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Charles spots Arthur across the camp in an instant. It's hard to miss him these days with the air of exhaustion that wafts from him wherever he goes. It'd been just a couple days ago that he'd confessed to Charles that he was dying, an illness blooming in his lungs. What had started as a cough so many weeks ago was now a massive boulder baring down on Arthur's shoulders. He just looked so damn tired.
In front of Arthur is Uncle, loudly imploring Arthur to do something or other for him. Arthur looks like he's about to agree, despite his best interests, as Charles approaches.
"Look, Uncle-" Charles cuts Arthur off before he can get an actual answer out. He spots Tilly and Micah both lingering a ways away, probably looking for Arthur's assistance as well. Charles gives Arthur a grim smile.
"Arthur!" Charles takes a few long strides to be right next to the man in question, completely ignoring Uncle. "You up to ride with me?" Charles speaks louder than he typically would, and he sees Tilly falter and turn back to whatever task she'd been doing before she noticed Arthur was having a moment's rest.
The look Arthur gives him is devastated. He's never once rejected Charles without a damn good reason, and Charles can tell now he can't find one. He casts one look at Uncle, seemingly weighing his options, and then rises from his place at the table with a few short coughs.
Wordlessly, he starts to stagger towards the horses, but he doesn't mount up. He leans heavy against his horse, a massive thing. It takes his weight with no issue. Charles jogs a bit to catch up with Arthur. "Somethin' wrong?"
A line appears between Arthur's brows as he furrows them. He looks so much older than he had just a few short months ago when they were holed up in Coulter. Wet coughing shakes Arthur's frame. Charles wouldn't dare to call Arthur weak, but his posture lacks that strength that Charles once knew him for.
When Arthur does speak, it's with such quietness and such reprehension that it shatters Charles's heart.
"I can't do this no more Charles." He doesn't look at Charles, his gaze pitched just slightly to the left, like he'd tried to look him in the eye but gave up halfway through. Anxiety coils in Charles like a snake waiting to bite. "I can't ride no more, can't shoot no more. This-" he gestures to the camp, which was once lively, now looks more abandoned then ever even with everyone home in the early morning light "This is over Charles.."
Charles had known for a good while now that the time would come when Arthur couldn't do it anymore. When he'd be too sick, too tired, too close to death to work, and for the first time since Arthur had told him about his diagnosis on the cliff side a week ago, overwhelming grief washes over Charles. He let's out the heavy sigh that's caught in his chest. "We don't have to ride then." He offers, noncommittally. "Walk with me?"
He pats Tamia on the flank as he passes her, and she nickers unhappily at not being taken out. He'd have to ride her out to the heartlands later. Arthur nods, his eyes falling shut on the downturn of his head, and only blearily opening after a couple seconds. Charles burns with the urge to run away, to take Arthur somewhere and hide him away. His hands itch with the need to get him away from these people who take and take and can't stop to see Arthur is dying.
Leaves crunch under their feet, winter is riding in, and Charles' hands shake with the realization that even with proper care, Arthur isn't going to see next summer. Never again will he feel the cool summer rain, or splash in the shallows of the Elizabeth with Jack and Cain. Arthur is staggering behind Charles, and as soon as they are out of sight of camp, Charles wraps an arm around Arthur to support him.
Arthur halfheartedly tries to push Charles away, but he's not strong enough, and he doesn't really want him to let go. He feels as if when Charles eventually lets go, the ground is going to fall out from under him and he'll fall, slipping away to hell without anyone's notice. That's always how he was meant to go though, wasn't it?
"Where we goin' ?" Arthur leans away from Charles to sputter out a few brief coughs. Blood splatters on his white sleeve where he's covered his mouth. He's always so cautious of the people around him, even as they ignore his suffering. Charles' gaze softens.
Charles stops and listens to the sounds of the forest for a second. He's taking Arthur somewhere peaceful, quiet. A little grove he'd found when the gang had first settles in Beaver Hollow. He turns to face Arthur, who stubbornly won't look at him. "Somewhere quiet."
The way Charles says it is like a promise, and he feels Arthur relax against him a bit. Charles takes the extra weight in stride as he turns them off the main path and into the woods where he knows the clearing will be once they walk for a bit. Arthur is startlingly light for a man of his stature, so much so that Charles as no trouble practically dragging him even as he navigates around vines and tree roots.
Arthur, who Charles remembers to be a hulking mass of intimidation and anger, who doesn't take shit from anyone and was feared by lawmen and outlaws alike, who had a bounty of five thousand dollars over his head when Charles joined up with the gang, makes a high pitched noise of complaint as they walk. His feet still, and forlornly Charles knows Arthur needs a break. He guides him two short steps to a log and lowers Arthur down. The second he's separated from Charles, Arthur begins a coughing fit. Blood falls from his lips, splattering against the sleeve of his shirt and the forest floor. It sticks to his lips and his chin, and tight fear seizes Charles as Arthur doubles over. Eventually, thankfully, the coughing stops and Arthur begins to take slow, measured, wheezing breaths again. Immediately Charles is at his side. He dabs away the sticky red from Arthur's mouth with his sleeve, Arthur weakly tries to swat him away.
"No need fur all uh that." Arthur's voice is slightly slurred with exhaustion, his voice deeper and rough on account of all the blood he just coughed up. Charles shakes his head.
He brings his hand up to wipe the rest away anyways. Trying his best to give Arthur a reassuring smile. Arthur is looking at him, but Charles doesn't think Arthur is seeing him. After a moment of drawn out silence Charles reaches for Arthur to help him up. "Come on, we're almost there." Charles can literally see the clearing. He just wants Arthur to see it too.
Arthur nods along as he stands back up. "Yeah.." As they begin to walk, slower this time, Arthur breaks the heavy silence between them. "What're we doin' out here anyway?"
Charles shrugs. "I told Dutch we were hunting."
Turning to face Charles as they walk, Arthur looks confused. "We ain't got no huntin' weapons." He says it like a question. Charles gets a shit-eating grin on his face.
"Bad luck, I guess."
Arthur smiles, realization dawning on him. There was no real reason for this excursion, Charles was just stealing him away to have him to himself. They'd done this kind of thing before. Months ago that feel like decades at this point, before Arthur knew he was sick. They'd fooled around then, all hidden smiles and secret kisses. They'd shared a handful of gorgeous summer afternoons in clearings just like the one they were entering now. Hidden away from camp, the law, and the rest of the world.
It's selfish really, for them to abandon their work for a whole day just to shoot the wind, but Arthur recons that Charles has done a lot recently, he deserves to be a bit selfish, even if Arthur doesn't. He doesn't protest as Charles begins to lay out an old blanket for them.
He looks around the little clearing. It's secluded, well off the road and surrounded by dense woods. There is a stream of clear water running through it on the far side, and the last of the spring flowers are still bloomed here among the green grass. The leaves on the trees have started to turn, and some of them sit motionless on the ground around the trees.
Charles whistles to catch Arthur's attention, gesturing for him to come sit on the blanket. It's a soft blue and white checker pattern, and Arthur is fairly certain it belongs to Abigail. he kneels down, settling comfortable on the blanket. From his satchel Charles pulls crackers, goat cheese, peaches and apples, and some dried meat. Arthur beams at him , even as he hesitates to take any.
"…Thank you, Charles." Arthur's voice carries such sincerity for a small act of kindness that Charles has to stop for a second to look at him.
He holds out a slice of juicy, sweet peach towards Arthur, the juice dripping over his hand. "Not a problem. we could both use the break." He smiles. Arthur takes the fruit and eats half of it, savoring the sweet flavor. It's shockingly ripe considering the time of year.
Charles uses his knife to cut off another slice for Arthur. This time, instead of handing it to him, Charles holds the piece up to Arthur's mouth, giving him a soft look. Arthur hesitantly eats the peach out of Charles' hand, careful not to actually touch Charles with his mouth.
"You'll have to wash your hands now." Arthur says, matter of factually. Charles shrugs.
He grins at him, leaning his head against Arthur's shoulder. "Always worth it, if I get to see that pretty face you make."
Arthur can feel his face heat up, a dark red flush taking over. He's happy Charles is staring out into the trees. He begins reaching for a peace a dry meat, but pauses for a second. He silently leans back against Arthur.
"Look" he points into the tree line, where a doe is helping her baby stand up, carefully nudging him along. "They're adorable."
Smiling at the deer as they move on, the two men fall into an easy silence. They sit together and eat -after Charles washes his hands at Arthur's insistence- in peaceful silence, listening to the running spring and sound of the forest.
Once they finish eating, the two of them end up laying across the blanket, next to each other, but with enough space that Arthur can still freely lean away to cough. They watch massive white clouds filter across the small section of blue sky made visible in the clearing. Ever so slowly Charles slides his hand across the blanket until it meets Arthur's, ever so gently brushing over top of the other man's hand. Arthur smiles at Charles, a rare sight lately, and intertwines their fingers.
They make eye contact, and for a split second Charles understands why people take from Arthur so freely. The undying devotion in his eyes when he looks at Charles is breath taking, earth shattering, and if Charles had never seen it before he'd probably have a physical reaction. He sits up on his elbow, looming over Arthur.
Staring into his friend, his lover's eyes, Charles gets lost. They both lean forward, but Charles goes rigid when Arthur stops him getting closer with a hand to his chest.
"No!" he exclaims. "We- I" Arthur sputters a bit, sitting up and scooting away from Charles. "We can't."
His voice tremors, and Charles can feel his heart absolutely shatter for the second time today. He moves to follow Arthur across the blanked, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder. "It's okay Arthur." He says gently, as one would placate a spooked horse.
Arthur visibly deflates. "You know how this works Charles.. We can't.. I can't get you sick." He says it with such conviction that Charles almost leaves things there, goes to rinse his face in the creek and calls it a day, but every bone in his body is itching to kiss Arthur, to take away the fearful expression and feel him under his lips one more time.
Charles tries to convey all of that in a look, but Arthur's never been the most perceptive. "Just once, I'll be okay. I promise." Then after a moment "If you really don't want to, we won't." Charles leans back, away from Arthur to sit back fully. "But it'd be nice. "
In that moment Arthur comes forward. Hesitant, but sure of his actions. He shifts to sit next to Charles, an uneasy smile plastered across his face. He tilts his face up towards Charles, who takes the invitation with open arms.
This kiss isn't like the others they've shared. It's slow and sweet and Arthur tastes of sweet peach and blood. Arthur doesn't open his mouth, and Charles doesn't ask him to, but the two of them get lost in the kiss, which rolls on slowly, in waves that almost remind Charles of the ocean, for what feels like eternity. Eventually Arthur pulls away for air, blissfully without coughing, and lays back, resting his head on Charles' lap.
"I love you." He mutters, as heavy sleep begins to drag his eyes shut. Charles doesn't respond, but he does drag his fingering through Arthur's hair, pressing a soft kiss against his forehead and Arthur falls asleep.
Two weeks later, after Arthur is buried, Charles starts to cough.