Chapter Text
It was becoming a routine, a habit that he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried. Trouble was there to greet him at every step, at every turn and every corner. He’d been shot at, beaten and stabbed. Even bitten and clawed by wild animals. So having the blunt end of a rifle stock jammed with a considerable amount of force against the side of his head wasn’t anything new. In fact, even that had happened to him before. The physical abuse he’d endured throughout his time was something he’d grown oddly accustomed to, but he wondered when the day would come that he could no longer bounce back from it. His body, the part of himself that he’d always been able to rely on, felt weaker. He was so damn tired. He wasn’t getting any younger, he supposed, so perhaps it was a sign to slow down. Or even stop altogether. Before it was too late and his body broke down entirely…
Maybe he could move away some place, relocate to a cozy little cabin out west. He could picture it now… Nothing too big or extravagant. He didn’t need anything like that. Just something comfortable for one, maybe two people… Two men. Wistful images of another life floated around his unconscious brain. A quiet life. And a cabin with a stream nearby to fish, surrounded by woods for hunting. Calm and peaceful. No more running. They could live off the land, they both knew well enough how… No need for anyone else. Just one man, the one man, who plagued his dreams and whose fingers entwined with his own. Firm but warm, except for the cool metal accessory that encased the man’s ring finger that he could feel against his own skin. It was his own ring, on the finger of another. They both wore suits. His own black with a blue vest and tie, while the other man wore black too, but with a red vest and tie. The man was dressed in uniform, while he was not. But the man still looked smart, handsome… The other man wore a jacket that had a badge, on the left side of the lapel. It had read: Pinkerton National Detective Agency… He caught only a glimpse of the text engraved into it, the barest flicker, before the blinding light from the sun caught the metal of the badge, reflecting bright into the deep hue of his blue eyes.
Arthur woke to sunshine beaming through the glass pane of a nearby window, peaking between an only partially closed curtain. His first instinct was to close his eyes again and roll away from the sudden rude intrusion of light. That was when he registered the bed he was on, a comfortable one at that, though unfamiliar. He wasn’t back at his bed at Shady Belle. When he turned, the motion of that action caused a pain to throb from deep inside head so he moved back, reluctantly committing to sitting up slowly instead to avoid the brightness that had initially disturbed him and roused him from that blurry, hazy subconscious. Reluctantly, Arthur opened his eyes and shifted his weight to sit up. Back to reality then…
But where the hell was he?
After taking some short moments to absorb his new surroundings, noting the furnishings that decorated the room. It wasn’t the fanciest bedroom he’d ever seen but it certainly wasn’t the worst either. At the very least, it was a step up from the cabin where he’d been before with-
Micah.
Arthur blinked rapidly, feeling that all too familiar thudding inside his chest at the mere thought of the man, instinctively checking his wrists and feeling along the skin. Deja vu aside, there were no cuffs this time securing him in place, nor were there any attached to the bedposts. Nothing unusual this time. He was free. Arthur sighed in relief, shuffling to the edge of the bed and placing his bare feet flat on the wooden floor. With his eyes cast downward, he fixated on his black trousers first and then his white shirt. It wasn’t his usual choice of attire. It was difficult to think, to remember what had happened with such a strong and stabbing pain in his head, obstructing his memories and preventing too much coherent thought currently. All he could focus on right now was his immediate situation, adjusting to what was being presented visually. That was a good start, at the very least.
Eventually Arthur forced himself to stand, fighting the overwhelming urge to stay put instead. His body so desperately wanted to be back inside that comfy bed, to sleep and maybe go back to his strange fucking dreams. His mind was already a mess enough as it was without the weird fantasies his brain was conjuring up for him while he was out of it. But in the interests of finding out what had happened and what was going on, Arthur persisted.
Curiously, and quietly, he began to search the room, even with the temptation of that closed wooden door that led elsewhere. One step at a time. Literally. Finding his feet was his first priority. He hadn’t had this luxury to explore the last time he’d woken up inside the bedroom of what appeared to be a cabin. At least the windows weren’t boarded up this time. Arthur checked the bedside tables and frowned when he found his journal inside one the drawers. He inspected the wardrobe, finding a set of clothing and his satchel hanging inside. It was almost as though he’d already been living here, and had been for quite a while. Though Arthur could recognise that he was disoriented, he wasn’t that disoriented.
It took a second or two for him to notice the wooden box on the shelf, given that it almost blended in with the shade of the wardrobe, but Arthur quickly registered what exactly it was. The camp donation box.
His brows furrowed. But what the hell was it doing here?
He’d thought searching the room would give him some answers, to help piece things together, but it only created more questions. Arthur opened it, staring at the contents before he closed the lid of the box and then the doors to the wardrobe, hands firmly planted on the wood while he rested his forehead against it. The money. All of it. All of the camp money, was here…
Well… Micah clearly had his priorities in check. And Micah had been the last person he’d seen before-
Right. Arthur heaved a sigh. Oh, Micah… Enough was enough. No more hiding.
Arthur headed for the door and tried the handle and, to his surprise, it was unlocked. He was greeted by the sight of Micah Bell sat on a chair with his feet propped up on the table and a newspaper in hand and a small cup of coffee rested nearby. His chair was angled towards the bedroom door, which was likely intentional, so Micah only had to shift his gaze towards the door as soon as it had opened. The view, of Micah sat so casually the surroundings of a kitchen, was hauntingly domesticated. Though Arthur wasn’t filled with dread when his eyes laid on the other man. He was full of feelings that were far from that. A fluttering from within his chest that had no damn right being there. Despite being pleased to see the man, he still needed an explanation.
“The hell is goin’ on?” Arthur muttered as he stepped into the room, throat dry and hoarse, his legs suddenly feeling weak and weary from his lack of strength upon waking. The sudden demand of his body had quickly taken its toll. He’d moved much too fast.
“Why don’t ya sit, Arthur?” Micah suggested after a moment while keeping his gaze fixed on Arthur, already uncrossing his legs and lowering his feet back down to the floor. He set his paper down on the table and was already making his way over to him.
Arthur reached the chair opposite, but only used the back of it for balance, shaking his head slowly. “No, a’think I’d rather-” he trailed off, struck with an overwhelming sensation of lightheartedness. But fortunately Micah was next to him in an instant, hands reaching for his sides and guiding him down into the chair before his legs could give way altogether.
“That’s it, there ya go…” The words were spoken softly, providing a warm comfort that Arthur craved. And had missed dearly. But as quickly as it appeared, it had vanished again, Micah stepping away to busy himself elsewhere while Arthur concentrated on gathering himself and conserving his energy. He leaned forward to gently rest his head over the back of his forearm that lay over the table. Arthur was only vaguely paying attention to the external sounds, of water flowing and collecting, before he felt a strong hand against his upper back. He sat up once more, leaning back into the chair and his gaze landing on the bowl of soapy water and a washcloth. Arthur had been hoping for water to drink, not whatever this was… But all he could do was watch, eyes flickering back to Micah lazily while he dragged his chair across the floor to sit down beside Arthur instead. “Let’s take another look at ya…”
“You playin’ doctor now as well as detective?” Arthur mumbled dryly. The image of Micah wearing the Pinkerton uniform had clearly burnt itself into Arthur’s head, so much so that he’d dreamt about it too… His gaze drifted absentmindedly towards Micah’s hand. No ring on his finger. Huh. Well that was something, at least…
A smirk found its way onto Micah’s lips, framed by his dark blond moustache. “Whatever a’gotta do t’keep ya from dyin’ on me, sweetheart.”
“Well y’doin’ a pretty good job so far…” Arthur returned tiredly. His head pulsed as though his brain had its own heartbeat and he could only watch, finding Micah’s actions soothing while he wet the washcloth. Nothing more was said, not with Micah’s concentration now elsewhere. He hissed when the warm water came into contact with the graze on the side of his head but remained still otherwise, allowing Micah to work without interruption. Though that silence didn’t last long. “You came back f’me.” Arthur spoke quietly after a moment.
“Told ya a’would, didn’t I?” Micah said in a surprisingly gentle tone, while those pale blue eyes scanned over Arthur though he didn’t meet his gaze, instead remaining focused on the task at hand. Each time he soaked the flannel, it tinged the soapy water a pale pink colour. Just dried blood, hopefully… Matted into his hair.
Yes… He was right. Micah had come back for him, just like he said he would, he had a found a way. He’d become more reliable, more consistent than a certain select few. It was reassuring, a constant in his life that he needed now more than ever. After losing so many of those he considered family, he couldn’t afford to lose anyone else. Living alone and dying alone… He was terrified of that.
Arthur couldn’t help but stare at Micah while droplets of water stained his skin, in a slight state of delirium with the heavy level of sudden intense intimacy. The soft sounds of water trickling, splashing back into the bowl from a height was relaxing, almost like rain. The gently uttered words only added to the sensation. Arthur couldn’t ignore it, not when he was right where he wanted to be. Blood and all.
Finally, having likely felt a pair of eyes on him for quite some time, Micah flicked his sights downward with a quirk of a smile. “Are ya lookin’ at me all mushy an’ doe-eyed ‘cause y’missed me, or ‘cause y’gotta head injury?”
Arthur huffed a short chuckle. “Both. Probably…” he lightly shook his head, even with the dull ache that it caused.
Micah only hummed in reply, seemingly content with that response. He turned his attention back to the side of Arthur’s head, examining the lump that had formed there now that the remaining residue had been washed away. “Y’hit your head pretty good.”
“Me?” Arthur scoffed. No, he hadn’t done this to himself. “A’think y’mean-” And then… Right about then, in that moment, was when his memories came flooding back to him. Arthur immediately made the attempt to rise from his chair, only for a defiant hand on his shoulder to prevent him from doing so. “I- Shit, the gang… A’need t’get back, a’need t’find them, I-”
“Ah, ah, ah… Settle down, cowpoke. Whatcha need right now is t’sit, huh? Jus’ for a little while, f’me.” Micah phrased his words as a suggestion when those muscles eased again, as though he already knew that Arthur would comply. And comply he did, slowly lowering himself back down into his seat as before. “You relax now, they’re all fine…”
It was enough to coax Arthur back into his sluggish state, to give him an inkling of peace of mind. Only what came flooding back to him next Arthur sighing, his shoulders drooping while he averted his gaze to the floor. He stared at a stray nail sticking up between the floorboards beneath the dining table. “Hosea… Lenny… They- they ain’t fine.”
Arthur heard the washcloth being dropped carelessly back into the bowl, although his mind was currently elsewhere. Micah pulled his chair closer to him, releasing a slow breath as he sat down beside him. A vaguely damp hand came down to rest over the material of his trousers, just above the knee. “M’real sorry ‘bout that, truly. A’know how y’felt about them.”
Arthur nodded slowly in acknowledgment. This was relatively foreign territory for them both, particularly Micah who can’t have consoled a person ever before in his damn life. Yet here he was, doing exactly that. And that thought alone was enough to bring about some strong emotions, which he fought fiercely to keep at bay. He swallowed those feelings down before he eventually plucked up the courage to look back at Micah. “An’ the others? They’re okay?”
“Mhm…” Micah confirmed with a hum, leaning back in his chair before moving to stand and taking the bowl of dirty water with him back to the kitchen sink. “Better than that, they’re all free as a bird too. Now that the Pinkertons finally caught what they’d been chasin’. They ain’t too bothered ‘bout the stragglers.” He explained casually while he emptied the contents and wrung out the cloth into the basin.
Memories of last night were slowly inching their way back, causing Arthur to frown when he cast his mind back to what had happened. “Dutch… Bill, Javier. They got on that boat and-”
“An’ left ya? Oh, a’saw it. See, that’s the difference between me an’ that so called ‘family’ a’yours… I’d never do that t’you…” Micah spoke earnestly, though still with his back turned while he stood in the kitchen area just a few short paces away. He’d washed and then dried his hands on a tea towel before approaching the dining table.
“An’ got away… Was what a’was gonna say.” Arthur murmured with a furrowed brow, his gaze directed at nothing in particular. It had hurt, the way they’d left him like that, especially knowing that he wouldn’t have done the same should their roles have been reversed. Did they think he was dead now? Did they even care?
“Not exactly.” Micah corrected as he took his seat beside Arthur once more. “That boat took a little detour up t’Sisika Penitentiary, once the captain was made aware of the precious cargo it was holdin’… Probably got ropes round their necks right about now.”
It took a second for the words to register, but even when they had, Arthur still hadn’t been able to properly comprehend it. “…What?”
Not the prison… Not the god damn prison… There was no escaping that place. Not on an island, miles away from any mainland.
“What did ya think was gonna happen, huh? They all sail off into t’sunset an’ live happily ever after along with everyone else? Pfft…” Micah rolled his eyes in contempt for the other men and the situation they were now faced with. While he spoke, he fished out a cigarette from the packet he’d left out on the table top and used a match to light it. “Come on, Arthur… Only ones deservin’ of that is you an’ me…”
Arthur could only watch Micah as he struck the match, lighting himself a cigarette. “But- but what about Javier an’ Bill? They got Dutch, them other two-”
“Are as good as dead too, m’afraid. I ain’t a miracle worker, Morgan. This is the best a’could do.” Micah said sternly, returning Arthur’s look before turning to examine the cigarette between his fingers instead. “If only they’d stayed behind t’help you, it might’ve been different. Funny how things turn out...” He added in afterthought before propping his feet up on the table in a similar, more relaxed pose to how Arthur had originally found him. After Micah had finished speaking, he took a long smoke from the cigarette, tipping his head back once more while he exhaled slowly. Arthur watched his every move, almost entranced by it, though he was still struggling to process the information.
“Y’want one?” Micah asked after a moment of silence, of the two men staring at each other without a single word said.
“I quit.” Arthur replied bluntly.
Micah smirked. “Givin’ up on bad habits, are ya?”
“Tryin’ to…” Arthur wasn’t in the mood to smile back. His entire life was one big, bad habit. He was surrounded by bad fucking habits. But now that he’d been given some time to take everything on board, Arthur wanted to direct the conversation back there. He needed to. “Micah, what happened?”
“The Pinkertons caught up t’Dutch, that’s what happened. Was only a matter of time, like I said. I told you he was gonna get you all killed, I told you that an’ ya didn’t listen…”
Arthur hadn’t wanted to believe it at the time, but now with Hosea and Lenny gone too, it was a clear as day that all of them would’ve wound up dead if not for Micah. “A’know. I- I’m sorry. A’should’ve listened, should’ve trusted you. Maybe more people might’ve survived if I-”
“Best not t’dwell…” Micah quickly intervened with a shrug of his shoulders. “‘Least some of ya made it. An’ now they get t’live their lives without runnin’ an hidin’, cowerin’…” The final word had been added just a moment later while Micah watched smoke billowing out from the end of his cigarette.
“What about us?”
Micah’s eyes snapped back to Arthur’s, as though momentarily taken by surprise, though he gave a half smile just half a second later and stared back at his cigarette as before. “Us… Ain’t that a pretty picture.”
Arthur cleared his throat, the heavy scent of smoke flooding his nostrils. The smell so strong that he could practically feel it tickling the back of his throat, filling his airways. “A’want it t’be… A’want-” he trailed off, struggling to find his words.
“Go on.” Micah pressed, his gaze now intently back on Arthur. He’d even uncrossed his legs and lowered his feet back down to the ground so he could lean forward just that bit closer.
“A’wanna stay here, with you. I’d like to. Wherever here even is. Dammit, a’want that more than anythin’. Soon as a’get back t’the gang an’-” Arthur probably should’ve stopped there, after admitting that he wished to stay with him. Micah’s eyes had almost lit up, practically beaming, at the confession. Right up until the point that Arthur mentioned the gang. That was when Micah rolled his eyes and interjected.
“There is no gang anymore, Morgan…” Micah reminded him.
“R-right, a’know. But a’still gotta see ‘em, make sure they’re okay, say my goodbyes an’ then I’m done. I’m gone. I’ll be back, a’promise.” Arthur insisted.
For a minute, Micah didn’t speak and that was far more concerning than anything that he could’ve said. Arthur wanted to avoid an argument but he couldn’t just leave them without saying a word. Although it would be easier, them likely forming the conclusion that he’d been captured by Pinkertons, or had died fighting them off. But Arthur wanted closure, and he knew that Micah would know that too. So after a while, the man sighed out his reluctance to let him go. “It’s a long trip.”
Arthur wasn’t backing down on this, not to appease Micah. Not this time. “I’ll survive.”
Micah hesitated briefly, taking another smoke while he had a short-winded internal conflict with himself over the matter. Fortunately he relented. “The cabin- Our cabin… It’s north a’Strawberry, near t’mouth of the little creek river. It’s west as it gets. Just how a’know ya like it.”
Arthur did smile then, if only slightly. “I’ll bear that in mind.” Micah knew him all too well at this point, it seemed. Arthur might’ve appreciated their time together in the old cabin more if Micah hadn’t kept him on such a tight leash. But he didn’t resent him for that. Not anymore. Those old feelings had long fizzled out, or had been locked away just as he had been, replaced with new ones that blocked out old emotions. Instead the cabin, this new cabin, felt nostalgic. Not like a reoccurring nightmare. They could live here together, and be happy. Finally.
“Oh, and Arthur?” Hearing his name distracted Arthur from his thoughts, meeting the other man’s gaze. Micah had moved his seat closer, close enough that their legs were nearly slotted together. His eyes found his mouth, just an enticing glance that had Arthur reciprocating and leaning in to the invitation. Until instead of lips being met with his own, Micah had guided his cigarette to Arthur’s mouth instead.
The disappointment swelled within him, of Micah blatantly misleading him and Arthur desperately falling for it. But even in his initial defiance, Arthur caved almost instantly and accepted the cigarette between his lips as it was offered to him. He took a long drag of it, the smoke lingering on his tongue, clinging to his lungs. On his slow exhale, it became disrupted by a small cough. Back to the bad habits then. He peered back towards the man, offering him to continue. “Yeah?”
“Come back to me this time, won’t ya?” Micah asked the question, one that he surely already knew the answer to, as his hand found its way back to the space above Arthur’s knee. Squeezing his fingers there gently, reassuringly, possessively…
Arthur took the cigarette away from his mouth to smile, his other hand reaching down to rest over Micah’s. “Always.”