Time jumps forward oddly in this one, just letting you know. It might be a little confusing, but I didn't know how else to do it! So here we are.

Chapter 13: Recovery

He felt like he was deep underwater. Just floating, steady. No way of knowing how far under he was, but it was too dark to see the surface. It was unsettling, and encouraged him to move towards awareness.

But he regretted it immediately. Deep in the ocean he could drift on a calm current, but at the surface waves crashed and tumbled and rolled. He was dizzy and nauseous and in pain, probably threw up more than once, and quickly retreated to the calm depths again.

Eventually, he found a constant in his confusing reality, a ship anchored near him. Albert Mason was always sitting beside him when he woke up, comforting him, reassuring him that he would be fine, everything would be fine. But it wasn't enough, not yet. He couldn't shake the fear that his family was in danger.

He wanted Hosea. Might have asked for him too, he wasn't certain. God, he just wanted Hosea. He remembered how Hosea used to sit with him when he was hurt or sick, reading to him or playing poker, doing anything he could to distract him and make him feel better. Susan too, who would yell at him to get back to bed if he even did so much as fill a water cup. Even Dutch, he wanted Dutch. Not the person Dutch had become, plagued with fear of failure and doubters, who hoarded every penny because they never could have enough. No, he remembered a softer Dutch, the one who taught him to read, to shoot, to ride a horse. Who would spend evenings sitting around the fire listening to stories and telling his own, smiling and laughing while arguing the finer details of each tale with Annabelle, while Bessie and Hosea shared a private joke in whispers and John got himself into trouble. When they were truly a family.

How he wished that he could go back and stop it from all going wrong. That beautiful moment when they all seemed immortal, when the worst moments of his life couldn't even be imagined in his nightmares. Keep Annabelle from going to the market by herself that horrible spring day. Be more present and understanding as Hosea lost Bessie to illness. Keep Eliza and Isaac close, or perhaps never meet Eliza at all.

Slowly, the rough waves on the surface began to calm, the storm passing. He still hurt, was still exhausted. But Albert was still there, and then Hosea visited, and finally he felt like he was recovering.

"Arthur? Doctor Murphy is here to check your bandages," Albert said one morning with a knock on his door. The photographer had finally stopped hovering over Arthur constantly. Not that he had minded that first week, especially since he spent most of it asleep, but as boredom and frustration with his situation set in, the pair were prone to butting heads. It didn't help that they were both deprived of sleep. Arthur began having nightmares, remembering Ross's torture and Milton's questions. Half the time Albert was also awake, too. They quickly realized that they needed some time apart. So Albert, needing to make some money to sustain himself, set himself up as an outdoor photographer, catering to individuals and couples wanting something different from the usual studio photographs. Albert's experience photographing animals in their natural habitats came in handy, and he had a good knowledge on how to adjust his cameras for various lighting.

"Come on in," Arthur said, sliding away his journal. Doctor Murphy entered and began unwrapping his shoulder. Arthur had been working on a drawing of the building just outside his window, spending more time on the detail than he normally would. It was that, or read one of Albert's books or write another letter to Hosea. They had exchanged several already. "Where are you going today?" Arthur asked Albert.

"Just up the street actually. A couple wants a photograph on the patio garden outside the hotel. One of the trees is in full bloom, with gorgeous pink blossoms. It makes me wish some of my colleagues could discover the secret of colored photographs."

"You think they can do that?"

"Oh, there are ways, but it is not easy! And I do not have the money to buy all the equipment to take or develop prints. But I hope one day! Human progress can be quite incredible sometimes."

"Ain't human progress the reason why all your predators are disappearing?"

"We don't always know the consequences of our actions. Most people go out, thinking they are hunting one bear or wolf. Shouldn't be a problem, in the grand scheme of things. But one hundred men, all with the same idea? That's the reason for my project. Education, so that people will understand the need to preserve these creatures and their habitats."

"But you are taking pictures of rich folks in gardens today?"

"Well," Albert said, glancing down at the floor. "If my experience on this project has taught me anything, I seem to take better wildlife photographs with you around."

"One of these days I'll be able to go along and stop you from getting eaten, if this fool ever lets me up."

Doctor Murphy looked up from his inspection of Arthur's bullet wound and said in his dry tone, "That's Doctor Fool to you, and you should be thankful you still have a leg to walk on."

"That I am, Doc. You do good work. I'm just itching to get out of this bed."

"Well, if it has healed enough, you can do a bit of walking around the apartment. With a cane. You can't rush this, or you could do serious, permanent damage," Doctor Murphy said, moving on from his shoulder to his leg.

"I know," Arthur said.

Albert seemed excited by the prospect. "If you can make it down the stairs, I could rent a carriage and we can explore the city!"

"We should. I want to visit my horses, too."

It was one of the first things Arthur asked about when he woke up. That, and how they escaped in the first place. Albert's story both made sense, no matter how unbelievable it was that the entire plan worked, except for one key detail.

"Tommy?" he had asked. "Why would Tommy help?"

"Well, why wouldn't he?" Albert replied.

"I kind of got into a pretty bad fight with him, beat him bloody."

"Oh, so that's what the Sheriff meant when he asked Tommy if he would look past your differences. Tommy said you had made amends. Do you know what he was talking about?"

Arthur wracked his brain for any clue. Vaguely, he recalled talking with Tommy that night in the saloon with Lenny. "Maybe, but I think I was pretty drunk when it happened."

"Either way, it worked!" Albert had laughed.

There was still one conversation that Arthur and Albert needed to have, and one that couldn't occur when the doctor was still in the room. Albert knew the truth about Arthur. He was an outlaw, had robbed folk, killed folk. Albert helped him anyway, kept taking care of him, and somehow avoided the topic. Not that Arthur wasn't avoiding it either, but they inevitably would have to talk about it.

Maybe he would wait until he could escape the room by himself if the conversation went badly.

He looked to the doctor, who was still examining his leg. "Well?" he asked.

"It is healing nicely. You can try walking with the cane to build the muscle back up. Short walks only! I mean the length of the apartment at first."

Arthur sighed in relief. He needed out of that bed. "Thank you," he said.

"I'll make sure he doesn't push it," Albert said.

Doctor Murphy stayed as Arthur took his first tentative steps around the room, a cane in one hand and Albert supporting him on the other side. "Any pain?" the doctor asked.

"A little. Mostly I'm just stiff." Arthur hobbled only to the door and back to the bed, but Doctor Murphy seemed satisfied.

"Try doing that a few times a day, then see if you can walk for longer. If you are feeling pain that isn't just from stiffness or soreness, stop, rest, and if it continues let me know."

"We will. Thank you!" Albert said as he showed him to the door. Arthur waited for him at the edge of the bed, flexing his legs a little to get used to moving again. He heard the door close and Albert come back into the room. "Now, how are you feeling, really?"

"Alright. It's good to be up, finally."

"We'll be out chasing wild animals soon! I was thinking about alligators!"

"Alligators? Really?"

"Or a grizzly bear!"

"No. No way. If you knew the first thing about grizzlies you wouldn't even think of it."

"It will be fine!" Albert said. "And besides, I may be a hopeless fool, but you will be there to guide me!"

But instead of meeting Albert's enthusiasm, the statement made him disheartened. They needed to have the conversation about his past, even though he still didn't want to do it. "You still want me to help you?" he asked with apprehensive.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" Albert replied in a rush. Arthur opened his mouth to clarify, but Albert glanced at his watch and said, "Oh, look at the time! I must be going." And was out of the room in a flash.

It was normal behavior for Albert, forgetting the time. But the ducked head, the way he avoided Arthur's eye on the way out, let Arthur know that there was more that Albert wanted to say.

There was a lot he wanted to say, too.

Arthur liked Albert, more than he expected, more than he was ready for. It felt too fast, and in a way it was. Before Arthur was taken by the Pinkertons, he and Albert had only met a few times. Sure, he enjoyed the man's company, and despite the photographer's insistence that he was a bumbling buffoon, truly expected Albert to do great things. He liked having a friend to keep an eye out for while he rode along the trails, a friend outside the gang life.

Then Dutch pushed him off the ledge, both metaphorically and literally. Suddenly, he wasn't simply Dutch's loyal enforcer. Maybe there was a chance to get to know Albert Mason better. But too soon after, he believed his chance would be cut short by the Pinkertons.

He never counted on being saved.

Albert Mason had surprised him, going above and beyond what he ever imagined. And they spent all their time after pretending that a fundamental part of their friendship, the knowledge of Arthur's past, had changed forever. It couldn't last much longer, but even Arthur was hesitant to rush it along.

So, they kept up the pretense and avoided the conversation for a little longer. Arthur graduated from stumbling between his bed and the kitchen to down the stairs. He got himself to the barber shop to cut his hair, which had grown way longer than he liked. Albert did get him to the stable, and Arthur spent a good afternoon with his three horses. Dakota tossed her head happily upon seeing him. Merlin seemed rather annoyed at being shoved into a stable for a long time and demanded many peppermints as payment. Arthur obliged, laughing the whole time. Even Zenobia raised her head a little, though Arthur never got the opportunity to bond with her like he wanted. He hadn't even ridden her yet! He hoped he would get the chance soon, though Doctor Murphy shook his head when he asked, because falling could be severely damaging at that point. But a few days later, he decided to ride anyway, getting Merlin and Dakota some much needed exercise.

In the end, however, he decided to sell Zenobia. The push towards the final decision was how much Zenobia seemed to love the stable owner, Jacob, and likewise Jacob loved Zen. Arthur watched the two work together and how comfortable she seemed when Jacob rode her. Jacob already owned an Arabian stallion, knew the breed well, and wanted to transition to an Arabian breeding stable once he was able to afford to buy more. He offered a good price, even with Arthur's lack of papers, and he knew that Zenobia would be given good care.

When Hosea visited again, he asked if Arthur regretted selling one of his horses, knowing how much Arthur loved them.

"Naw, she wasn't made for the outlaw life. She'll be happy here," he said. And he meant it.

"And what about you?" Hosea asked. "Weren't you leaving the outlaw life, too?"

"I meant she does better at a stable, not out in the wild," Arthur quickly corrected. "Don't get me wrong. I miss all of you. But I can't go back right now. Besides, I would be useless anyway right now." He gestured to his shoulder and leg.

"Arthur… that's not what I mean and you know it," Hosea said. "I want you to be safe and happy. A few years ago, what I thought you needed to be happy would have been life in the gang. But things change. Hell, this whole country is changing. It's okay if what you want changes, too."

"I just don't want anyone else to get hurt… or killed." He remembered Milton's uncaring glance as he walked away, promising more of hurt and torment if he didn't talk. His chest tightened. Breathing was suddenly an arduous task. Thankfully, Hosea recognized what was happened, and he wrapped an arm around Arthur to pull him close. "God, Hosea, they wouldn't stop. They didn't believe me, they wouldn't stop!"

"You're alright, you're okay," Hosea repeated again and again, rubbing slow circles on Arthur's back, until Arthur began to believe it. Still, he leaned into Hosea, relishing in the comforting hold. "I'm not letting anything happen to you ever again. Or any of them."

Arthur buried his head into the crook of Hosea's neck, focusing on steady breathing. "Tell me a good story from camp," he said.

"I took your cot and tent," said Hosea. "I could tell Micah was trying to convince Dutch to give it to him, and I wouldn't stand for that! So I just moved in real quick. Made Micah so mad!"

Arthur laughed a little. For a few more minutes, Arthur stayed as he was, then felt ready to sit up again. "I still don't know what Dutch sees in him."

"Neither do I." They spent the rest of that afternoon talking about the Grays and Braithwaites, and Hosea's plan to trick them out of their money. Somehow Bill and Micah had become deputies to the law, which was controlled by the Gray family. And Hosea had forced John to serve stolen Lemoyne Raider moonshine in the Gray-owned saloon on behalf of the Braithwaites, with John playing the part of a mute idiot. Eventually, Hosea said goodbye and promised to visit again.

Arthur reached the point of recovery where he was confident in being able to walk far enough that, if his talk with Albert went wrong, he could at least escape to the train station. It was time. They needed to do this, and had put it off long enough.

That night, when Albert returned to his apartment for lunch, Arthur sat waiting at the kitchen table. "Hey. We should probably have a chat," he said.

Albert sighed. "Yes. Yes we should." He handed Arthur some food he picked up from a small restaurant just up the street and sat down. One part of the city that Arthur truly enjoyed was the food. Never in his life did he have access to such a variety of flavors and spices, especially after years of Pearson's cooking. Albert knew many local restaurants and cuisine, and tended to pick what they ate. But that night Arthur picked at the food, wondering how to begin, before deciding to just talk about the gigantic elephant in the room.

"Look, I know we've been avoiding discussing the fact that I'm… not exactly an upstanding citizen. I never properly thanked you for getting me out of Valentine. You risked a lot helping me, put yourself in danger and I guess I wanted to ask… Al, are you okay with everything?"

Albert hesitated, then said, "I'll admit I was a little dumbfounded when Agent Milton showed me your bounty poster. I didn't want it to be true! And it was easy to pretend that it wasn't true, for the first few days. But your friend, Hosea, confirmed everything when he visited. He also said you had left that life."

"Yeah."

"Why?" Albert asked. But when Arthur looked down at his lap and began picking at a loose string on his sleeve, Albert quickly added, "You don't have to tell me."

"No, I want to. It's just hard to explain." The loose string broke off, and Arthur began. "The gang's leader, Dutch, he saved me. A long time ago, I wasn't even fifteen yet. I looked up to Dutch like a father, him and Hosea. Being loyal to them, that was all that mattered to me. Always thought I would go out with a gun in my hand, fighting for Dutch."

"What changed?"

"I did." Quite suddenly and unexpectedly, too. From a potion and some dreams. "But I guess they did too. Had been changing for a while, I just couldn't see it until recently. Then Dutch and me, we got into a fight, and I left."

"Do you… do you regret it at all? Leaving?"

"Sometimes," Arthur admitted. "I don't believe in Dutch's plan no more. It won't work, the world's changed too much. But I miss the folks still in the gang. I worry about them, too. Hosea is trying to help. Wants them to see that they have options in life. But I'm afraid that what happened to me… it's coming for them, too."

They sat silently, and avoided eye contact, until Albert said, "You know, those first few days, I thought for sure you were going to die."

"Al, I- I never wanted you involved in any of this!"

"I know. But I would do it again." His cheeks were turning red, he opened his mouth to say more but closed it again.

"Do you want me to go?"

"No!"

"Al, I'm putting you in danger. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"I know, but I don't care." Albert stood up and wandered to the window. Arthur wanted to follow, but that was too much effort at the moment. "Arthur, I haven't said anything, and the reason is because I wanted you to recover without any worry. You've been a very dear friend to me and I rather enjoy your company."

"Well, you've been a good friend to me, too."

"No, wait. I have to say this. I've felt this way for a while, but I've been waiting to say anything unless you thought poorly of me. I didn't want you to feel trapped here." Albert took a deep breath, and said, "I like you. More than just simply friends."

Arthur froze. Could Albert be saying what he thought he was saying? Could he feel the way Arthur was feeling himself? "Al-"

"And I understand that you probably don't feel the same way, I mean most men don't see other men in a romantic sense. But I couldn't not tell you. I'll give you time to think about what I've said. And I also understand if you aren't here when I come back." And Albert was rushing towards the door.

When Arthur finally found the air to speak, he called out, "Al, wait!" But the photographer was already out the door, disappearing into the city streets.