A/n: if you came here for sad feelsies then you came to the right place!
Ps I wrote this on my phone last night so sorry for any spelling mistakes or weird typos.
**ALSO PLS BEWARE - This will contain spoilers for the game**
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Sunlight crept in through the dusty covered window panes, sending linear bars of light casting across the old shop floor.
It had been a fairly quiet morning in the surgery, the usual coming and goings of appointments and people requiring medications - but that was all. You bid your uncle farewell around 12 noon, as his consultations had ended for the moment and he would restart his clinic around 3pm later that afternoon.
The peaceful ambience of the ticking clock, creaking groans of the wood structure's settling movements and the soft chinking of pills clattering in the prescription bottles as you stacked the shelves filled your ears. These quiet few hours where you were left to man your Uncle's surgery were some of your favourites - it gave you time to think, time to relish in the smaller, yet still just as important jobs before patients started to hurry through the doors once more.
Back to the surgery door, your gentle voice hummed a song that had sat like a stuck record at the back of your mind for years. Like an old caged parakeet, still whistling away and reminding you of a life that was no more. A life that meant the world to you. Taught you to be the girl you were.
You busied yourself with the little tune whilst you stacked the correct medications and vials in their appropriate place upon the shelf - something your uncle found rather humorous was the fact you were very particular about all of the bottles and packets being lined up straight. You were a real perfectionist.
The door bell chimed in an upbeat fashion, indicating someone had arrived in at the surgery. You heard the slight scraping sound of the door scuffing the wooden floorboards, followed by a few heavy footsteps.
"Just a moment." Your voice called out, still paying heed to the last few bottles of tablets you had to pack onto the shelf. Silence fell once again, just momentarily - before your ears recollected to the sound of spurs jingling with each paced footstep.
"I was told I could find ya' here." A low drawl commented, and the tones struck a chord within you that immediately made your mind detract from your job, the surgery- your current quiet little life.
Cautiously, you had turned on your heels like you half expected to scare yourself with what you were about to see... or rather, who you were about to see.
Just the single second of a glance you landed on the figure, you affirmed with yourself who the man was stood before you.
This moment - or rather, daydreams, fantasies of this moment - had been a big part of your life for some time now. You often pictured minutes away imagining what it would be like to run into the man who had cast such a strong hold over you for a number of years of your younger life.
Arthur Morgan. Dutch Van Der Linde's right hand man and one of his most trusted allies. Five years ago you had ran with the Van Der Linde gang for about 3 years, acting as a little pick pocket here and there - earning your keep after fleeing an abusive home under the fiery wrath of your drunk father and psychotic paranoid mother.
Those had been dark times, unstable. You remembered clear as anything the moment you stumbled into Hosea Matthews and Dutch Van Der Linde in the middle of Valentine - a shaking mess and a clueless young girl. You'd been crying at the roadside and being the type of men they were, they weren't going to let some young girl starve to death or die at the hands of the bitter wilderness.
They took you in. Made you feel at home. You had loved most souls in that gang, such a collective family of people - but you had most admired Arthur.
During your time in the gang, he had been the one to really put the most effort in with you. He taught you everything you had come to know, about learning to hunt, shoot a gun and write a sentence. He was such a good soul - reckless however, and chaotic at times; like a thunderstorm. He went in hard on his missions, you'd seen him be a brutal man, unkind to his own at times and merciless to those who posed any sort of threat.
However, his interest and interactions with you always made you feel welcome in the bleakest of times, made you feel wanted and as if there was always going to be someone looking out for you. You had very quickly over the space of those three years, grown to love him.
Nothing was ever said though - things were always going on, jobs, travesties and two many upheavals and mad changes for the pair of you to really sit down and talk feelings. It never happened, and you were left with this heavy feeling in your gut on the day you knew it was time to leave.
Things had been getting difficult- tensions in the gang and the fact you had been injured a few times, it knocked your confidence and gave you some anxiety about doing your 'job' effectively. You had also at the time, received a letter from your Uncle who had just returned from Britain after practicing as a trainee doctor over there for 3 years. He had written to tell you he was opening his own practice in Strawberry... and he wanted you to come and work for him.
The decision to leave felt like you were plunging your hunting knife into your own heart, but you knew it was for the best. As much as you adored this gang, the life they had given you and the friendships you had made... you were done with this lifestyle now, it was causing you too much anxiety and sleepless nights.
You just needed to settle. To stop running.
It pained you to recognise this, but it was the right thing. Although it didn't feel that way upon facing Arthur on the morning you planned to ride out.
You could so clearly recall the somber look on his face. His eyes seemed dark with tiredness, his lips pressed to a thin line as if he was bottling up some real sadness behind the hardened exterior. You weren't holding up as well, tears rolling down your cheeks as you picked up the last of your things to load onto your Suffolk Punch mare.
"Let me... let me get those." Arthur had said, his voice audibly trembling as his hands took the small cases of your things and he helped secure them to side of your saddle via a rope. You had been studying his unreadable expression with your own (eye colour) teary eyes as he wound the rope as many times as needed around the saddle. All the while he avoided your gaze.
"I am so sad to be going." You had whispered to Arthur, small hand laying softly to his shoulder. He seemed to still completely at first, and dared himself to look at you.
"I wish I could stay." You barely croaked, making no effort to hide your utter sadness at your departure. Leaving like this, feeling you were not able to tell him how you had been feeling.
What would be the point? It would surely make this all the more painful for the pair of you. Besides, he would not change. Arthur ran with Dutch like the wind ran with the seas, he was undyingly loyal. This was his life, robbing; and running. He could not settle in one place... you would not be able to tie him down.
Fleetingly, those saddened grey blue eyes met your own. They seemed to be filled with remorse, sincere feeling and a hopefulness for you despite the pain that you were going.
He then forced a brave smile, for your sake.
"You know I'm sad to see you leavin'." He replied confidently, a contradicting tone acting as a mask for the crack of affliction in his usually strong willed tones.
"But I know you'll be happier... safer. You ain't been right these last few months, that was plain to see." He assured you, letting you know once again that he wasn't disappointed in you for your decision.
The thought ghosted in your head for longer than it should've done, remembering the exact way his fingertips felt as they pressed into your waist, helping push you up into the saddle. A touch that you desired in so many ways, but was now so far out of your reach.
Your eyes cried bitter tears the moment you were seated in that saddle. For a moment, it seemed as if the heartache was rising in his glassy eyes too. The gunslinger quickly hid them under the brim of his distressed leather hat.
"You... you know where I am... if you need me." He whispered, trying not to sound to heartbroken with those gentle words. It made your heart wrench tightly in your chest, hands gathering up tightly around the reins.
"Thank you, Arthur." You replied, blinking back the tears for a moment more, "likewise... you are always welcome to come and visit me at the surgery." Your hopeful voice added a moment later, he meant a lot so you had real hopes that he would pop in every now and again. Perhaps... just maybe... that would be the way you could eventually open up to him, to confess how you had been feeling. To maybe convince him to leave this lawless life behind, and be with you.
You were ragged back from your thoughts when Arthur's apparent misery rang through his sighs.
Once last glance reminded you of the weight of this situation. Your daydreams and hopes for the future had to fall by the wayside for now...
"You take care."
The last words he had ever said to you, on that dismal day.
You had never looked back for fear of bursting into tears at the man you were leaving behind - praying and hoping you would run into him again soon enough.
For two years you had not seen a thing, you'd heard word of the notorious Van Der Linde gang's antics but, not laid eyes on his perfect face until now.
In your fantasies, you had always dreamed of running to him - throwing your arms around him and telling him how well he looked, and asking what he had been up to.
Whereas now, in the full force of the reality - you were too stunned to even say a word. He looked... very different. For the worse.
You'd worked long enough in the surgery now to see his sallow complexion, red eyes and generally sickly aura wasn't right at all. In all the times you had known Arthur, he could be suffering with a flu or a hangover or anything and would just plod on as usual. The man stood before you looked so weak, and you could hear his breathing wheezing. A pain shot right through your heart... he was very unwell.
"Arthur..." you whispered, clutching at your chest momentarily in the shock of seeing him stood there. This wasn't quite matching up to the daydreams you had been having about this moment.
He flashed a half smile, holding in heavy coughs before he just exploded into this coughing fit - it was awful to see. You panicked, watching the way he doubled over and looked as if he could not quite hold himself up.
"Arthur -" you panicked, fleeing to the other side of the counter and resting your hands on his back as he tried to compose himself. Even then you could feel the reverberations of that awful cough through his lungs. You felt sick thinking he was suffering this way.
"I... I wanted to come and see you..." He eventually croaked, looking up at you with watery blood shot eyes from the strenuous coughing.
"That's okay - I reckon I've got some medication to help with that-" you flustered, not registering what he had meant. You thought he'd popped in to get some tablets of some sort.
You were about to head for the back of the counter when he shook his head.
"No." He started, which immediately made your heels ground into the floor. "I wanted to see you."
A touched feeling crept into your heart, he was clearly badly suffering and to think he had even spared a thought for you in a time like this was so moving.
"Is... is there anyway where we can speak more privately?" Arthur asked, his voice low and his eyes almost pierced straight through you.
"We can talk in my uncle's consult room. He's not got patients in until 3." You were quick to say, running to the door to flip the closed sign so no one else would happen in. You wanted undisturbed time with Arthur, especially when he looked as wracked with illness as this.
Leading the way down the darkened corridor, you opened the first door on the right which led into the comfortably furnished consult room- with its clinic chair, bookcase and standard writing desk and two general chairs either side.
Closing the door shut with an ambient click, you guided Arthur down to sit in the one of the consult chairs by the blind covered window - whilst you sat opposite.
For a girl who had been rehearsing this moment for 2 years; you did not have the first clue of what to say.
Removing his distressed hat off his head, Arthur clutched onto the thing absent mindedly whilst he looked off into a corner of the room for a moment.
You were about to say something to save for the silence, but it seemed he had got brave and was had looked back into your eyes now.
"I'm dyin', (name)." Arthur exclaimed, bluntly as anything.
You had seen him be so ill - and you had been desperately hoping it wasn't the fatal type of illness it looked to be. Right there your heart was obliterated into a million splintering pieces that left a pain in your chest.
"... how..." was all you could say, wringing your hands as you tried to save for the fact you felt you were going to cry.
"Got it from a man I was beatin' to death. All over some goddamn money." He sounded very remorseful, and this was a strong juxtaposition to the man you left at camp that day. That Arthur would do anything for his gang, even if it meant hurting the public.
By now, thinking about all this wasted time - the fact losing him was inevitable, you had started to cry. For so long he had been the guiding light in your life, and now you weren't sure how you were going to go on in the world knowing he was suffering.
"Arthur..." you whispered, sniffling as you took hold of one of his pasty hands, feeling how cold it was to the touch. You scrunched up your eyes to fight the oncoming wave of tears.
"Please... please stay until my uncle returns-" you started to rush, "He will have something to make you stronger, help you fight it maybe-"
"I got TB, (name)." Arthur then said, a further blow to the heart. It really was incurable. You deeply hoped one day a cure would come around for such a horrible disease.
"Besides... it's what I deserve for all the hurt I caused all them people." He said in bitterness to himself. This was too agonising to see, this was a strong willed gunslinger now reduced to a mere ghost of his former self. In your younger days you always saw Arthur as this godly figure, this blinding light who always knew what to do. Now he was suffering, sickly and hateful of himself.
"There's no point me stayin here. Wastin' your time." He mumbled, and you frowned quickly that he ever actually thought that was true for one second.
"Arthur Morgan-" you snapped quickly, "I have been waiting two years to see you again... you are not wasting my time." You enforced, squeezing his hand gently. You smiled quietly to yourself in recollection that at least you still felt like a tiny rabbit dwarfed in this bear paw of a hand.
He cracked an exhausted smile, resting his full weight in the back of the chair as his eyes wandered over you in a thoughtful fashion. His smile grew somewhat ever the few seconds.
"I'm... I'm so proud of you, darlin'." He said, that voice made your stomach knot up. "The gang ain't what it was... you... you got out at the right time." He said painfully, avoiding your gaze for the moment.
Now you were panicked too, what had happened over those two years?
Arthur could see your gaze was searching him for an answer to such a statement.
"We lost a lotta' folk. Hosea... Lenny... Sean... to name a few."
No. You thought to yourself, clenching your jaw hard. Each of those men you had been close friends with, admired and enjoyed their unique ways and funny stories. They were gone? It didn't seem real.
"Dutch ain't right no more. He's takin' any word from a rat's mouth." Arthur now sounded bitter, his expression soured and subsequently he started to splutter - you quickly rushed to get him a glass of water.
As you handed him the drink, he murmured a thank you and took a few slow sips - sighing heavily soon after. It seemed the weight of the gang's future was causing a burden on him.
You wanted to ask him - why? Why was he still doing this if so much had changed?
You tried to change your potential wording so you wouldn't be firing him all sorts of pressing questions.
"You aren't right to be out there in the cold, doing all sorts of crazy jobs for Dutch." You warned him, sitting down opposite the gunslinger again. He looked so washed out, it was like sitting opposite a spirit.
"You need to rest. Stay in a proper bed, out of the cold."
"I'll just go and spend some time at my chalet then." He joked with you, cracking an exhausted smile. Chuckling lightly, you could not believe that even through all of this - he still had that wicked sense of humour.
"You know that's not what I expect." You returned, flashing a small smile and laying your hand to his knee carefully. This was going to be a big ask of him.
"Arthur - just leave that all behind. Let go of this lifestyle. Stay with me? I'll look after you." You offered, gaze flitting over his own to see what he appeared to be thinking. He mused over it for some time, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You were hoping this would be him accepting.
"You... you were always too sweet for your own good." He replied, and your heart burst then. Of course... he couldn't change. Even facing death, he couldn't let go of Dutch and the gang - despite all the hurt they had caused him.
"I care about you, Arthur." You replied defiantly, frustrated that he was going to go on as he was in this state. "You need to think of yourself for once."
He scoffed, turning his head to the side as he looked across your uncle's office.
"I been doin' that all my goddamn life." He replied to you, groaning out then as he tried to heave himself out of the chair. It seemed even that was some kind of massive effort for him now.
Frightened by the display of strain in his mannerisms, you clutched onto him to offer support. As you did, he glanced across at you with softened eyes - a mere look from him almost set you off in tears again.
"I've always been fond of you, (name)." He confessed, "you're a sweet girl. A feller'll be lucky to have you."
His almost swaying walk of languished movement made you rush to his side again, to help him back along the corridor. He really was still intent on going back on with his life with the gang... you could not believe it.
"You... you sure you want to go? There's a spare bed in my house, that you're more than welcome to-" you tried to fight but he shook his head
"You don't need to be worryin' about me. You don't need that in your life."
If only he knew the irony of that statement. You decided to come clean.
"It wouldn't make much difference, Arthur. I have been worrying about you since the day I left the gang." You replied, watching as he looked at you intently, "I... I think of you often. Fondly. There's a lot of things I wish I had said to you before I left." You started, and Arthur was beginning to map out where this was going.
"Don't.... don't say it. Don't make it harder for yourself than it already is." He advised, clutching onto your hands tightly. At least he now knew how you felt.
"You ain't alone in that feelin'." He then added quietly after, breaking away from your grasp to head for the door. You wavered on the spot, dithering for a few moments as the tears began to build in your eyes.
"Don't go, not just yet." You rushed to the door to catch him, not caring anymore as you wrapped your arms around his figure and relished tightly against his chest. You wished you had done this years ago, because now it felt like you were on borrowed time.
Big arms wrapped around you, encasing you as tight as they could.
"I don't want to lose you again Arthur." You confessed with the fearful, small and childlike voice. It hurt to realise that no matter how many times you could say that, it wasn't going to change the fact he was a victim of a nasty, currently incurable disease.
"I wish things were different, (name)." He replied, making your heart ache with each syllable. He gently withdrew from you, leaving you feeling rather empty as you stood there in the centre of the floor.
Neither of you said a word more, but it felt as if this would be the last time you saw him. The mere thought of that made you cry hopelessly as you watched him get on his horse and ride off down the sloped centre of the town, the sun fittingly disappearing into the pocket of the hilly horizon as his shrinking figure rode away.
"I'll always love you." You whispered aloud to yourself, trying to find the smallest amount of comfort in all this pain.
There was so much you questioned over, kicked yourself for not doing earlier on - but time was irreversible. It hurt you so to realise that fact alone.
Nothing could change the present.
And the future was sealed.