Chapter Text
A few days ago Micah had injured his leg while escaping the law. He and his sweetheart, Arthur, robbed some rich fellow's stagecoach, taking the man's cache of goods for themselves: two chests of clothes, alcohol, a few paper bonds, and some (heavy) priceless heirlooms. Arthur and Micah shoved the loot in their saddlebags and tied the chests to their horse’s backs. As they finished up, a roaming lawman saw them. Quickly, the lawman called for backup and the pair found themselves serpentining through The Heartlands. Like cream in coffee, milky dust swirled behind them. 5 lawmen cut through the liquid cloud in pursuit.
Their horses tired quickly from the added weight. The lawmen caught up to speed to their trotting horses. Fleeing was no longer an option, there was only one way out of this. Arthur whipped out his repeater, shot, and killed 2 men on his side. Micah shot another two on his with his two revolvers. The two men carried the power of the lightning from God’s index finger in their hands. One look at the targets and their arms, fingers, and guns automatically calculated where to fire.
The last man rode in from the East side, springing up from behind a hill, yellow grass exploded from behind him. The man pointed his own repeater at Arthur. With the reflexes of a cat, Micah whipped his head to Arthur’s side, blasting the man square in the temple. Blood and skull fragments splattered across the man’s panicked mare’s back. If that horse made it back to civilization, the people who found her would have a story to tell. The mare bucked the corpse from the saddle and fled back East. Quietly, the hat the man was wearing drifted back and forth in the air like a leaf. Without a sound it settled into the dust, signaling the end to their chase.
The two outlaw’s horses kept hammering away at the dusty ground. Before the two outlaws could truly revel in their victory, Micah’s stallion, Baylock, plunged its hoof into a gopher hole, collapsing the ceiling of the den. Its front hoof was caught.
Arthur watched the white faced stallion’s head recoil in shock. Baylock twisted and fell to his side, taking Micah with him. The first agonizing bounce smashed Micah's right leg, the 1000lb animal's weight concentrated on that single limb. Micah cries out. The horse's torso dragged the man with him as its momentum settled.
“Micah! You alright?” Arthur shouted. He could hear Micah cursing to get Baylock off of him. Arthur anxiously spurred his gray mare. He closed the distance between them until a few meters remained and flew off the saddle.
Baylock sputtered, propped a knee on the ground, rolled off of his master, and stood up. In the stallion's shadow, Micah grabbed his leg, dragging it towards himself. Arthur had an awful feeling rise inside him, as he saw the leg pull away to reveal a jagged stone underneath it. Baylock shook himself off and trotted five meters away. Micah hissed and spat while clutching his leg.
“God! Fuck! I think… Hah… It’s broken!” The man screeched in agony. Blood began to seep through his pant leg. The blond man trembled in a way Arthur had not seen from him. Fingers clamped tight above his shin bleached white.
“Shit- wait here” Arthur said, heel turning back his horse.
“Hah... It’s not like I can go anywhere, cowpoke” Micah hissed, spitting the ‘K’ like venom. As Micah cursed, Arthur shoved supplies in his arms. “Of all the rotten fucking luck! Falling off the horse gets me!”
Arthur returned back to Micah’s side. Taking his knife from its holster, he tore his partner’s pant leg open. Micah’s leg was bent so Arthur could see it better.
Arthur examined him. The area was swelling red, a nasty jagged cut split his leg like a river in a smooth mountain. From his shin, it dragged upwards, then curled around the white glacier of his kneecap. Salty blood trickled down to find the mouth of the sea.
Nervously swallowing, Arthur tried grounding himself. He honestly had no idea how to tell if a bone was broken. He was worried this would be the end for Micah. Arthur shook his head, ridding those awful thoughts from his mind. First things first, he has to treat the wound. Even if it wasn't broken, he has to treat it with utmost care.
Looking up at his partner, he could see Micah’s eyes were screwed shut, ebbing with tears.
“You’re gonna be okay- we’ll go back to camp and have you properly taken care of. First, I need to disinfect and wrap the area, okay?” Arthur reassured. He spoke to Micah as if he was calming an injured racehorse. Micah forced an eye open to look at Arthur. Arthur was very pale; Micah forced an answer out.
“I’ll be fine, Arthur. Just get it done with.” Micah Bell III would not go down like some lamed horse, dumped in the prairies for vultures and coyotes to pick at. If he could speak through the pain, he would say he didn't need Arthur to calm him the way he did.
Arthur gathered: a bottle of whiskey, a roll of gauze, his fishing pole, a bottle of laudanum, and a spare coat. First, Arthur propped an arm under Micah to sit up. He handed him the laudanum, with shaking hands, Micah took the bottle and chugged it. Micah pushed down his stigma for taking opium, needing it now more than ever. Arthur bundled up his coat with one hand and tucked it behind his sweetheart's back. Setting Micah down, they both waited for the opium to take hold. Arthur turned his attention to the rest of the things he brought, getting them ready.
A few minutes passed, Micah sighed. Eyes cracked slightly open, staring at the pale blue sky. The drugs and alcohol seeped into his blood, calming his nerves. In this hazy state, the muted blue seemed so pretty. Those little speckles in one's vision, eye floaters, seemed fainter in his vision. They blended in with the infinite blue, giving it a hazy water color effect. Widened pupils followed a flock of silhouetted birds in the sky. Slowly, his gaze then met Arthur’s.
His partner lined the remaining items in order pertaining to the rest of his medical procedure. Micah wiggled his toes in his blood soaked socks. He almost forgot why they were there. The world was so nice…
“Is the laudanum working?” Arthur asked.
Micah nodded slowly in return. The watercolor blue sky painted after images under his eyelids. Arthur brushed loose strands of hair away from his forehead then behind his ear. Lips hidden under his mustache, parted open, sighing.
“I’m gonna touch your leg. It shouldn’t be too painful. Let me know if it's too much.” Arthur said.
In Arthur's non-drugged reality, the air was tense and frightening. He suppressed his worries to stay strong, but anxious what-ifs still popped in his mind.
If Micah had fractured his bone then he might not be able to walk for weeks. With the Pinkertons on the Van Der Linde gang's ass, Micah might not even be able to ride a horse. There was also the risk of infection and the leg becoming gangrenous. Being outlaws meant that going to the doctor may not be an option. Micah also still had a huge bounty on his head from his antics in Strawberry. It would be a huge risk to bring him into a town in this state.
Micah could see the fear in Arthur’s eyes. He internally cursed Arthur for having such a sorry expression, wanting to tell him not to worry about him, but all that he could do was slow blink at him.
“...Yeah. Go ahead” Micah whispered. His eyes rolled back up to look at the sky. The whiskers of his upper lip pursued as a few more birds entered his field of vision. He was like an old cat.
Gingerly, Arthur took the whisky, washed his hands, and started pouring. Black blood that had dried liquified under the stream, sloughing away in the amber current. Bits of grit that wedged itself inside also tumbled free. Slowly, pink flesh and healthy red blood pooled up to the surface.
Arthur relied on the current to clean. He could probably wash debris faster if he used them. However, Arthur didn’t trust himself to touch the open wound, afraid he’d accidentally infect it.
The smoky smell of the whiskey made him feel ill. This was the two's favorite brand to drink by the fire. It was the one with the highest alcohol content they could get. It was nauseating seeing it mingle with blood. The river of disinfectant soaked into Micah’s socks and into the dirt.
Back in Micah's world, he was feeling wonderful. Eyes still focused in the sky, two wide winged birds locked claws and tumbled downwards. They spun, twirling like the ground didn't matter at all. Neither bird flapped their wings. Micah didn't think falling could be considered graceful, but this display convinced him otherwise. Before the birds got too low, they disconnected and rode the warm air current back up into higher altitudes, swirling in the air, cutting through clouds. Those birds, probably eagles, were so beautiful.
Micah had a dumb expression on his face. His mustache looked like an arching caterpillar because his mouth shaped itself into a perfect 'O'.
Arthur waved his hands back and forth over Micah's leg to dry the alcohol. Having watched doctors work, Arthur dressed the wound with gauze and used his collapsible fishing pole as a splint. He did a very good job, despite working under pressure. Micah's eyes drifted down. He snorted looking down at his leg.
“Fishing pole…” He said, flashing his teeth at Arthur. A small smile escaped out of Arthur’s anxious disposition.
“It was the best thing I had on hand.” Arthur quietly replied. Arthur wrapped his arms around Micah and carried him to his horse.
“That’s hilarious… yeah caught me. No trap, no lure, nothin' but just the pole” Micah giggled, head lolling back.
Riding back to Horseshoe Overlook, they sat atop the same saddle on Arthur’s horse, Snowdrop. Micah in front and Arthur in the back. Micah weakly clasped the horn of the saddle as they galloped. One hand was wrapped around Micah’s belly and the other grasped the horse’s reins. Arthur kept Micah steady as he rocked back and forth in the saddle.
Dry shoots of grass gave way to greener pastures as they traveled. The dust settled back in the prairies, now only mud kicked up in their horseshoes.
Baylock followed behind Snowdrop as they came closer to home. Nearing the archway to the road to camp, Micah leaned his back into Arthur’s chest. Micah felt his breathing and the anxious tempo of Arthur's heartbeat.
“T-thank you, Arthur,” Micah drowsily mumbled, squeezing Arthur’s forearm. It was rare for him to thank anyone, including Arthur.
Arthur blinked, then squeezed him tighter, feeling his warmth. A small kiss was placed on the back of his head, stubble grazing his skin. “You’re welcome,” he tenderly whispered.
Arthur called for help as they entered the clearing. Micah was taken to his tent where he passed out.
Two days passed. Micah laid in his cot. Although, technically this was Arthur’s. Miss Grimshaw took it from Arthur’s tent, in which he didn’t complain. Micah needed it more right now. Arthur also donated his bedside table to put beside him. His right leg was elevated with a cushion above his heart. Fresh bandages fit him snugly.
When he was passed out, Miss Grimshaw took a good look at his leg. It was a blessing that he wasn't conscious to experience the pain of her poking and prodding his muscles.
She concluded nothing was broken. He had a bone contusion, spraining in his calves, and some surface lacerations. As Miss Grimshaw had explained to him, it was deep bruising that went in his bones, torn ligaments, and some nasty cuts.
Micah had seen her tend to some of the other gang member’s wounds, but didn’t know her medical knowledge was this extensive. He remembered watching her sew back together Sean’s arm from a knife fight in Blackwater. Micah flexed his leg, stitches pulled tight. It turned out that the old woman knew more than she was letting on.
Micah rolled his head to the side, he was not happy. He was bored. Micah was known emphatically to never ever sleep. Now he was forced to rest, sleeping was his only activity. All this time cleared and with nothing to do. After a day of laying down, he was completely sick of it.
After getting with Arthur, he made an effort to be nicer to people in camp. He used to fuck with people for fun. He loved getting under their skins, riling them up. However, Arthur made it very clear that if he continued his hateful ways he would leave him. It figured that he couldn’t bully the man’s extensive family now, especially because he was a part of it now. Thus Micah stopped, but that got rid of one of the few activities he liked to do in camp.
Before Micah’s change, camp members actively avoided or antagonized him. Seeing that Arthur trusted him now made people… tolerate him… more. What a price to pay, keeping the peace, being loved, but a plague of boredom rained on Micah.
Speaking of Arthur, he was gone with Charles hunting. The camp desperately needed more meat for the stew. Knowing Arthur’s hunting skills, he predicted he would be gone until the evening.
That man hunted in the dumbest way he’d ever seen. First, Arthur would run around his hunting grounds on horseback, scaring the animals into running, then he would follow their tracks for half a kilometer, and then kill them. Arthur said it was a faster way of sampling what was around, that animals tended to stay put and not make tracks for hours. No doubt Charles would be judging him. ‘The fool. Arthur should be here beside me. Not making Smith’s job harder.’ Micah thought, feeling lonely.
The late morning sun glowed in the sky. People started getting to their chores. Moseying around the campfire, talking, drinking coffee. Micah so badly wanted to move around; he was so jealous.
Micah’s scanning eyes fixated on Miss Grimshaw and Tilly in the distance. Tilly was fixing up the seam in an old blanket and Miss Grimshaw was cleaning the stew cauldron. They were so focused on their work, unaware of their surroundings. The two women were on opposite sides of camp. An idea popped into Micah’s head.
“Oh, Miss Susan Grimshaw!” Micah called.
Miss Grimshaw turned her head, putting the sudsy cauldron in the wash basin. Walking to Micah’s tent by the scout campfire, she answered. “Yes, what is it Mr. Bell?” She said, wiping her hands with a towel.
“Could I be bothered for some water? …Please?” Micah reached to the ground where he put his metal water canteen and pointed it to the woman. Miss Grimshaw took the canteen in her hands.
“Sure thing.”
Miss Grimshaw turned and walked down the declined path to the river. Little brown and yellow savannah sparrows bathed in the edge of the riverbank. They filled the air with their peeping calls.The birds fluttered away when they saw the woman approach. She bent down, filled the canteen upstream, and then walked back up the hill to the camp.
Micah grinned when he saw her come, her head appearing over the grassy hill. “Ohh, why thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He said, his smile audible in his voice.
Miss Grimshaw handed the man his canteen. Untwisting the cap for a drink, Micah’s reptile tongue lapped the rim, then took a swig of the fresh water.
“Will there be anything else Mr. Bell?”
“No ma’am.”
Miss Grimshaw walked back to Pearson’s cart to finish her chore. Micah took another gulp of water. Refreshing! The river behind them had real tasty water.
Then, Micah cheekily poured the canteen’s contents into the grass. Arthur said nothing about pranks, this was not hateful, no not at all. Micah waited a few minutes to pass until Miss Grimshaw was thoroughly engrossed in her task.
“Ohhh… Oh dear… Ah, Tilly come’re! I need yeah.” Micah summoned Tilly from the opposite end of camp.
“What is it Micah? Is it the leg?” Tilly said with her hands on her hips.
“It is Tilly… I can’t get out of bed. Be a dear and fill this with water”
“Fine. I’ll be right back”
Tilly took the same path as Miss Grimshaw. Down the path, disturbing the bathing birds, filling the canteen, then back up the path. She gave the canteen back to the man.
“Thank you dear…”
“Sure thing, Mr. Bell.”
Tilly went back to her sewing. Again, Micah took a drink of water and discarded the rest into the grass. After a few minutes he called Miss Grimshaw over to repeat the process. It was hilarious Micah was easily amused. ‘Best they get their steps in for me’ Micah snickered to himself.
Micah did this 1 more time with each woman, their calves getting slightly sore from so much walking. On the third instance, when Tilly was sent, Miss Grimshaw had finished washing dishes. “How are you drinking this much water?” The woman heard Tilly asking. She looked up and saw Tilly taking the canteen again. Miss Grimshaw figured out what Micah was doing. She quietly intercepted Tilly and brought her to her side of the camp.
Several minutes passed. The sun was in the West at this point. That woman was taking longer than usual, Micah thought. But he didn’t have to wait long because he heard Tilly walking up the hill. The sound of grass crunching came closer.
“Here you go Mr. Bell.” Tilly handed the canteen to the man.
“Thanks again, dear.”
Micah took a swig, his eyes bugged. Spitting the foul water into the grass, his face scrunched up in disgust. Tilly burst out in a resonating laugh. From the other side of camp Miss Grimshaw giggled like a mischievous schoolgirl. They filled it with greasy dishwater.
“Eugh! What the Hell?!” Micah hissed.
“Serves you right Mr. Bell!” Tilly laughed. Reaching into her satchel, she placed a new canteen on the table by the bed. She wouldn’t leave a recovering man without a source of water. “Seems like you’re plenty hydrated. Let this last one last till this afternoon.”
Micah grabbed the new canteen and started clearing his mouth, swishing the grease and soap from out between his teeth. Tilly giggled as she walked away, joining Miss Grimshaw, the sound of Micah’s spitting growing distant. Micah could hear the two of them chatter and laugh, he pouted that they managed to get him back. He managed to turn to his side, facing the tent.
For the rest of the afternoon Micah laid there, very bored and frustrated. He did do a little bit of whittling, but it was too annoying to sit up. Because he didn’t have a solid surface like a headboard behind him, sitting up was annoying. Like a slow boiled crayfish, he would slowly slouch more and more forward. When he straightened his back, tense muscles would curl him inwards after a while.
Dutch came by a few times to check on him. A little bit of small talk passed between them each time. He gave him one of his books to read, An American Eden, Dutch’s favorite book.
The next time Dutch came by he asked Micah about the book. Micah made a small comment about not being in the reading mood, which Dutch took as an invitation to read to him. Thus, Micah was forced to listen to Dutch’s diatribe. He loved Dutch, but man, he couldn’t stomach his favorite Author’s prose. Dutch read with the intensity of a preacher and couldn’t take a hint like one either. Micah wished Arthur was here to deal with Dutch.
Just as Micah predicted, Arthur came back in the evening. The sun dipped below the mountains in the distance, turning the sky a deep purple. Lanterns were lit and the campfires had more logs thrown on them. Arthur and Charles lugged 2 big deer over each of their shoulders. They put their deer on the chopping block, complimented their day’s performance, and parted ways.
Arthur started gathering things for Micah, as well as saying good evening to check in on everyone. Bill, and Reverend Swanson were drinking by the main fire, having lazed around all day. They mumbled their ‘good evenings’ as he helped himself to some wood that Micah could use for whittling. Next he grabbed a couple beers at Pearson’s wagon for them to share. Arthur said hello to Pearson.
As Arthur headed to Micah’s tent, he bumped into Tilly. She told him about Micah and Miss Grimshaw’s pranks. Arthur shook his head. “That fool,” he said. “Good on you for giving him water at the end. If I were you I would have let him dry into dust. I’m sorry about that.”
Arthur was constantly apologizing for Micah’s antics. Tilly noticed the disappointment on Arthur’s face. Tilly just laughed. “I think that’s the most we can expect outta Mr. Bell now, thanks to you Arthur. That was the worst thing he’s done in the last month. He got what he deserved in the end. It was worth seeing him do a spit take.”
“Whatever you say,” Arthur replied.
Approaching Micah’s tent, Arthur saw Micah was lying face up with a deep frown on his face, staring at the ceiling. That caterpillar on his upper lip was about to fall between the ditches of his cheeks. Dutch made himself comfortable, two cups of coffee on the bedside table, comfy chair that Dutch brought from his tent right by the bed. The oil lantern on the table glowed brightly, turning the book in his hand yellow.
The man’s face spoke a million words, Arthur knew what was going on. He didn’t want to shoo his boss off. He could also tell Micah had no idea what the book was about. When his eyes returned from staring into space, he saw Arthur emerging into the lamp light, Micah almost cried. His salvation!
“Arthur!”
Dutch looked up from the book. “Hello son!”
“Whatcha reading Dutch? Looks like you’re killing Micah,” Arthur said.
Micah blinked, then shot him a look that screamed ‘SHUT UP.’ Dutch turned to look at Micah's expression, the man was faking an interested look. Arthur laughed internally.
“No, I'm showing Micah the nuances of Evelyn Miller. He has such a way with words. Besides, Mr. Bell would have told me if I was killing him, right Micah?”
“Y… Yeah, boss.”
“So what part did you like the most?”
“What? Oh- um” Micah’s eyes darted between the book, Arthur, then to Dutch. His sentences came out in short slow drawls. Micah substituted vocal communication with his hands. “I liked when… Well, there’s a lot… You’re right, he does have a way with them words… I liked when they talked about… Manifesting destiny… That’s in the land.”
Dutch nodded happily. “Yes, me too! I especially like this passage we just passed, Arthur. I quote: we are as Adam, eating once more of the apple, only this time knowing full well of the consequences. To free the American soul- ”
“Not to interrupt this discussion, but came to say soup’s on. It’s slow cooked pork with some of that thyme and onions that I got the other day. You should get some before Bill and John eat it all” Arthur interjected.
“Oh, wonderful Arthur! We’ll finish the rest of the book tomorrow.” Dutch put the book on the end table, yellow pages pressed closed. With an old man grunt, Dutch left the tent.
When Dutch is out of sight, Micah deflates. “I didn’t think he’d leave. He’s been here for hours.”
“You’re that much of a bootlicker you’d sit and listen to half of-” Arthur checked the book's cover. “An American Eden?” Arthur teased, setting the supplies he gathered down. The bottles of beer and random pieces of wood clunked on the surface.
"Shut up, Morgan. He was really into it."
Arthur shook his head, taking a bottle of beer for himself. "So, what've you been up to today?"
"Nothin' It's boring around here. Not comfortable either, can't sit up for long without my back hurting. Had to fend for myself, cowpoke." Micah replied, also grabbing a beer.
"Oh what a tough guy you are."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Micah cradled his beverage, gulped the swill down his throat. Arthur continued.
"You have the whole camp feeding yeah, dressing that leg, getting water for yeah."
Micah stopped drinking. “Oh, did the women tell you that?”
Arthur gave him a look.
“It was harmless fun Morgan. You need to relax…” Micah swished the beer in the bottle, looking down the neck. "I can't really do nothing, laying here. It's different when you can't move around. Used to be fine waiting around, but it's different now…" Micah sighed.
"Oh Micah…" his partner said quietly. Micah could tell he was judging him.
Arthur left the tent to fetch them dinner, filling two steaming bowls of stew. The metal of the bowl was singing his fingertips. He did a funny looking speed walk, trying not to spill the stew, and to reach the tent before he got nerve damage. Micah was sitting up to watch him, eager for him to return. He watched him part through the darkness and into the light of the tent.
“Ow, ow, ow, ow. Take it” Arthur quietly hissed. He handed him his bowl. Micah took it in two hands.
“Why thank you Morgan.”
The two ate dinner in comfortable silence. The wild onions carried the dish. The pork used was gamey and the fragrance masked it. Micah commented how Arthur was better suited gathering herbs than hunting, it would be a worthy job for him as plants don't run away like game. It would be the second most important job to getting money. “It would make Pearson’s meals tolerable.” Micah asserted, while chewing the softened green stems.
The two men also each received a good sized hot rock, biscuits, with their meal that they soaked in the stew’s liquid. Micah finished eating first. He took a swig of foamy beer, swished it in his mouth to dislodge bits of food in his teeth, and swallowed it. With stumpy finger nails he picked the gaps of his teeth to get the rest out. “Gross,” Arthur thought.
Arthur ate slower, the stew was good. He did think about what Micah said. If stew could taste this lovely more often then maybe he would go out of his way to donate more spices. Dinner concluded when both men wiped their mouths on their sleeves. They felt nice and warm.
Arthur cleared the dishes and came back, it was time to change Micah's bandages. Miss Grimshaw let Arthur handle Micah’s evening bandages. She would do the morning ones as she could stand being around him for so long. Micah sat on the edge of the bed. The chair was pulled up closer. He washed his hands in alcohol like the day before. Scissors sliced through, allowing his skin to breathe. Taking off bandages felt like he gained a new leg. The cotton wraps fell to the ground. Micah’s leg stopped oozing fluid, which was excellent. However, the area swelled up and turned purple and green. Just as Miss Grimshaw diagnosed, deep, deep bruising.
Sliding off the chair to kneel in the grass, Arthur took his canteen out. “I’m going to wash that leg,” He said, putting his hand on Micah’s knee. Micah shivered. Arthur’s hand was warm.
“Yes… When you’re ready.” He replied. Micah’s blond eyelashes fluttered. His tough demeanor began to melt under his gentle touch.
Arthur could feel Micah relax under him, he looked up and considered the expression on his face. The intense frown lines that plagued his face earlier smoothed out. His thumb stroked the hair on his knee. “This won’t hurt a bit,” Arthur reassured him; he took his canteen and tilted it.
The water was freezing, muscles tensed under its flow. There was little residue to wash away. A couple straggling scab pieces stuck in the thread of his stitches floated away. Micah watched the water follow gravity. The water joined the soggy spot in the ground that he made earlier. Arthur's knee was getting wet from kneeling there. Micah looked at the wet spot soaking his jeans. He quietly stewed in his thoughts.
"Morgan…" Micah breathed.
"Yeah?"
Micah flicked his hand, making an indecipherable gesture. A moment of pause followed. Micah tensed. "Stay in camp tomorrow. I… It’s boring here…" Micah pensively licked the wet margin of his lips. It was hard for him to express such intimate requests like this. Slate blue eyes observed his partner, waiting for a response.
He stroked his knee with his thumb, then glided his hand over to Micah’s, resting on the cot’s sheets. “Okay, I’ll stay” Micah’s body returned to relaxing.
With a clean rag, Arthur gently dabbed his partner’s wound dry, reapplying new bandages. Flexing his leg, he tested if they were strong enough. Arthur began putting supplies away under the cot, for the next inspection. “I heard about your prank. How did yesterday’s stew water taste?”
“Awful,” Micah said dryly, opting to remain sitting.
Arthur chuckled. He sat next to Micah, wrapping an arm around his waist. “You fool.”
“They told you ‘bout it, hm?”
“Yes they did. Least it’s better than what you did before”
“Whatever, Morgan” Micah hook his head.
The two sat together in silence. Their figures merged together in the warm light, like two trees growing leaning against one another. Waterfowl from the river below squawked, risening in the cold air, telling their families to go roost. Similarly, in a way, thumping hooves of returning scouting gang members signaled everyone to settle in. Arthur could hear Javier and Sean sliding off their saddles, greeting people as they walked by. Arthur shifted his arm. Everyone was ready to sleep, but Micah probably wasn’t, being stuck in bed all day.
“How are you feeling Micah?” Arthur asked.
“Hm? Fine.”
“Do you feel tired? Do you want to sleep?”
“Pfft. Me? You forget who I am? Don’t need no sleep.”
“Hm, okay. I was thinking we should make up for lost time.”
“Lost time?”
“Yeah, I reckon we do something, make up for the torture you had to endure. Especially since you’ll be awake all night without anyone to annoy.”
Micah laughed. “We? you mean you. You were the one running off with Smith. You owe me if anything.”
“Fine, however you wanna put it. I’ll make it up to you, miss Thumbelina. Tell me what would my princess like me to do this fine evening?”
Micah’s cheeks turn pink at the nickname. Arthur picked up Micah’s habit of calling people by dumb names. “I…” His eyes avoid Arthur, as he grapples with finding a way to express what he wanted, but he didn’t actually know what he wanted. “Stay here? Not sure what else we could do while I’m out of commission.”
Usually to this kind of prompt, Micah would want sex, but Micah just imagined his muscles ripping at the idea. He frowned. ‘I guess we’ll have to sit here and do nothing…’ Micah thought.
“Hmm…” Arthur looked at Micah’s face, eyes drifted up, reached a hand over his partner’s head and landed it on top. Greasy hair flattened under his fingers. Micah couldn’t help but shiver under his touch once again. “Wanna take care of your hair? I could wash, trim the ends a bit, it makes your hair stronger if you cut it now and again.”
Micah thought about it, imagining Arthur’s fingers massaging his scalp, how nice his hair would feel after. He could picture it so clearly. “Whatever you say,” he accepted, trying not to appear too enthusiastic.
Pearson put the stew pot away, soaking in the wash basin for someone to wash. With the fire cleared, Arthur filled a metal kettle. Hooked the handle over the fire, letting it simmer. It didn’t take long for Arthur to gather everything they needed.
Micah watched him from the tent as usual. Arthur was his servant he thought, amused. When everything was ready, Arthur helped Micah to the big table in the center of camp, sitting him down, facing away from the table. A gas lantern burned steady and dim, setting a tranquil mood.
Arthur ran his fingers over Micah's scalp, feeling the texture. He focused on the top of his head where he could see his hair’s roots. He noted how at the base of his hairs started dark. As his hair lengthed, they got lighter, more golden. Two hands lightly massaged the top of his head, working around the sides. Blunt nails pleasantly tickled his sensitive skin. Micah moaned under a small breath. Arthur curled his fingers around the back of his ears, earning a shudder from the sitting man. Next they traced the inner shells of his ears, noting the shape of them. Hands raised back up the top, repeating the sequence of motions.
If Arthur could do this every night, then Micah’s insomnia could be solved. Micah was like putty in his hands. He had to make a conscious effort not to start drooling or straight up just pass out.
Arthur patted his head. He was going to start working on his hair now. Fingers tangled in his partner’s greasy hair. Arthur needed to get knots out of his hair first before he got it wet. Adding water would make getting tangles out impossible. First he slowly slipped through sectioned partitions of hair in order to get the larger knots out. Arthur wondered how his hair wasn't a matted mess. It was so dry and greasy as well as damaged. Micah had quite a lot of tangles. Arthur clicked his tongue, with two hands he picked two chunks of hair below a knot and lightly pulled them apart. After 15 minutes of gently working, he was done.
"You need to take care of your hair, Micah. A’least brush it in the morning.” Taking a comb, Arthur pressed the teeth to his head. Satisfyingly the comb’s downward strokes cut through the hair. Small knots came undone without needing much force. Micah barely felt a pinch as Arthur handled it. Micah was hypnotized, Arthur’s soothing voice and the sensation of the comb tickling his scalp.
He reopened his eyes. The sky was black, spattered with shiny silver stars. Purple streaks framed them as if someone had composed them. All the campfires except for the main one by Javier’s tent were put out. The gas lamp was barely burning, therefore, it was easier to see the splendor of the stars without the pollution of other lights. Micah swore they glimmered red and green sometimes.
What an experience this was, being tenderly cared for, gazing at the stars. Arthur swept Micah’s hair back. Silver scissors snipped his split ends away, loose hair fluttering to the ground below like dry grass in the wind. Arthur was only going to trim an inch of hair off, it wasn’t much. The gang didn’t have a hair shawl in the camp. After each snip, Arthur brushed Micah’s shoulders to keep it from sticking in his clothes and looking like a scarecrow bristling with straw. The sound of cold quiet metallic slicing filled the night air.
“Here, take a look with this mirror. How does this look? Wanna cut it shorter? Get a wild looking cut?” Arthur asked.
Blearily Micah’s eyes focused on the object Arthur was handing him. He had been staring up for so long it was weird to look at something in front of him. Micah looked the same. “I’ll have to pass, cowpoke. Nice work.”
Arthur was a little disappointed he couldn’t try something new on him, but knew that he’d end up shaving him bald somehow. He liked Micah’s long hair, it gave him something to pull during sex. Arthur was not going to say that now though.
Taking the kettle from the campfire, Arthur mixed it with cold water in the wash basin. Micah was turned around and made to lean his head forwards to the table. Warm water soaked the scarecrow’s straw hair as if it was soaking up rain. Arthur cupped his hands and poured it over his cranium. The temperature was set slightly hotter than warm, so it would stay hot longer. Arthur enjoyed the heat as much as Micah did, there’s nothing like putting one’s hands in warm water.
A mild ivory bar of soap was added to the basin, creating a milk foam. Again, Arthur’s hands returned to massaging Micah. Satisfyingly, bits of dirt washed out of his tangles, making the water greyer. Weeks of grime and oil were stripped from his head as if Arthur was removing layers of silt from a river basin. Soon enough his scalp and hair was pristine. Micah’s neck was getting sore from leaning forward by the time they were finished.
Rinsing his hair thoroughly, Arthur took a rag and began drying Micah’s hair. Sitting up, Micah cracked his neck. It was good to be able to sit normally now. The rag was rubbed quickly through his hair, drying him like a dog he just washed. When he was sufficiently dried, Arthur withdrew the cloth. Crazy half wet hair poked in every direction, his face was covered. He looked like a blond sheep dog.
Micah looked up at Arthur and grinned. Shaking his hair, residual droplets sprayed Arthur.
“Hey, hey, stop!” Arthur laughed, trying to keep his voice down so as to not wake everyone up.
Micah scooped the hair in front of his eyes to part it. Taking another rag from the table, he continued drying his hair further.
“Is this how you grew your hair out? When you had long hair and that Santa Claus beard?” Micah said chipperly.
“Yes, plus some hair tonic”
“I don’t believe you, hair tonic is nothing but horsespit.”
“Hair tonic works. You saw the results in person. Oh how ‘bout you grow your beard out like me,” Arthur jested. He scratched the scruff under Micah’s chin with a finger. “You would have hair that’d rival Rapuntzel and a beard like Uncle Sam you’d make a beautiful bearded woman.”
Micah pictured the image in his mind. “No, it would get in the way. I’d have to wash and tie it back all the time.” A hand waved to Arthur to help him stand up. “Too bad you shaved it off, you could have hidden snacks and money in there.”
“Gross! It’s impossible to know how many people have laid their hands on it. That’s a sure fire way to get scabies or something”
With an arm around Arthur’s shoulder, Micah hobbled back to his tent, hopping on one leg.
“You ought to thank Tilly and Miss Grimshaw.” Arthur started. “For all that bluster you pulled today. Might not hurt to show them you appreciate their help.”
“Was no more than some harmless fun, Morgan. Besides they got me back, it’s all even.” They reached the tent, Micah sat on the edge of the bed, hoisting his wrapped leg on the cot. Secretly Micah was gracious that two women were innocent enough to fall for his prank, that they were keen so keen on helping him, even though it was for a joke. The old him probably couldn’t have pulled that off. The two would probably ignore him and let him crawl to the river bank for water.
It was two in the morning, Arthur needed to sleep. Micah gave Arthur a kiss on the lips, his mustache tickling him. “Good night, Arthur. Come back early in the morning, I have an idea for tomorrow.” He smiled. Arthur ruffled his clean hair.
“See you in the morning, princess.” Arthur said, closing Micah’s tent flaps.
Micah turned his lamp off, letting the darkness consume him. Pulling the wool covers over himself, he felt like sleeping for once.