Chapter Text
Arthur could count on one hand the number of times he'd been asked to bring his thoughts to a discussion and not just the worn, rough knuckles of his fists. He knew his value lay only in his brawn-especially these days-but here was Lenny, standing on the edge of his tent, asking him for his opinion all the same.
"I trust your judgement on this, Arthur." The blissful shade of the evening softened the hard lines the past few weeks had carved into Lenny's face, making him seem younger, softer than he had in a long time. "I know you'd set me straight if you thought I was bein' an idiot." He hesitated, biting boyishly at his lip. He hadn't met Arthur's eyes once since approaching him. "Am I bein' an idiot?"
Arthur considered his words carefully, held them suspended on the tip of his tongue. "Let me get this right," he said, "you wanna take the O'Driscoll out with you on a job, and you need me to inform you that this is a bad idea?" As he spoke, his brows crept steadily up towards his hairline until they disappeared entirely, such was his incredulity. "Come on, kid, I thought you was educated?" What it was that had triggered such a bright idea, Arthur could scarely guess, but he reckoned it probably had something to do with the fight the other week-Lenny's wasn't the only opinion that had been swayed when Kieran's fist swung into Micah's jaw; even big bad Bill Williamson-who never had a thought in his head beyond where the next bottle of booze was coming from-had seemed to soften and reconsider his views.
Lenny bristled like a ruffled bird. "So you're saying I should find somebody else?" he snapped.
Alright, thought Arthur, he'd bite. "What-exactly-is this job?" If he knew that, maybe then at least he'd have a better idea on how much of disaster adding Kieran to the equation would be.
Finally, Lenny looked at him. His eyes were blown wide with excitement, two deep black pools. Whatever this job was, Arthur realised, it was big. Big and profitable. He shifted further up the cot to accommodate Lenny's sudden crowding of his space. So, big, profitable and-apparently-secret. Even with the sun hanging low beneath the trees, Arthur could feel the heat and sweat of Lenny's thighs through his trousers as he sat down beside him and leaned in close. "I've been scoping out this place not too far from Rhodes, " he said, his voice hushed, "there's a man with some stables and some real fancy looking customers. I'm talkin' real fancy, like they have money to burn. But even nicer than the customers, I think, are the horses."
Well, that explained why Lenny wanted Kieran along. It certainly sat better knowing he hadn't planned on inviting Kieran for his skills with a gun. But Arthur was fresh back from his own job involving horses, and Marston's stupidity continued to gnaw at him even now. He held up his hands, "Wait a minute, kid." he said, gentle as he could. The excitement fell from Lenny's face as quickly as Jimmy Brook's body had fallen over that cliff edge. "Say you and Kieran pick out these prize ponies and get away with your hides still intact, what then? You got a buyer on the other end of all o' this?" Lenny's face continued to drop. "I hate to break it to ya, but me and Marston have already covered this and it don't lead to the nice big pot o' gold you think it does."
"I ain't Marston." said Lenny hotly. "And I ain't you neither, Arthur. I did my research. It's a good plan." He leveled Arthur with a look that could freeze hell twice over. "I don't need advice on that."
It was funny, here he was being scolded by a boy almost half his age, and all he could feel was pride, thumping against his chest like a second heartbeat. Some part of it must have showed on his face because a moment later the storm left Lenny's eyes and he deflated, huffing a quiet burst of laughter. "Sorry," he said, his smile awkward and bashful. Arthur dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand; his own smile was so wide it made his cheeks ache.
"It's a good plan, Arthur." he insisted.
Arthur didn't doubt that. Lenny was smart, he could put together a plan and whip up the right people to set it in motion-no problem. But more than smart, Lenny was also eager. And in Arthur's opinion-not that it counted for much-eagerness was a storm cloud coming in hard on a bright, clear day; it was dangerous and it could put things to ruin.
"Alright."
Lenny brightened. "So. Kieran? He's good with horses."
"Just about the only thing he is good with." Arthur grumbled. He didn't miss the way Lenny's eyes rolled skyward.
"Do you vouch for him then?"
Arthur had been asked easier questions in his life. Truth was, he was still trying to figure out the answer to that himself, had been since Six Point Cabin. His feelings about Kieran were... complicated. "I suppose there are worse options," he offered, caution measuring his words. "But you keep your eye on him, you hear?"
"Oh, I will, don't worry about that." He left as suddenly as he'd appeared, trudging back towards Hosea's lean-to with a spring in his step and a smile plastered across his face. Arthur watched him unfurl several sheets of paper and pour over them with his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. He waited until he was sure Lenny's attention was completely arrested before getting up to find Kieran.
He heard the O'Driscoll before he saw him. His voice came floating around the back of the girls' wagon, high and reedy. He sounded upset.
"L-look, you already got what you wanted." he was stammering, "Why can't you just leave me alone?"
"Because I don't like you, boy." Arthur's gut twisted. Of course, it just had to be Micah.
Arthur had met reptiles more charming than Dutch's new favourite confidante. He'd thought his disgust for Bell had already reached its limits, but every time he heard him, every time he saw him, it just continued to crawl on up there, higher and higher until just the very idea of the man turned his stomach. He rounded the wagon and paused-Micah had crowded Kieran so far into the curved trunk of one of the willows that he was standing on the tips of his toes just to chase some extra space between their bodies. He could see the top of Kieran's head poking over Micah's shoulders, bobbing unsteadily as he tried to press himself further into the bark. Between Mary-Beth and Strauss, his wounds had healed up nicely, but there was a wounded look in his eyes that Arthur doubted could ever be truly treated.
"And I don't trust you." Micah was saying. "You're a rat."
Kieran screwed his eyes shut, sucking in a sharp breath. "Please-" he hissed, "Please-"
"You know what we do with rats?"
Arthur knew what he'd like to do with this particular rat in front of him. He approached with all the quiet and subtlety of a bull in a china shop. Micah turned sharply, for one brief moment looking almost human in his surprise. Then his face relaxed into its usual sneer when his eyes found Arthur's.
"I'm surprised to see you here, Micah. We all thought we'd lost you up Dutch's ass!"
It was a gift more satisfying than all the money in the world, seeing the smile slip from Micah's face, watching his eyes shrink into two unamused slits as behind them the poor excuse for a brain he had worked overtime to produce something sharp and witty to say in return. Arthur didn't give him the chance, instead he nudged him out of the way and grabbed for Kieran's shoulder, pulling him away from the tree. He didn't get far before Kieran was wincing and sucking in another sharp breath through clenched teeth. Arthur looked back and saw immediately what the problem was.
Micah had one of his hands gripped so tightly in his own that they'd both gone as red as an open sore. "It's rude to interrupt a private conversation, Morgan." The smile on his face was sharper than the knife he whittled every day. He squeezed Kieran's hand, pushing against the unhealed fingers still in splints. Whether the pain was just too great or he didn't want to seem too much of a soft touch, Kieran made only the barest whisper of a noise, but his face was going as red as his maimed hand and he was sweating more profusely than the heat of the evening could warrant.
Arthur could feel months worth of hate and hurt building up in the pit of his stomach, flooding over into his extremities like liquid fire until it concentrated into his grip on Kieran's shoulder. He could pull him-give one big almighty tug-and the boy would come away easily, but not without another measure of pain on Micah's end. He tightened his grip, grabbed a generous fistful of his jacket and-
Kieran was looking at him with an expression he was shamefully familiar with-fear. Here he was, caught between two of the worst men in camp and no matter who won this strange tug of war, he was due equal amounts of pain and misery. With more effort than he cared to admit to, Arthur relented, easing his grip. At the same time, Micah relinquished his hold entirely, stepping back with a nasty little smile and a promise in his eyes. "Go ahead," he drawled, continuing to back away, "I'm feeling generous."
To Kieran, he pointed. "You and me, we'll continue this later."
He disappeared around the wagon with a low bow and that nasty sneer on his face twisting more sharply than the scar on his chin. Arthur stared at the spot he'd been standing, his eyes as hot as his stomach. He had half a mind to chase after him just so he could punch the smug look clean off of him, see how quickly he'd recover from a left-hook sprung by a real man. Sooner or later, this thing between them would come to a head, Arthur just prayed that it was sooner rather than later, while Dutch still maintained a thought of his own not yet poisoned by Micah's lies and false affections.
"U-uh, Arthur?"
With a start, Arthur let Kieran's shoulder go. The boy was still looking at him with fear in his eyes, but there was a measure of gratitude there now too. He rubbed at his hand-the one Micah crushed-wincing as his fingers try to brush out the pain like he'd brush out the knots on a horses's mane. "I-I-I don't want to sound ungrateful, but, uh, what do you... what do you want with me?" his words tailed off into a warble towards the end, like he was half strangling himself.
It takes a moment to recall why he'd come here in the first place, then he remembers-Lenny. He schools his expression, tries to appear reasonable instead of threatening, but his words come out as gruff and mean-spirited as always, "You can't shoot for shit, O'Driscoll."
Kieran flinched as though struck. Then a hot white fury burns behind his eyes and he looks-for a moment-like he might strike. Arthur almost hopes he will. Instead he does what he usually does in this situation which has become all too familiar to him, he shrinks in on himself, losing inches to his slouch, and purses his mouth into a tight line. Arthur opens his mouth to continue, to get to the point-
"... I shoot well enough to save you." It's said so petulantly, muttered so low under his breath that Arthur isn't completely certain he heard Kieran speak at all, but Kieran's glowering up at him with this ridiculous pout on his lips and something like a challenge on his face and Arthur is. Well, he's not sure what he is-he knows he should be angry, should put the boy in his place good and proper, but instead he gets that same little second heartbeat in his chest that he'd gotten with Lenny earlier, and it's possibly the hardest thing in the world not to smile at that moment, not to give anything away.
"Alright," he relents, "I'll give you that."
Kieran's face goes so slack with surprise that he looks half-paralyzed. He doesn't say anything and Arthur continues, "But you could be better."
He leads them down towards Flat Iron Lake, grabbing a crate of beers on the way. Kieran follows as eagerly as a pup.