Arthur came home sooner than he used to in late afternoon instead of close to midnight. He looked ragged, tired and… sick as he rode to the caves, his new temporary home. You welcomed him at the edge of the camp, with a gun in your hand, almost shooting him at his unexpected arrival.
“Arthur?” He didn’t answer, just hitched his horse, patting its neck gently somehow sadly.
“Hey.” Inching closer to him, you addressed him again. “Love, what’s…”
“Stay away,” Arthur warned you silently only for you to hear. “Don’t come close ever again.”
“But… Why?” Your heart clenched at his words. What could’ve you done to him? Finally turning to you Arthur saw your expression.
“Its ain’t your fault darlin’, more like mine. Or… guess its nobody’s fault y’ know.”
“What are you talkin’ about?” Your own voice was strange to yourself, frantic and desperate.
“I went to a doctor… ‘cause you suggested me to do so and I suddenly started to feel real bad”
“Yes, your cough is terrible.”
“Turned our what it was…”
“Say it out already!” You feared for the worst.
“I’m sick (y/n)… Think I’m dyin’… I don’t want you to catch it.“
Stray teardrops streamed down your face.
“Is it…?”
“Tuberculosis.”
“Same that took my dad.”
“I know.” Arthur stepped closer, raised his hands for a hug, but held himself back just in time. “I’m sorry.”
“You shouldn’t be…” You made an effort to smile at him encouragingly. “Maybe… you’ll get better. If we do the right things…”
“Not this time. This… This is the end for me.”
Feeling the need to hold him you grabbed Arthur’s hand, his muscles slightly trembled.
“You’re terrified…”
“I fear for whats goin’ to happen to you. With Duch being crazy as he is now.”
“You shouldn’t think about that, I can handle myself.”
Arthur nodded, holding back tears. A small sob escaped his lips. You pulled him into your embrace, not caring about catching his disease.
“We shouldn’t…” He buried his face into the crook of your neck.
“I don’t care. You need me, I need you. We’ll figure out… We’ll figure it out.”
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