Chapter Text
Arthur was sat on the edge of his bed inside his tent, journal in hand and reading over one of his most recent entries. It was dark out but the warm orange glow from the campfire was still illuminating over the wagons in the surrounding area within Clemens Point. There was barely anyone left awake.
He heard the sound of footsteps approaching, heavy boots kicking up dust from the ground on their approach. Arthur glanced up before sighing softly and returning his gaze back to the pages of his journal. This was the last person he wanted to be having a conversation with.
“What do you want, Micah?”
“Why’d y’always be thinkin’ I want somethin’?”
“Because y’always do.”
Now it was Micah’s turn to sigh, peering down at the journal in Arthur’s hand. “What is it with you and the women ‘round here readin’ all the damn time?”
“Lenny reads. So does Dutch, and Hosea.” Arthur pointed out in an indifferent tone without looking up at Micah.
“Yeah, but he’s just a boy… Still learnin’ the ways of the world. An’ Dutch, Hosea, they’re old. They ain’t got nothin’ better to be doin’. Not like you… Nothin’ like you…”
Arthur couldn’t help but notice the very subtle slur to Micah’s words. It was evident that he’d been drinking tonight, meanwhile Arthur was keenly aware of how Micah’s eyes were staring him over as though he was a slab of meat splayed out over Pearson’s butcher table.
“Yeah, you’re different. Real different…”
“And you’re drunk. Real drunk.” Arthur replied flatly, drawing a low but humoured chuckle out of Micah. Well, he hadn’t been wrong about that.
Micah had leaned closer and raised an arm to grab onto the side of the wagon that shielded the tent with a single hand. That’s when Arthur could smell the whiskey on his breath and the musky faint smell of body odour. The silence was too loud.
“…You know, Morgan, you’re kinda pretty for a fella.”
Now that had got Arthur’s attention. Where the hell had that come from? He jerked his head sharply to look up at Micah, who hadn’t moved and was still leering over him. “Excuse me?”
Micah held up his other hand in a defensive manner, swaying slightly in place as he did so. “Hey, I’m jus’ admirin’ t’scenery…” He had the audacity to smirk and hum at his own playful comment. “Don’t mean nothin’ by it…”
More silence followed. Arthur suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Micah had never paid him that sort of interest before now. Clearly he’d had one too many drinks this evening. He turned his head to look back to his journal, shifting slightly on the bed. “Think you ought’a leave now…”
Arthur kept his gaze fixed upon his journal, no longer reading over his work but instead staring blankly at the words jotted down on the page. The other man’s presence alone was overbearing, it was distracting and not in a good way.
Micah had a strange look in his eye and Arthur didn’t want to antagonise him. Usually he’d have no problem doing that but this whole interaction had made his skin crawl. He could only assume that this conversation, if it could even be referred to as such, was a one off and that they both would forget all about it by the time morning came around.
More silence followed. But thankfully, somewhere in the depths of that thick skull, Micah took the hint. “Well… Sleep tight, Arthur, don’t let the bed bugs bite…” And with that, Micah began to slink off back in the direction in which he came from.
Arthur watched as he left, dumbfounded. He hadn’t even realised he’d been holding his breath until he’d released a heavy exhale. Micah was strange, that much was already well known to most sane individuals, but this was a new level that he’d managed to reach. Even for him. The alcohol had to be to blame here. Arthur had dismissed this as a one off and quickly decided it’d be best to forget all about it.
That was, until something else happened. A mere three days later…
“Hey, Morgan…”
“Micah.” At least he was sober this time.
“Was jus’ thinkin’… I never properly thanked ya for breakin’ me out of jail, back in Strawberry… Thought we could head into town, get ourselves a few drinks, let our hair down…”
Er… The fuck? “Y’should thank Dutch. If it was down to me, I would’ve left you there to rot.”
Micah gave a short laugh. “Awh come on… We’re past all that now, ain’t we? All that relentless bickerin’, like an old married couple. Can’t we jus’ be friends?”
What Arthur really wanted to say, was a straight forward and direct ‘no’… But to give Micah his credit, for whatever reason, he actually seemed to be trying to make amends. They’d never particularly warmed to one another, which was the understatement of the century, but Arthur wasn’t willing to just forgive and forget quite so easily. If Micah was serious then this would require some work, from the both of them.
Arthur thought for a moment. Friends was a bit of a stretch. “I’ll think about it.”
Unfortunately for Micah, Arthur wasn’t so naive. Micah had to want something, right?
“Yeah, you think about it… You think long and hard…”
Arthur didn’t think long or hard about anything that Micah had to say, until later that day when Dutch had approached him when he’d arrived back at the camp.
“Arthur, a word.”
Dutch had waggled a beckoning finger at him, turning on his heel to walk towards the shoreline of the lake. Arthur followed after him and the two men eventually came to stand beside the single tree just a few paces away from camp.
Arthur began to wrack his brain over what he could’ve possibly done to warrant a quiet word alone with the camp’s enigmatic leader. He didn’t have to wait too long to find out. After a short pause, Dutch finally spoke.
“Is there any particular reason why you’ve been pushin’ away Micah’s attempts at bein’ friendly?”
Well. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting.
“What?” Arthur had blurted out. The question had caught him off guard. Dutch had been looking out towards the lake, the late afternoon sun beginning to settle and flickering of light shimmering against the steadily rippling water.
He turned to meet Arthur’s gaze. “Now I’m well aware of the… friction between you two, but if we’re all gonna move forward then you need to get your head out the past.”
“You know my feelin’s ‘bout him, Dutch, I jus’ don’t trust h-”
“Well I do… At least try to make an effort, Arthur. He’s been tryin’ with you.”
“Oh he told y’that, did he?”
“He did. Told me you declined his offer for a friendly drink in town.”
Arthur averted his gaze and peered down at one of his boots with a heavy sigh. It had been a week since that weird incident with Micah. Arthur hadn’t forgotten about it and he wasn’t even sure if Micah remembered the brief conversation.
“You’ve had a busy few weeks, why don’t you go and take a load off? You deserve a break.”
“…Fine.”
“Tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes… Tonight. Come on, son, for me.” A reassuring hand perched on top of Arthur’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze.
Arthur really hated when Dutch did that…
More hesitation followed but he’d already made up his mind. He didn’t want Dutch on his back over something so small, stupid and insignificant. “All right.” Came his defeated response, waving a hand dismissively.
“That’s my boy.” Dutch smiled and patted the same shoulder twice before releasing his hand. “Just try not to have a repeat of what happened in Valentine, don’t forget we’re deputies now. We got a reputation to uphold.” He added with a grin. “Now go, enjoy yourself.”
“Sure…”
“And be nice!” Dutch called after him with a distant chuckle.
He was already walking back towards camp, leaving Dutch to his thoughts or plans or whatever else he did to occupy his time.
Arthur could think of a thousand and one things he’d rather be doing than going to the saloon in Rhodes with that slimy blond bastard but here he was.
“Micah, grab your horse, let’s go.”
Micah had been leaning against the bench situated towards the middle of camp, focusing on sharpening the knife that he held in his grasp. He looked up at the mention of his name and twirled the knife before tucking it away out of sight.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“We’re goin’ for that drink.”
“Had a change of heart then?” Micah had grinned practically from ear to ear.
“Not exactly… Y’didn’t have to get Dutch involved, y’know.”
“Didn’t leave me a whole lot’a choice, Morgan. I tried bein’ reasonable.”
Arthur and Micah were riding on horseback into Rhodes as the evening was only just beginning to settle in. It wasn’t much of a journey away from camp so they would easily be back within an hour or two. Arthur certainly didn’t plan on staying any longer than necessary.
“Why you so desperate t’go for a drink with me all of a sudden anyway?” Arthur was genuinely curious. All of this felt very out of the blue.
“Like I said before, I’d been doin’ some thinkin’… A whole lot’a thinkin’. Figured the only way to move on to a better future would be to-“
“Put the past behind us?” Arthur interjected in a disinterested mutter. Damn idiot was getting into Dutch’s head.
“Exactly! Figured we should right all those wrong doings. Let bygones be bygones! Startin’ with each other. What’d ya say, brother?”
Arthur really didn’t like this. He still didn’t trust Micah as far as he could throw him. But what was he supposed to do? Micah would surely cry back to Dutch if he refused any more ‘friendly’ advances. Arthur didn’t want to come across as the bad guy here.
So the only choice he really had left was to ignore his gut feeling and go along with this with an undeniable sense of reluctance. Maybe it would pass… Or perhaps not. At least until Micah showed his true colours and Arthur had no doubt that he would do. Eventually… It was inevitable really. But for now, he would just have to live and let live.
“I say all this talkin’ is makin’ me thirsty.”
“Ah ha ha! That’s the spirit! Come on, I’ll race ya there!”