went out to him, not wanting him to be in pain. Wanting to take it all away. But those words... those words kept you unmoving.

"I could never hate ya."

What did that even mean? He didn't hate you? He could NEVER hate you? Then what did he...? Should you even dare think...?

Biting your lower lip, your mind reeled from those words. You weren't even sure how you felt towards him. Not like he had ever given you the time of day, before now. But those words made you warm inside, made your heart pound, and your mind a little giddy. He didn't hate you!

"G'night, Arthur..." you finally whispered back, but by his slow and steady breathing, you assumed he had already fallen asleep. Good. He needed it.

Turning your head away from him, you let out a soft breath and succumbed to a dreamless slumber.