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Chapter Text

       In his last few minutes, with a hand clutched to his bleeding stomach, Arthur felt every punch he’d taken in the fight with Micah. Felt how the hardest punch out of all of them was Dutch turning his back and leaving him to die. Knew that an untreated gunshot to the stomach was a painful death. He felt some pride in the fact that maybe, just maybe, he’d been a hero. That maybe John would find his family and be able to move on. Felt hope that maybe Jack’s memories of the Van Der Linde gang would someday only consist of the happier times. He felt maybe, wherever the end to his story took him, it couldn’t be so bad.

     Felt sad that he didn’t get to say goodbye to Charles properly. That the man may have to live the rest of his life not knowing exactly what happened to Arthur.

     Sometime when the sun’s rays peeked over the trees and warmed his face, Arthur Morgan died.

     There was silence, for a while, as though the forest sensed the passing of a living being in its wake, laid out on the rocks with his face turned towards the sun. Blood had long since seeped past his fingers and onto the stone below him, glimmering a hot red in the morning sunlight. It hadn’t taken long - just half an hour, maybe, since the gunshot from the Pinkertons and the last time that Micah’s hands had hit him.

     Finally there was noise, gentle birdsong in the trees, the sound of elk calling to each other further out. The sound of a train off in the distance. Life was resumed, and it went on. It didn’t need Arthur Morgan.

     He was dead anyways.

     The soft crunch of boots on the rocks sounded distance, like he was hearing it through deep water. For all he knew, it was just some final trick that his mind felt it needed to play on him. Some joke for his wickedness.

     Though in the end, he felt like he did alright.

     The hand that lay on his face was gentle, paperweight, thumbing his split lip before gently turning his face. That’s when it all came back - the pain of being beaten, the pain of the wound in his stomach shocking a soft whimper out of him. Everything hurt . Once he made noise, though, the touches to his face grew more urgent, a firm weight settling beside him on the rocks.

     “Shit, Arthur, are you alive?”

     Maybe Arthur died and went to heaven after all, even if he didn’t exactly believe. Well, some twisted version of it. He still had the excruciating pain to deal with.

     “Charles?” Finally he cracked open his eyelids, feeling so heavy and swollen, every little bit of peace gone. Sure enough Charles was there, on his knees and hovering over him, braid falling over a shoulder. Though he was looking now at Arthur’s stomach, Arthur could see that those eyes and cheeks shone with shed tears. He looked like a sight for sore eyes; a gift that Arthur was sure he didn’t deserve. “What’re ya doing here?”

     “I followed the blood,” Charles said, gesturing to the smattering of red on the rocks leading to where Arthur now lay. “I saw Caps and knew something had happened.”

     Just a slight formality. He was stunned that Arthur was alive, too. When Charles pressed a hand to his stomach, Arthur lurched with a gasp, bloodied hand lifting to grip his wrist, finally letting out a breath when Charles took his hand away to take Arthur’s instead. “I’m dyin’, Charles.”

     “Not yet. If I get you somewhere safe I can stop the bleeding,” Charles replied, bloody hand squeezing Arthur’s gently before he was pulling away, standing up over him. “Moving you is going to hurt.”

     “Jus’ leave me here,” Arthur mumbled, closing his eyes. Every inch of him hurt, every breath agonizing. Each little movement hurt - no, merely existing hurt his injuries the most. Those injuries didn’t even begin to touch the burning ache of betrayal and watching the man who had been like a father turning away and leaving him to die.

     “I can’t,” Charles replied, carefully sliding his hands under Arthur’s shoulders to lift him up just slightly, shocking a pained yelp from the man as his beaten body was jostled. “A cowboy once told me I was his world. I don’t think he realized that he was mine, too.”

     “Missed you, Charles,” Arthur admitted, wiping away the pained sweat from his forehead with a hand. “Missed you so much.”

     “I missed you too.” Arthur felt the gentle press of a kiss to his hair, before firm arms were sliding under his and he was lifted slightly. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m gonna have to drag you over to Taima, and it’s gonna hurt. You should save your energy for riding.”

     One thing about Charles, he wasn’t a liar. Arthur had known that for a while. When it came to pain, nursing gunshot wounds and bruises from bar fights, Charles was as honest as honest could be. The struggle took a while, with multiple breaks where Arthur lay sagging against rocks and trees, hand clutched to his stomach and tears on his cheeks. If asked if he’d cried, he couldn’t even deny it. This shit hurt. It felt like ages when Charles finally boosted him up onto Taima, mounting up into the saddle in front of Arthur and pulling one of Arthur’s arms around his waist for balance.

     Arthur’s head was spinning. Not in a pleasant, drunken way, unfortunately. Instead it felt like the sky was the ground and the ground the sky, felt like he was holding onto Charles but at the same time wasn’t, felt like throwing up alongside the trail but knew if his stomach muscles clenched it would be even worse. So instead he rode, arm a limp weight around Charles, forehead pressed against the back of his shoulder.

     “Stay with me Arthur,” Charles repeated in intervals, unsure if it was to get a response, a twitch, anything from him. Every little silence worried him, had him touching the back of Arthur’s hand to watch his fingers twitch in response - anything to know that he was alive.

    “Where we going?” Arthur finally asked, voice heavy and tired, forehead pressing harder against his shoulder.

     “Lookin’ for somewhere to stop.”

     After a moment of silence, Arthur spoke again. “Mrs. Balfour. Aim for Willard’s Rest. Charlotte could help.”

     Arthur didn’t remember blacking out, not really. He remembered the stabbing pain in his gut after going over a bit of rough trail. Then, a burning feeling that left him gripping Charles’ shirt until his knuckles turned white, prompting Charles to pull Taima to a stop and turn a bit in the saddle so that he check on Arthur.

    Then rain on his face, lying a useless weight against Charles’ side as he was held up my a strong arm around him. Everything seemed blurry still, tinged in black around the edges, though he’d supposedly been awake enough to stumble to the door in Charles’ arm. Upon lifting his head, he recognized Charlotte was there, lips parted in surprise. Charles was… Talking, Arthur thought. He sounded hundreds of miles away again.

     He lost the time again, next waking up to being set on the guest bed, the steel glint of the knife that Charles grabbed so that he could open Arthur’s shirt without having to jostle him. On his other side Charlotte was lighting a lamp, and then hurrying over to open the blinds so that Charles had enough light to work with.

     “What else?” He heard her ask, voice distant. For now, all he could hear was the panic of his body trying to care for the wound.

      “Bandages, water, a candle,” Charles replied, setting away at cutting open his shirt - although bits of the fabric were clotted to the injury, leaving Arthur gasping and sweating again as he peeled it away. “And alcohol.”

     “Whiskey,” Arthur breathed out, finally relaxed a bit when the cloth was moved. “Need whiskey.”

     “Keep talkin’, Arthur,” Charles said, giving Charlotte a nod and waiting until she left the room before speaking again. “I need to know you’re alive.”

     “Sure don’t feel like it.” Arthur turned his head on the pillow, catching his breath while he watched Charles rifle through his saddlebags. Every part of him felt broken, exhausted from not having slept. When Charles stood up from his bag, he had a skinny, short knife in his hand.

     “I thought you were going to die on the road here,” Charles started - he looked like he was going to say something else, but stopped when Charlotte entered the room again.

     Charlotte set the lit candle down on the nightstand on Charles’ side of the bed, handing him a wad of cloth next. “Didn’t have any proper bandages. I thought that torn sheets would work.”

     “They will,” Charles replied, heating the knife as Charlotte carefully handed a glass of whiskey to Arthur.

     It was planned, too, Arthur was sure. Right as he started to get a long drink, Charles dug the knife in for the bullet scraps.

     Arthur didn’t remember much after that.

     First, Charles took a ride. Not too far, anxious about leaving Arthur for too long - he couldn’t wipe the repeated he’s dead, he’s dying, you were lucky this time, now you might not be next time playing over and over again. They needed clean bandages, not just torn up sheets. Charles turned Taima towards Annesburg and rode off in the rain.

     When he returned Charlotte was sitting at the table and cleaning her rifle, looking unrushed and relaxed as she did so. A good sign. When he shut the door, she looked up with a smile.

     “Arthur’s sleeping now. Not just blacked out,” she started, setting her rifle down on the table. “I gave him an extra blanket - that room has a bit of a draft.”

     Charles mumbled something of a thank you, hanging his jacket by the front door and setting off to the guest bedroom.

     There Arthur was, lying amongst the pillows with the blankets pulled up to his chin, curtains on the windows closed and the lamp beside the bed lit. He looked so pale - Charles sat down on the edge of the bed beside him, setting down the bandages and lifting a hand to brush the sweaty hair away from Arthur’s forehead. He was alive. He was alive.

     “Gonna be alright,” Charles murmured, more to himself than his sleeping companion, leaning in to press a kiss to Arthur’s forehead. Once he felt things were alright, he was up and rejoining Charlotte in the main room of the house.

     She was the first to break the silence once he had sat down in a chair and lounged back slightly. “You said your name was…?”

     “Charles Smith,” he replied, holding out a hand to which she took in a firm shake. “Sorry to show up at your door like that. Arthur said this was somewhere safe.”

     “Charlotte Balfour. Yes, I knew Arthur for a bit and told him he was welcome anytime,” Charlotte said, setting her rifle aside. “I don’t know what kinda trouble you boys’re in, but if Arthur hadn’t taught me to hunt, I would’ve starved long before now.”

     “You’re the widow that he told me about, then.” Charles crossed his arms over his chest, briefly closing tired eyes. “He’ll be happy to see that you’re doing well.”

     “Well, I’m glad to see he’s doing well, technically speakin’.” Charlotte pushed back from the table, heading to the stove to stir the large pot of stew she’d mentioned starting earlier. “Always did seem a right gentleman, even if he didn’t believe so himself. Glad to see he has folks supportin’ him as well, too. ‘magine if you didn’t find him, you know? Shudder to think so.”

     “Rather not,” Charles admitted, eyes turning to the window and watching the early evening sun rest on rabbits in Mrs. Belfour’s back yard. “Though it was by luck I found him.”

     “Say, you wouldn’t happen to be the Charles that taught him about tracking while in the mountains, were you?” Charlotte glanced over to Charles, watching him return to himself. “He went on and on one evening about a Charles like that.”

     “I imagine that one was me,” Charles replied, holding down a grin. Gal did know the right time to change a subject. “I think the only other Charles he knew was a promiscuous french man from San Denis.”

     “Who isn’t a promiscuous french man in San Denis anyways?”

Chapter Text

Arthur dreamed. He dreamed of the birds in the trees, of watching flowers open as the morning sun touched them. Dreamt that he was lightweight, went with the breeze, felt the wind in his hair. He watched the deer in the meadows, the bison on the plains, the brush of prairie grass against his skin. He thought about Blackwater, saw the West in its glory. Saw the mountains, pale and sore on the eyes, felt snow on his cheeks, looked up and watched the clouds roll in.

     He dreamt about a man lying out on the rocks, sure as shit he was already dead, dreamt about strong hands and a gentle voice pulling him back above his death like saving a drowning man.

     When Arthur finally woke, the window was light with morning sun again, although he was sure that it was no longer the same day he’d been shot. The room was silent, save some bird chatter from the window, and he found himself drawing the blankets up just a little higher to his chin.

     For a bit he slipped in and out of a light sleep, muscles sore but heavy with sleep. So long as he didn’t move any of his torso, the pain wasn’t so bad. The birdsong through the window reminded him of the mornings spent at Horseshoe Overlook - he’d felt safer waking up there, back when things were much more settled and hopeful. Had always enjoyed the quiet sound of people slowly waking up, of coffee cups clanging and footsteps in wet grass. Many a morning he’d lay there, trying to catch just another few minutes of sleep while the world went on around him, pulling up his blankets just a bit higher against the New Hanover chill.

     Horseshoe Overlook had felt like new hope, fresh blades of grass growing through melting snow.

     The gentle click of the door opening was what finally woke Arthur up the rest of the way. Charlotte stepped in, a mug in her hands, though she stopped with a smile when she saw that Arthur was awake.

     “Oh, I didn’t expect you to be up yet,” she said, stepping over and setting the mug on the nightstand. She reached over and checked the warmth of his forehead with the back of her hand. “You don’t have a fever. How are you feeling?”

     “Like I got eaten,” Arthur mumbled, voice rough as gravel. He closed his eyes again when she took her hand away, breathing out a sigh and tucking the covers just a bit higher. “Then spit out. Then eaten a second time.”

     “Poor Arthur. Good thing you’re a tough one, then.” Charlotte gestured to the mug, before standing up. “Drink some coffee, if you can. I’ll go get Mr. Smith.”

     Though the smell of coffee piqued his interest, Arthur found he just couldn’t get his overworked body to cooperate, instead settling for turning his head so that he could watch the steam rise from his cup. Sleep was close again, pulling at the edges of his vision.

     Sleep could wait. The door to the guest room opened and shut, Charles stepping over to sit on the edge of the bed next to Arthur. First he lifted a hand, fingers brushing across Arthur’s cheek in a way so gentle, as though he were made of porcelain. The kiss was firmer, Charles letting down that bit of restraint when he surged forward to press his lips to Arthur’s.

     Arthur realized how much he had missed Charles in that moment, freeing a hand from beneath the blankets to lay against the one on his cheek. He’d known, of course, but when Charles kissed him like this, like he’d never have another chance, nothing mattered anymore. Not Dutch, not the Pinkertons, not the bullet wound in his stomach that had nearly been his ending. All that mattered was Charles, the little shaky breath that escaped him as he took Arthur’s face in both hands and kissed him again and again, each kiss lingering more than the last. Every kiss Arthur so happily returned, hand moving to the back of the man’s neck.

     Finally they broke apart, Charles instead resting his forehead against Arthur’s as the pair caught their breath. A peaceful moment lingered where it was just the two of them and the birdsong, not a single care in the world. When Arthur opened his eyes again he saw the glimmer of tears in Charles’ eyes, brimming and threatening to spill. Instead of saying anything, Arthur settled for tipping his head so that he could kiss the rise of his cheekbones.

     “Really need to knock off the tryin’ to die thing,” Charles finally murmured, lifting one hand so that he could card his fingers through Arthur’s sweatsticky hair.

     “It’s lost its charm, ain’t it?” Arthur murmured, sagging back into the pillows again, exhaustion tugging at his edges. Charles was safe. Charles was okay. Arthur lived. “How’d ya know where to find me?”

     “I went to Beaver Hollow and followed the bodies,” Charles replied, finally breaking the embrace and sitting up, though he didn’t leave; instead, he pulled back the covers and slowly worked on pulling away the bandages.

     “You went to Beaver Hollow? Why?”

     “I was… looking for something.”

      Charles refused to use even a cent of Dutch’s dirty money. He didn’t come back for the money.

     He was looking for something else.

     He knew Arthur didn’t want that money, either.

      “You were lookin’ for me,” Arthur said, the realization escaping him before he could stop it. “You came to see if I had stayed.”

     “Word about the train heist made it to Wapiti fast. I knew that was your last job,” Charles murmured, braid falling over a shoulder as he leaned forward to look at the dried blood coating the bandages, before finally peeling them away from the injury. Sometime in his unconscious hours, Charles and Charlotte had cauterized the wound to stop the bleeding. “When I found Caps, I had a feeling you were close by. I couldn’t… When I saw you, I thought you were dead.”

     “Hell, I thought I was, too.” Arthur flinched when Charles dabbed at the injury, before he was grabbing new bandages and replacing the ones he had removed.

     “I thought you were dead,” Charles repeated, quieter this time. Arthur finally looked up, watched the storm in Charles’ expression, saw the man who thought that his loved one and closest friend was gone to the world. He saw the man who had found him lying on that cliffside bleeding out, who had nearly lost him on the way to safety. In the back of his mind, Arthur remembered that with every restless stir while blacked out, there were gentle hands and gentler words to coax him back to sleep.

     “Charles,” Arthur started, before clearing his throat, feeling it go tight as it threatened to choke out every word. Instead he reached out to take the man’s hand, giving it a gentle tug until Charles came back to him, until his free hand lay against Arthur’s cheek again. “Kiss me?”

     “Always.”

     Charles followed up with another kiss, softer than his relieved ones moments ago, yet still firm enough to make Arthur’s toes curl. Every kiss felt like it was making up for the time they’d spent apart, Arthur’s lips parting on a soft sigh when Charles’ tongue dashed across them, settling on an elbow to lean over Arthur a bit more. The closeness of it brought back everything - tangled up in each other in hotels, absently watching across camp as the other went about daily business, the way Arthur’s heart had lifted sky high when he finally had coaxed a chuckle from Charles the first time.

     When Charles’ tongue pressed it left him breathless, hand settling on the back of his shoulder. Only just a bit though, before Charles let him catch his breath for a second and then stole a few more sweet, lingering kisses.

     “Missed you,” Arthur murmured between kisses, feeling himself relax back into the bed and the pillows again. Everything had that heavy feeling once more, his wound aching from the caretaking, his heart full now that Charles was back in his arms. For the first time in months, things felt as though they might actually turn out just peachy. “My love.”

     That graced him with another of Charles’ soft smiles.

     “Missed you too, you romantic cowboy,” Charles teased, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Arthur’s forehead. “Go back to sleep."

Chapter Text

Arthur had never slept so much in his life. A life like his was spent busy, pelting deer or feeding horses at first sun rise, mornings spent yawning in front of a built up fire and drinking a fresh cup of coffee. Six hours of sleep if he was lucky, less if he wasn’t. That didn’t account for being dragged out of bed to do some minor task, or the nights that he spent tossing and turning with a mind so busy it grew feet and bolted off. Too many a night Arthur had found himself wandering, migrating to a campfire or down to the creek below them.

     He slept even less in Beaver Hollow.

     Arthur slept another full day and night, from the time he’d kissed Charles to four the next morning.

     Charles had hovered over him during the night, leaning against the headboard and reading or leaning back in a chair with his feet propped up on the bed, chin to his chest as he dozed. Every little thing woke him up, from a quiet whine of pain from Arthur to any sound from Charlotte, who made sure to check in and help Charles often enough.

     The sun had just peeked over the horizon, pink hues streaking through the window and across the bed, when Arthur finally woke up again. It still felt much too early a time to be awake. His head throbbed, aching around an eye where he remembered Micah punching him now two days ago, stomach reminding him of the gunshot with a stabbing pain as he adjusted. Every bit of his body ached, feeling as though he’d done a face plant off of a wagon repeatedly the day before.

     Finally Arthur opened up his eyes again, taking in the setting. Shadows painted themselves across the room, glistening on the glass of the unlit kerosene lamp on the nightstand. And then there was Charles, tucked up on a chair beside the bed, legs crossed and feet resting on the mattress, his chin against his chest, a near silent snore escaping him every now and then. Arthur longed to sit up and pull him back to bed, to tuck his face into Charles’ neck and sleep another number of hours.

     He couldn’t move. Everything hurt too much, stealing his breath when he adjusted beneath the covers. Arthur so badly wanted to curl up against his side and listen to Charles’ heartbeat. Anything to pretend that the events of the last few months hadn’t happened. He needed some way to pretend that he hadn’t nearly died.

     “ Charles, ” he finally managed, voice like shod hooves on gravel roads, clenching his fingers at his side when his stomach throbbed in response. There was a slightly restless movement from Charles, and when Arthur called out again, those observant eyes finally opened.

     It took Charles the briefest moment to recollect himself, blinking away sleep, before he sat forward and rested a hand on Arthur’s leg over the covers. “You alright, Arthur?”

     “Jus’ fine,” Arthur replied, voice just barely above a mumble, though he managed to free a hand from beneath the covers to hold out to Charles. Charles took it, barely able to hide his smile when Arthur gave it a weak pull. “C’mere.”

     “I should put on something lighter to wear,” Charles started, though when he leaned back Arthur gave his hand a much more insistent pull, finding the last little bit of strength that he had.

     “Not much worry ‘bout what you’re wearing. You look nice in anythin’,” Arthur manahed, though his voice was teasing, coaxing another gentle smile from Charles. “Jus’ get in bed, won’t you?”

     “There’s no arguin’ with you.” Though Charles was laughing, a sound so sweet to Arthur’s ears. He’d missed Charles, wanted to feel the solid weight of him tucked up close beneath the blankets, so badly wanted to lay with an ear on his chest and feel the rise and fall with every breath. Although the last required a lot of mobility that Arthur just couldn’t manage right now, he could still get the first.

     Arthur watched as Charles stood up, pulling away to round the bed and open the curtain the rest of the way, letting the pink of dawn’s first sun leak into the room and add a gentle touch to the setting. He looked so nice when he faced the bed again, backlit by the window, though there was a tired edge - even in the low lighting Arthur could see the exhaustion in the droop of Charles’ shoulders, the dark beneath his eyes creating shadows that made him look even more worn down. Finally he gave in and joined Arthur, boots thudding when he pulled them off and they hit the floor, lifting the blankets and occupying the empty space beside him.

     Tired and yet relieved Charles was as pure as sugar, helping Arthur move his arm so that the man could tuck up against his side, laying a hand on the expanse of Arthur’s bare stomach. Arthur couldn’t help but tug him in for a kiss.

     “All of this time that we spent apart,” Arthur started, before pausing, adjusting his arm so that he could wrap it around Charles and pull the man in even closer. Charles hushed him briefly with a kiss, hand lifting to brush along the stubbly curve of his jaw. When they broke apart, Arthur tried again. “I can’t follow someone so blindly like that again. Got me nothing but a near death experience. Lyin’ there like that, Charles, I realized I shoulda stayed with ya in Wapiti. Gone north. Not told anybody about it.”

     “You were worryin’ about the innocent lives that were left behind in Beaver Hollow,” Charles murmured, pressing a kiss to the sun freckles on Arthur’s cheek. “Arthur, I’ll never hold that against you.”

       “Jus’ wishin’ it had all gone down differently. Maybe we coulda gotten the Marstons and the girls out before it got bad.” Arthur lay his head back into the pillows, a soft sigh escaping him when Charles sat up on an elbow and combed his fingers through Arthur’s hair. “So when you said you were staying with Rains Fall, I could’ve stayed there with you.”

     “Dutch’s plans would have gotten them killed if you hadn’t intervened.” Charles leaned in, kissing the bridge of Arthur’s nose. “I don’t hold it against you, Arthur.”

     “Well then, maybe there’s still a silver linin’, seein’ as you saved me and all,” Arthur replied, freeing his other hand from beneath the covers to absently fiddle with the end of Charles’ braid. “Maybe now we run off into the sunset, now the others are far away from Dutch and Micah’s plans.”

     “Once this is healed,” Charles started, laying a hand on Arthur’s stomach through the covers, “I’ll run off anywhere with you, cowboy.”

     “And I been meanin’ to say, was actually beatin’ myself up that I hadn’t said it when I left you,” Arthur said, before stopping again, nose scrunching up as he decided how to say it. Beside him, Charles held a patient silence. “I’m pretty damn sure I love you, Charles.”

     Something Charles had never gotten to hear, really. Anything between men was something never talked about, and in most places, something to get you killed in your bed in the middle of the night. This lead to hush hush encounters, brief moments stolen in alleyways or a hotel room with someone climbing out the window after. Physical desires were fulfilled, sure, but never what the romantics spoke about - no time to see a lover’s sleepy face in the morning, to fall in love with every little detail, to see a future with someone. All of which Charles had thought of since he’d truly gotten to known Arthur camped up by Lake Isabelle.

     “I love you too, Arthur,” Charles replied, leaning in to pepper Arthur’s face in kisses, leaving the man chuckling. “Wherever you want to go, I’m with you.”

     Instead of answering Arthur rested a hand on Charles’ cheek, pulling him in for a sweet kiss. For a moment, he could forget that he’d nearly died, he’d left his heart behind in Wapiti, and he’d been left behind to die by the man he had once seen as a father. Wherever the other members of the gang were was safer for them, off to live other lives that hopefully brought less death and sorrow.

     Arthur had done his job. Now he could happily get on with his own life.

     A life that had Charles.

     “What do we do now?” Charles asked when they finally broke apart, thumb running along Arthur’s lower lip. The pink light from the sunrise had spread, backlighting Charles and softening his features, a view that Arthur could get used to.

     “S’pose we head out west, as we should have from the start,” Arthur replied, arm tightening around him and drawing Charles in closer to him, settling back into the pillows when Charles lay his head on his chest. “Just you and I and the open road.”

     “Haven’t heard a plan that good in a long time.”

Chapter Text

ten years

     Not a day went by that he didn’t think about them, dream about ghosts that hid in the crevices of his mind, wonder if they who escaped were also one of those ghosts. Not long after leaving New Hanover as a watermark on their lives, a milestone that they were advancing from, Arthur had dreamt about Hosea. Hosea perched on Silver Dollar, his jacket snug around him, nose red and laughing at a joke that had been made. Instead of letting himself be dragged down by the betrayals and losses he’d faced, Arthur honored their memories by bringing pieces of them into his future.

     The Pinkertons thought Arthur Morgan dead, so Arthur and Charles had turned their horses west and left that part of their lives dead at Beaver Hollow.

     Birds chirped outside their windows, the distant whinny of horses in the field a new constant background noise in their lives. Something that Arthur never had the chance to fully appreciate, with a camp or hideout full of busy folks who were already going about their day. Instead, there was… Peace.

     For once in his life, Arthur knew peace.

     The best part was the gentle kisses that coaxed him awake.

     Most mornings started that way - and some mornings were accompanied by more, kisses that lead to getting handsy that only went forward from there.

     Today was one of those days.

     When Charles first thrust into him he gasped softly, fingers of one hand curling against Charles’ lower back, his other hand gripping the sheet bunched up beneath him. Charles’ lips pressed to the edge of Arthur’s jaw, kissing there to his earlobe, pausing only to feel the way that Arthur shuddered when he thrust again.

     Arthur could truly let go like this, thighs framing Charles’ hips as the man whispered praise into his ear, voice husky enough to leave his toes curling. Even so many years since their first time, Arthur often had a hard time getting over the giddy feeling that he was the only one who got to see this side of Charles. This was for him. This was caused by him.

     Charles turned his face to kiss Arthur again, hips rolling in a smooth motion that had him buried the rest of the way in. He paused for a moment, letting Arthur catch his breath, feeling as though it had been knocked out of him by the motion.

     “Tell me when,” Charles started, though Arthur cut him off, tangling his hand in the man’s hair and pulling him in for a bruising kiss. A kiss that Charles had learned how to read; when Arthur couldn’t get his thoughts to all read off in a line, although he was so ready for him, ready enough but unable to get that across.

    When they parted from the kiss Arthur opted to turn his face into Charles’ neck, both arms coming around the bulk of his body.

     Ten years since they had left the east together in search of a better life in the west. They’d been presumed dead - and with enough carefully living, a hell of a lot of distance, and keeping their noses clean, both of them remained dead to the men and women in the east. Charles and Arthur had ridden to pay their final respects at the graves of those fallen, mainly for Arthur, who sought a final bit of closure on that chapter of his life.

     Charlotte had played a key part for Arthur’s recovery, housing the two and helping take care of the gunshot wound, kindness in every word. A god among men, really.

     Then they’d packed their bags to the brim with food and supplies, taking a long ride across the mountains and leaving New Hanover’s rolling hills and Lemoyne’s miserable swamps as nothing more than memories.

     Wasn’t all bad. Arthur had Charles, after all.

     Arthur let his head fall back into the pillows when Charles set a slow pace - with it being morning, his body still warm and relaxed from sleep, he wouldn’t argue. Arthur found that slow, lazy sex in the morning was not only a fantastic thing when Charles was leading, but it was a luxury they could afford these days and one that they both enjoyed very much. Just as Arthur loved running his hands up the expanse of Charles’ muscled back, loved the sigh that escaped the man when he dug his nails in just slightly beneath his shoulder blades.

     Felt good when Charles bottomed out in him and breathed a moan where he’d begun kissing Arthur’s neck. Made his toes curl when Charles hit that sweet spot that had Arthur tightening his legs around his waist.

     “Arthur,” Charles murmured into the rise of his throat, teeth catching just so in a mix with a harder thrust that left a broken gasp escaping him. For a few moments they stayed like that, with Charles at the easy pace, before Charles switched it up and tugged Arthur's thighs just a bit higher on his side with a bit of a quicker pace.

     A pace and angle that hit just the right spot in him, leaving the sweetest moans escaping his lips, accompanied by Charles’ when his lips worked on Arthur’s collarbone. It felt good, Charles in him, and he knew just where to run his hands over Arthur’s body to leave a shiver running up his spine. Knew damn near everything about Arthur’s body, possibly more than he did himself. It was only fair, really, when they’d both spent so much tangled up in each other, be in a fit of passion or luxurious mornings mapping every freckle, line, and curve of each other.

     A particular thrust had Arthur letting out a lower moan, chesty and rough, fingers tangling in the man’s long hair as he pulled him up for a firm kiss. A kiss which Charles happily returned, nipping along the curve of Arthur’s lower lip.

     “I love you,” Arthur breathed into the space between kisses, hold on Charles tightening the closer he was with every rock of his hips, the feel of Charles’ body up against his. Though, what he didn’t expect was the chuckle from the other man.

     “Feels like a compliment, you sayin’ you love me while I’m in you,” he teased, and Arthur gave him a slight bump on the shoulders with his knuckles, though he couldn’t help but laugh too. Charles caught his lips in a kiss again, making sure to angle his hips just so to leave Arthur unravelling, nails digging into his back. “I love you too, Arthur.”

     It didn’t take much longer, lazy pace long forgotten and Charles kissing with much more purpose, before Arthur’s world shattered in a burst of light, Charles not far behind. He lost track of the kiss, opting instead to bury his face in the side of his lover’s neck, nails digging into his back and dragging down slightly, feeling the shudder up Charles’ spine.

     For a moment they lay like that, Arthur panting just slightly against his shoulder, one of Charles’ hands lifting up to trace circles at the back of Arthur’s neck. Then Charles was pulling away, answering Arthur’s quiet whine with a soft kiss that promised he would be back, instead finding a rag to clean the both of them up.

     Arthur tucked an arm behind his head, watching Charles move about. Loved watching the strong line of his shoulders, the flex of muscles in those powerful thighs when he leaned down, and the soft smile that he gave Arthur when he returned to the bed to clean up.

     Afterwards Charles lay down beside him, turning onto his side so that he could trace a hand up the plane of Arthur’s stomach.

      There, Arthur felt peace.

      Peace that was finally becoming a normal part of his life, now that he’d buried his past life over the course of many years, finally sat down and let go of the people he’d lost. Stopped thinking about Dutch, instead thought about what he’d learned from the others. Susan’s fierce protection of the gang, Hosea’s sly wit but the kindness that he brought along with, Sean’s ability to enjoy life when, well, life proved to actually be quite shitty. He’d thought of Lenny’s unerring loyalty and friendship, of Kieran’s timid but kind nature.

     He thought of Sadie, rising from the ashes and becoming stronger with every bad card dealt to her. Of the Morstons and Uncle, and he hoped that they were out there doing just dandy. He even hoped that Swanson had found peace, wherever he was.

      Even thought of Javier and Bill, singing at the camp fire in Horseshoe Overlook.

     Of course, he couldn’t help but think about dying on that rock as the sun rose, before strong arms had swept him up, Charles and Charlotte giving him a second chance at a future worth living.

     A future that he lived now, tangled up in their own home in their own bed, the horses whinnying out in the fields and a light scratch at their door showing that their dog thought it was near time to be getting up and going about their day. Things felt good. Finally, in Arthur’s life, things felt right.

     “Arthur.” That broke him from his daydreams, letting out a sleepy sigh as a large hand cupped his cheek and turned his face, Charles leaning in to kiss him sweetly. His lips lingered, Arthur’s fingers combing through long black hair. Charles broke the kiss, pressing smaller kisses to Arthur’s cheekbones and forehead. “We’ve a day ahead of us.”

       “Yeah, I’ll be up,” Arthur murmured, relaxing back into the pillows and watching as his lover rose and pulled on a pair of trousers and a shirt. “Charles?”

      “Anything.”

      “I love you,” Arthur said, finally sitting up and tracing a thumb over the threads in the sheets, feeling that same giddy feeling in his chest he’d felt the first time that Charles had kissed him. “I really do.”

      “I love you too, Arthur,” Charles replied, pausing beside the bed to steal another kiss from his lover. A kiss which was broken with a laugh when their dog scratched at the door again. “Come on. The world awaits.”