Arthur Morgan did not intend to survive when he gave his hat to John Marston and stayed behind to gain his redemption. As he crawled towards his final resting place, he never intended to wake up again.
But he does wake up. Thanks to time travelers F...
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2022
The weather remained pleasant throughout the week after Tori agreed to marry Arthur. It was as though the heavens themselves were celebrating, and Arthur was on cloud nine. For the first time in a long time, things were looking up for him. He was in love, he had a daughter on the way, and there was less need for worry about food and daily survival.
As previously discussed, Arthur and Tori's engagement was very, very short. Neither one was apt to waste time, and only a week after proposing, Arthur awoke the morning of his wedding to find Tori's side of the bed empty. There was only a note on her pillow that read, "It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding. Breakfast is keeping warm in the oven, and there's a fresh pot of coffee on the stove. I love you. Tori."
Arthur rolled back over and smiled. Her scent still lingered in the sheets, as intoxicating as a flask of moonshine. He didn't want to get up, but he knew he must at some point. Wedding day or not, the cows and horses still needed feeding, and there was a great deal to do that day. It would not do to waste any of it in bed.
Groaning and grunting like an old man, he rolled out from between the sheets and rubbed his eyes. He was tired like he was every morning, but it was nothing that couldn't be fixed with coffee.
He padded down to the kitchen in a pair of sweatpants with no shirt, and he only bothered with those because he knew Charles and Naomi were asleep upstairs in one of Tori's three guest bedrooms. Charles would not care about Arthur's state of undress, but it would not do for Naomi to walk in on him in nothing but his boxers.
He ended up being thankful he'd put on clothes after all. He knew she'd been invited, but somehow it always jarred him to see Sister Calderón when he wasn't explicitly expecting her. She had a habit of turning up in the oddest places without warning, such as right now as she sat at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee and eating some pancakes.
"Good morning, Mr. Morgan!" she said happily, sipping on her coffee. "Victoria made these this morning. They are most excellent." She gestured to the food in front of her.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You eat?"
She smiled at him, her brown eyes twinkling like two shiny, amber gemstones beneath her bonnet and veil. "For sustenance? No. For pleasure? Yes. I do not need food to survive, but I can appreciate the taste of it just the same. Your fiance's cooking is fantastic, by the way." Her eyes slid over Arthur's bare torso.
"You're looking well, Mr. Morgan," she noticed. "You seem to have recovered from your disease quite nicely."
Arthur shrugged and began helping himself to a cup of coffee, pouring it from the percolator on the stove into his favorite, tin cup. "The doctors say I ain't ever gonna be rid of it completely. I still cough sometimes, dependin' on how dry the air is and how tired I am. But I'm mostly back to normal now with all the damn antibiotics the doctors have me on."
