It was cold and dark by the time Dutch arrived at camp. The Count snorting heavily from a hard ride back from Valentine, Dutch's panic driving them faster and faster across the rocky terrain. He had to see him, he had to hear his voice, he had to know that he was ok.
"Dutch he's fine, just a spill. He came to almost immediately" Arthur called towards Dutch trying to sound convincing, but the older man heard known of it, dismissing Arthur like an annoying mosquito around his ear.
"Where is he? WHERE THE HELL IS HE!?" Dutch's voice cracking with fear, the familiar feeling of his heart racing, blood boiling, hands trembling. He was spiraling, and Dutch was about to loose the only person who could quell the panic.
"Over here Dutch." Called Ms. Grimshaw from behind Dutch's tent. It was after all the largest and most comfortable, as Dutch would later reason. Not at all because it was Dutch's tent.
Dutch sprinted across the camp, not caring who got in the way of his war path. He nearly toppled Ms. Grimshaw as well, trying to enter his tent.
Dutch's breath caught in his throat, there he was, lying on the cot, eyes closed, bandage around his head that was very clearly stained with blood…his blood. Dutch took two steps inside before he collapsed to his knees, tears welling in his eyes. He grabbed Hosea's hand, looking back at Ms. Grimshaw with a silent plead in his eyes.
Ms. Grimshaw stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "He'll be alright Dutch, just a bump, he's just restin' his eyes. Nothing to get all in a panic about." Although she could tell her words meant nothing until Hosea opened his eyes and spoke to Dutch himself.
It was several hours later, Dutch still kneeling on the ground holding his partners hand, when Hosea finally opened his eyes. Dutch was too caught up in his own mind to notice however, until Hosea spoke. "You're gonna cause yourself a stroke if your mind keeps running like an outlaw fleeing the law." His voice was raspy from sleep and pain, but it was a blessing to Dutch's ears.
"H-Hosea? Yo-you're alright!?"
"'Course I'm alright you fool. A bump on the noggin ain't gonna keep me down. You should know that by now." Hosea smiled, but it was pained and didn't really reach his eyes. He hopped Dutch didn't notice.
Dutch stroked Hosea's face, trying not to worry the bandage around his head too much. They gazed into each others eyes, deep brown boring holes into tired blue ones. Finally Dutch smiled, really smiled and slowly and carefully leaned forward to press a soft kiss to Hosea's lips, sighing as he pulled away.
It would be another few weeks before Hosea was allowed back on his feet, and even longer before Dutch allowed him anywhere near Silver Dollar. Dutch couldn't risk the horse spooking and throwing his rider into another bolder again.
In the meantime, Hosea complained about not being able to do anything for himself, chastising Dutch for treating him like a porcelain doll about to break.
"Jesus Christ Dutch! I had a spill! I'm not dead nor am I dying! I can put on my own shoes and take a walk around the camp if I want to!" Hosea finally screamed at Dutch after three weeks of being on bed rest. Dutch recoiled quickly, but fired back with "I'm trying to help goddammit! You nearly…" Dutch couldn't bare to say it, simply waving his hands in the air hoping Hosea would catch on.
Hosea sighed and pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to regain his composure. "I know, I know Dutch, but Ms. Grimshaw has told both me and you that I need to regain my strength and to do that I should start taking care of myself. As in, putting my own boots on, getting and eating my food by myself." When Dutch didn't acknowledge him, Hosea stepped towards him, grabbing both of Dutch's hands in his own and giving them a reassuring squeeze. "Dutch, I love you. I always have and always will. But I'm not broken and I'm not an invalid. I know what happened wasn't good. I know I nearly could have died. That for a few seconds Arthur was sure I had. But I'm fine now, and you have to let me continue to be fine."
Hosea grabbed Dutch's chin and made him look at him. Those tired blue eyes all those weeks ago now showed their usual spark, and for the first time since the accident Dutch really truly looked at them. And for the first time since Charles had come flying up to Dutch by the river screaming his head off that Hosea may have died, Dutch felt the dread and fear roll off his shoulders. Hosea looked like himself, his eyes had life in them, he was alive and thats all that really mattered.
Hosea grabbed the back of Dutch's neck and pulled the dark haired man to him. He gently kissed him and rested their foreheads together. "I'm ok." It was a statement, and one that Dutch could believe, for the first time in weeks, Dutch believed Hosea was ok. Hosea was ok. Dutch was ok. The gang was ok. And life was ok.