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tahitianmangoes · 3 years

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Absolution - Chapter 2

Pairing: Micah x Arthur Summary: Micah often felt like he and Arthur were two sides of the same coin. Whether or not Artur shared that sentiment Micah didn’t know but ever since an encounter out west, inexplicably they keep finding themselves pulled back to one and other. NSF W | Not canon compliant Also on AO3 Chapter One

Chapter Two - You Scratch My Back, I’ll Scratch Yours

The new camp was called Horseshoe Overlook, Hosea said he’d been this way before a while ago. It was further east than Dutch had ever wanted to go but right now, it didn’t matter what direction they were going as long as it was the opposite of any Pinkertons still on their tail.

It was a nice camp, away from prying eyes in the Heartlands. Micah himself hadn’t been too far this way before, maybe a couple of years ago with some people he used to run with but he hadn't seen them in a long time… Last time he heard, they were stuck in Sisika penitentiary.

However, the Heartlands it seemed, was infested with O’Driscolls; spilling out of the local saloon, camping out in the fields between where they were and right to the border with Lemoyne. Not ideal but nothing they couldn’t handle, the O’Driscolls were small fry in comparison to what had happened on that boat in Blackwater.

Arthur hadn't said a word since the cabin. Micah didn't know what to say either. Arthur had curled up by the fireplace and slept after their encounter. Micah spent all night staring into the flames until his eyes smarted and the sun rose.

Micah had left Arthur asleep and ridden back to Colter with the supplies he’d found. When asked about Arthur he shrugged. Dutch seemed concerned but he also seemed to recognise that he shouldn’t question the matter.

Since moving to Horseshoe Overlook, there hadn’t been much time to talk to anyone, let alone Arthur. Maybe Arthur was right, they were even now and that was the end of the matter… So why did Micah keep thinking about it, playing it in his mind over and over like one of those flickery, moving pictures that people went to see?

If anything, that night in the cabin had made it worse. He could kid himself that at Gaptooth Ridge, it had been a one off, maybe they’d both just been frustrated - god knows it’s hard enough to get five minutes privacy to take care of yourself when you’re in a gang of twenty other people who always want something from you… But the way Arthur had pushed him flush to the wall and looked at him with intent in that cabin, like there was more to it than just having Micah suck his cock… But Micah didn’t know what and almost didn’t dare ask.

***

"Mr Morgan!" Susan Grimshaw's voice was piercing as she called Arthur from across the camp. Micah looked up from the table where he sat by Pearson's wagon playing solitaire. "One of the girls said she saw your friend Miss Gillis around Valentine..." "Mary?!" Arthur repeated.

Micah’s hat hid his face so they couldn’t see him looking up from his card game. Arthur had been busy since they got to the new camp, everyone had been really, all working to make back the money they lost in Blackwater. But it was rare for Arthur to be in camp during the day. If Micah had meant more to Arthur, he might have thought that the younger man was avoiding him. But he knew that wasn’t the case.

He absentmindedly touched his neck where he now wore a neckerchief to hide the bruises Arthur had left from that night in the cabin, biting and sucking at his skin.

Micah could see Arthur quite clearly from where he sat; he’d changed out of his winter clothes now and wore a sky blue button down shirt that matched his eyes and dark denim pants that fit him well.

Never had Micah heard Arthur's voice so excited, seen his eyes light up so as he said Mary’s name.

"Yes…" Miss Grimshaw said and her tone didn't go unnoticed by Micah, disapproving, which wasn't exactly unusual for Miss Grimshaw - a more sour faced dragon if Micah had met one. "Never did like that girl. Anyway, there's a letter for you by your tent from her." Arthur was about to turn and go to his tent when Miss Grimshaw lay an uncharacteristically gentle hand on his chest, "be careful with her, Arthur. That girl's nothing but trouble."

Arthur didn't humour her with a response. Micah watched him go to his tent and tear open the letter like a present on Christmas morning. He read it eagerly. Soon afterwards he left the camp.

Micah felt his chest tighten and didn't understand why.

A little while later, Micah found Dutch. Dutch was unlike any man Micah had ever met before. He was intriguing, magnetic and left Micah in awe. Despite being only five or six years Micah’s senior, he saw Dutch as an almost fatherly figure.

Micah’s father had not possessed any of the skills or qualities of Dutch Van Der Linde, instead he had been what Micah had soon learned to be a bottomless evil. Nothing Micah, his brother or mother did could change that. He resented his brother, Amos, for leaving when he did but only because he had wanted to go, too… He had just been too afraid.

Micah vowed, when he left his father, that he would never be afraid of a person ever again. People would only ever fear him.

He wasn’t afraid of Dutch, more afraid that maybe he would lose favour with him now because of this ferry business. Sure, no one could have predicted what was going to happen but this was Dutch and Micah’s job and Micah had let him down, in a way. People got hurt and that sort of thing didn’t sit well with Dutch.

Dutch was around the side of his tent reading. Molly O’Shea was inside the tent, she looked annoyed to see Micah come around but truth be told, she looked annoyed whenever anyone took Dutch’s attention off of her, which Micah noticed seemed to be more often than not these days.

They had robbed a train out by Granite Pass before coming down from the mountains. He had seemed pleased with the take but it wasn’t enough. He spent a lot of is time brooding and looking anxious around the camp now.

“Dutch, can I talk to you a minute?” Micah asked. He tried to talk softly to Dutch. He wasn’t afraid of him but… One wrong word could send Dutch into a fury, he’d seen it before when Davey has spoken out of line - it was startling to see Dutch’s face turn dark, eyes completely black, drawing himself up to his full and impressive height, Micah’s never noticed how tall he was until that time, how he was muscular, too. Dutch had bellowed so loudly that his voice echoed. He never lost his cool like that, not in the six months that Micah had been with the gang and Micah didn’t fancy having that same fate.

Dutch looked up from his book, amber eyes narrowed at Micah, “what is it?” He sounded a little annoyed. “Listen… I think… I want to go back to Blackwater and get the money.” “Out of the question,” Dutch said bluntly and turned his gaze back to his book but Micah saw that his eyes didn’t move, he wasn’t reading.

Negotiating with Dutch was almost like a dance - you just have to know the steps.

“Maybe I ain’t makin’ myself clear…” Micah said carefully, “I ain’t tryin’ to rob you. You know me better than that.” Dutch closed his book now with a sigh. “Just what are you trying to do, Micah?” He asked, still sounding impatient.

The topic of the Blackwater money was a sensitive one; while everyone else had scrambled to get out of there, Dutch and Hosea had hidden the money. They had thought that it was too risky to try to get out of Blackwater with it. Micah thought that sounded a little off but who was he to argue with Dutch? Only Dutch and Hosea knew where that money was stashed, Micah didn’t even think Arthur knew - Arthur trusted Dutch wholeheartedly and would never question it. Micah trusted Dutch too, in as much as Micah could trust anyone… But it seemed a little unfair how everyone’s money was hidden and only Dutch and Hosea knew where.

“I’m tryin’ to save you. Save everybody. I’ll go to Blackwater and get the money then meet you all some place… And we’ll be home free! That’s it.”

Dutch’s brow furrowed. Micah watched him intently. He was a well dressed man, and despite being down on their luck, that hadn’t changed about him. His crimson silk vest contrasted with his crisp white shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled to the elbow. The ribbon of his hat mated the vest. Dutch removed the hat to run a hand through the dark tresses of his hair while he thought over what Micah had said.

“Just… Just think about it, boss. That’s all I’m sayin’. The way I see it, we gotta try.” Micah knew full well that Dutch probably didn’t give two shits the way Micah saw it. But it was all part of the dance.

“I…” Dutch started, turning his gaze back up to Micah. He seemed a little at a loss for words momentarily. “I’ll think about it.” he said finally.

Micah let a smile break out on his face, “thank you.” He said, not forgetting that he was still beneath Dutch in all senses of the word and he was definitely not adverse to grovelling if that’s what it took for Dutch to see sense, to let him help and who knows, take over from where Hosea so obviously wanted to leave…

****

Later that night, when everyone else had gone to sleep, Micah sat by the campfire sharpening his knife. From where he sat, he had a perfect view of Arthur’s tent which was, as usual, empty.

Micah let his thoughts wander back to that morning. He wondered who this Mary woman was and how had he never heard of her until now? Was she an old flame? As long as he had known Arthur Morgan, Arthur had never had a romantic relationship, not even an unromantic one - he turned down whores in the saloons, ignored women who complimented him or gave him discount in stores on account of how handsome he was and continued with his sullen cowboy act. Micah had begun to doubt whether it was an act at all…

Just then he heard hooves approaching. Micah couldn't see who it was but he heard Bill who was on guard duty ask: “who goes there?” “Arthur, you dumbass.” Came the reply.

Micah couldn’t help feel his chest tighten again, his heart ripple. Why was he like this?

When Arthur came into view, he had a bottle of whiskey in one hand that he must have taken from the box by Hosea’s tent. As he approached the fire, he smelled like he had already been drinking. Micah didn’t look up but he could see Arthur out of the corner of his eye, hovering around the fire, watching Micah continue to sharpen his knife as if he hadn’t noticed the younger outlaw arrive. Micah didn’t look up or speak because he had no idea what to say to Arthur. Part of him thought that maybe Arthur had been right up in the cabin, maybe there was nothing to talk about.

To Micah’s surprise, Arthur sat down beside him at the fireside. Micah could see that there was something in Arthur’s other hand. A piece of paper. The letter from that morning.

Arthur was the first to speak. “You’re up late.” Micah shrugged, “so are you.”

“I… I was with someone in town… Someone I… Uh…” Arthur trailed off. It looked like it pained him to think about it, let alone say it. “Someone I was courtin’ a long time ago.” Micah let himself smirk. “What happened? She kick you out for the night once you were done?” “No.” Arthur replied, almost hotly, “It ain’t like that. She ain’t like that.”

Arthur’s voice wavered slightly. Micah had never heard him speak so earnestly or even speak this long, he usually spoke to Micah in short grunts like some farmyard animal.

Arthur continued, “she… Well, she was never really right for me. Too good for me. I proposed a long time ago. She turned me down o’ course. We was just kids really.”

Micah didn't say anything, he got the feeling that Arthur didn’t really want his input but rather just needed someone to listen to him.

“Anyway, her daddy didn’t like me.” Micah scoffed, “what do daddies know?” Arthur smiled weakly and drank from his whiskey bottle before continuing. “Maybe he was right. She weren’t made for this life. Sometimes I wonder if anyone really is…”

Arthur stared into the fire. Micah stared at Arthur.

“Anyway. She left a letter for me and o’ course, I went rushin’ over to her like the prize idiot I am… Knew she’s married now but, well, he’s gone. Pneumonia or somethin’; bad business. So she’s a widow now. Some stupid part o’ me thought maybe this was her givin’ me another chance now we’re both older.”

He stared into the fire sadly and took another swig from the bottle.

“Turns out she just wanted an errand boy, someone to do her dirty work for her… She knew I was fool enough to do whatever she wants. Maybe ‘cause part of me thinks we still got a chance even though I know she ain’t about this life and I ain’t exactly the type to buy a ranch and live honestly… Sometimes I wonder if… If I’m the sorta person that can… Be loved…” Arthur let himself trail off. They sat in silence for a few minutes save the crackling of the fire.

Micah had never heard Arthur talk this way, not to anyone. Part of Micah had assumed that Arthur just didn’t have that in him. A big, brawny brute who was emotionally stunted. But now Micah saw the pain on Arthur’s handsome features and he hurt too, in a way.

“You can't go forcin’ somethin’ if it ain’t right.” Micah said, his voice taking on an alien, gentle quality. It took Arthur by surprise, he looked up at him now. The fire reflected in his eyes. Micah had thought he was more drunk than he looked but the way he looked at Micah told him different.

Micah watched the fire dance in those great blue orbs. Neither of them said anything but Micah knew. Micah knew what was going to happen and he was fully prepared to let it despite the fact that they were in the middle of the camp, despite the fact that if Dutch were to come out of his tent, if Javier who was sleeping just a few feet away was to wake, they’d be seen. But Micah let it happen anyway. He was powerless.

Arthur moved his head closer and they kissed. Arthur let the letter tumble from his fingers into the mud as he reached for Micah, one hand on his face the other he lay almost hesitantly on his chest. Micah reciprocated. He let his eyes close, let his lips move on their own, let Arthur’s tongue slip into his mouth and rub gently against his own so he could taste the whiskey he had just drunk. Micah felt his head spinning, like he was drunk too. All he could hear was the fire crackling, feel the warmth of Arthur’s hands on him and smell the musk from the swell of the younger man’s chest. Consuming. Intoxicating. He brought his hands up, running them through Arthur’s soft, fawn hair and Arthur made a sound, a sigh, a moan that Micah echoed back to him.

And before he knew it, Arthur had pulled away but his hands were still on Micah. Still, neither of them spoke. Micah let Arthur stand and guide him away from the main camp, behind Arthur’s own tent and into the treeline.

Micah was eager to kiss again and Arthur allowed him to once they were a suitable distance from the camp. Micah let Arthur grope him through his clothes, let Arthur’s fingers work at the buttons on his pants and slip his hands inside, palming his already semi hard cock. Micah let out a shaky gasp into Arthur’s mouth, the stubble from his beard scratching his skin, the smell of tobacco on his shirt filled up his lungs.

Micah’s fingers were quick to unbutton Arthur’s pants, too and take his cock in hand. He was hard and Micah could feel it pulse beneath his fingertips, the tip leaked with precum and Micah tugged on it making Arthur growl into his mouth. A growl that sent a pang of excitement throughout his body. Arthur reciprocated and the pair jerked each other, kissing hard, Micah pressing his hips against Arthur’s who rocked his back in response, drawing breathy moans from Micah.

Micah wasn't sure if it was the lust or the liquor or maybe both but he wasn’t going to question it. He also wasn’t going to admit that he had wanted this again, so so badly.

Arthur shifted, spitting on his palm before resting his weight on a tree behind him so he could take both of their erections in his hand and stroke them together.

Micah couldn’t stop himself letting out a guttural moan. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. The soft skin of Arthur’s cock against his own, hot and throbbing paired with Arthur’s slicked hand was an unprecedented type of bliss.

Micah’s legs shook and he could barely stand, Arthur let him lean forwards, able to support them both as Micah clung to him, hips fucking into Arthur’s palm as he stifled his moans and swore under his breath each time Arthur’s hand ran the length of his shaft, rough thumb swiped over his slit or reached down to gently tug on his balls.

Arthur kissed him to silence him and soon, Micah found himself rutting erratically, panting into Arthur’s open mouth, unable to concentrate on anything other than chasing his release.

He came in ropes, shuddering against Arthur. Micah’s release served as lubrication as Arthur continued to stroke, his hand in a vice-like grip around both of their lengths, Micah now trembling and whimpering pathetically through overstimulation. Arthur let out a low rumble in his chest as he came too, Micah could feel his cock pulsating against his own as Arthur leant back against the tree, eyes closed, wrapped in euphoria, hips thrusting more shallow now until he stilled.

Arthur let Micah stay leaning against him while they caught their breath. It was definitely the liquor that led Arthur to kissing Micah again, this time almost chastely before he moved away, buttoned his pants up and retired to his cot.

Micah sat on the edge of camp, he could see Arthur curled up asleep on his cot. After the buzz from his orgasm died down, he felt hollow. As much as he had wanted it, he knew he’d made a terrible mistake.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times..?

****

Arthur slept in the next day but Micah had already left by the time he woke. Dutch had approached him after he had eaten breakfast.

“Micah, I know you’re eager to get our money back and I commend you for it, son but it ain’t gonna be that easy.” He said. Micah half shrugged, half nodded. He was exhausted. Dutch didn’t seem to notice, he continued. “I just think… It’s better to chase new opportunities - always more money to be made, this is America after all… I know you got your heart set on the Blackwater money - I did too. But… I just don’t want no one else to get hurt or worse. Y’understand?” “Yes, boss.” Came Micah’s swift reply. “Good,” Dutch said with a hint of a smile. “In that case, I want you to go out scoutin’ west a bit but not too close to Blackwater. See what opportunities you can find. Take young Lenny with you.” “Lenny?” Micah repeated.

Micah didn’t not like Lenny Summers, he was indifferent at best. Lenny was the youngest member of the gang at just nineteen years of age - just a boy. Micah could almost smell the breast milk on the kid’s breath; he was young and inexperienced. They just didn’t suit each other.

But Micah knew it was best not to argue with Dutch Van Der Linde and so found himself riding out back west way again with young Lenny in tow. Lenny chattered and Micah barely listened, too busy thinking of the night before and Arthur, Arthur, Arthur.

They came across a small place called Strawberry, a dry town with not much going on - a lead that there was a man at the post office willing to pay them to sabotage stagecoaches but it was small fry. They needed to make up for all that money lost in Blackwater, all $150,000 of it. A stagecoach wasn’t going to give them that.

Later that day they found a saloon outside of Strawberry and as with all saloons, they also found trouble. Micah recognised someone there, a man he knew as ‘Skinny’. Skinny had screwed him out of money a while back, just after he lost his other crew to Sisika. Micah was the sort of person to hold grudges and so went to ‘talk’ to Skinny.

Lenny warned him against it, which Micah had shaken off - ”you worry too much, kid.”

But maybe this time, the kid was right. Micah had drank far too much whiskey already in a bid to numb some of the confusion he’d been feeling all day in regards to Arthur and whatever the hell it was they kept doing together…

Had he been sober, there may not have been a fight. Had he been sober, he might have been quick enough to escape the law. Had he been sober, he might not have been arrested and thrown in the Strawberry jail.

****

Micah woke up feeling like he'd been mown down by one of those stagecoaches he thought he was too good to hold up. His head hurt and he didn't remember how, when or why he got there.

Micah had been in jails worse than this before - always managed to get himself out somehow. They hadn’t gotten his name and didn’t know he was part of Dutch’s gang so he was sure he’d be let out sooner or later… There was an O’Driscoll in the cell with him who was as drunk as a skunk and blathered on about a banking stage him and his boys were planning on hitting. Micah ignored him for the most part. He was hung over and he could feel that he had a black eye but he wasn’t sure from where.

He found himself slipping into an uneasy sleep.

He was standing outside of the barn again, staring at the peeling red paint. He knew what would be inside if he went through the doors. He didn’t want to go through the doors. He didn’t want to see it again. There was the voice. It was always here. Always screeching at him. “Prove it! Prove it to me, ya yella bellied son of a bitch! He walked slowly to the barn door, laid his hand on the wood, it was warm from the summer sun. He remembered the heat. Remembered how it made the blood smell…

“Do it now! Prove to me you ain’t a pussy like that no-good brother o’ yours!”

He jolted awake forgetting where he was. The O'Driscoll snored on the cold floor of the cell beside him. Micah took a breath. He hoped that Lenny had enough brains to go and get help.

And help came, eventually, in the form of Arthur Morgan.

Micah had been sitting at the window of the jail, leaning his face against the bars which cooled his swollen eye when he spotted Arthur sauntering over to him. He looked like he’d had a haircut and a shave, maybe even a bath. His hair was trimmed now, off of his neck where before it had been longer, his beard also gone. He’d replaced his blue shirt with a black one. He looked good and Micah cursed himself for thinking so.

You can do a lot of thinking in jail and Micah had thought of nothing but their encounter at the camp - what had it meant? Why had Arthur allowed it again if he had said it was nothing before? Micah knew the trail was lonely, men would lay with other men, hell even cattle if that was the only thing available.. But Micah wasn’t the only thing available. Not thirty minutes north was Valentine full of working girls if Arthur wanted to relieve himself. Why did they keep coming back to each other?

“Hello old friend, have a good time, did you?” Arthur asked, smirking as he sidled up to the side of the building. “You gonna get me outta here, Morgan?” Micah asked, a hint of desperation about his tone. Arthur paused before answering, taking the time to put a cigarette between his plump lips, strike a match then light the smoke. “I ain’t decided yet.” “Real funny.” Micah replied, rolling his eyes. “Oh, I ain’t joking, cowpoke.” Arthur replied as he exhaled smoke. “I’ve heard so much bluster outta your mouth the last six months and now I got an opportunity to watch you be silenced.”

Micah’s eyes widened. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought that Arthur was joking. It seemed like such a juxtaposition to the man he had been kissing just a couple of days ago who had sounded so vulnerable and sorrowful.... “You- you gotta do something!” Micah replied. Would Arthur really leave him to languish here? That wasn’t the Arthur Morgan Micah knew at all. “Why?” Arthur asked, his voice low and rumbling. Micah’s pale eyes met Arthur’s. “I… I thought…” He stammered uncharacteristically and shot a glance back at the O’Driscoll who was still asleep. “I thought, well, y’know..?”

Micah looked at Arthur pointedly. Surely, he hadn’t forgotten the other night. Arthur shook his head quickly. “I told ya, I ain’t gonna talk ‘bout that ever again. Y’understand? It was a mistake.” “A mistake that happened three times? Sure, cowpoke.” Micah found himself saying hotly. “You shut your mouth or I will leave you here to rot, Micah, so help me I will.” Arthur looked away from Micah in the jail cell before saying, “don’t be mistaken, I’m only here because Dutch asked me. Nothin’ else.” Micah didn’t say anything. He glared at Arthur. Hated that he was drawn to him when he was such a self righteous prick almost all of the time.

Arthur used dynamite to blast the wall of the jail away. It was a loud and brash technique that suited Arthur. The lawmen up in the jailhouse were alerted immediately and Arthur handed Micah a revolver to protect himself from what was about to come. Micah didn’t know whether it was because of what Arthur had said, acting like nothing had happened but he suddenly saw red as lawmen descended upon them. Micah found himself shooting up the town as if his life depended on it. Arthur followed him, shouting after him, “what the hell are you doing?! Let’s just get out of here!” But Micah felt rage boiling over inside of him, rage because he had let Arthur do as he pleased and he felt used, he felt stupid. And now Arthur was being sent to save him, smirking at him like he was some little bitch. Micah would have preferred anyone coming to his rescue, anyone other than Arthur. “Have you lost your goddamn mind, Micah?!” Arthur was calling after him as Micah made his way through Strawberry firing on anything or anyone who resembled a lawman. “Calm yourself woman,” Micah spat at Arthur, “we’ll be fine.” “You have really lost it this time!” Micah felt a rush of adrenaline in a gunfight. He didn’t know if others did but there was little else that got him excited or made him feel as alive as bullets whistling past him. He got a thrill out of dodging and weaving, out of hunkering down then waiting for an opening to make that perfect headshot. Maybe it was something he’d learned from his daddy - the only times his daddy’d been proud of him was when he was unloading a chamber of bullets into someone’s chest. Together, Arthur and Micah were a force to be reckoned with - both excellent shots and efficient. They made short work of the lawmen and were able to make their escape. There was a lull eventually, Micah stood in the middle of the small town, chest heaving covered in sweat and blood - some his and some not. Arthur stared at him incredulously. “Come on,” Arthur growled at him, marching over to him as he unhitched his horse, a Missouri Foxtrotter like Baylock only Arthur’s was dapple grey. “Get on,” Arthur ordered, “before I shoot you, too.” Micah let himself chuckle. This almost felt normal. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Micah wasn’t worried about Baylock, he was a clever horse who would have returned to camp once Micah didn’t come for him. Arthur mounted up and reached down to pull Micah up too. Micah ignored the sparks he felt at Arthur’s touch.

Arthur spurred the horse onwards and they tore out of Strawberry. There were already reinforcements on their tail; with one hand, Micah held onto Arthur’s waist and with the other he shot at the lawmen. He pushed down all the thoughts he had about holding onto Arthur and being this close to him, close enough to smell him, close enough to press his lips to the nape of Arthur’s neck just to hear him sigh and watch him shiver. “Goddamn maniac,” Arthur snapped at him as they rode past Rigg’s Station, “I shoulda left you to hang.” Micah smirked. That was the Arthur he knew, not the sad drunk at the campfire. “Wouldn’t you get bored without me?” He asked playfully. Arthur grunted but didn’t reply. “That was some good shootin’ back there - gotta hand it to ya, Morgan.” “What was that you pulled back there?!” Arthur called back to him, not letting up on the speed though it seemed like the law was gone now. “Got a bit wild, that’s for sure.” Micah mused, not wanting to have to explain himself. “Wild!?” Arthur repeated, sounding dumbfounded.

Micah didn’t say anything else. He didn’t know what exactly had come over him and he wasn’t about to spill his guts and feelings to Arthur Morgan. Not now, anyway. Maybe if things had been different... If Arthur hadn’t acted like nothing had happened... “You owe Lenny,” Arthur told him sternly, “if he hadn’t found us in time… Well…” “You’ll all be thanked profusely. I promise.” Micah retorted. “You’re lucky Dutch has got your back for some unknown reason.” Arthur said coldly. Arthur slowed his horse down now. Micah still rested his hand on Arthur’s waist, the anger subsided giving way to something else but he didn’t understand it. He felt his chest tighten but different this time. It was dull, it throbbed and ached like he wanted to howl in pain. “Take me back to my camp.” Micah said to Arthur, “it’s at Monto’s Rest.” “You ain’t comin’ back to Horseshoe Overlook?” Arthur asked, surprised. He turned his head to look at Micah over his shoulder. Micah didn’t want to meet his eye. “No. I’ve been a bad boy, Morgan. Dutch ain’t gonna be happy with me. I’ll let him cool off or bring him a peace offering.”

Arthur rode to Monto’s Rest - Micah had set up camp there with Lenny before they went to the saloon. Baylock was waiting for him. Micah slipped off of Arthur’s horse and went to Baylock. There wasn’t much he cared about in life but his horse was one of them. “Hey,” he greeted the Foxtrotter gently and patted him on the muzzle, “what a clever boy you are.”

Arthur hovered awkwardly, not getting off of his horse but not leaving immediately either. He watched as Micah spoke softly to Baylock and fed him some hay: “you must be hungry, boy. Micah looked back to Arthur, puzzled. He’d half expected Arthur to make him walk back to his camp after that performance in Strawberry and he certainly hadn’t expected Arthur to hang around.

Why was Micah’s heart beating so hard in his chest?

“I…” Arthur started and Micah looked up at him, head to one side, “I’m glad Lenny got to us in time.”

Micah saw the flush play across Arthur’s cheeks and his blue-green eyes looked bright, just like they had done before. What was this? Not half an hour ago, he had said he’d leave Micah in that cell, he’d berated him for shooting his way out of town and now… Now he was saying he was happy that Micah was ok?

“Why…. why don’t you stay?” Micah found himself asking and he hated himself for it. Micah also hated how he had to crane his neck to look up at Arthur on his horse.

The night had drawn in now and Arthur’s features were shrouded by darkness but his eyes shimmered as they settled on Micah’s. Micah thought for a moment that he could see Arthur considering his proposition of staying. Whether it was just for a drink or for the night, Micah wasn't sure if he cared, he just wasn't ready for Arthur to leave just yet. Didn't want to be on his own again.

He hated how he became needy around Arthur. He’d been so angry at him but now he couldn’t be.

“I…” Arthur started, hesitating. “I should get back.” He said, looking away as he spoke.

It was all Micah could do but to bite his lip to stop him calling after Arthur as he turned his horse around to leave; it took all his will to stop him begging Arthur to stay with him.

He already felt his neck flushing with embarrassment. What the hell was he doing? This wasn’t him! Simpering after Morgan out of everyone..!

He hated himself more and more and more.

So he rode into Valentine a short while afterwards, drank too much whiskey and fucked the first whore who spoke to him.

The whore wasn’t the best lay in his life but she wasn't bad either. She wasn't Arthur though.

****

Micah woke up in the rented room above the Valentine bar the next morning. Light streamed in through the window and the whore was long gone.

Micah groaned and rolled over. He was naked, still had blood on him from the jailbreak the day before. He didn’t want to think about that or think about Arthur. He cleaned himself up and dressed, going downstairs to the bar. He needed food - he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten anything.

He ordered eggs, flapjacks and coffee. He sat at a table away from the main doors trying to let his pounding head subside. If he closed his eyes he saw Arthur, saw the blood from the lawmen in Strawberry, saw the peeling paint of the barn door…

“Micah Bell..? I never thought I’d see you again, let alone in Valentine of all places..!”

Micah’s head jerked up and his eyes were greeted with the sight of a well dressed man around the same age as him, tall and slender with a shock of red hair and vibrant green eyes that sparkled mischievously with a boyish charm as they met Micah’s.

“Clinton Jones?”

“The very same! How the hell are you!” Clinton asked, pulling up a chair and sitting at the table beside Micah. Micah found himself uncharacteristically lost for words as he stared into those dazzling emerald eyes. Clinton seemed nonplussed at his old friend’s silence. “Let me buy you a drink! It’s been how many years..?” “Too many,” Micah replied rather bluntly. He was taken aback. Hadn’t seen Clinton since he was a boy. Back then, they had been very close but since Micah took off on his own, Micah had pushed those memories down.

“How’s Emily?” Clinton asked Micah. “Amy.” Micah corrected him, a sudden jolt carved through him like a knife. “She… She passed away.” “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” Clinton said, though he didn’t sound it at all.

Micah found himself speechless at being presented with his past so suddenly and unexpectedly. A working girl set Micah’s food down before him and he began to eat, a distraction from having to make small talk with a childhood friend.

“What are you doing out this way?” Clinton asked Micah, watching him attentively. Micah shrugged casually, “jus’ this and that. You know how it is, Clint.” Clinton laughed softly, “been years since anyone called me that. It’s Clinton these days… Or Agent Jones.”

Micah didn’t show that a jolt of panic ran through him. He had known Clinton had been interested in joining the law when they were younger - not wanting to follow a life of crime and urging Micah to do the same. But Micah couldn’t, his daddy’d never let him. And then after what happened out in Ohio there was no going back, Clinton knew that.

“I work with the Pinkertons now, Micah.” Clinton said, almost gently as if he wanted to soften the blow. “It’s what you wanted.” Micah replied, not meeting Clinton’s eye now. Clinton moved a little closer to Micah now, dropping his voice as he spoke, “even me just sittin’ here with you is a risk, especially after what happened with your daddy.” Micah’s eyes darted up to Clinton’s. “I never told no one about you, Micah. I swear.”

Micah stopped eating. Had he not been Micah Bell III, his hands might have shook as he held the cutlery and he might have been worried about just how convenient it was that Agent Clinton Jones of the Pinkerton Detective Agency, former close friend of Micah Bell, just happened to have tracked him down to Valentine, especially after all that chaos he had caused in Strawberry.

Perhaps Micah had not been as anonymous as he had thought back in that small, Strawberry jail.

“Thanks.” Micah said. “That’s what friends are for - helpin’ each other.” Clinton said with a smile, “maybe you could help me, Micah..? ‘Parently, there’s a bunch of people out this way - outlaws - just robbed a ferry in Blackwater and then a train owned by Mister Leviticus Cornwall. Maybe you heard about it?”

“Can't say I have.” Micah replied smoothly, picking his knife and fork up again and resuming his breakfast, “you know me, Clint… I ain’t really one for reading the newspaper.”

That wasn’t the answer Clinton had wanted as he moved his head further still, his smile diminished but still playing on his lips like someone who knew they had a royal flush in poker. “Listen, Micah. I don’t wanna be coy. Dutch Van Der Linde is a wanted man and I want to help put him behind bars.” Micah shrugged, slurping at his coffee in a purposefully obnoxious way. “I think think I’ve heard o’ him but… I’m afraid I can’t help you old friend.”

Micah went to stand now and Clinton followed suit. “Micah!” He followed Micah to the doors of the saloon rather desperately now, “Micah, I know you know somethin’. You was seen with Van Der Linde out west. Now I came to you without tellin’ no one because I still… Well… We was close once.”

Micah hesitated as he walked to the hitching post. “We was.” Micah conceded, not looking at Clinton now. “Long time ago now, Clint. Long time ago.” “Don’t mean that it didn’t happen or that it didn’t mean anything.”

Micah let his hat hide the expression on his face. He hadn’t thought about Clinton Jones for twenty years. Many people had come and gone since then.

“Clint…We was kids.” “I don’t wanna have to resort to blackmail. I thought, maybe you’d still have some sort of fondness left… Thought you’d want to help an old friend out - you scratch my back, I scratch yours?” Micah turned back to Clinton now. He searched his face not knowing if he could trust him. When could you ever trust a Pinkerton?

“They’d still be interested in you after what happened in Ohio, you know. They got your daddy but as far as I know, that bounty’s still out on your head.” “Clint-” Micah started, shaking his head. “I won’t tell ‘em a thing, I swear… If you help me, Micah. I can guarantee your freedom. And money, too - Dutch has a pretty price on his head.” Micah’s face stayed stony. Clinton reached into his inside jacket pocket and held out a sheet of paper to Micah. It was Dutch’s bounty poster. Micah took it without looking at it.

“Just think about it, Micah. I’ll be in touch.”

#morbell #rdr2 #micah bell #arthur morgan #red dead redemption #writing

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