Arthur woke up in a poorly lit basement smelling strongly of hops. Wooden barrels of beer lined one of the walls of the tiny basement. There was a staircase leading to a door across from where he sat. Wherever Arthur was, he didn't understand why he was there. He should have been dragged off to an official prison or sheriff's office, not some basement. Unless Milton had some sort of plan to drag Dutch out and Arthur was the bait. Which had proved fruitless in the past.

He didn't like his current position. Last basement he had been in, he had been hung upside down, beaten and tortured. Arthur currently had his legs bound and his hands tied behind his back, but at least he was still in his woolen jacket, shirt, and jeans. His boots had been taken off at some point.

He had a small hacking fit as he laid on his side and spat a mix of spit and blood out. He struggled to sit up so he could lean against the wall. Chirps sounded from a corner, indicating the basement was invested with rats or other rodents. That would explain the odor, besides the hops.

There wasn't much to do but wait. Sunlight creaked through the door frame, lighting up the dark basement only by a tiny bit. Arthur barely remembered the ride through the night as it was all a blurry haze. He could still feel crusted blood on his face.

This would not have happened a few months ago when he had been at his strongest. He had lost weight and muscle; all his clothing was now loose on him. No matter how hard he had worked on his home, it only made him feel weaker. His infection had led to this. He was becoming nothing more than a memory of his former self.

He hoped Sadie was okay. Even though it was just a fever, he was worried she might contract tuberculosis. She might already have it and not know it. He would have officially ruined all they had worked for.

The door clicked and partially opened. Agent Milton stepped through, followed by Agent Ross. Arthur wanted to wipe their smug look off their faces. They hadn't won anything yet.

"You haven't been sounding too good," Milton pointed out as he stopped in front of Arthur. He put his hands on his belt and regarded the bound man. "And you don't look too good from the last time I saw you, either."

"I'm not much use to you, then, am I?" Arthur groaned out. His tongue went over the gap where he was missing his back tooth. He hoped this wouldn't come to a fistfight where he might lose another one.

"Had we caught you first, you would have been," Milton replied.

"Who managed to get caught by you?"

"You would know him. Micah Bell?" Ross leaned against a barrel and crossed his hands in front of him. "Quick to talk, that one."

"We'll keep you here until we capture Dutch and his men. Imagine… each van der Linde lined up, one by one…" Milton lifted a hand and waved it slowly through the air as he imagined the scene. "A noose around each of your necks. It'd be a story for the years to come."

"But a few men are missing. One, in particular. A John Marston?" Ross tilted his head. "You seen him around?"

"I split off from the gang, few months ago. Ain't seen no one since." Arthur kept eye contact, not wanting to get caught in his lie. "What's Micah get out of all this?"

"He avoids the noose. Until he messes up. Which he will."

Arthur knew then Micah had told Milton and Ross everything of the van der Linde gang. All their names, identities, most likely their current location. Arthur didn't even know where Dutch would be.

"I'll ask again: Where's the John Marston?"

"I told you, I ain't seen him-"

Ross stepped forward and planted a swift kick to Arthur's chest. Arthur snapped forwards and groaned as the pressure in his chest doubled.

Milton straightened his jacket and grabbed gloves from his pocket. "I'll leave this part to you, Agent Ross. We don't have to find out immediately, but don't kill him. He looks like he's ready to die at any moment." Milton left, his footsteps creaking on the stairs. He shut the door behind him with a soft click.

"This isn't going to be pleasant for you," Ross said nonchalantly. He leaned over and grabbed Arthur by the hair, forcing him to look up at him. "You can either give up his location, or we work this out the hard way."

Arthur felt blood and saliva in his throat he had coughed up when he had gotten kicked; he rolled it around his mouth and spat directly into Ross' face. It landed partly in Ross' open mouth and cheek. He recoiled with a growl and let Arthur go.

"I'd go wash if I were you. Don't want you to get tuberculosis, now," Arthur said in between coughs.

That seemed to only upset Ross. He aimed another kick to Arthur's face, which sent him sprawling to his side. "You think on it, Mr. Morgan," Ross gritted out. He wiped his face and stomped out. There was a click as he locked the door.

Blood dripped from a cut on Arthur's forehead where the boot had connected. He laid there for a few minutes, letting his situation sink in. If he hadn't had to worry about anybody else, he'd just let himself die. But now, Sadie was at risk. John. Abigail. Even Charlotte, now. She was dragged into this no matter what. Arthur didn't doubt for a second Milton or Ross would be checking her background.

Luckily, Micah would not have known her name. She was safe for the time being.

Arthur sat up once more, his sides burning, and attempted to wiggle his feet. They were bound tightly and with skill, too. He would not be able to get out without a knife and all his weapons had been taken. Even the tiny dagger he kept in his boot, which may have been why his shoes were missing.

So he waited until they came back at nightfall with a plate of stale bread and beans. It was Ross and another man Arthur didn't know. Just another croney of the government.

"Let me do my business," Arthur said as they placed the food down. "You don't expect me to hold it, do you?"

Ross' eyebrows twitched but he seemed to have been expecting the request. The croney - a mid-sized man with a hooked nose and thick gut - undid the rope around Arthur's legs. Arthur stood and followed Ross out of the basement. The croney had drawn his own gun and kept it pointed to the back of Arthur's head.

It was a chance to see where he was located. The outside of the basement was just a forested area, unfamiliar to Arthur. There was a cabin attached to the basement, small but well kept. Agent Milton stood by the front door of the cabin, holding a map in his hands. He frowned and went inside. There were only a few more croney's moving about, all dressed in dark colors and wearing a badge of the Pinkerton Agency.

They had brought Roy along. He was hitched with all the other horses. If Arthur could make a run for it, at least he'd have his fastest horse.

The croney undid Arthur's hands. He turned away from the men and gratefully emptied his bladder; there was nothing worse than being bound and having to use the restroom. He hoped this wouldn't become a pattern.

There wasn't any point in trying to escape then with guns pointed at him. He let his hands be rebound and he was led back inside to the basement. They bound his legs and left him. The dinner sat there mocking him. The only way he could eat is if he leaned down and ate like a dog, and he wasn't quite ready to do that.

Night fell. Arthur fell asleep easily - his body was more than ready for rest, but it didn't last long. He was woken up by a hand in his hair, lifting him up and dragging him by his hair and arm. There was a bucket of water he found his head suddenly submerged into; cold and biting and suffocating at every second.

He hadn't had time to take a breath - he choked on some water and flailed awkwardly, trying to fight against the hand on the back of his head. He was lifted out for a split second, only to be forced back down into the water. His lungs screamed at him and his mind started going blank -

And then he woke up against the floor, his body shivering and gasping for air. Ross and Milton stood over him, frowns on their faces.

"You'll have to… do better," Arthur choked out.

"Break his fingers," Milton suggested. "But don't overdo it, Ross." He put on his hat and left the basement. Apparently, Milton left all the torture for Ross to handle.

The crooked nose croney grabbed Arthur and untied his hands. The instance Arthur's hands were loose, he got a sudden burst of energy and had his hands around the croney's neck. The croney gurgled and turned blue in an instant.

Ross locked an arm around Arthur's neck and tossed him away. Arthur landed awkwardly on the floor and scooted himself against the wall. There wasn't anything he could use as a weapon. All they had to do was point a gun at him, which they did.

Another croney brought in a thick wooden stump and set it in front of the stairs. The two croney's moved forward and grabbed Arthur by the arms and dragged him forward. What little strength Arthur had was gone as he tried to fight off the croney from placing his right hand on the stump. He was held there by the two men and his body began to shake as he took in the situation.

Ross held an iron mallet in his hands. Arthur hated the look in the agent's eyes - he was enjoying this. Enjoying torturing a dying man. This is what the law prided itself on?

"All you have to do is give up your friend," Ross said cheerfully. He leaned down and pressed Arthur's hand flat against the stump. "Then you won't have to go through any more pain."

Arthur breathed harshly through clenched teeth. "I don't know where he is, Ross. How about you and Agent Moron go and leave us alone for once? We ain't done no harm. We ain't a gang no more, Ross. Let. it. Be."

"That isn't how it works." Ross spread Arthur's fingers apart and hovered the hammer over Arthur's trigger finger. "It'd be a shame to ruin your hand, no? Harder for you to pick up a gun. But we won't start there." Ross grabbed Arthur's pinky and without another word, he brought down the hammer with extreme force.

Arthur jerked and couldn't hold back a yell; his vision went dizzy as waves of pain exploded from his hand. The hammer had clipped his index finger as well and his body went limp. He went slack in the men's grip and struggled to breathe.

"Agent Ross, there's something you need to see," a man called down. Arthur blearily looked up and saw the man was dressed like any other croney, except his hair was a fiery red. "You two as well. Agent Milton needs you - he spied some men approaching."

"Is it Marston?" Ross said with a grin. He set aside the hammer and jogged up the stairs without another question. The two cronies dropped Arthur and followed closely behind.

The croney with the fiery red hair hopped down the stairs and untied the rope around Arthur's legs. "You're behind the eight ball, aren't you?"

That voice. That accent. Arthur jolted awake and found himself looking into the pale faced man with the red birthmark on his eye. Francis Sinclair. Except this Francis had white in his hair and more wrinkles on his face. He was at least a few years older than Arthur, from the looks of it. But that wasn't possible.

"How?" Arthur stuttered. He was helped to his feet by Francis, who placed Arthur's arm over his shoulder.

"My old chap, there just isn't much time for questions. What bedevils you? You look under the weather."

"Tuberculosis." Arthur spoke in a whisper.

"Ah. It's 1899, isn't it? How old are you? Late thirties? No matter. Just a couple hops and a skip and you won't see me again."

The man had always confused Arthur, but he wasn't about to protest. He was being rescued by the last person he ever thought to be rescued by.

He could hear gunfire in the distance but paid it no heed. It was still several hours until daylight; the moon was hidden behind clouds, making everything seem darker. Roy was still hitched nearby. Francis Sinclair helped Arthur on and handed him the reins. Roy was anxious to get away.

"Couldn't thank you in person for those carving locations you sent me. Was the bee's knees. This is me repaying you; couldn't have done it without you, no sir. You're not going to meet the big one yet, eh?"

Arthur leaned forward on the horse while Francis gathered up Arthur's satchel and gun belt and handed it up to him. Arthur still couldn't comprehend what was going on as he belted his pistols and shrugged on his satchel. His two fingers ached something awful and his body was screaming at him, but he figured he could ride for a few hours until he was safely away.

Francis reached out and shook Arthur's left hand. "Look to the sun. I can't tell you when. You won't see me again. Now get a wiggle on." He took a step back and smacked Roy on the rear.

Arthur looked back as Roy was galloping away. Francis was gone, replaced by Murfrees who began swarming the cabin. That would explain the gunfire. Arthur was still in the Roanoke Ridge if the Murfrees were here. He didn't want to get followed by them. He urged Roy to go faster and he disappeared north towards where he thought was home.

It took a few hours of following random signs toward Annesburg until Arthur recognized the road towards his home. Everything seemed to happen in a blur. As the sun rose, a thick fog covered the road, sending a chill down his spine. He was unsure if the Pinkertons or the Murfrees followed him and there was not a way to tell if he was being followed.

Not that anyone could, in this fog. Arthur kept a strong pace, intent on reaching his home by early afternoon. He was ready to lose himself under a thick spread of blankets with Sadie in his arms. He stopped by a creek and made sure to wet his face of the blood. If he passed anyone on the road, he didn't want to stand out.

Luckily, the fog seemed to keep everyone at bay. He made it to the path of his property and followed it, his heart dancing at the thought of being home. His house still stood proud on the hill surrounded by tall trees, looking like a picture out of a storybook, with its garden and fences and the pond at the bottom of the hill.

The fog seemed to dissipate as he approached the house. Sadie stood at the front door of the cabin in her pants and dark yellow shirt. Her hair was pulled back and she had a pistol on her hip, plus a rifle over her shoulder. She was ready to fight.

She set aside her rifle once she caught sight of Arthur and ran to meet him halfway down the path. Arthur hopped off with the intent of scooping her up, but nearly toppled over as a wave of dizziness swept over him. Sadie was in his arms in an instant, supporting his weight and giving him a bone crushing hug.

"I'm back," he choked out. She only hugged him tighter in response.

A day later the two sat on a bench by the pond, a blanket over their laps. Arthur's hand had been bound and set, though Charlotte had been unsure if his fingers would ever bend again. They had been smashed heavily and only time would tell if they would heal.

When Arthur had been taken, Charlotte had run back to grab John and Charles, who had set out for Annesburg with Charles. Sadie had been too sick to travel and had only just recuperated from the fever. She had been about to set out after John when Arthur had returned.

Arthur hadn't told her much yet. He had slept for many hours and drank a bit of whiskey for the pain in his fingers. It was only that morning the two were alone, listening to the birds chirp and the frogs croak at the pond.

"I need to find Dutch," Arthur began with a sigh. Sadie was leaning against him with his arms wrapped around her. Arthur had protested being so close, but she had won the fight. "Micah ratted him out. I can't leave Dutch to the Pinkertons."

"You should, but I know you ain't like that." Sadie looked up to him, then back to the pond. Fall had set in the trees and the red and brown leaves had begun to fall one by one. Two ducks floated by in the pond, unphased by the presence of humans. "Wait for John and Charles to return, then we'll all go."

"It's a fool's game. I know Dutch won't listen to me."

"But once the Pinkertons find him, he'll know you be right."

"Or Micah would say I'm the rat."

"Who's he gonna trust? Micah or you?"

Arthur gave her a hard stare. "You were with us the last few months weren't you? It was always Micah, ever since he showed."

Sadie scoffed. "It ain't right."

"I need to find Hosea, otherwise. If he ain't with Dutch… Micah still might know where he is. He coulda told the Pinkertons. I need to make sure Hosea is safe."

"Mmm," Sadie murmured. She closed her eyes and together they just sat on the bench, content to be in each other's arms. "Say, Arthur. What do you want?"

Arthur kissed her on top of her head. "You."

"You oaf, not me. A boy or a girl?"

Arthur paused. "Well, I don't right know. I ain't thought about it too hard, since… you know."

"You allowed to think of it. You helped create it."

"I did? Maybe we should act it out, help me remember." Arthur rubbed his beard against her neck.

Sadie laughed and squealed, " Arthur Morgan ! Be serious!"

Arthur wished he could act on his joking. He wanted nothing more than to make love to Sadie, to caress her and care for her. Yet he could still feel the infection in his lungs, the weakness in his limbs. It was never far away. He sobered up and let out a defeated sigh. "How about both?"

"I ain't carryin' two. I hope."

"A girl, I guess. Someone as spirited as you."

"I wouldn't mind a girl. How about a name?"

"Hmmm. First name comes to mind is Beatrice, after my own ma."

"We'll put it on the list. Was she a good ma?"

"She loved me. I don't remember much, but… it's enough."

They were quiet for a few moments. Sadie absently played with a loose string at the edge of her sleeve. They could hear Jack laugh up at the house and Abigail's soft laughter joining in. It had been awhile since Arthur had heard such a pleasant, peaceful sound.

"What about you?" Arthur asked her. "What name would you want?"

"Still thinkin' about it. Too many to choose from, ya know?"

Arthur lowered his left hand and settled it over her stomach. She had mentioned her pants were just the tiniest bit tighter and had complained one night how she would have to go back to skirts because she would soon outgrow the pants, but Arthur didn't mind that. He liked how she looked in skirts, though her in pants made his heart flutter. Give her a pair of pants and a pistol and the whole world was hers.

It still astounded him that they had created a child - though he had accepted the possibility from the very beginning. Under better circumstances, it would have been the perfect life.

But John and Charles appeared on the path then, their faces shocked to see Arthur. They rode their horses closer to the pond and stepped off. Sadie wrapped the blanket around herself and held tight to Arthur's hand as they stood up to greet them.

"You escaped?" John asked, his face full of relief. His scarred face had dark bags under his eyes as if he hadn't slept.

"I did, with the help of an old friend. It was Agent Milton and Ross who got me. They didn't follow me back, so we still safe here," Arthur said.

John and Charles shared a look. "We know where Dutch is," Charles said with a frown. "Ran into Javier. Said they're up near here at a Beaver's Hollow. Just a half a day's ride from here."

"It don't sound good," John added. "Even Javier sounded worried."

Arthur had figured this would be the case. "Micah ratted them out to the Pinkertons. I gotta let Dutch know before they get to him."

John gave a firm nod. "We'll ride with you."

"Good. We'll ride out come mornin'."