Ghosts of the Past [ RDR2 - Arthur Morgan ]

Chapter 50 -Something Sick in These Walls

Word count - 2269

CHAPTER 50 - Something Sick in These Walls

The week that followed the colourful return of Dutch's oldest son was fraught with tension. The divide in the gang was like a crack in an iceberg. Many took clear sides, even if not outright stated. Others balanced between shards of ice as they floated further and further apart. Choosing was inevitable.

Yet the tension remained unspoken. Micah's play - accepting Rosemary's offered help - had worked in his favour. Dutch took it as a sign that Micah was, as he believed, his most loyal. It hurt Arthur, Rosemary could tell. The way his blue eyes would follow Micah around camp. The way he huffed out irritable grunts whenever the voice of the rat, as he was now called, travelled across camp.

This wasn't just irritation at Dutch believing Micah over him. This was sheer and utter betrayal.

The Pinkertons were imminent to arrive. So Arthur was keen to leave quickly. The last thing he needed was to have Rose in another gun fight. And that time was fast approaching. While he remained quietly heartbroken at the loss of his father figure, he was yet more determined to ensure he didn't lose anymore. "We can't take the wagon." Arthur insisted. "They'd notice. Too damn suspicious."

"I know." Rose sighed, running her fingers over the wood as they sat up on their cot together. She had found herself comfortably between Arthur's legs, back resting against his chest as his large hand worked softly through her hair. "Be a shame not to have it round anymore. I sure grew fond of it."

He huffed a small laugh and pressed a kiss to her temple, still running his fingers through her hair. Which seemed to soothe him as much as it did her. "It's a wagon, darlin'. I'll get you a new one once we's settled."

"Have you thought about where yet?" her voice was still soft. Maintaining quiet tones as to ensure no one outside the four walls and canvas roof might overhear them. The location of their eventual escape alongside willing family, was a bit of a debated topic. Rose had said west - Arthur's wanted posters said north.

In the end, Rosemary Levenson had to accept that Arthur probably knew best.

Arthur's fingers stilled momentarily in her hair. He hummed. "North's safer." he insisted once again "But..."

Nuzzling her head just slightly into his chest, the woman closed her eyes "But...?"

His hand continued its slow movements, pulling her a little closer. "Nothin', Darlin'." His voice, low and grave. He didn't want to admit it to her. Not now, not ever - that nowhere was safe anymore.

As though to enforce the thought, a distant crash disturbed the peace. It wasn't anything. Just a tin bowl clattering to the ground and a muffled argument between two people. But at the same time it hung heavy with the knowledge of what it meant. The gang - undone. Waiting on it's final chopping block. Still, Arthur pushed on, ignoring the sound.

"S'this place up in the Grizzlies Hosea told me 'bout once." He rumbled. "North east 'a' Chicago. Might be worth a visit." His fingers slowed in her hair for a moment, like he was already picturing it. Snow-covered pines. The kind of quiet that doesn't feel lonely, just... still. "Plus... I ain't so bold as to deny the snow can be real pretty up that way." Wanting to retrace the steps of the father who didn't fail him, he was fairly set on this idea. His hand continued drifting through her soft waves.

A gentle smile crept onto Rose's lips, closing her eyes as she sank back against him. The gentle brush of his cheek lying softly against the crown of her head. A deep inhale. Arthur grounding himself in this moment - because it wouldn't last. Despite the smell of the tinctures, he was rather enjoying this small respite between chaos. Though it wouldn't last long. "Should get up." Despite saying it, Rose made no move to follow through.