AN: The last chapter! Much sadness, for I hate endings :(

Many thanks to all the guys and girls that reviewed the last chapter - Yuukilover, ThatCaveYouCallAChest, Froggiecool, KassyMalone, InvaderPey, PerfectingSilence, aquamarinetiger98 and alchemisthetaliapirates. Special thanks to the few that were with me all the way through and reviewed every chapter! It was very nice to know that you were enjoying it through out :)

I can't put it off any longer...

Chapter 7

He awakes, mildly befuddled, to find himself back in his usual place: the bed that once was Alfred's, although in recent weeks it has been used substantially more for Arthur's purposes.

Glancing around through heavy-lidded eyes, he can see that Alfred has made a half-hearted attempt at clearing up the mess the men made when they'd broken into the house, but despite having swept up the snow and mud and in his efforts to re-organise the room, there is no way to easily fix the shattered chair, or the multitude of crumpled up papers that have been placed in a haphazard pile on the worktop.

He bolts upright as unpleasant recollection pours forth into his tired mind.

And then he breathes a sigh of relief. Alfred is asleep; propped up in the comfy chair situated to the one side of the bed. His breathing is steady, and it is quickly apparent that he has managed to tend to his own wounds; probably at the same time that he was patching up Arthur. Although he is a little paler than normal, he seems fine to Arthur's eyes.

For a couple of minutes he simply sits there, watching his sleeping saviour with gentle eyes. He feels blessed, and simply cannot fathom how lucky he was to meet such a kind soul, especially when recent experiences had almost convinced him that compassion from another human was beyond anything he'd ever experience.

After a little while the aches begin to make themselves known, exacerbated no doubt by the fact that he's sitting up, and he is struck with the realisation that Alfred cannot be much more comfortable in the chair.

He drags himself out of the bed, mumbling soundless curses, and nudges the sleeping man gently. It takes a couple of goes, but finally he stirs. Without speaking, he gestures for him to get in the bed.

"Mm, no Artie… s'your bed. Cause you're hurt. Remember?" He sounds foggy with sleep, and starts to curl back up into the chair, dozing. Arthur simply prods him again. Harder, this time. When he speaks, his voice is quiet but clear.

"So are you, numbskull. And it's not that small. We can share."

A grin lights up the younger man's face, and he all but leaps up from the chair. Arthur notices that he winces as he does so, and promptly chastises him.

"Idiot! You're hurt too. Remember?" Alfred pouts at him, but moves noticeably slower now, in an obvious attempt to avoid irritating his wounds any further. Arthur pauses, before coughing slightly.

"Are you alright, Alfred? You were… bleeding quite a lot…" He watches Alfred as he settles on the far side of the bed, concerned.

"I'm fine." He sees that Arthur doesn't look convinced. "Honest. One of the shots just grazed me, that's all. Didn't even go in more than an inch or so. It just looked bad because it bled a lot. You were in a lot worse state when we got back here; you'd nearly lost your toes to frostbite. Again." At this he gives an exaggerated eye roll and Arthur feels the frown slip fractionally. "Not to mention that you were all cut up. Stop falling in the snow. You should know by now that stuff ain't very soft."

"Shut up and go back to sleep, idiot." Arthur grouses, before falling back into the bed himself. He can hear Alfred chuckle and hides the small smile that unwittingly creeps onto his face. Within seconds, he can hear steady breathing as Alfred falls back into his deep sleep. Nuzzling into the blankets, he tries to make himself comfortable, highly aware of the warm mass pressed up against his back.

Back when they had first met he had pondered upon Alfred's reasons for letting him use his only bed when it left him with the not-particularly-comfortable chair to sleep on, but it seemed to Arthur that he was simply so altruistic that the idea of not giving it to someone who was hurt hadn't even crossed his mind. This had only made the blossoming fondness Arthur felt even more noticeable. Now, the burning affection is warming him as much as Alfred's physical presence, if not more so.

He's tired, his head is throbbing and there is a chorus of aches reverberating through his entire body, but somehow his heart feels lighter than it has in months.

It takes remarkably little time for him to drop back into a deep a restful sleep.

~SR~

"Why didn't you kill him?"

Alfred glances up at Arthur, briefly looking away from the tattered book that he's vainly trying to glue together. Arthur struggles to meet his eyes, fiddling and pulling at a loose thread in his sleeve. Just thinking about the confrontation a few days prior makes him nervous and shaky, but he has to know. Alfred had killed the other men and was certainly in the position to do the same to the lone survivor of their group. He hears a sharp exhale; a breathless chuckle.

"Because I didn't want to, and I didn't have to. Anyway, it's better this way - if they all vanished their employers would keep searching. If he goes back alive, he can lie and they'll never know any better."

"I guess. I didn't really think about that."

"You're excused. You're hurt." The younger man sticks an immature tongue out at Arthur, before laughing quietly and setting back to his work.

Arthur's perplexed frown is gently replaced by a small smile, and he chuckles lightly.

"You're an odd one, Alfred Jones."

"So you keep saying." There's a brief pause, before the words seem to burst forth from Alfred's mouth.

"I'm sorry. I was selfish."

"What do you mean?" You saved me… for the third time. You have nothing to apologise for."

"You can't ever go back to your old life now." Arthur's smile remained.

"Who ever said I wanted to?"

~SR~

Although they still are both hurt - and Alfred insists that Arthur's injuries are far more severe than his - Arthur revels in beings able to tend to the younger man. There is precious little left in the cabin to use to tend to wounds, so Alfred resorts to hunting for more natural remedies, grumbling all the while about the lack of availability at 'this time of the year' but still miraculously finding various plants that he turns into salves to prevent infection. It amuses Arthur endlessly to hear the younger man griping under his breath, and it is a pleasant distraction from the pain once again permeating his being.

Before long they find themselves in the midst of a yet another winter storm, trapped in the cabin by the biting winds and tumultuous snow squalls. The pallid midnight sun, that even on goods days only just blesses them with its presence, has vanished completely. And so, for a long couple of weeks, winter reigns absolute.

Whilst Arthur has absolutely no problem remaining in the cabin with Alfred - and the younger man seems perfectly happy himself - the fact remains that there is little to do to occupy oneself, especially now that Alfred was obsessing about fixing the mess they had made of his once carefully organised journals.

Bored, and determined to draw Alfred's attention away from the dire weather at least temporarily, Arthur finds his mouth broaching the forbidden topic without even consulting his mind.

"A couple of weeks ago, when I told you about my… circumstances, you implied that you'd killed a man… Alfred?"

He sees Alfred freeze, and instantly regrets his words. However, before he can open his mouth to say 'forget it', the younger man is responding.

"I may as well have done. He's still dead, it doesn't matter that I wasn't the one to pull the trigger."

He gives a deep and sorrowful sigh, and Arthur doesn't even attempt to resist the urge to embrace him. Moving towards him and wrapping his arms around his neck, he holds him as he would a child, and without meeting any resistance.

"He was my brother, and I was supposed to protect him." He pauses, before looking up at Arthur with a sad smile. "I like to think that at least I managed to protect you."

Arthur returns a soft and reassuring smile.

"You've done a fine job. It's certainly not something that I've made easy for you." He gives a watery chuckle.

Alfred takes a deep breath, as though steeling himself. Arthur tilts his head, bemused at this action. After a few moments, he manages to speak:

"I think I like you... a lot."

A knowing smile.

"I know."

"You know?"

"You're not very subtle about it, love."

~SR~

That night, when Arthur is once again settled into the small bed, Alfred takes his place next to him as they tend lovingly to each others' wounds. Arthur's past can no longer catch up with him, and he has the patience to wait Alfred's to reveal itself. He owes the younger man that much, and it's the least that Arthur can do for this wonderful young man that rescued him from death's cold embrace and brought him forth into warmth and companionship.

And so there, in the cold a dead land that Arthur could have never foreseen he'd call 'home', they stay.

Together.

AN: I hate writing endings as much, if not more, than I hate reading them... but alas, all good things come to an end! Thanks to all my lovely reviewers, followers and also those who favourite this story. Every single email made me grin like a loon :) It's been a fun ride. Special thanks to KassyMalone, for giving me constant advice and much-needed nit-picking throughout!

Now I've just got to finish some other lingering fics (naughty me for forgetting to update them for so long...) and then maybe some fun new ones! I'm thinking of a Western with our boys.