( thank you @black-agnes26 for the prompt!! )
It's been 8 years since John and Sadie got Arthur down from the mountain after his fight with Micah, barely clinging onto life.
8 years of recovering from the battering his body took, as well as the shredding the tuberculosis had done to his lungs.
8 years since he hugged the love of his life goodbye, both of them knowing it'd be the last time they'd ever see each other...
Now, he walks the streets of Saint Denis, looking for the back alley street fights he'd heard about from Uncle. Word is, there's a fighter who sounds a hell of a lot like Charles who's in a bad way.
As much as he aches to see him, Arthur almost hopes it's a rumor. Charles had been heading to Canada last they'd spoken. What could have happened?
A few questions and a couple of blocks later, Arthur turns the corner and feels the air leave his lungs.
Charles Smith stands in front of him, shirtless, dark skin covered in cuts and bruises and blood. Even from behind, Arthur would know him anywhere.
"...folks they love a surprise, but they hate a massacre, and you are a killer. We both know what you gotta do."
The man speaking looks up at Arthur, quickly murmuring a goodbye before heading back into the crowd.
"He don't know the half of it," Arthur says simply.
Charles tenses immediately, every nerve in his body locked up. When he turns, Arthur sees a mixture of emotions spread over his face—most of all, disbelief.
"I—shit. Ain't no way I'm still sleepin' right now."
"You ain't. Hi, Charles."
A smile spreads over his lips as he reaches out, though he clearly remembers where he is half a second later, opting to grip Arthur's hand with one of his, the other grasping his shoulder. "Arthur... how?"
"S'a long story. I'm alive, though." Charles smiles so bright that Arthur almost kisses him on the spot. "What're you doin'?"
"Uncle thought maybe you was in some kinda trouble?"
"Maybe. Just—" Charles shifts in place, uncharacteristically jittery from the man Arthur knows. "Been throwin' fights for cash."
His stomach drops. "You like that?"
"Course I don't like it, you fool."
Arthur's chest aches at the thought of Charles getting beaten up day in and day out. He hates not knowing he was back in America sooner, and—
An impatient roar from the crowd takes him out of his thoughts.
"Arthur, come on." Charles squeezes his shoulder, leaving warmth when his hand moves away. "I'm gonna place a bet."
Arthur watches as Charles bets on himself—the Lone Wolf, as he's called here—and bets on him as well. He would bet on Charles Smith against the goddamn devil if he had to.
Charles wins the match, using his brute strength to quickly overtake the other man. Arthur finds it equal parts exhilarating and devastating, seeing the man he loves overtake someone so easily while knowing it's not the only fight he's been in.
They don't speak much as they take their money and quickly exit the alley so Charles can get dressed and grab his bag. Once they're on the streets and headed towards the train station, Charles finally speaks.
"So... you ain't dead, and you look a hell of a lot better than last time I saw ya. Care to fill me in?"
He tells him how John, Sadie, and Abigail came back for him, somehow managing to get him down from the mountain he thought he would die on. How it took months for him to get the strength to even sit up for long stretches of time. How, through rest and taking things slowly, he managed to slowly regain his strength—and, with everything else, his ability to breathe.
"Ain't too sure the science of it all, but there was some poltices 'n such to help the pain," he explains as they board the train, sitting next to each other. It's the closest he's been to Charles in 8 years, and every nerve in his body comes alive when their legs press together. "Takin' time away from everythin' did wonders."
"Not fully. Ain't ever gonna be that strong again, but it's a hell of a lot better than it was."
Charles pauses, voice going quiet. "You contagious?"
Arthur turns to look at him, a smirk growing on his lips. "Not anymore."
Dark brown eyes flicker between Arthur's eyes and lips, and Arthur has to stop himself from kissing Charles right here and now. "Noted."
"Easy, big man," Arthur purrs, grinning when those dark cheeks flush crimson. "We still got a ride ahead of us. Your turn."
Charles tells him about his time in Canada and how he left when the tribe split off. It pains Arthur to know that he had no idea Charles wasn't so far away after all.
It's a few hours later when they're finally pulling into Blackwater. Arthur orders a room and a bath at the saloon, and with the bruising and cuts on Charles's skin, the bartender doesn't ask twice.
It's not until Charles in sitting shirtless on the bed while Arthur tends to his wounds that the reality of the moment truly hits them both. Arthur, gently wrapping a cut on Charles's arm, is stopped when a big hand cups his chin, gently lifting so their gazes meet once more.
"You're really here," Charles whispers, voice thick with emotion. "It's you. You came back to me."
Arthur smiles and leans in, his forehead gently pressed to Charles's. "Always. Said you was stuck with me, and I'm a man of my word."
"I love you, Arthur. Never stopped."
Their lips crash together in a kiss that steals the air from both of their lungs, yet neither are willing to pull away. Arthur murmurs his love into each kiss, finally letting the tears fall as they wrap around each other, their hearts beating as one.
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