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When Hosea and Miss Grimshaw finally gave Arthur permission to leave camp after weeks of rest and recovery, the first thing he said to Charles was, “Can we go on a huntin’ trip?”
And who was Charles to refuse a request from his partner? So as Hosea continued to fuss over Arthur, Charles packed their bags and led Arthur off on a short, simple hunting trip.
“Are you makin’ this easy on purpose?” Arthur asked when he learned the trip would only be two days long, frowning as he rotated his injured shoulder.
“I’m not trying to pity you,” Charles explained, leading Taima close enough to Arthur that he could reach his partner’s hand. Squeezing gently, he said, “You’ve been in bed or camp for over a month, Arthur. You need to build your strength up.”
Arthur sighed, but nodded. “I understand.”
They rode up to the Heartlands, the day’s hunting slow and difficult when Arthur discovered how much his shoulder hurt whenever he used his bow. He got increasingly frustrated, but refused to switch to a gun instead, and when Arthur finally managed to take down a deer with a clean shot through the neck, Arthur’s delighted smile was worth the hours of stress.
When night fell, they set up camp, only pitching a single tent as they planned to sleep beside each other. After a simple meal (Arthur cooked some of the meat from the deer over the campfire, seasoning it with herbs), Charles noticed his partner slumping with exhaustion. Not wanting to make Arthur feel weak, Charles suggested that they both go to bed; too tired to argue, Arthur just nodded and joined him in their tent. Despite his shoulder pain, Arthur fell asleep first, and only then did Charles let himself relax enough to drift off too.
Barely an hour later, something wakes Charles. Blinking in the darkness, he quickly realizes what woke him when Arthur whimpers beside him. His stomach clenching, Charles sits up in bed, fumbling to light their oil lamp as Arthur yelps beside him. In the lamplight, Charles sees Arthur moving under the blankets, his head thrashing from side to side on the pillow and his legs trying to kick out.
Charles has seen this before, when he sat at Arthur’s bedside through the night in the first few days of his recovery, but it never gets any easier to see Arthur’s tense face or to listen to the terrified whimpers. From talking with Arthur after the nightmares, Charles knows that Arthur prefers to be gently shaken awake. So that is what he does, whispering his partner’s name and stroking Arthur’s chest.
With a flinch, Arthur awakes. He gasps for breath, staring up at the roof of the tent with glazed eyes, and Charles dreads to think what Arthur sees before him.
“Arthur, you’re safe,” he says, still rubbing circles against his partner’s heaving chest. “You’re not there. It’s okay. I’m here.”
But poor Arthur doesn’t—can’t—calm down, desperately struggling to draw breath. “Ch-Charles…?” he says, wide eyes flickering to stare at Charles.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Charles says. “You’re safe here.”
“I, I don’t…” Arthur tries to speak, but trails off, breathless.
“Don’t talk. Just try to breathe.”
Arthur reaches out with a violently trembling hand, grabbing Charles by the wrist.
“Okay, breathe in for me,” Charles says, watching Arthur suck in a shaky breath. “Now hold it.” And once Arthur holds the breath for several seconds, he adds, “Now out.”
Knowing this routine well after all the times Charles has helped him, Arthur does his best to comply, exhaling slowly with his cheeks puffed out. They repeat the cycle over and over, until Arthur’s breaths aren’t so shallow and jagged.
Once Arthur calms down, he sits up on the bedroll, slumping against Charles. Mindful of Arthur’s shoulder, Charles carefully wraps his arms around him. Arthur rests his head on Charles’ shoulder, letting out a sigh.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.
“You don’t need to apologize, Arthur.”
“But I do. I woke you up. God, I’m pathetic.”
“No you’re not. You’re the strongest man I know. You broke yourself out of captivity. You survived an infection. You’re back in action already. You’re not pathetic, I promise,” Charles says, kissing Arthur’s sweaty hair.
“Charles…” Arthur says, voice wobbling. “I don’t deserve you.”
His heart breaking, Charles rubs Arthur’s back. “Yes you do. Please don’t talk about yourself like that.”
Arthur raises his head, unshed tears sparkling in his eyes. Giving Charles a weak smile, he presses a chaste kiss to Charles’ cheek. “Charles… shit, I love you so much…”
His chest still aching, Charles gives Arthur a soft kiss on his chapped lips. “I love you too.”
“Thanks for everythin’,” Arthur says before kissing Charles again, his facial hair brushing Charles’ skin.
“No problem,” Charles says, smiling. “How’re you feeling?”
“A bit better now, I think. D’you… wanna lie down again?”
Certain that Arthur asked him that because Arthur wants to lie down, Charles nods. “Good idea.”
Nodding back, Arthur lies down on his uninjured side, fidgeting to get comfortable. About to join him, Charles reaches for the oil lamp, but—
“Can we keep the lamp on?” Arthur says, breaking eye contact. “I ain’t scared of the dark, but I just ain’t ready to sleep yet.”
Charles nods, leaving the lamp where he placed it. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
Arthur visibly relaxes, and Charles wonders if his partner really fears the dark; from what Charles knows about Arthur’s torture, developing that fear would make sense. But he doesn’t say anything, not wanting to make Arthur uncomfortable.
Instead, he lies back down beside Arthur, adjusting the blankets over them. Rolling onto his side, he shifts towards Arthur, carefully slipping his arm around Arthur’s waist.
“I’m not hurting you, am I?” Charles asks.
“No, I’m fine,” Arthur says, resting his forehead against Charles’ chin. “This is nice. You can go to sleep if you want, Charles.”
Ignoring the fact that Charles doesn’t feel sleepy after witnessing Arthur’s terror, he doesn’t want to leave Arthur awake and anxious in the middle of the night. “I’m okay. I’m fine to just cuddle for a while.”
And Arthur sighs contentedly against Charles’ neck, clearly happy to cuddle too.