Dehydration
Arthur Morgan X Reader
Warnings: Mentions of blood but that’s about it I think. No use of Y/n.
Premise: you’ve been waiting for your husband to return for days only for him to come back with the energy of a zombie.
Authors note: if you wanna request I genuinely don’t mind. But I’m only really passionate about Arthur rn
Enjoy!
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Barely stifled laughter lit up the chores when you sat with the girls by the river mending clothes, Tilly gossiping about Bill’s past and the jokes building up naturally.
“Okay- jokes aside, ladies,” Karen pauses with a chuckle, “if any of this gets back to him we’re all dead.”
For a moment we only stare at her, “The hells he gonna do?” You smirk, knowing you had Arthur as a defensive weapon for whenever you needed him. “It’s Bill damn Williamson.”
“You may not be afraid of him, but wait till you see how Kieran fares,” Tilly whispers, leaned forward. “Poor fella can’t catch a break without Bill constantly harassin’ him.”
Karen adds onto what she says, the conversation slowly pulling you towards Arthur in your head when suddenly your ears perk up at the sound of familiar footsteps in the camp. It’s been almost three days since you’ve seen Arthur. You hate it when he camps away without a warning.
Without a care in the world, you spring up to go for the broad male, only to be interrupted.
Marybeth rolls her eyes, “You go run like a little puppy, Y/n. We’ll just do your chores for you.” She sarcastically shames.
With an apologetic wince you respond, “Promise I’ll be back! It’s just Arthur’s been gone a few days.” Without so much as a nod you hurry off into the bustle of tents and cots.
After a circular tour, you find him sat on his cot looking through notes and scratching his beard.
“Honey,” you greet, earning two pools of cerulean to rise and meet your face. He opens an arm to which you gladly accept, sitting beside him.
He smells earthy and like cigarette smoke. “Hey sweetheart,” he shortly says with a familiar rasp in his voice amped up a little too much for your liking.
“You okay?” Your scarred hands rub at his back, making the rough exterior melt.
“Got a headache, tried smoking it away.” Arthur finally admits, putting the papers away into a box and facing you. “Don’t reckon it worked…”
You brush brunette strands off his forehead and tilt his chin carefully to you. “You’re pale and your eyes are puffy, love…” you examine and check for a fever, making him wince like a little boy.
“Nothin’ the matter, sweetheart.” He says with a kiss on your hairline. “Jus’ a headache. I reckon it will go away after a few hours.” He stands up and places his hat back on.
You panic, jumping to your feet, assuming he’d be off again. “Don’t leave, Arthur you just came back!” No matter how clingy you’d appear you snatch his wrist with a pleading look.
A cheeky smirk decorates his worn face. “I’m jus’ doin chores, honey.” A playful pinch to your cheek makes you sigh in relief. Though you’d usually smack his hand away.
With that, you return to your respective chores with the girls, Tilly had bought on the a subject so jarring the girls stopped stitching for a second. However, for the life of you, you couldn’t pay attention.
Instead, you watch Arthur lift hay-bales and brush the horses from the corner of your eye. The girls are back at it with chatter after Ms Grimshaw left with a warning to seize the chatter.
You accidentally poke yourself with a needle and yelp, facing down to see a tiny droplet of blood drawn.
Tilly’s the first to say something- of course, “Serves you right for gawking at the poor man.”
“He can’t even breathe without you lustin’.” Karen retorts, making the others laugh. Marybeth shakes her head in mild disagreement.
“I’ve only seen love like that in novels,” she states, nose tilting shyly down. “It makes me realise true love can exist outside of papers.”
Karen makes a gagging noise, smiling playfully at Mary. You turn your attention back to Arthur when they’re too busy bickering, catching the second the workhorse of a man collapses.
“Love!?” You drop everything and sprint off, Ms Grimshaw by your side as she checks his heartbeat and eye movement.
You can’t help but tearily wince, he could have rested- you could have pushed him to rest!
“Hon..?” You pet his cheek, hoping for at least a little response even if everyone’s reassured you he’s okay. Reverend and Charles come over to help hoist him up into the cot.
A fresh wet towel is what you use even though you were told it wasn’t a fever. For some reason you couldn’t believe it, a strong man like him, collapsing?
You can’t think of chores when he’s like this, you practically beg Ms Grimshaw to let you watch over him, however, the old woman refuses to budge.
“You’ve gotten through two out of five clothes that need fixing,” she strictly states, “you cannot throw your weight on the other girls!”
Dutch, who happens to be passing by calms the old woman down and sweetens her up into agreeing. Teary eyed and grateful, you thank them both with clenched hands and hurry off back to Arthur.
He rouses for the first time in a few hours, squinting and springing up by default of his routine.
“Oh no you don’t!” You instantly press him back down, the large man groaning at your insistent fretting.
“Jesus it’s like a clock ringin’ in my damn head.” His eyes squint shut in pain.
“Made you soup, love… well- I had Pearson help me out.” You bring the edge of the bowl to his lips and tilt his head to assist.
His lashes flutter softly with every warm gulp. The sky is darkening, he realises. There’s no time for sleep. He has missions.
Apparently you are a mind reader since you put tent up as to block the view of the dimming sky. “Incase you’re still hurting in the morning so the sun won’t shine in your eyes.” You explain whilst entering the cosy set up.
It’s usually his job but he has no energy to help you, only watch in vain as his wife scatters around to help him.
“You didn’t drink water is my theory.” You murmur with a cup you feed him from. “You smoke and smoke and smoke and kiss me with dry lips without a care in the world.” You tease, “Well Mister it’s time you hydrated.”
He chuckles hoarsely and smiles up at you as you place a small peck on his temple and tuck him in.
“Sleep Arthur. You’ll get better in the morning.” You brush your fingers into his hair and rub at his scalp, Arthur almost purrs, discovering the bundle of nerves your pads brush into.
“Night, honey.”
