Ticket to heaven
summary: Arthur struggles to leave his past behind. It’s a good thing you are here to remind him what’s important in his life now. pairing: husband!arthur x wife!reader rating: general, it’s fluff with a bit of angst. word count: 5.8k warnings: a little angst. A lot of tears and kisses. Domestic fluff. Post canon. reader is pregnant. They have a daughter who is around 4-5yo. (I don’t name the kids ever so you can chose what name you prefer). Mentions of deaths and injuries. Mention of birth. Mentions of the gang’s downfall. Dutch hate as usual (soft). Kissing. Self doubt and guilt for our dear Arthur. English isn’t my first language, sorry for the mistakes. Pics by me except for the matches from Pinterest. Dividers by @/digilatte. Title from the song ticket to heaven from dire straits, my second band of all time <3
a/n: here is a little fic I’ve been plotting for months now, but I could only start to write it 5 days ago during my break (of course). I am still off tumblr for a while but I was too excited to wait for my return to share it so here it is. I got the og idea while admiring the wonderful work of @/veckati, this one, Arthur’s belongings. The details are just insane, probably one of my favorite Arthur fanart. Then things got out of hand when I wrote it and it's longer than I thought it would be but I am happy about it. This can be read as a stand alone, but in my head it's the same pairing as in All the man that I need, just a couple of years later. Once again, thank you so much to my baby @thedilfdiaries for being my drafts and helping me chose the moodboard (even though I didn't chose the one you prefered 😬), and for always taking the time to listen to me, I love you so so much forever 💗. And to @mezzaninebeetle55 (third username in less than a year I have to use to tag you wow 😘), this fic was born thanks to one of our talks months ago so thank you for the inspiration and the support, love you always honey 🫶🏼.
Arthur wasn’t planning on stopping for so long on the side of the road. He has seen countless carriages ride past him during the last hours, folks greeting and asking him if he is lost, if his horse is injured, if he needs any kind of assistance. And he just mumbles something along the lines of “don’t talk to me” and “get out of here. go annoy someone else.” sitting underneath the same damn tree, cigarettes’ butts piling up on the ground right beside him.
It infuriates him, really, the kindness strangers seem to show him in this part of the country… if only they knew who he is, who he used to be, they wouldn’t even glance his way. But somewhat they do, glance his way, offer their help, they even smile sometimes, reply joyfully “have a kind day sir” despite the hostility well discernible in his tone and his closed off stance.
He should be used to it by now. It’s been more than a couple of years now since he left his old life behind, and decided to save his family instead of falling into Dutch’s madness like a gullible devotee. Your pregnancy and the birth of your daughter is what pushed Arthur to act once and for all. The late night promises he made to you needed to become real. He couldn’t lie to himself no more, this place, this way of living wasn’t safe for you, for your child… It never had been. You deserved better. And you succeeded in convincing him that he deserved better too.
Dutch’s promises were hollow, he could see it clearly back then, he could see that his future wasn’t in the jewel-covered hands of a liar who was slowly falling from his pedestal. This father figure who kept promising the world to him, buying his loyalty and admiration with falsities, was destroying everything he had the arrogance to grapple with the same jewel-covered hands he used to pat on Arthur's back to express his gratitude. Arthur could sense the way it felt like Dutch was slowly strangling him, killing any chance at redemption for him, destroying any attempt at a better life. It almost destroyed his marriage with you. It almost caused the loss of your child… He couldn’t let that happen.
The escape was far from easy, and healing from these scars is taking too much time for Arthur’s liking. You often say to him that healing can’t happen until he forgives himself.
“I forgave you Arthur” you whispered to him one night in your shared bed, your soft hands cupping his face, while you pressed yourself closer to him, attempting to quiet the voices of guilt echoing in his mind.
He still wonders every single day why you did. How can you forgive him so easily? How can you choose him without a single doubt? Why do you keep standing by his side, after all these years, after all he put you through?
Why are you still smiling at him when he comes back from work, your nose brushing his stubbled cheek as you greet him?
Why is your hand gripping his firmly when you stand on your doorstep, watching your daughter chase butterflies in the garden?
Why are you offering your heart to him?
You who are so pure and kind and good, who have always been a woman that he would never truly deserve; a woman he promised to love and cherish and protect for eternity.
A woman he thinks he’ll keep deceiving until his last day on earth.
It’s tearing him apart right now, this hesitation between doing what he knows is the right thing, and bending to his soul’s lowest instincts.
Arthur crushes his cigarette on a patch of moss, watching the green dot turn into brown ashes. He grabs his satchel, and rummage through it, his heart thumping loudly as does.
It should be here, folded in four, hidden in an old box of matches.
His ticket to heaven.
Another shot at a better life.
Something that shouldn’t be too dangerous, the guy at the saloon said, asking the bartender to pour his new friend a drink…
Arthur glanced at him, and saw the fire in his eyes. He smirked, wondering why God was still testing him this way…
“You look like the type of guy I am looking for” the stranger said. An opportunity, presented by some kind of devil wearing a fancy hat… Really odd for the place, Arthur noted.
“Well I ain’t looking for anything, and It ain’t my type of business anyway” he simply said, sliding the glass of whiskey back to this generous stranger.
The other man waited for a bit, and observed Arthur’s hands staying firmly atop of the bar counter.
“That’s not what I heard about you, Mister Morgan” He threw his way, not impressed by the former outlaw’s revolver shining in his holster.
Arthur’s heart skipped a beat, but he wasn’t going to let it show. He isn’t used to people knowing him for what he used to be. And he was starting to enjoy the peace that comes with living this retired life, away from the crimes, away from the fear that his name carries.
He pondered on his options for a second. He couldn’t start a fight here. The best thing he could do was to turn this idiot down… But the guy carried on with his offer. He got his attention. A couple of guards… No casualties. Just a good old fashioned robbery. Arthur’s mind started to race, memories of similar coups followed by days of well deserved tranquility ran through his mind, quickly replaced by the fear of the man before him revealing that Arthur Morgan is alive and well, and living a farmer’s life out in the west… Devastation and the tears of his daughter while he is hanging there, feet a few meters from the ground… Your voice screaming his name in terror, helplessly praying for some divine intervention … But it was already too late.
Arthur gave in, and managed to tell himself that he was doing so to buy your family more peace, to make sure this guy would disappear afterwards. They’ll split the fruits of his hard labour and this stranger would be off to God knows where, and never come back in this town again. That was the deal. When he looked at it closely, it would cover the cost of the barn’s renovation, it would allow you some security, in case the winter was bad and the farms nearby couldn’t afford to hire folks like him…
He had been studying his plan for weeks, secretly, pretending to be out in the fields to make sure no predator was prowling around your property, using his trips to the sawmill in the closest town to collect intel, and gather ammo.
He bought a new repeater.
The kind of weapon he wasn’t supposed to hide in the house.
He stashed some bullets too.
The kind he promised he wouldn’t load in his guns anymore.
He met with that guy again, took the mission’s details, folded the paper in four and hid it in the empty box of matches never leaving his satchel. He put a gun to his head to make sure they got an agreement. The guy didn’t shake. He just smiled. It turned Arthur’s stomach upside down, to see how quickly his reflexes were coming back. He couldn’t sleep in your bed when he came home that night. You found him passed out, back against the front door when you woke up, boots and hat still on. You leaned down and pressed a kiss on his lips. He opened his eyes, and noticed the way you smiled, your arm resting on the outline of your round belly.
Arthur’s heart broke a little more knowing what he was about to do, and how disappointed you would be if only you knew.
It kept tearing apart slowly every single day that was separating him from this stupid job. Every time he laid eyes on you, he could feel the weight of his betrayal settling deeper in his chest. He hates lying to you. But failing to protect his family would hurt him more. He convinced himself he was doing it for you, for your daughter, for your unborn child. He had a feeling this guy wouldn’t take no for an answer. So he did what he had to, and met with an old part of him he thought he killed many years ago. He was wrong. He instantly recognized this familiar thrill coursing through his body. A feeling he grew up with. It’s like he was made for this life. No matter how hard he tries to deny it, to change, he is a criminal, an outlaw.
Arthur spent the whole night despising himself for feeling so whole again. And there he was, early this morning, declining the breakfast you made, and kissing your forehead as a goodbye, without daring to look into your eyes, the bullets already warming up in the repeater loaded on the side of his saddle. He put his hat on top of his head, and stepped outside.
You called out from the kitchen window before he could jump on his horse. Arthur stopped and saw the front door opening, and your pregnant silhouette running as best as you could with his satchel in your hands.
“You shouldn’t be running darlin’ I would've come to you” He couldn’t help but say.
“You never forget your satchel” You pointed out, scanning his face in search for an explanation for his sudden rush. You frowned when he looked away, noticing the way his jaw tensed suddenly. “Arthur” you tried, your hand finding his. He let you hold it but he didn’t squeezed it back nor looked at you like he always does.
“Be careful out there” You simply said, hesitating to hand him the satchel for a second.
Arthur didn’t say anything, he just rode away.
It was almost like you knew something was going on. Arthur kept chasing the picture of your saddened face from his mind the whole ride, the ghost of your hand lovingly holding his way too painful.
Kicking a patch of dirt with the heel of his boot, Arthur starts to wonder again if you did know something was going on…
Half the content of his satchel is spilled on the grass as he looks for his precious item thoroughly : some biscuits, his pencils and binoculars, a bunch of broken cigarettes, coffee grains, birds feathers, dried flowers, bullets, more bullets, oat cakes and tonic… No sign of the box of matches. You wouldn't search through his things.
Arthur sighs as he pulls out his journal, and looks through the pages, just in case he remembers wrong. Maybe he hid it there, in between sketches of a past he doesn’t know how to let go of, and the images of a future he doesn’t know how to appreciate enough… tiny little prints of your daughter’s hands… a couple of words he wrote when she got sick last winter. The ribbon you were wearing in your hair when you met marks the most recent pages. Arthur lets his pointer finger trail the silky fabric. He starts sweating, and nervously shuts his journal closed. The anxiety is getting to him. He sits back down, throwing his head against the trunk. He runs his hands through his hair, picks up the satchel again, and empties it entirely. He inspects the inside closely, and notices a shiny hairpin sticking out from the stitches at the bottom. He takes it out, playing with it for a moment as he thinks.
There is no box of matches in there. There is no way he can find back the location of the convoy without it. He could ride around for a while, and try his best to track it. He could also pack up his things and go home. Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe he shouldn't go through with this stupid plan.
Arthur curses, rolling the hairpin between his fingers. There is a little pearl at the top, the ivory color reminds him of the nightgown you usually wear in the summer… Now he wonders how that hairpin ended up in his satchel. Arthur scowls, and pats the side of his satchel with his hands again. He shakes it and hears a muffled sound. It’s not empty.
He slides his hand inside, looking for the hidden pocket. There’s a seam embossed there, carefully sewed, held closed by a couple of wooden buttons.
How could he miss that in the first place?
He doesn’t remember asking Pearson to sew any kind of pocket for him back in the days and he can swear this wasn’t here a couple of weeks ago…
He should have known you were hiding something when you ran to him this morning. You probably stayed up last night to do this, and that’s how that hairpin ended up in there. He complained the other day about having to put valuable objects and papers with food and flowers and all the mess he usually carries in his satchel. So you did this for him, you sewed him a goddamn pocket, with the fabric of one of your old skirts.
Arthur sighs, your name escaping his lips in a smile, as he unhooks it to reveal the box of matches hidden inside. He slides the box open, anxious to find out if the intel paper is still there. Two beige squares neatly folded pop out.
You definitely knew he was hiding something.
He opens the first square to find the exact same paper he put there, the scribbles written by the stranger he met at the bar still intact… He reads it again… Trying to memorize it, just in case.
Arthur opens the second piece of paper and his breath hitches in his throat. He hasn’t felt so stupid in his entire life. He can hear your voice in his head, repeating the lines he is reading, again and again.
You’re the best man I know, Arthur. I trust you. Don’t throw away everything we have built because you are afraid. I am afraid too. But I know everything will be alright because we have each other. Please come home. I love you.
Arthur’s hand falls beside him, your note firmly held in his palm. His real ticket to heaven. He is a goddamn idiot. Of course you knew. Of course you noticed the changes in his behavior. You’re his wife, you know him better than anyone else. He can try to hide from you all he wants, it’s like you have a sixth sense when it comes to him. It took a lot of years for you to read him this well… Today Arthur is so grateful for it. He was probably about to make the biggest mistake of his life.
He folds your note and puts it back in the box, then slides it in the pocket, carefully buttoning it up. He collects all the items he carried in his satchel and puts them back in.
Arthur calls his horse, and feeds the animal an oat cake. He lights up a match and approaches the flame from the piece of paper he was so anxiously looking for. He holds it between his fingers as it burns and disappears in a cloud of grey smoke.
Another carriage is coming his way. A family. They greet him kindly, and Arthur tips his hat at them, before jumping on the back of his horse and riding in the opposite direction. The fields and orchards and isolated farms pass by in a blur. He rides without stopping for what feels like hours, not even caring about the rain starting to drizzle on his face.
He just needs to get home to you.
The clouds started to darken the sky in the early hours of the afternoon, the smell of rain making you feel a bit sick and anxious. Old memories of countless nights spent soaked to the bone near a campfire comes back to your mind: the smell of moldy wood barely burning in the pit, the voices of your former companions telling each other’s life stories while drinking rum and whiskey to stay warm, Arthur’s blue coat wrapped around your shoulder to keep you from freezing as you waited for him to come back from whatever job Dutch sent him to.
A past that still haunts you. You blink and the images you just invoked disappear, replaced by the sight of your little girl running around the flowerbeds near the front gate. The first drops stain the rocks beside you. A thrill runs through your whole body. The baby gives you a kick and you rest an arm on the side of your belly, whispering calming sounds for you, and your unborn child.
You’ve been living in this house for years now but you can never escape this feeling when the weather suddenly changes. Especially since you almost lost your daughter after giving birth in such conditions. Especially since Arthur isn’t here to comfort you, just like he wasn't there that night.
You call your daughter’s name, insisting that she should come play inside, quickly walking down the few steps with a basket in your hands to gather the laundry drying on the front yard. You pray for Arthur to come home before the storm hits, hoping that he had given up on his secret venture.
Your daughter brushes past you and smiles, her little hands full of mud and grass and pebbles she collected just a minute ago. You negotiate for a moment, asking her to leave her precious treasures on the doorstep. She drives a hard bargain, but the new purpose of making a drawing for her daddy seems to do the trick. She doesn’t miss to leave an imprint of her afternoon activities on the fabric of your skirt, and you sigh as you walk back in, an annoyed reaction tempered down by the sight of your little girl waiting by the sink, looking at you with her big bright eyes, and randomly asking if she can talk to the baby. This alone brings tears to your eyes, and you have to bite your cheek to avoid crying as you sit her up on the kitchen counter and proceed to wash her hands gently. She laughs and talks to your belly about the sky and the flowers, and her daddy’s horse.
You put her down after drying a strand of her hair tainted by the mud, and lead her near the fireplace. She knows where the supplies are, she has done this with her father multiple times, she even has her own coloring book he bought her for her birthday, so you don’t say anything when she silently declines your offer for help, and sits down on the floor, spreading all the crayons at her feet.
You sit on the sofa, resuming your laundry folding duties, and breathe quietly, the sounds of the thunder getting closer making you feel even more nervous.
“Daddy is coming back?” She asks after a while, crawling to you with the crayon gripped in her hand.
“Daddy is coming back. Yes.” you reply, piling up the clothes carefully.
“He will like my horse?” she says, resting her head on your thigh, her hand pulling on the bottom of your skirt to catch your attention.
“I am sure he will love it” You glance quickly behind her. Arthur has no objectivity when it comes to his daughter’s art anyway. She could draw a bunch of lines, he would act like it belongs in the gallery of a prestigious museum and carry it in his coat pocket forever. But you have to admit that she is pretty good, you weren’t drawing like that at her age. “That’s beautiful dearie” you exclaim, caressing the top of her head.
“But it’s not finished,” she pouts, already crawling away.
“Well you still have time to finish it before he gets here right?”
She nods, mumbling cheerfully while she adds more color to her canvas.
The next hour goes atrociously slow. Each tick of the clock reminds you that the night is near and that Arthur isn’t there. Your daughter is still drawing, and asking questions about everything and nothing: “why baby ducks are yellow?”, “will the baby be yellow too?”, “did her father like bisons?”, “can she have a kitten?”, “why mommy doesn’t like the rain?”.
The last one hits you like a bullet. Kids must have some sort of intuition about these things. You take a deep breath and recount an old tale about the life you shared with her father before the house, before her. She seems very interested for the first couple of minutes, but then she turns her head to focus on her drawing again… You smile, looking at her tenderly, envying for a moment this careless attitude, a child’s innocence, the way she moves around so freely, enjoying the tiniest things, inventing stories, unbothered by life’s burdens. You hope that she won’t ever be touched by the horrors Arthur and you had to go through.
Lightning cracks up the sky and you jump, deciding to get up to close the curtains. You stop with your hands on the window when you notice a black stallion riding your way through the pouring rain. You let out a relieved sigh and walk to the front door. You push it open, greeted by the wind and the sound of the rain hitting the soil.
It looked so peaceful this morning when you watched Arthur ride away, the golden fields laying endlessly before you, the purple night sky being replaced by a pale pink light, the birds singing softly. Now the sky is dark, with red splashing beyond the tree lines, it looks like it’s bleeding, giving an apocalyptic atmosphere to the world.
Arthur dismount his horse and notices you standing there. He holds his hat on his head with his hand firmly as he throws the guns on his back, and grabs his satchel.
“You wait here boy, I’ll take you to a dry place in a minute” he says to his horse before walking to you.
You watch your husband climb the few steps that separates him from you. You open your mouth to say something but his cold wet hands cup your face and he smashes his lips against yours. The force of his kiss makes you take two steps backwards. One of his hands slides down from your face to hold you by the waist, steadying you. Arthur keeps kissing you until you’re both out of breath, droplets of water sliding from his beard down your neck.
“Did you…” You dare to ask once you part. You raise your hand to push a strand of wet hair out of his face, waiting for his reply.
Arthur’s hand slides down your arm to rest on your belly. He looks down at you, then nods.
“I didn’t” He says, before pressing you against him to hug you tightly. “I am sorry” He whispers, kissing the top of your head.
“It’s okay Arthur, we can talk about it later. Come on, let’s head inside, we don’t want to get sick.” You grab the collar of his coat and pull him towards you, kissing him again.
Arthur can feel that you’re not completely relieved, he can hear the heaviness in your tone, and the crease between your eyebrow isn’t going to be smoothed out by a quick apology and a passionate kiss. You will need much more than that. You deserve the truth.
“I’ll be right back” He replies before disappearing in the heavy rain.
Arthur kicks off his boots by the front door, and gets rid of his soaked coat, hanging it beside the window. That old thing did a poor job at keeping him dry.
He can hear your daughter telling you about horses, repeating the same things he taught her, with her very own lingo. He wants to rush to the other room but he is dripping water on the floor, every step he takes towards the kitchen leaves a puddle behind him. He notices the towels you left for him on the table, with a set of dry clothes.
He appears in the leaving room a minute later, greeted by your daughter’s yells and the sound of her tiny footsteps hitting the wooden floor as she runs to him. He picks her up and makes her twirl in the air for a moment, before she wraps her little arms around his neck and whispers “I missed you daddy”. He kisses her forehead, tears blurring his green blue eyes, threatening to roll down his bearded cheeks.
You can’t contain yours as you watch them, seated on the other side of the room, a half folded baby cloth resting on your lap. Arthur’s gaze falls upon you, his heart soaring at the sight.
“Let’s go see mama, I think she needs a hug too” He says as he walks to you with your daughter in his arms.
You push the clothes to the side to let them sit right beside you. He holds your daughter in his arms as she leans over to hug you, then she drops on her father’s knees to kiss your belly.
The sounds of her footsteps echoes through the living room again as she runs to collect her drawing and present it to her father. She explains all the details she added and why she chose the colors. You watch Arthur while he listens to her intently, the way he looks so proud, how his smile mirrors hers. You grab his hand and hold it firmly, leaning your head on his shoulder.
Once your daughter gets back to her crayons, Arthur gets up to add a couple of logs in the fireplace. He stays there for a minute, watching you, looking for the right words before speaking.
“I am sorry. For hiding something so… dangerous from you. For lying, for leaving, for putting you in danger. I didn’t think this through, I just thought… Agh it doesn’t matter now. I’ve been acting like an idiot” He starts to explain, voice low as he walks back to you.
You just nod compassionately. You want to ask more questions, curious to know how he ended up in a situation he has been trying to avoid for the past few years, why he almost fell back in the sea of sins he swore to himself he would never let tarnish his soul again… But you know it will take a little bit of time to get him to reveal his thoughts. It’s the thing with Arthur, you need to give him the time and space to let him process his own patterns. He has to work it out by himself first. He already apologized, he needs to get to the bottom of it on his own before making amends to you. It always worked out this way between you two.
“Arthur, I just need to know. Are you in any kind of trouble with the law?” You ask him, flashbacks of nights spent patching him up after his miserable encounters with the police coming to your mind.
“No I don’t think I am.” He replies as he sits next to you again, eyes focusing on his hands.
“And…Did you do anything that could make someone look for you?” You ask again, watching him nervously twist the wedding ring on his finger.
Arthur just nods, then looks at you silently. He grabs your hands and holds them, the pad of his thumb brushing the inner side of your wrist.
“Darlin’ you gotta understand… The only reason I didn’t go through with it…” It hurts for him to admit this to you, that he probably isn’t as good as you think he is. “It’s because of you... the words in your note....” He brings your hands to his lips, and presses a single kiss on your skin. “Thank you. For reminding me that…it ain’t the only thing that I am.” His voice cracks a little as he continues.
“I wish you could see yourself as we see you Arthur. And I will always remind you of the kind of man that you are, always” You whisper, leaning forward to caress his face. “Thank you for coming back, for making the right choice” You add before kissing his lips.
Arthur barely slept that night. He stayed up, gun in his hand, waiting in the kitchen in case someone would come to threaten him, to hurt you. You try to convince him that it was useless, that no one would come for him, but he was stubborn. You were too, insisting to stay up with him. When you fell asleep on the table, Arthur woke you up and led you back to your bed.
He wasn’t serene for weeks after this event, and kept blaming himself for jumping headfirst into that devil’s trap. It was late in the spring when he finally got the sign he was praying for.
Arthur was waiting for you outside of the doctor’s office. The baby has been kicking a lot lately, the pain started to get stronger. You knew it meant you were going to give birth soon, but Arthur wasn’t going to take any risks this time, insisting that a useless trip to the doctor was better than an anxious wait at home. He nervously paced around the street, the sounds of shopkeepers arguing and the wheels rolling on the pavement nearly driving him mad.
He leaned against a brick wall, lighting a cigarette as he watched the newsie shouting and waving his hat to the bystanders. Arthur crossed the street, cigarette stuck in his mouth, and threw a coin in the kid’s hat.
“Thank you sir” The young boy said, handing him a paper and resuming his yelling right after.
“If I give you five dollars will you go and yell a bit further down the street?” Arthur asked, sticking the paper underneath his arms as he emptied his pocket looking for the money.
The kid’s eyes widened, and he nodded enthusiastically. He thanked Arthur’s generosity and grabbed the bills and his stuff, then ran down the busy street.
Arthur walked back to his spot near the entrance, enjoying the peace he just bought himself. You should be out already, why weren’t you coming out?
He exhaled the smoke of his cigarette in small clouds, anxiously opening and closing the journal, when his eyes spotted the headlines.
“Outlaws aren’t welcome in town. A successful series of arrests: the sheriff's men put an end to the attacks perpetrated by a network of robbers. Three dead and six wounded. Page 3.”
Arthur read the sidebar again and again, clumsily turning the pages to get to the article.
“Ah shit” He cursed when half the journal ripped up. He kept reading for a while, not believing what was written before him: the details of the arrests, the location… It should have been him in that jailcell.
His heart started beating faster when he realized that the stranger he met at the bar either figured amongst the casualties, or the men sentenced to death… It could have been him.
The door suddenly opens beside him. Arthur crumples the newspaper as soon as he hears your cheerful tone bid the doctor goodbye. He passes his hands on his face quickly, trying to collect himself.
“I thought you’d walk out with the baby” He says awkwardly, offering his arm to walk you to the wagon.
“I wish it was that easy” You laugh, using your free hand to hide your face from the blinding sun.
“What took you so long?” Arthur says with a sniff, scanning the street to find a place to throw the paper ball.
“Just a lot of questions… And the doctor is very… meticulous. But everything is fine don’t worry” You reply, patting his chest gently. “What’s with the journal? Any good news?” You ask, trying to grab it from his hands.
“Nothin’... just… a bunch of crap” Arthur's tone is elusive. He moves the ball out of reach and coughs to get rid of his sudden discomfort.
“Why did you buy it?” You glance at him suspiciously
“I was curious. And I needed a way to make that kid go sing elsewhere” He states, firmly.
You nod, noticing the red nervously creeping up his cheeks. You say nothing, and stop in front of the wagon, waiting for Arthur to help you up.
“You good up there? I gotta get something real quick” He says and you don't even have the time to answer before he disappears in an alley, leaving the piece of paper at your feet.
You take the chance to unfold the journal as best as you can. You don’t need to read the article, you already know what this is about. Arthur is a terrible liar, at least he doesn’t know how to lie to you.
“Excuse me? Maam?” you call out and an old lady approaches. “Could you throw this paper to the trash for me? I forgot to do it before hopping in the wagon and… In my state it’s not very safe to get down again” You explain politely, making sure she isn’t missing the hugeness of your belly. She agrees and you thank her, waving as she walks away.
Arthur jumps beside you a couple of minutes after, placing a pastel blue box between you.
“What’s that?” You ask, trying to open it. Arthur puts his hand on top of the box to stop you.
“It’s a surprise” He says as you back off, taking the reins in his hands and urging the horses to move.
“I won’t pry then.”
It takes a while for you to reach the edge of town, the street far too busy for Arthur’s patience. Once you’re back on open roads, Arthur flinches beside you.
“Where’s the journal I left there?” He asks, looking at your feet and slowing down the horses.
“Oh I asked a lady to throw it away” You smile.
Arthur stares at you, mouth agape.
“It was a piece of crap, wasn’t that what you said?” You reply, knowingly.
Arthur scoffs. “Yeah… just… trash” He says, shaking his head. “I can’t hide anything from you now woman, can I?” He adds after a couple of seconds.
“No… you definitely can’t” You answer, putting the box on your knees and smiling. “It’s a cake, right?” You poke him in the shoulder.
“Come on you said you wouldn’t pry…” Arthur throws his head backwards, faking annoyance “No it ain’t” He lies, giving you a side eye.
“Yes it is” You reply smiling brightly. “Strawberry?” You add.
Arthur shrugs, guiding the horses to the left to let a bunch of farmers pass by.
“Your daughter is going to be so happy” You reply cheerfully, pressing a kiss on his cheek.
“That’s all I was hoping for” Arthur replies, driving the two of you home in the afternoon sun.
a/n: thank you so much for reading. Comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated <3 also I can’t wait to get back from my break and catch up on all the stories I missed 🥰
masterlist | arthur's masterlist
