Chapter 2: Deal with the Devil
Chapter Text
Micah is just where he was the last time around and looks equally as pitiful, staring up at Arthur with eyes that are honestly the most pleading he has ever seen the man look, bruised and locked up as he is. He looks miserable too, in his damp cell, callused fingers curled around the bars.
Arthur can barely look at him, wrangling down the horrible thing that's risen in his chest ever since he caught sight of Micah. It feels like his chest is filled with that hot and cold fury, making him wish to punch or kick the man in the face. To stay in Strawberry until they hang him and watch it all the while. Watch how their destruction breathes his last breath.
If only it were that easy.
The weather is just as shit as the last time, rain making his clothes cling to him and Arthur hears the soft squelch of forming mud under his shoes as he eyes the construction that's going to help him get Micah out. Micah waits, still close to the bars and looking just a bit anxious and nervous. Good. He shouldn't think they're friends, especially since Arthur would sooner strangle him with his own hands than let him touch anyone at camp.
Exhaling heavily, he forces himself to concentrate on the task ahead and not on the dark, seething thing that is so close to pain and hatred, linked with all that betrayal from Dutch's side, that has taken up residence somewhere in his chest ever since arriving. He ignores it and focuses on the fact that Micah could still be useful. If he wants to try and save Dutch too, he's going to need the man. Needs to uncover him as the rat and show his true colors to Dutch. Maybe then, the man might be willing to listen to reason again.
Even if Arthur can't help but not believe in it, a part of him..hopes, in a way. Maybe it's the boy in him, that Dutch picked up all those years ago, maybe it's the love and loyalty he held for him for so long and that now feel so bitter and cold and betrayed in his chest. Maybe, a part of him wants to believe that Dutch does care for him after all and if given the chance, the man is going to choose him, instead of a mad man they picked up only a couple of months ago in Blackwater.
Grabbing the hook, he takes a deep breath and turns back to Micah, keeping his face as calm as possible. Micah still seems to notice something in his gaze though, since the guy hasn't been yapping as much as the last time, choosing rather to stay quiet and watch him. Almost carefully too, like for the first time, he really thinks that he might have to watch out for Arthur.
It's satisfying, just a tiny bit, but satisfying nonetheless to see that caution in Micah.
"Step back." He near growls at the man. Micah quickly raises his hands and steps away from the window, never looking away from Arthur.
"Whatever you say, brother."
Arthur has to viciously bite down on the urge to let go of a bark of ugly laughter. Brothers, right. Clenching his teeth, he secures the hook and motions for Micah to stay put, who gives him a sharp nod, maybe really listening to Arthur for the first time since they met. It's also most likely going to be the last time. As soon as he's out, the guy will be back to doing his own thing. Not that Arthur intends to allow him to let it get as bad as the last time around.
The wall of the prison breaks just like he remembers it would, only this time, just as Micah is hurrying through, Arthur jumps over to him and, seeing the man's eyes widen in brief surprise, tackles him, wrapping arms around him and dragging him to Storm, who stands only a few steps away.
"Let go of me Morgan, are you insane?" Micah half hisses, half shouts, surprised and stumbling, struggling to free himself. "Let me go!"
"We're going." Arthur grunts out, straining as he manages to drag Micah back to Storm. She stands still, tense, as Arthur reaches her side, still doing his best to wrangle Micah along. They have so little time, already people are running around and shouting and he sees the sheriff's door slam open.
"They have my guns! Do you think I'll just walk out of here? Let go, you mad dog!" Micah sounds really angry now, throwing his weight in the hold and Arthur, entirely at the end of his rope, blindly reaches back, grabbing one of the rifles at his saddle and slams the butt against Micah's temple.
It's strange, for some reason, to watch the man go limp, head lolling forward and his weight nearly dragging Arthur down. A part of him realizes it's because he can't remember seeing Micah unconscious before, but mostly, he hurries to haul the guy on Storm's back and clamber into the saddle as well.
She's running before he even has both his feet in the stirrups and Arthur ducks low, cursing as bullets whistle past. Thankfully, the sheriff's office is right at the edge of Strawberry and Storm tears up the path, races past the rising, rocky cliffs to both sides, while Arthur resists the urge to shoot back at the pursuing law men. Gripping the reins, he keeps one hand reached back to ensure Micah doesn't fall to a too early death or something and urges his mare to turn into the woods.
His heart is racing, his ears ringing from the shoots and shouting, he can hear his horse panting but she's not stopping. Running just like he remembered she would, stretched long and the woods a near blur around them, as she carries him to safety with dogged determination.
They nearly crash down a ravine and almost collide with at least five trees, Storm jumping out of the way in the last second and Arthur almost getting unseated, before he no longer hears anyone following them. Slowing her down, he realizes he's breathing just as hard as she does and his hands shake. He lets go of the back of Micah's shirt and resists the urge to shove the man off his horse. Instead, he tries to calm his breathing and heart, feeling slightly dizzy, as he leads Storm to an abandoned cabin he vaguely remembers being in the area.
His takes a deep breath when he dismounts and reaches for Micah, who is stirring like he's going to wake up again. Arthur hauls the guy off his horse, who gives her whole body a shake like she can't stand Micah either. Arthur more or less drops the man to the ground.
"The hell." Micah slurs and then sits up with a start. Groaning, he holds his bruising temple and glares as he staggers to his feet. "What the fuck is wrong with you Morgan?"
"Could ask you the same. We got out of there okay, didn't we?" Arthur says, feeling not the least bit sorry about the way Micah's face is scrunched up in pain. Hopefully, he gave the guy a concussion. "What the hell was that about anyways, where you going to attack the whole damn town?"
Micah scoffs and Arthur resists the urge to knock him out once again. And then leave him somewhere to the wolves. There are a few packs in those mountains, he remembers them quite well and one or two that know how to hunt people. Stripped of his weapons, Micah wouldn't last, ending up as a nice dinner for some animal.
"So what?" Micah lightly touches his temple, before checking his fingers for any blood, looking only marginally mollified when he sees none. Then he steps closer and Arthur doesn't miss the way he's turned this body to something quietly but dangerously menacing. Micah's voice drops to something low and dark. "You think I was just going to go quietly? Oh no, I have business with these people and I will get back what they took from me."
"I don't care." Arthur steps closer as well, his own voice taking a sharp, warning edge and sees the subtle shift in Micah's stance, as the man adjusts his body, ready for a possible brawl. Arthur takes a calming breath and leans back, seeing the mocking flash in Micah's eyes. Always needling him, always sniffing out any kind of weakness like bloodhound. "I'm going back to Dutch. You coming?"
"No." Micah looks at him, gaze darker than before and then grins. It's mean and Arthur hates the sight of it. "Still have business to take care of."
"Leave the town alone." Now they're back in each other's spaces and Micah gives him another one of those mean grins. Arthur, distantly, becomes aware of the man smelling of the damp cell he was held in.
"Or what, Morgan? What do you care anyways?" He tilts his head, eyes too searching for Arthur's liking. Micah, he realizes, has always been so much smarter than he gave him credit for. "You know what, I think you're really getting soft. Everyone tells me about this mean, big, bad Arthur Morgan, but all I see is a small tree throwing big shadows."
Just like before, that metaphor doesn't make a lick of sense to Arthur. But he also knows Micah and the man won't give up. Hating what he's going to have to offer, he forces himself to stop looming into Micah's space.
"What do you need? I'll get it for you." He grinds out and sees the brief flash of surprise on Micah's face. Then Micah's mean grin changes to a smile Arthur doesn't like either. It makes him near sick seeing it.
"Why, Morgan, I didn't know you cared." Micah eyes him for a long moment and Arthur isn't sure if the man's madness might win out, his wish to bring down bloodshed on the town - not that Arthur would help him, the guy can go and get shot at on his own, thank you very much - before he gives a curt nod. "Alright, cowpoke, I'll give you a chance."
On the other hand, punching him sounds like a great alternative too.
~*~
Arthur reluctantly leaves his horse with Micah, as he sneaks into town when it gets dark enough. He spots Baylock easily enough and Micah will have to content that Arthur is going to ride him out of here, considering he wants his steed back as well. Baylock certainly seems to recognize him and Arthur manages to untie the horse from its spot near the sheriff's office unnoticed and take it down to the house where, apparently, some man has Micah's pistols.
Baylock is a bit of a strange horse, Arthur decides. He's never seen a horse so quiet and lithe on its hooves, there is barely a sound as he walks and the horse seems to near melt into the darkness and shadows, following Arthur like some thief in arms. They fit together, Arthur decides. Micah and his horse. At least Baylock is steady and reliable, quiet and unafraid. Arthur gives the horse a gentle pat when they reach the house. Hell, it isn't its fault that Micah is his owner. Baylock gives him a glance, but otherwise seems quite disinterested in him. If anything, he catches the horse looking around a bit, like he's waiting for Micah to appear.
Then comes the hard part. Arthur crouches low, under a window of the house, tucked away in the shadows so no one out on the streets notices him. He waits until he can hear everyone go to bed - while Micah has not so kindly asked him to put some bullets into the heads of the house owners, Arthur's not going to do that.
Sneaking around to the back entrance and taking Baylock with him to wait by the door - and thank god the house has a backdoor - he pulls out the lock pick he got from Seamus. Damn, that feels like so long ago, stealing that coach with Hosea and robbing Seamus' cousin. Arthur keeps his breathing quiet and ignores his by now aching knees and thighs from all that crouching. He strains his ears for anyone approaching, while he carefully works on the door. The lock clicks open a moment later. Thankfully, those guys don't own a dog, the last thing Arthur wants is to get mauled for getting a pair of damn guns back.
The floorboards creak under Arthur's steps, as though merrily announcing his presence to the whole house itself. He winces and quickly sneaks further into the house. He steps past the closed doors of the house owners until he reaches the living room with the kitchen. A trunk catches his eye and he opens it, clenching his teeth at the near suffering, loud squeak from the hinges. He catches sight of Micah's weapons though and grabs his stuff up, not bothering to close the trunk, it makes too much damn nose.
Just as he turns around though, he hears shuffling steps from behind one of the closed doors. Cursing, he gives up his crouch and sprints down the hall, passing the door just as it opens.
"Thief!" A man yells and only the tingle of warning down his back is what saves Arthur from being shot clear in the back of his head. Cursing, he ducks and runs, throwing himself out of the house and going for Baylock, who has perked up considerably, one hoof stomping.
Arthur clambers up the saddle and bites back a noise as a bullet whizzes past his shoulder, narrowly missing him and the horse. Baylock doesn't even wait for him to finish swinging his leg over his back, before he takes off. Gripping the saddle horn, Arthur ends up awkwardly hanging to the side of the mad horse, doing his best not to fall or to let Micah's shit fall.
Baylock angrily throws his head when Arthur tries to touch the reins and get in the saddle properly. For some reason, the horse seems to know exactly where he's going, even without being guided, because it races through the night dark forest outside of Strawberry as if it's lit daylight.
Micah's laughter is the first thing Arthur hears just as Baylock tears out of the last couple of trees, neighing as he spots his owner and unerringly running for him. Arthur drops to the ground the second Baylock stands and he tries to ignore the way Micah is close to bending over, wheezing.
"A real rider, Morgan." He laughs, Baylock bumping his nose against his arm and almost nudging his white hat off. Honestly, the way Micah reaches up to the horse looks close to affectionate. Baylock, Arthur realizes, is the only one Micah might truly care about, aside from his own hide. The horse certainly is more than loyal enough.
"He's as mad as you." Arthur growls roughly and shoves the guns and weapon belts at Micah. "Your things."
"Well done, cowpoke." Micah drawls, still grinning like seeing Arthur cling to the side of his horse made his damn day, hell, his month. It possibly had. At least he no longer looks sour about Arthur knocking him out. "Look at that, you might be useful for something after all."
Resisting the urge to exhale in angry exasperation, Arthur turns around and motions for Storm, who kept a distrustful distance to Micah. She quickly jogs over and lets him get on her back without complaint. It's certainly going to be the last time Arthur's going to attempt riding Baylock.
"Cowpoke!" Micah calls out and Arthur grudgingly turns to him. Somehow, seeing the holster thrown his way is still surprising. He manages to catch it and stares at Micah, who gives him a far too satisfied grin. Baylock stays still, relaxed and obedient, as Micah gets into the saddle. Arthur knows he's reading too much into it, but it honestly almost looks like the horse is giving him the same look Micah does. Pair of madmen, the two of them.
"As thanks, for breaking me out." Micah says and gives him another one of those damn grins.
"You're coming back?" Arthur asks, mostly because he needs to hear that Micah is indeed going to stay away a while longer. He doesn't know if he could take having the man back so soon, especially when Arthur has yet to try to talk to Dutch.
"Nah." Micah answers, just like Arthur had hoped and he pretty much ignores anything else the man says. He knows how this is going to go, with Micah inviting him to drop by soon and then Micah is off, Baylock carrying him off with long, fast strides. Arthur exhales heavily, sagging a bit and rubbing a hand over his face.
Storm snorts and he thinks it could sound disgusted, as she looks after the disappearing horse and rider. Arthur pets her neck and gives her a treat. Just in case, he rides further away from Strawberry, before settling down for a bit of sleep. While he knows he saved a number of innocents today, he doesn't feel better. If anything, unease churns strongly in his chest, worming through his lungs and squeezing his heart. He forces himself to eat, the food near tasteless on his tongue. All the time, a voice in the back of his head wonders if he did the right thing, breaking Micah out.
Sleep doesn't come easy to him that night and he feels wrung out and a bit sore the next day. Storm doesn't seem to mind that they ride on at the break of dawn and Arthur is so lost in thought, he almost overhears a familiar voice. Perking up the moment he recognizes who it belongs to, he quickly turns his mare into the forest.
Albert Mason is just where he met him the first time and Arthur can't help the smile that appears at the sight of the man. Like the last time, he ends up startling him, though, granted, he might have not done anything avoid it either. Albert jumps and he's just like Arthur remembers him. A man with a bright spirit and great dreams. Possibly greater than Dutch's, certainly nobler and something about seeing him so unashamedly himself and hopeful to accomplish something, something good, makes Arthur relax a bit, makes him feel better after all that mess the day before. He likes Albert, even if the man doesn't know him yet and stupidly, Arthur actually forgets about the bag for a moment.
Just like in the past, he ends up chasing after a coyote, though the animal drops the bag without trouble once again and he can bring it back. Albert is just as happy and relieved to get it back, thanking him. Arthur finds its easy to smile at the man and he hopes to find him again soon.
"Take care." Arthur calls as he rides away, feeling lighter and knowing it won't be the last time he'll see the man.
His mood grows somber again shortly after, as he remembers that Albert didn't see him once his illness got really bad. He's thankful for it, in a way. Arthur had hated people seeing him like that. Pressing a hand to his chest, feeling his heart beating steady and his lungs drawing clear, painless breaths, he reminds himself that he won't be sick this time around.
Riding down the road, he tries to remember what comes next, what's going to await him now. He can't really recall the exact order of things, everything is a jumble of flashes and memories. He remembers taking Jack fishing and the Pinkertons appearing. He remembers robbing that train with the others, but he needs a moment to figure out if it happens before or after Jack. And then there is Cornwall. If they can avoid robbing that train...maybe Cornwall won't be as furious and come seeking them out. If Arthur can even stop that from happening. Which he doubts, robbing that train is pretty important to the others.
What a god damn mess. Arthur feels another headache building and for a brief moment, he wonders if he can even do this. Can really fix this. Then he remembers Beaver Hollow. He remembers every death, every sacrifice, every loss and painful disaster they walked away from, their camp growing smaller and smaller. It doesn't matter if he thinks he can do it or not. He has to, because he'll be damned before he lets any of them die again without at least fighting, without trying his hardest.
Straightening, he clicks his tongue, his mare trotting and at another click, cantering along the road. On his way, he remembers the other two debtors from Strauss. Well, he might as well take care of that too.
The polish man seems all to happy to accept he no longer has any debt. As much as Arthur can make himself understood, that is. Either way, he shakes Arthur's hand quite enthusiastically and even shoves a pack of crackers into his hand, before escorting him to the door.
"Well, that's certainly nicer than last time." Arthur mumbles, as he opens the crackers. Storm immediately turns her nose to him, her eyes giving him an imploring look. He huffs, smiling slightly. "I'm really going soft."
Arthur shares the crackers with her, as they walk away from the place. That is another thing taken care of then. Lilly Millet is the only one left now. Arthur really has to think about what to do in regards to Strauss. Technically, the man doesn't do anything wrong. He brings money to camp, legally too, on top of that, he takes care of the medicine quite thoroughly and dutifully. He never gives them any trouble and is rather faithful. Truth be told, Arthur doesn't know if he can get rid of him, but maybe, he can convince Dutch to stop letting him do his work.
But how? He would have to offer a better means to earn money in return and quite frankly, all Arthur knows is robbing and stealing and he's already doing all that without it being enough for Dutch. Looks like for now, he has to content with Strauss. Even burning his ledger, which he has thought about, wouldn't change anything in the long run. It would only start up discontent in the camp and if someone found out it was Arthur, he'd have Dutch on his tail again, angry and so damn disappointed.
Well, looks like he's going to stick to what he's done until now. Pay the debts himself. Which means more work for him, to earn money, but honestly, if those folks get a chance to live, use the money to start up a proper life or get out of trouble, it would be worth it.
The ride to Emerald Ranch is rather long and gives him a chance to relax a bit and think. There is so much to take care of, so much to worry about. But maybe, he can ask Hosea for a bit of advice? No matter how loyal he is, he's also keeping their secrets, never telling anyone what they confided in him. If Arthur were to talk to him about Dutch, Hosea would listen and give him the best advice he could, without so much a peep in Dutch's direction.
Dear lord, looking back, he sees how bad things got once Hosea was gone, how much Hosea reined Dutch in and was a voice of reason when Dutch was about to do something particularly dangerous. Not that it had helped much in the very end, once they were in Shady Belle, but until then, Hosea certainly tried to keep them all alive, to bring them back to a place they could make it out of.
Arthur reaches Emerald Ranch just as night falls and he finds Lilly in the same spot as last time. While he wants to avoid the fist fight, it doesn't really go that way. Cooper is near itching for it and Arthur ends up ducking under a fist, Lilly quickly backing up with a startled gasp.
"Come on." Arthur says, blocking a punch, his arm stinging and possibly going to bruise later. "Listen to her."
"Cooper, will you stop it!" Lilly yells, though Arthur can tell it's a lost cause. He knows men who want a fight and Cooper is one of them. It's bloody and ugly and the guy gets a good two punches in, before Arthur knocks him out.
"Just take my money, he has it." Lilly says, backing up with wide eyes and outstretched hands like she's worried he might come for her too. It makes Arthur feel like something crumbles in his chest, his mouth tasting like ash and he quickly grabs the money, before approaching her, slowly enough and with one hand lifted to show he means no harm.
"Here." He says quietly, as gently as he knows to and Lilly, confused and still wide-eyed, slowly reaches up to take the money he holds out.
"What?" Her voice sounds a bit faint and Arthur takes a careful step back, to avoid standing too close. She looks shaken. "Aren't you here for it?"
"As I was going to say, your debt is purged. Let's just say Herr Strauss received a reason to see it already paid." Arthur tries to explain, feeling supremely awkward once more. He wants to be nice, he does, well nicer than before at least, but he's also...not good at it, he thinks. He looks back at the unconscious man on the ground. "And, Miss, if I may give you an advice?"
She gives him a careful nod, money clutched close, but her eyes are losing their fear and her breathing calms back down.
"Leave him. If he's someone who drags you down, you don't deserve that. Save yourself, before you end up in debt again." Considering everything, Arthur now knows quite a bit about people dragging others down.
Lilly looks back at Cooper and she inhales shakily. In the next moment, he sees her square her shoulders, something in her eyes hardening as she lifts her chin and gives him a nod. He breathes a near silent exhale and steps back.
"Thank you!" She blurts out and he pauses in surprise. "Just, thank you. That's possibly the nicest thing anyone has done for me in, well, in quite a while."
Arthur opens his mouth to rebuke her, only to pause and slightly ducks his head. "Take care, Miss."
"You too, and thank you." She quickly hurries away then and Arthur does the same, before folks get nervous about Cooper.
It's dark and he's barely managed to hunt down two rabbits, when he returns to camp. Javier greets him from where he guards the entrance and Arthur throws him a greeting wave, tongue strangely stuck to the roof of his mouth at the sight of the man.
Bringing the rabbits to Pearson, Arthur takes stock of the camp. Everyone is around and accounted for. He hears some giggling by the trees and a glance in that direction shows him Karen and Sean, swaying and sharing a bottle. The kid certainly seems to have managed to charm her tonight. He wonders if those two will ever really get their act together and make it official, or if it's going to be their strange song and dance for a while longer. Either way, he just wants them to be happy.
Look at him, turning into an old, sentimental fool.
Kieran is asleep as well, curled up against a stone, but at least he has a bedroll now. Arthur thinks he has to come up with a way to get the kid more included. Then again, trust can't be forced, but maybe, he can present Kieran with situations to prove himself and to earn that trust more than the last time around.
Stepping to his wagon, he almost trips over his own feet when he sees a familiar letter lying on the table. His chest gives an uncomfortable squeeze and for a moment, the memory is back. Of receiving Mary's final letter, her ring inside of it. Of feeling his heart breaking, adding pain in along with his aching lungs. And yet, thinking that this was for the best, seeing as he was dying.
"Oh, Mary." His voice is whisper soft and equally as quiet, his fingertips brushing the letter. It feels like a strange sort of clarity, looking at the two of them now. He still loves her, in a way, but at the same time, he knows they're not meant to be, not truly. Even if he manages to leave this life behind with the others, he's no city man, wouldn't join her in one. He belongs in the countryside and on horseback, feeling his hard work shape his body and map his hands.
He picks the letter up, not needing to read it. He remembers it so well. Remembers all her letters, remembers seeing her again, the way his breath caught in his chest for that first, split second after she opened the door. He knows she will be just as beautiful as he remembers her, that she still carries that grace and kindness that had drawn him to her in the first place all those years ago. Folding the letter up slowly, he closes his eyes, feeling his heart quietly break again in a different way this time, a near soft sort of grief wrapping around it. They're not meant to be and this time, he'll really let her go.
Some things, he realizes, aren't to be saved. Or maybe not for him to save. She deserves the chance to leave him behind and be truly happy with someone else. Someone who's going to sweep her off her feet and take her traveling, someone who isn't scarred inside and out, who doesn't have to work hard to find scraps of kindness and weave them together in hopes of making something better out of himself. She deserves the man he wishes he could have been for her.
"What fools we was." Arthur whispers, carefully stashing the letter away, taking care not to crease it in any way, sadness weighting on his shoulders. "What fools indeed."
~*~
Seeing Mary again isn't as breathtaking as the last time, since he's already prepared for it and still remembers her. But the sadness grows, seeing her lovely face, her soft hair and remembering those graceful hands in his own. He remembers sketching her countless of times, all those drawings lost to Blackwater. He remembers the sound of her giggles the way her face would light up so wonderfully with her smile. The way she made him feel just a bit worthier, made him feel like he could be salvaged and worthy of being loved.
"Mary." He says and she looks at him like she remembers everything as well. The good and the bad and he sees the same lingering love in her eyes that seems to have tied their hearts together for so long. The kind of love that novelists might have written about, either as star-crossed lovers or as folks overcoming the impossible to be together.
Arthur isn't that kind of man and he knows it. He'd never drag her down into a tragedy and he won't change for her either. Not when he has so many people to save, not when he thinks that moving on is for the best for both of them. And she's not that kind of woman either. The one who throws away her life for the chance of love, the one who rides down cliffs with him and braves the beating sun and harsh weathers to maybe find a new life together.
"Arthur." Oh and how he missed her voice. His chest tightens and he sees the way she catches on that something is up. Always so smart and perceptive. Arthur is quick to ask her about the letter, before she can inquire why he's looking even sadder than usual.
"Of course I'll help." He says just as she's about to try and find words to convince him to help Jamie. The kid isn't at fault for the whole mess that is his family. Arthur holds up a hand to say his piece. "I do it for him, that's all. Your father can rot for all I care."
She doesn't look surprised at his words, but quite relieved at hearing he's going to help her. "Thank you, Arthur. Oh, thank you."
"Sure." He steps away and then pauses, unable to resist to look back, seeing her grip the railing of the porch, face anxious and hopeful. Any kind of words he might have had die on his tongue and he turns back around without saying anything, silently getting up into the saddle. Somehow, as he rides away, it feels like he's starting to leave her behind for good too. Despite knowing it's the right thing, it doesn't feel good either.
The weird cult Jamie ended up with is just as strange as the last time and the damn chase just as long. Really, even knowing what Jamie is going to do doesn't help Arthur in catching the kid in time. He's damn fast and rides like the devil. Even Storm, fast as she is, struggles to keep up with him and his long-legged horse, which runs like it carries the wind itself under its hooves.
Arthur, heart racing in a way that's starting to feel honestly unhealthy, barely manages to keep Jamie from killing himself and just, Jesus. That poor kid. He holds him in a tight grip when Jamie hugs him, patting his back, his racing heart slowly calming back down.
"It's going to be fine." Arthur murmurs as Jamie pulls back, wiping a hand over his eyes. He looks so young. And really, Arthur knows their father is a real piece of work, but pushing his kid to this? It makes him want to punch the man in the face. "Let's get you back to your sister."
Jamie is just as lost as before, but this time, Arthur focuses more on wheedling out a bit more information about their situation instead of getting questioned by him about getting back together with Mary. He tries to help and give Jamie a few pointers too, on what he might want to do with his life.
"Father is...I don't know what's happening." Jamie admits just as Valentine comes into view. "It just gets worse and worse." His voice drops to something quiet. "He's horribly mean, even more than before and I know Mary is worried a lot. She tries to hide it from me, but I've seen some of the letters father gets and I overheard some of their arguments. It's nothing good."
Arthur stews in this for a moment, in his memories and remains quiet. Jamie falls silent as well, his grip on Arthur's sides tightening. They reach the station shortly afterwards and Arthur tries his hardest to ignore the way his chest goes tight all over again and he's near reluctant to get off his horse. Still, he has to do this.
Mary is overjoyed to see Jamie again, hugging him and then urging Jamie to get on the train. She turns to thank Arthur as he takes her out to the train, so relieved it eases his troubled heart a bit.
"Mary." Arthur holds her back just before she can say anything else, her feet already on the steps of the train. His tongue feels stuck to the roof of his mouth and he has to close his eyes for a brief second before looking at her. "Can I get the ring back?"
The look on her face makes him feel a dozen times worse than he already does. He can see the way she flinches back just a bit, the hurt and heartbreak in her gaze.
"I, why, I mean." She fumbles with her hands for a moment, smoothing them over her skirts and Arthur resists the urge to try and soothe her. "O-Of course. I...Arthur..."
"It's for the best." He tells her, as quietly and gently as he can and forces himself to hold her gaze. He's serious about this, though he's certain he looks just as sad and pained as she does. "We both know I ain't going to change. You deserve better than that. Forget about me, become happy with someone right. Love again Mary, really love."
He grips her hand when she reaches out to him. "Only search me out again if you really are in trouble, in serious trouble. My life is bad Mary, and it ain't going to get better for a while. And even then, I'll stay out here, in the country." He gives her hand a gentle squeeze, feeling her fingers shake and his heart aches. "Please, Mary. We have to let each other go."
Her eyes are wet and she blinks, pulling her hand back to carefully dab the tears away. With a jerky nod, she pulls out the engagement ring he had given her so long ago. She had kept it, during all those years and even while being married to someone else. Has it with her now too and the realization chokes him up just a bit. A part of Arthur feels like a horrible person for doing this, as he takes the ring from her. It feels like he's taking a chance too, an impossible chance, but a chance nonetheless.
"Mary, just, promise me one thing?" He asks though he knows he has no right to. She gives him a tentative nod, one hand pressed against her chest.
"Don't let your father push you around. You're far stronger than him and what he tells you. Protect yourself and the kid, take what you can and get going. Build your own life." He tries to ensure she knows how serious he is and from the way she looks at him, she can see it. After a second, she gives him a near jerky nod and Arthur believes her. She's strong, she'll be alright. And Jamie now too.
"Move on, Mary." He tells her, stepping back as the train whistles and starts to pull out of the station. Mary stands frozen in place as she gets carried away and then he can see her duck her head and turn around. He remains where he is, ring clutched in his fist, staring after the train until it's entirely gone. His throat feels tight and his chest aches. It's the right decision, he knows it. That doesn't make it any easier, though.
"It will heal, Mister." Someone says behind him and he startles, looking back in surprise to see Mickey leaning against the railing. The man, not quite right in the head but certainly someone who had always been nice to him, smiles like he might understand. "You both will heal, Mister."
"Yeah." Arthur's voice sounds croaked and he clears his throat, taking a deep, slightly hitching breath. Slipping the ring carefully in his bag, he hesitates before turning to Mickey. "I'm Arthur Morgan."
The man's face lights up and he looks all too happy to talk a bit with him, gesturing with his one arm. Arthur listens halfheartedly, his thoughts straying back to what he did time and again. In the end, he leaves with some money pressed into Mickey's hand. His ride back home is quiet.
"Is everything alright?" Charles asks him, when he finds Arthur sitting at the side of camp, legs thrown over the edge of the cliffs, dangling down. For a moment, Arthur is about to wave him off, before he gestures for him to take a seat.
"I broke things off with Mary. For good." Arthur says quietly as soon as Charles settles down beside him, managing to make him feel a bit better with his presence, as if Arthur could lean on him for a bit and not be called weak for it.
"The lady you were sweet on?" Charles asks, voice gentling and Arthur feels himself quirk a humorless smile.
"Should have done it a long time ago." He murmurs. "We weren't going to be right for each other."
"But you loved her." Charles says, studying his face and keeping his voice quiet as well.
"That I did." Arthur thinks about the ring in his bag and tilts his head back to stare up at the darkening sky and slowly appearing stars. "I always hoped we would still have a chance, you know. Wanted to run away with her too, once upon a time."
He remembers being in Saint Denis with her, remembers the hope of running off with her after saving everyone. Remembers thinking that maybe, this time around, they could make it work. Remembers her final letter and his illness and the strange clarity it brought for so many things. The strange way it seemed to kill him and at the same time, unearth parts of his heart he thought long lost. Long buried and gone.
Charles doesn't say anything, but his face shifts to something understanding. He grips Arthur's shoulder with a steadying hand and has the kindness not to say anything when Arthur feels his shoulders ease under the touch. Even after Charles lets his hand fall away, he remains where he is.
Arthur is grateful for it, more than he can put into words and bit by bit, he can feel the vice around his heart easing a little. It hurts and feeling a sense of beginning freedom of their doomed love hurts as well. But...Arthur can start to see what Mickey meant. He will heal. Mary will heal. They'll move on and maybe, one day they can look back on each other fondly. He wishes her the best, he truly does. Wishes her to be happy more than anything else.
"You'll be okay." Charles murmurs, warm and near gentle. His voice is certain too, like he knows it will be so and Arthur takes a deep breath, feels it shudder in his chest for a moment and it leaves him feeling better, freer.
"Yeah." This time, his voice doesn't croak and he looks up at the stars. "Thank you."
~*~
"Arthur, can I have a moment?"
Arthur startles slightly at Javier appearing behind him, narrowly avoiding to slosh coffee over his fingers. Turning around, he sees the man standing here, looking a bit tense, brows furrowed. With a blink, Arthur realizes that Javier even looks a bit worried.
"Uh, sure." Arthur says, his gaze sliding away from the man again and he takes a sip of coffee, letting it scald his tongue to chase memories away, to cover that strange mix of bitter, pained betrayal and uncertainty he feels towards the man now. He waves Javier with him as they take a step to the side and get some relative privacy. "What can I help you with?"
Javier shifts in place for a moment and then looks directly at him. "Is everything alright? With us, I mean?"
Arthur pauses from where he's about to take another sip of coffee and lowers his mug. Javier holds his gaze, eyes searching just a bit and brows slightly furrowed, like he doesn't understand Arthur's behavior since they returned from saving Sean. Arthur thinks he should have known that Javier would pick up on it. The guy is far from stupid after all and far more sensible to moods than a lot of other folks.
"Yeah, we are." His voice sounds just a bit strange to his ears, but maybe that is because Arthur tries really hard not to think about those last weeks up in Beaver Hollow. When Javier turned curt with him and started mistrusting him, turning his back on him more and more with every day, with every doubt that Arthur began to develop towards Dutch. It makes Arthur wonder if there really ever was any true trust between them. And that thought hurts, because he liked, still likes, Javier and he thought they understood each other pretty well. He isn't so sure now and that thought itches painfully in the back of his head. He isn't sure about a lot of things now.
Arthur slightly shakes his head. "Sorry, I'm just thinking a lot. Blackwater, the mountains, everything else, it's a damn mess."
Javier relaxes a bit and nods, chin lifted a bit higher than before. "I understand. Let me know if I can help with anything."
The offer sounds so damn earnest, so sincere. Like Javier truly means it, as though he's willing to roll up his sleeves and get to work on anything as long as it means things go easier for them. Maybe are a bit easier on Arthur. Arthur believes him too, even if he doesn't know if Javier would still be willing to help should Arthur work on getting the gang away from Dutch. In all honesty, with his memories, he thinks Javier would rather try to convince him to stay than try to help.
"I will, thanks." Arthur murmurs and lifts his coffee, trying to wrangle his thoughts back into something useful, confusion and unease and something else crawling through his lungs. Can he salvage things with Javier this time around? He has no hell of a damn clue, he really doesn't. He wants to try though, even if he doesn't know how in the slightest.
Javier nods, looking calmer than before and leaves after a moment of hesitation, like he's making sure Arthur really has nothing else to say. Arthur reminds himself to stop avoiding his gaze if he doesn't want to worry Javier again. With a sigh, he rubs a hand over his face and realizes that he's doing that a lot recently. At this rate, he's going to draw a lot of mocking comments sooner or later. Sean is already teasing him enough, calling him a sour brooder.
"Arthur?" Charles's voice makes him look up and over to the man. Charles seems to notice that something is up, but he doesn't comment on it and instead nods to the horses. "Would you like to go on a hunt?"
"Yes." He doesn't even have to think about it. Knocking back the rest of his coffee, the drink cooled enough that it doesn't hurt his tongue, Arthur sees a pleasantly surprised and slightly amused, brief smile on Charles's face.
They head out a few minutes later and it's only after finding the first couple of dead bison, that Arthur realizes what's going on. Charles is angry, angry in a way he so rarely gets and Arthur doesn't try to hold him back. It's still a little startling, seeing Charles kill one of the poachers without hesitation. Arthur decides to let the other man go, just alone on the account that he might not lie about having a family.
"Why didn't you kill him?" Charles ask as they head for the horses and he still sounds angry, maybe even hurt, like he can't understand that absolutely needless cruelty towards the animals. Honestly, Arthur can't either.
"He might have family." Arthur keeps his voice steady and hopefully calming. "And maybe, he's going to return home and rethink his ways. Maybe he'll raise his kids to be better."
Charles falls silent for a moment and Arthur can sense his fury gentling. Glancing over, he sees a heavy frown on Charles's face.
"That's a lot of maybes." The man murmurs and Arthur can't help but sigh softly.
"Yeah." He agrees and after a second of hesitation, reaches over and gives his shoulder a squeeze. Their eyes meet. "But a maybe worth taking, don't you think?"
Charles doesn't answer, but Arthur can see the last of the fury leaving his gaze. The sadness remains though, the bitterness for all those killed animals. That, Arthur understands and he lightly pats his back.
They ride on in silence and by the time the camp comes back into view, Charles tense shoulders have eased back up and he looks more under control. Not really over it, but calmer. Taima seems to sense his mood too, since Arthur catches the way she touches her nose to his arm after they dismount and Charles slightly turns until his mare's nose is brushing against his chest, her eyes half closing.
Storm noses at his own shoulder, a bit impatient though, since she's most likely hungry. Arthur pets her and digs out some treats and leaves to fetch hay for both mares.
"Thanks." Charles says softly and helps him spread it between both of their horses.
Arthur doesn't say anything else and after a brief second of hesitation, claps him on the shoulder, adding a small squeeze. With a near silent exhale, he can feel Charles relax a bit under his touch and something about it makes Arthur feel better as well. Glad that he can give a bit back to Charles, even if it's something as simple as a reassuring, understanding pat.
"Let's go get dinner." Arthur says and Charles follows him back towards Person's wagon. On the way, Jack springs up and calls for them. Arthur stops and is surprised when the boy presses a small bundle of what looks like herbs in his hands. His mother most likely helped him pick it, or someone else in camp.
"As thanks, uncle Arthur." Jack says earnestly, smiling brightly. "For the candy."
Arthur carefully accepts the herbs and finds himself smiling at the kid, reaching out to ruffle his hair. Seriously, Marston is so damn lucky. For a brief moment, Arthur thinks about Isaac, but the bubbling up pain is strong enough that he quickly shies away again from the memory.
"Thank you, Jack."
The boy seems happy with that and quickly shuffles off again, most likely looking for his mother. Arthur catches John staring over, brows slightly furrowed and Arthur kind-of wants to walk over and shake him a bit. To make John see what a damn gift he has in that kind, sweet boy, how damn lucky he is that Abigail is still willing to give him a chance and a spot in her life, that she's still willing to extend her love and heart to him. Arthur knows of enough women who would rather boot John a mile away from them after everything than allow him to ever come back.
Tucking the herbs away, he heads towards the pot, Charles still at his side. John needs to come to the realization on his own, even if Arthur feels tempted to tell him about Isaac and not to miss out a day of Jack's life if he can help it. But even thinking about his own son is painful enough and Arthur feels his throat clog up just alone at the idea of talking about him.
"You alright?" Charles asks softly as they get their food, attentive as he is, once again steady and kind eyes on him. Arthur tries to quirk a bit of a smile, but knows he falls short.
"Just remembering things." He murmurs and is thankful when Charles doesn't pry. They all know about pain that should be left alone and Charles knows him better by now too, to realize that this is something Arthur doesn't want to talk about.
They eat together at the table, Uncle briefly stopping by to regard them with something or another, but he walks off again with some comment about them both being too damn sour. Charles and Arthur share a short smile, a spark of humor between them at having ushered off Uncle.
"I'll head off now, I have guard duty." Charles says, once his spoon scrapes across the plate.
"I'll take that back." Arthur offers, seeing the brief surprise appearing on Charles's face before the man hands him his empty plate. Arthur takes the plates back to Pearson's wagon, giving the man a brief nod in passing.
His gaze then falls to Dutch's tent, seeing him close the flaps and Molly carefully arranging her hair and skirts. Arthur catches a last glimpse of her happy smile, then the flaps have closed completely. He fails to hold back a sigh. Right, there is too much to worry about. Pulling out a cigarette, Arthur can't help but feel just a bit glad and a tad relieved that he can smoke again. After that whole illness really started out, just smelling smoke had made his lungs squeeze and a sharp cough crawl up his throat.
He smokes, staring around the camp with a thoughtful frown. Things are peaceful, well aside from Sean apparently pissing off Karen over there, considering he's quickly stepping back, lifting both hands to avoid angering her to the point where she ends up slapping him. Those kids, really.
~*~
"John." Arthur bites back a small grin - and doesn't entirely succeed - at watching the man jump a bit and turn around in surprise. The surprise mounts further and even dips towards slight suspicion when he sees the coffee Arthur holds out to him.
And honestly, Arthur knows that at this point in time, he was still not okay with John, was still angry, still didn't really trust him all that much. But he remembers everything that took place until the end. Remembers John manning up in regards to his family, remembers John growing to become one of the people he could trust so fully and entirely. Remembers that last night, John's desperation and the pain at realizing he'll leave Arthur behind for good.
"Thanks." John rasps softly as he accepts the mug and gives it a careful, experimental sip. Arthur only hums and settles to stand beside him with his own mug.
"I have a job, I think." John starts out and Arthur feels himself freeze for a moment. Right. That damned train. Shit. He catches the near careful side-eye John gives him, like he's already waiting for a rebuke. All Arthur can focus on though, in that moment, are the still healing scars, angry and red and he thinks how lucky John is to be alive.
Arthur realizes John started talking again, about needing that oil wagon, about a plan that's honestly really, very smart. If only the law wouldn't catch them, robbing that train would be helpful. Arthur rubs a hand over his chin and distantly becomes aware of the fact that he should shave soon or go to a barber and get his beard trimmed properly.
"That's a good plan." He says and decides not to pick up the mockery he knows John expects. Now he looks that mix of surprised and suspicious again. A small frown appears on John's face, like he tries to figure him out and Arthur resists the urge to reach out and pat his shoulder. Or do something as childish as grab the brim of the hat he wears today and pull it down over his eyes. Something lighthearted and dumb, something fun that he hasn't done in...hell who knows who long.
"Okay. Good." John says a moment later and slightly clears his throat. "So, you're in?"
"Sure." As if he's going to let them do that alone. Arthur honestly fears that if he's not present, one of them gets carried back dead to him or gets captured by the law. Damn, he has to think about a solution to them getting found by the train, though. "I'll let you know when I have the wagon."
"Good, great." Now John even sounds hopeful, cautiously so, but hopeful nonetheless, like he tentatively wants to be a bit optimistic that things are going to be okay between them again. That they can be brothers once more.
Arthur gives him a nod, mind once again swirling with memories and thoughts and he steps back, draining the last of his coffee. Brothers, of course they will be. If anything, Arthur is going to make damn sure John and his family make it out of this mess alive again. Even if he ends up failing at everything else, this, this he'll do or die trying.
Speaking of people he sees as brothers, even if he doesn't ever say so. His eyes find Sean, who stands beside Karen, looking far too awake for someone who tends to go to sleep far too late most nights. Arthur decides not to disturb them. Sean is one of the few people Karen really tolerates around herself in the morning and they look too comfortable and at ease with each other. Arthur doesn't want to intrude.
At this though, his thoughts slip towards Micah, who waits somewhere out there to rob that damn coach. Arthur resists the urge to pull a face like he bit down on something rotten and instead glances over at Dutch. Right, he should talk to him.
His feet feel strangely heavy and his shoulders tense despite him trying to stay relaxed, as he walks towards the man.
"Dutch." The name makes his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth and Arthur can't help the way he slightly holds his breath as Dutch turns around, an easy smile on his face.
He does look merrier than before, gaze brighter and yet...Arthur tries to find something in those eyes, tries to find the warmth that once had been directed his way. The pride and fondness. The genuine care and happiness at seeing him around. He doesn't find it. When had that stopped? How had Arthur missed Dutch growing disregarding towards him? Not callus, not yet, Dutch still cares, Arthur knows that, but he's no fool. He now sees what has changed. Sees what ended with Dutch leaving him in that factory, to be killed if it hadn't been for Eagle Flies.
"Arthur?" Dutch asks and now there is some real concern in his expression as he lowers his cigar and voice a bit, taking a tiny step closer and Arthur suddenly has to wrangle down the urge to take a step back.
Words rise and wither in his throat as he looks at Dutch and realizes that he has no idea, not one bit of a clue, how to reach the man. How to talk to him, what to say, what to attempt. There is bitter helplessness mingling into the churning of emotions in his chest and Arthur hates it, has always hated being unable to do something.
"Just, uh, John has a plan." Is what he ends up saying before Dutch thinks that something bad happened or anything of the sort. "Thought you might want to know we're going to work on that."
"Oh, sure, he mentioned something like it." Dutch says, still eyeing Arthur but easing up a moment later, the concern slowly smoothing from his face as he reaches out to pat his shoulder. Arthur holds carefully still, trying to breathe. He realizes he doesn't want Dutch touching him no more and something about that lurches nauseatingly in him.
Arthur excuses himself, mind dizzy with his thoughts and heart tight and heavy. Is this how things are now? He can't forget. He simply can't. Arthur remembers John telling him that Dutch abandoned him as well, back in the bank and he rubs a hand over his mouth, trying to force his emotions back under control. Hosea, he needs Hosea, if he wants to try and save Dutch. Because if there is one thing Arthur avoids trying to be, it's an fatuous fool. And Dutch...Dutch wouldn't listen to him.
Something about that thought is both surprising and not. Arthur thinks that a part of him, deep down, had hoped to still matter enough to have enough sway that he could steer Dutch away from the road he's on.
"Arthur?" He snaps out of his hazy thoughts and looks at Mary-Beth, who gives him a carefully concerned look. She looks a bit happier these days, eyes and steps lighter. "Are you quite alright?"
"I will be." He says after a heavy pause and swallows, hoping that it's true. "Don't worry yourself about me. How are you doing?"
She seems a bit surprised and then smiles. "I'm good, thank you. It's great to have Sean back and everyone is in better spirits."
Arthur can't help but feel lighter at talking to her. At seeing her eyes brighten and her smile widen. This is what he came back for, he reminds himself. To save her and the others from the chaos and destruction headed their way. Arthur remembers, vaguely, that he found a pen for her somewhere and he mentally marks it down as something he will bring her again, even if she doesn't ask him to.
"That's good to hear." Arthur answers, voice going a bit softer for her, a bit kinder. She's always been kind to him. Always been a soft brightness in their camp. Mary-Beth's smile seems to gentle to something fond.
"Well, don't let me disturb you." She says, just the tinniest bit cheeky as she throws his line back at him and Arthur can't help the huff of amusement that escapes him. Her smile widens to a grin, showing her teeth for a moment, before she returns to her chores.
Arthur takes a deep breath and notices that he feels calmer again. More centered, Dutch once again shoved to the back of his mind. So, it looks like he has to steal a damn oil wagon. And later on try to keep them from being found by the law when they rob the train.
"At least it doesn't get boring." Arthur mumbles to himself with a small shake and a deep breath. "Alright then, let's get this done."
~*~
Getting the wagon is easy enough, considering Arthur merely has to wait until it reaches a town and is left unattended for a moment. It's rather simple, clambering up and driving away with the wagon, even nodding at some passing riders. Storm follows him and she doesn't seem to mind that Arthur isn't in too much of a hurry.
Delivering the wagon to the agreed place goes without a hitch and after setting the horses free, Arthur finds himself standing there and watching the beautiful sunset. After everything he went through, after thinking he'd never see another one, Arthur can't help but savor it. He pushes his hat back a bit and when Storm nudges his arm, he curves it so she can rest her chin in the crook of his elbow, gently letting her head sink a bit into his hold.
"Look at that." Arthur murmurs and she snorts softly, letting him stare at the beautiful view like he's never seen something like it. In a way, it really does feel like he never has. It's such a new appreciation, even all the other close-call scrapes never quite made him stop this way, made him realize just what a miracle, what a gift it is that he of all people stands there. Because now Arthur knows the breath of death, knows it's pull, knows what it means to know, without a doubt, that his life is over.
And yet, here he is, with another chance.
They stand there together like this, Storm even dozing off and Arthur holding her head, even as it grows quite heavy, until the sun has slipped away and the coolness of the night breathes down their necks.
"Alright girl." Arthur says softly and Storm lifts her head again. He can't help but snort at seeing her yawn in the next moment. She always makes the most ridiculous of faces. Then he remembers that he still has to go get Micah and the most suffering of sighs escapes him before he can stop himself.
"I'd rather just shoot him." He tells his horse, who gives him a look that seems to agree. Or maybe she just wants some food. Arthur digs out an apple for her and as soon as she's done with eating, swings up into the saddle. "Let's go and get this bastard."
Well, maybe, if Arthur is very, incredibly, amazingly lucky, someone gets a shot in at Micah and the problem is taken from his hands without him having to figure out how to maneuver this whole mess.
Storm carries him off as he turns away from the oil wagon and soon enough, she gallops down the road and Arthur allows his thoughts to grow quieter and calmer. He needs to keep as cool a head as possible if they all want to stand a chance at surviving those shitshows coming their way.
~*~
Robbing the coach goes as well as the last time, which is to say, it's a damn disaster. It honestly feels like everything Micah is involved with is bound to end in bloodshed and madness. Arthur's ears ring slightly even after it is finally over and he goes for the money. Micah, to his disappointment, is still alive and even unhurt. There is a proud, cocksure grin on his face as he accepts the money Arthur hands him - and yeah, alright, this time, he gives Micah a bit less, just enough to get away with it.
"You might not be so bad after all." Micah tells him and Arthur, for a brief, cruel second, thinks about drowning him in the river. Micah points at him, money flapping slightly in his grip. "If you work on that scowl, you might even be decent company."
Then he chuckles lowly, like he's made a great joke. "Just kidding. Well then, I better head on back home. I bet Dutch already misses me."
"You don't know the half of it." Arthur mumbles under his breath, quiet enough that Micah doesn't catch it, hat tipped in a way that the brim hides his face. He waves impatiently at Micah, unable to look at the man a second longer without rousing the same dark, hot and cold fury in his chest. Damn rat.
Arthur doesn't linger either. Instead, he gets on Storm and makes sure he's getting the hell out of dodge before someone sees him around all those bodies and the coach. Damn Micah. The man is definitely entirely too fond of shooting folks.
By the time Arthur is back in camp as well, he feels exhausted and has a headache pounding behind his temples. He ignores the way Micah struts around camp, though his head snaps up briefly when the man meanders too close to where Kieran is picking up a few sacks of food and Mary-Beth is fixing up some ripped clothes. But Micah only spares them a look, steps slowing, before he walks past.
Arthur settles back down a bit again and tries his hardest not to glower or look like the grumpiest bastard this side of the mountains.
"I take it didn't go so well?" Hosea speaks up beside him and Arthur glances up long enough to meet his gaze. There is something very understanding in the elderly man's eyes and Arthur remembers that Hosea once admitted to not liking Micah, to his face even.
"I don't trust him." Arthur says quietly, ensuring that no one can overhear him. Hosea shifts closer with a hum, face growing more serious as he looks over to where Dutch and Micah talk.
"In all honesty, I don't either." Hosea looks back at Arthur, something incredibly old in his eyes in this moment, the kind of gaze that speaks of someone having seen more than his fair share of bloodshed. A certain, bone deep exhaustion for that kind of senseless violence. "We might be smart for it, to not be drawn in by him."
"What's there to be drawn to." Arthur scoffs and Hosea cracks a smile again, the somber seriousness leaving his gaze. Still, it's a reminder to Arthur that he will do what he can to see Hosea alive at the end of this. Alive and happy somewhere, so he can kick up his feet and rest easy, knowing they'll all be okay, no matter for how long fate grants to keep him on this earth.
Arthur shies from the thought of him dying, the memories of the last time too fresh. He might not ever be ready for it either way, he thinks. Even if Hosea lives for twenty more years, hell for forty, Arthur wouldn't be ready for it. Would always end up missing him with that aching, lingering pain. Hosea is family.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Hosea asks quietly in the next moment, back to watching Arthur with slightly worry and the gentle, warm fondness Arthur has tried so hard to find in Dutch before. He swallows.
"There is a lot to think about." He says softly and Hosea tilts his head in a silent invitation to talk. Always offering without pushing or pressuring. What a rare gift. "Hosea..."
Arthur finds the words sticking strangely to his throat and he realizes that, oddly enough, somehow he feels afraid to ask. Afraid to ask if Hosea would come with him should Arthur ever decide to leave with as many other people as he can. Partly he knows it's not yet the time to ask, the question would appear out of nowhere, but mostly, Arthur is honestly scared. Scared that Hosea, too, will not choose him.
"Nevermind." He says and doesn't have to look at Hosea to know that the man is well aware that something is up. A gentle hand rests on his shoulder, grounding and reassuring.
"Of course. Well, if anything comes up, you know where to find me." There is something achingly understanding in Hosea's voice and Arthur exhales softly at the small squeeze to his shoulder, before Hosea steps back.
He looks back up to see Dutch laughing at something Micah said, before Micah gets waved off and the man saunters up to the table, sitting down opposite of Bill.
Arthur rubs a hand over his face, his quiet words muffled further by his palm. "What a goddamn mess everything is."