"I'm Afraid you've got Tuberculosis."
Arthur's head pounded to the rhythm of those words. The doctors back turned to him. Perhaps giving him privacy as Arthur slowly began to comprehend the gravity of those words.
He left Saint Denis in a daze. His body shuddering under the convulsing strain of his coughing. He was only partially aware that he was headed toward camp, mind shut off, only working off muscle memory.
A stranger cursed at him. Yelled something he didn't quite catch but it rolled off him like water on glass.
"God Arthur, I almost shot you." Lenny was saying. When had he made it back to camp? "Why didn't you answer me?"
"what?"
"When I asked who it was just now?" The boy stood next to his boot, gun at the ready, brow pinched in concern. "Arthur, are you ok?"
"Eh, yeah." he lied, a well-established reflex kicking in. "Just tired is all." He ignored the scowl as he maneuvered his horse to the hitching post.
He swung his leg down and was about to turn to his tent when a sentimental part of him automatically pulled out a brush and began cleaning his "best girl". He cooed at her as he gently patted her between strokes. She nickered in appreciation, preening at the attention.
He felt numb as he pulled out an oatcake. Velvety lips teased the edges of the cake experimentally before it was happily excepted. "Good girl" he whispered, then he turned back to his tent.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lenny still watching him. Puzzled expression cast over his shoulder.
Arthur ignored it.
He felt ten years older and 70 pounds heavier climbing into his rickety old cot. He tossed his hat on the nightstand and waited for sleep to come.
But it didn't.
He watched as dawn slowly crept in. Morning light casting shadowy patterns from tree branches, waving gently on the ceiling of his tent.
He coughed again. Chest burning, a painful reminder of what he'd just been told.
White death, consumption, Tuberculosis. He was dying.
He listened to the sound of the waking camp. The chickens clucking, the rustling of the leaves, someone snored. A pot was knocked over and a newspaper was opened. Gravely footsteps began passing from one end of the camp to the other and soft voices were peppered intermittently through it all.
Finally, he slept.
He dreamt of a golden deer grazing in tall grass. It lazily flicked an ear before lifting its head and stared at him. Dark eyes assessing, judging. Arthur stared back. There was something troubling about the exchange. He didn't know what but... There was a kindship their. A sort of bond that made him worry over the fragile life before him.
He knew first hand how easy they were to kill. How many of them had he skinned? Or hauled their limp carcass on the back of his horse to be consumed or sold? An inexplicable fear for the sake of this creature filled him.
The deer blinked and gracefully turned towards the woods. The labyrinth of trees hiding it from view.
Arthur chased after it. He followed it's path but the deer was gone. He searched for more tracks but he found nothing.
A gunshot rang out and he frantically chased after the sound.
He woke up wheezing loudly, bolting upright desperately trying to force air into his lungs. Not even enough air to make a propper chough. It took him several heart-stopping moments before he settled down.
But it didn't matter. This was going to kill him one day and he'd deserved it. He thought about all the lives he had ruined and destroyed. The world would be better off without him. He'd leave nothing good behind.
When a cup was pushed in front of him he realized how dazed he still felt. The world quickly came into focus as he saw Abigail kneel down in front of him.
"Are you alright Arthur?" She asked hesitantly.
"Um, yeah." he looked down at the cup and whispered his tanks as he took it.
"Heard ya coughing. Thought you were going to get that looked at."
He sipped the cool water. "Yeah, just haven't had the time."
"Johns worried about ya, so is Dutch but the bastards won't come out and say it."
He smiled noting the absence of mentioning Hosea. HOSEA had been very vocal in his concern for Arthur. At one point Arthur caught him trying to talk Dutch into abducting a local doctor. It was then that he promised to go get looked at in Saint Denis... he was regretting that now.
"Arthur?"
"I'm fine Abigail, thanks for asking but I should get going."
She stood up with him to help him but he shrugged her off. "Alright Arthur, but John and Dutch ain't the only ones worried over you."
"Thank you for the water Abigail."
And he left. He planned to make himself scarce in the following few days. He needed time to wrap his head around what was happening before he could spend much time with people who knew him so well. Apparently, he was rattled enough that people were already talking. He didn't know what the rumors were yet but they couldn't be worse than the truth.
He tried not to attract attention as he carried out a few chores and discreetly gathered some provisions. He gave Javier and Bill a wide birth as they chatted with Uncle and Lenny at the fire. Tilly and Mary-beth were in an argument with Miss Grimshaw so they were easy enough to avoid on a good day, and Dutch and Hosea kept to themselves in Dutches tent. All seemed normal, no one would notice his absence.
That is until John Marston saw him.
Dam.
He growled under his breath wishing he had left sooner.
"You alright their Arthur?"
"Wish people would quit askin me that-" his complaint probably would have carried more weight if he hadn't broken off into a hacking wet cough.
"You get that looked at yet?"
"I will." he wheezed angerly before storming over to his horse. "Now leave me the hell alone John."
"Look, whatever is troubling you, just tell someone. It doesn't have to be me. Just someone, anyone, just get it out in the open." John said, his voice laced with the hint of begging.
Arthur pretended to ignore him as he tacked up his horse but eventually it gave way under the weight of his brother's concern tugging on his conscience.
"John I'm fine."
"a-course you are, you always are. Can't let the great Arthur Morgan be human for a goddam second!"
It probably would have set John at ease for him to turn around and yell back. To fight him. Anything, but he was so drained. His bones ached, a low fever made his body feel chilled no matter how many jackets he wore or blankets he put on.
"M fin Jon." he slurred climbing up in the saddle.
He tried to avoid Johns face as he left but saw it anyway. The unapologetic sadness and worry made Arthur feel like an absolute asshole. Something in his eyes pleaded for Arthur to turn back but he couldn't.
Arthur had originally figured, with more time, he could tell them but apparently, the reverse was true.
With the weight he'd gradually lost over the past few months and the pallor of his skin, he could guess some of them already knew. They just wanted the confirmation from him.
He roamed aimlessly out of camp, thinking on Johns words. "just get it out in the open."
Perhaps John had a point. Perhaps if he did he'd feel better and then it would be easier to face the truth. Looking around he didn't see anyone but the forest. He thought of the deer in his dream and took a deep breath.
"I'm... I, ok, I ain't good at this kinda thing but here goes." The trees seemed to soak up his words and he egged his horse forward gently. "I, I went to a doctor. He looked down my throat, said I got TB. Guess I, well I ain't-a saint, I'm not saying I don't deserve this but things were finally settled." a lump swelled in his chest "Micah is gone, Dutch is back to normal and, I just. I don't wanna leave them. We're happy... I'm happy."
Tears threatened to fall but he chased them off with a few stiff blinks. "Stupid John," he groused. "this was a shit idea." Nothing had changed. Then again, what had he been expecting? Relief? Some miracle to ease his troubled soul? What right did he have to expect peace? He was nothing but a degenerate outlaw.
He felt a renewed disgusted with himself as he kicked his horse forward and left the camp behind, never seeing the guard hidden behind one of the trees, watching him as he left.