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December, 1906, Canada.
Despite his dire situation, Arthur Morgan did not die that fateful night in Beavers Hollow. He thought he would, felt like he did, but due to Charles' insightful idea to idea to return to the camp in search of the man himself, or his body, Charles managed to bring Arthur down the mountain just in time to buy Arthur a few more years.
They made their way up to Canada, which probably wasn't the best decision considering the nature of Arthur's disease but neither knew just how long he had left, and they had no plans on settling down in Mexico.
The winters were harsh, but the two were more than capable of surviving. They had a cozy cabin out in he sold-out of his woods, with a big fireplace and two chairs in front of it so they could sit and just exist in each others presence. Just like the average husband and wife.
Arthur was washing his clothes in the metal wash tub when Charles busted open the worn down door of their abode. "Needs new hinges." Arthur utters, making a mental note to himself to add that to his list of household jobs, as he looks up to face Charles he sees the huge buck he has slung over his shoulder. "Christ! That's the big fucker that's been eatin' outta' my garden."
"What a coincidence." Charles grins, laying his trophy on the dining table with a thud. "The lake has frozen over." He said, his gaze not meeting Arthur's, and a wave of childlike excitement betraying his usual serious look.
"I saw. Winters comin', reckon it'll be a cold one. We oughta start stockpiling food- what's that face?" Arthur almost laughs. Charles often smiled these days, laughed, and joked a lot more then he did seven odd years ago, but that's the face a kid makes when they're hiding something.
"No face. What face?" Charles says trying his best to hide the giddy smile that was burned into his lips.
"What's up, big man?" Arthur questions.
"The lakes frozen over. I been waiting for this so I could give you something." The big man himself answered, before disappearing into the twos shared bedroom.
"What is it? A scarf?" Arthur stands, abandoning his washing.
"No you fool." Charles pulls out a box and opens it to reveal four sharp blades of metal with leather straps meant for attaching them to something. "My mother taught my father to do this, and he taught me. It was something we could do together when he wasn't drinking." He explains.
"But what is it?" Arthur asks, leaning over Charles' shoulder to get a better look at the contraptions.
"They're made for skating on ice. Only now the ice seems thick enough for us to skate on, so I wanted to teach you. I mean- if you're up for it." Charles clarified, handing two of the blades to Arthur.
"I'm up for anything." He takes the blades into his hands. "Do they go on yer boots?" Charles nods in response.
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Charles and Arhur arrived at the lake just a few miles from their homestead. The grass surrounding it was blanketed with a thick layer of snow, and the water hid underneath a deep coating of ice.
Charles' eyes wandered across the lake, studying it. "Stay away from the right side, ice isn't thick enough, you'll fall right through."
"I thought you said the ice was frozen over. As in fully frozen over." Arthur skepticaly turns to face Charles, trying not to lose balance on the skates.
"Mostly. I was just eager to teach you, is that bad?" Charles smirks. "Are you scared?"
"I'm not a kid no more, I won't rise to your tauntin'. Let's just get on the ice." The light haired man huffs.
With Arthur's hands in his own, Charles guides him onto the ice. Arthur jerks back in surprise as the once dry ground turns into a path of slip beneath him. Charles grabs Arthur's elbows to steady him.
"Keep your back straight and your feet apart. Bend your knees if you need to slow down." Charles says, his face missing expression as he remains focused on Arthur's steadiness. "Just hold my hand and let me drag you for a while."
Moments like these were why Arthur was okay with living in such a difficult land. Solidute. If people were to see two men on the ice, holding hands, being close, they might get shamed, beaten, even killed. But as Charles and Arthur ruled these remote woodlands, they could do whatever they wanted, be as close as they want.
"I'm gonna fall and crack my skull open." Arthur stood petrified.
"Quit talking." Charles glides his feet, and the two are coasting across the ice. Charles' eyes followed the ground with a look of pure contentedness on his face. "Yeah, that's it, let me drag you."
They continued like that for a few minutes. Arthur is more then eager to make his way back to consistently solid ground, but stayed for the silent relaxation of his partner.
"Why don't you go ahead and I'll take this slow?" Arthur suggests. Without a second thought Charles takes off by himself. He was elegant, as much as a unit of a man gliding across ice an be. Arthur enjoyed seeing Charles relax while doing something that wasn't based in survival, like his honed hunting skills.
Charles laps around the lake, making his way back to Arthur he teasingly pushes him. Not hard, but enough to send Arthur into slow motion. He however, had no sense of balance, and upon being moved was sent into an immediate panic. "I don't know how to stop, you moron!" His arms flailed around like a bird taking flight, and his knees trembled like the ones of a newborn fawn.
In a matter of minutes Arthur got sent hurling towards the dangerously thin layered part of the lake. Charles tried to skate after him but Arthur's blind erratic panic made it difficult to grab a hold of him. The heavy man fell back, his body smashing through the ice and plunging him inside the numbing cold of the water. The shock jolted any air in Arthur's weakened lungs out, and sent him into a deeper blind terror then previously. His bare, frostbitten hands scraped any solids surrounding him in hopes of dragging himself out of this situation, but his erraticness prevented any plans of escaping the waters grasp on him.
"Shit! Arthur!" Charles called, effortlessly drifting towards the hole Arthur created. Getting on his knees beside the cavity, his hands clenched around Arthur's shoulder and with a mighty heave he pulled Arthur from the hole, and un-graciously towed him off the ice. "Hey," Charles tapped Arthur's cheek. "Can you hear me?"
His whole body violently shivered and his skin paled. Arthur made a small and unidentifiable sound, unable to form any sentence.
"House ain't far, stay with me." Charles demanded, lifting Arthur up bridal style and making his way as fast as possible to the cabin.
Upon entering, Charles layed Arthur on a bearskin rug on the floor across from the fireplace. Arthur's clothes had completely soaked through, and needed to be taken off or else Arthur's temperature would drop any lower. Charles made quick work of peeling off each sopping layer and throwing them aside until a unresponsive Arthur was in the nude. Charles shed the arm chairs blanket off it and wrapped it around him, as if tucking Arthur in bed, before starting a fire next to him. It was weak, but Charles could feed it.
"I'll get you some dry clothes. Stay with me now." Charles' stomach filled with worry as he left the room. This couldn't have done any good for Arthur's tuberculosis. What if this was the nail in the coffin? It would be Charles' fault.
Charles returned to the main room with a dry and well-worn union suit. He got down on his knees next to Arthur. "You've got some colour back." He says as he ever so gently dresses Arthur, careful not to agitate the raw skin.
"Charles." Arthur wheezed out while trying to dodge a coughing fit.
"I'm here. I'm sorry." Charles feels Arthur's forehead, he was surely warming up. "I'm so sorry." He repeats. Arthur would be fine after a while, he had to be. But for now Charles would get down to his level and hold him close. He ran his thumb gently up and down Arthur's cheek, while planning kisses along his jaw. "I'm sorry."
Arthur leaned into the touch and groaned. "Shuddap."