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"For which I am a prisoner now, in Stillwater jail, I lie..."
Standing in front of the well-worn kitchen counter, Arthur Morgan sang quietly to himself, his low, gruff timbre echoing pleasantly around the cozy space. A large wooden mixing bowl was balanced on his arm, his hips swaying gently from side to side while he stirred the lumpy mixture of flour, sugar, eggs, and butter into the beginnings of a sweet shortcrust dough.
"We robbed him of his money, boys, an' bid 'im go his way... For which I will be sorry of until my dyin' - hey!"
With as much practiced ease as drawing a revolver from its holster, he quickly flipped the spoon over in his hand, using it to deliver a well-aimed smack to the grubby mitt trying to slither its way into the bowl.
Bullseye, and Micah jerked his hand back with a surprised yelp. "Ow! The hell was that for?" he snapped, glaring at Arthur from beneath the fringe of his greasy blond hair.
"You already know what," Arthur grumbled, threateningly brandishing his flour-covered spoon at the would-be pie crust bandit. "Keep your nasty fingers outta my pie, you heathen." When Micah just grinned and raised an eyebrow, Arthur huffed and rolled his eyes. "Don't even say it."
"Whatchu makin' in here, anyway?" Micah drawled, lazily draping his torso over the countertop and coating the left side of his red button-down with flour in the process. "'sides a pie that I apparently ain't allowed to have."
"I'm makin' supper, same as every night," Arthur answered flatly, using his hip to nudge Micah out of the way so he could set the bowl aside and let the dough rest. "And you can have it, once it's baked. With my luck, I let you eat it raw and you'll wind up with dysentery and make it both our problem."
Micah groaned. "That was one time."
"Which was about three times too many for me." Arthur shuddered. "Never. Again."
"Yer so damn dramaaatic, Morgan, y'know that?"
Arthur ignored him, instead slapping a thick hunk of beef chuck onto his favorite cutting board and slicing it into thin strips before mincing it fine. He'd been a little surprised, initially, to realize how much he actually liked cooking. Like anyone who lived from the saddle of a horse, he'd of course known the basics for years: field-dressing and roasting wild game, mashing roots and boiling leaves, foraging for berries and mushrooms, and the like.
But actual cooking, having a real kitchen and real ingredients he could use to make real meals instead of just charring whatever he managed to skewer on the end of his knife, that was different. To his surprise - and mild embarrassment, after how much ribbing he'd given Mister Pearson for it in the past - he actually found it very enjoyable. Much like the process of making blank sheets of paper into landscapes and portraits with a simple stick of charcoal, there was something immensely satisfying about seeing a pile of raw ingredients transformed into something delicious with nothing but a knife, a pan, and a little heat. Getting to use his hands for something other than robbing, shooting, or beating a feller half to death... It was relaxing, even peaceful, in its own way.
... or at least it was peaceful, when a certain someone wasn't getting in his damn way through every step of the process.
Arthur bit back a growl when Micah leaned across him to grab an apple from the fruit basket, forcing him to pick up his cutting board or else let the other man's protruding beer-gut sweep the freshly-chopped beef onto the floor. He then proceeded to hop up and sit his ass down dead in the center of the counter, crunching on his stolen fruit right in Arthur's ear and not even trying to stop the juice from running down his chin.
"Ain't you got nothin' better to do than pester me while I make dinner?" Arthur snapped, side-eyeing blond while he molded the mincemeat into thick patties between his palms.
Micah grinned like a Cheshire cat, green shreds of apple peel sticking out from between his tobacco-stained, mismatched teeth. "Not p'ticur'ly." He dipped his thumb in the cup of flour Arthur had set aside for rolling out the pie crust, smudging a streak of it across the younger man's forehead with a smirk.
In spite of himself, Arthur couldn't help but laugh, just a little. He still wasn't entirely used to this side of Micah; less bitter and violent, more mischievous and playful. It had taken weeks after the dissolution of the gang to see the man as anything other than a conniving, bootlicking snake, and longer still spent traveling aimlessly together with a few other stragglers in the months that followed before he began to consider him a friend, and then... something more.
Even now, two years since they'd settled down on this tiny parcel of land in Big Valley, it still felt a little strange... this, them, whatever they were now... But it got a little easier, a little more comfortable, with every passing day.
"For the love of..." Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, why don't you go make yourself useful and pick some mulberries for dessert? I know they're in season right now. I was just gonna make an apple pie tonight, but if it'll get you outta my hair for ten seconds, I guess I can probably manage to whip up a mulberry one too."
The look on the other man's face made Arthur snort; if he'd been a dog, Micah's ears would've been standing up at full attention the instant he heard the word "mulberry." It was no secret that the dark purple fruits were Micah's favorite, given the way he ate himself nearly sick on them every summer (although he refused to say as much aloud to anyone but Arthur, his ridiculous pride not allowing him to publicly admit to enjoying such a "feminine" food). Both of them had softened a bit since they'd moved out here, their faces a bit rounder and their belts a bit tighter - wondrous, what three meals a day and not constantly running for one's life could do for a man. Still, if Arthur had to hazard a guess, at least five pounds of Micah's extra paunch was made entirely of berries.
"Well hell, why didn't ya say so?" Micah asked, sliding off the counter so fast he nearly fell on his face. "I'll bring back as many as ya want! We still got those extra feed buckets in the back corner of the barn?"
"Same place they always are, yes," Arthur said dryly, though he couldn't quite hide his smile behind a grumpy facade the way he used to do so easily. Softer in more ways than one, Morgan...
Micah didn't respond, except to grab his hat from the peg by the kitchen door, flipping it onto his head without even breaking his stride as he stepped out onto the back porch. "You'd better not be lyin' to me," he warned, turning around to point an accusatory finger at Arthur's chest. "If you're just sendin' me on some goose chase to get me outta the kitchen -"
"Course I ain't," Arthur cut him off, rolling his eyes. "When have I ever? But if you keep dawdlin' I ain't gonna have time to make anything before supper gets cold, berries or no berries. You'd best get a move on."
Micah squinted at him for a moment, still looking suspicious, but eventually nodded, spinning on his heel and making his way out toward the horse barn to fetch the empty feed buckets.
"And keep yer eyes open, don't get yerself eaten by a goddamn bear!" Arthur called after him, to which Micah simply flipped him off without bothering to turn around.
Arthur shook his head, closing the door behind Micah and returning to his cooking. "Idiot."
Once the pie crust was rolled out and lining the baking dish, he sugared the apples and dumped them into a shallow saucepan to boil, adding just a pinch of nutmeg and cinnamon on the top. Beside that, he carefully laid the thick chop-steaks in the bottom of a cast iron skillet greased with leftover bacon fat from their breakfast, dicing a large white onion and some button mushrooms while the meat sizzled and browned. The veggies soon followed, and he watched them carefully, making sure to stir them around often so they'd cook down and soften without burning - "caramelizing," he thought he'd once heard Pearson call it. Whatever the hell that meant. Once he was satisfied they were done enough, he added a hearty splash of beef stock and left it all to simmer; by the time he got done with dessert, everything should've reduced just enough to turn into a thick gravy.
Before he knew it an hour had passed, the pie had already been pulled out of the oven and set aside to cool, and Arthur was beginning to wonder what the hell was taking Micah so long. That man was like a bloodhound when it came to his desserts, liable to come snooping around the kitchen right about the time Arthur's latest project was ready to eat. No matter where he'd been, whether it was in another room of the house or outside with the horses, one whiff of baking pastry and Micah would appear like he'd been summoned, hovering around the dining table like a buzzard circling a carcass. It had happened so often and so reliably that Arthur now only used his old hourglass timer as an occasional formality, and even then he usually forgot about it the second he set it down, knowing Micah would remind him anyway.
So to have him missing now, especially knowing his favorite treat was on offer, gave Arthur more than a little bit of pause. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he poked his head out the back door, looking around for any trace of the other man. All that met his eyes was an endless sprawl of prairie grass, interspersed with clusters of tall purple lupines and an occasional rock or raspberry bush. Something about it weren't quite right, though. Nothing looked out of place, even with all of the hunting and tracking knowledge Charles had drilled into his head through the years, but...
It took a moment before he finally realized what the problem was. It was quiet. Much too quiet.
Big Valley was mostly devoid of human activity as a rule, remote as it was - that was why they had chosen it - but even so, there were always sounds, especially in the middle of a warm summer day like this. Birds sang in the berry bushes, honeybees buzzed and hummed while they floated from flower to flower, mountain goats and pronghorns and whitetails snorted and bleated and sparred in the fields, and herds of wild horses thundered through the grasslands, the stallions neighing loudly as they challenged one another for their mares.
All of that was absent now, and it stood Arthur's hair on end. Something had spooked the animals into silence, which meant danger; something big was hunting out here, whether man or beast, and the other creatures all knew it.
"Micah!" he called, snatching his Springfield from its spot above the kitchen door and making his way down the back porch steps. No answer, and he felt his heart beat faster, looking around quickly from side to side for whatever might be prowling among the tall grasses. He hoped it wasn't a cougar; as quick a shot as he was, all it would take was one good leap at him from behind and he'd have his throat crushed between that hellcat's jaws before he could even scream. And if Micah had been distracted with picking berries, not looking behind him...
Arthur shook his head, forcing that train of thought to a stop before it derailed him completely. Micah had spent just as many years of his life in the wilderness as Arthur had - more, in fact, if the few stories he willingly told about his upbringing were to be believed. He'd never be so careless.
A snapping sound drew his attention to the west, and Arthur froze, his finger immediately on the trigger of his rifle. Not two hundred yards away, lumbering out of the underbrush between the densely-packed red cedars, was a fully-grown grizzly bear, five hundred pounds if it was an ounce. It didn't seem in any particular hurry, loud huffs of air blowing through its nostrils as it meandered its way along and sniffed the ground for food, but when it lifted its head to consider him, Arthur felt his stomach plummet into his boots. The bear's entire muzzle was smeared with fresh blood, the fur on its chest and front paws matted with gore, and even from this distance, he could see a few distinct globules of yellow fat stuck to its whiskers.
The sight made him feel like retching, and he felt his blood go cold. The bear stared at him a moment longer, its nose quivering as it scented him on the breeze, and then turned its back and plodded off into the trees, unbothered. Arthur watched it go, making sure it wasn't about to turn around and make a meal of him, and then took off at a sprint in the direction from which it had originally come.
"Micah!" he shouted, uncaring of how badly his voice cracked in his near-panic. "Micah, god damn you, answer me!"
No response came, no shout or scream or groan, and Arthur began to fear the very worst as he scanned desperately between the trees and bushes in search of a human shape. If that damn fool had actually managed to get himself killed over some berries out here, he... He didn't know what he would do.
When he finally did find Micah, a few minutes later, it was only because he nearly tripped right over him.
He stumbled to a skidding stop, the toe of his boot inches from kicking the blond in the nose, and felt like screaming when he saw the thick, gelatinous red substance that covered Micah's face, congealed in his mustache and beard as well as staining his shirt and... hands...
Wait.
The haze of panic cleared enough for him to take a closer look, and once he did, he felt like screaming for an entirely different reason.
Micah was sprawled out on his back like some kind of prairie starfish, shirt buttons straining over his visibly full belly, and on closer inspection, it was revealed that the red stains came from the fact he was coated nearly head to toe in mulberry juice. Even as Arthur watched, his nose twitched, purple-stained lips smacking as a quiet snore made its way between them. The bastard wasn't dead, he was just a-fucking-sleep, and for a moment, Arthur considered doing the bear's job for him and just putting an end to the Micah Bell family line right then and there. Ultimately, though, he decided against it; it wasn't worth having to dig a grave in this heat.
"Get. Up!" he finally snarled, giving Micah a nudge - maybe, if he was honest, more of a kick - in the ribs with the toe of his boot.
"Gah! Chrissakes, Morgan, what?" Micah instantly snapped, swatting irritably at Arthur's leg but not making any other move to get up while he glared at the younger man from the ground.
Arthur spread his arms wide, gesturing to the clearing at large. "What the hell're you doin'? You were supposed to be pickin' berries for dinner, not eatin' all of 'em yourself and takin' a nap here like bear bait!"
Micah hiccupped and rolled his eyes, one hand resting on his middle while the other gestured to the two horse feed buckets that sat at the base of an oak tree just a few feet from him, both overflowing with berries. A few honeybees hovered around them, as if pondering how they could carry all of that sugar home to their hive by themselves. "Shaddup. I did what you asked, picked enough for ten pies."
Arthur raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips pulling up into a smirk and his anger beginning to fade in spite of himself. "Sure. Tried turnin' yourself into a pie too, looks like."
"Fuck - *hurp* - off," Micah huffed, struggling to get to his feet without putting too much pressure on his overfull stomach. All he managed to do was roll from side to side a little before lying back again with a groan. "You gonna help me up, or just keep gawkin' at me like a fool?" he finally snarked, a dusting of pink flush blooming on his pale cheeks as he squirmed under Arthur's gaze.
"I ain't sure yet," he answered, rocking back on his heels with his hands behind his back and trying for nonchalance. "After all you put me through, you greedy bastard, I'm tempted to leave you here awhile. And if another bear comes along 'n eats you for dinner it'll be your own fault."
He couldn't keep the act up very long, though, unable to hold back a genuine laugh at Micah's indignant squawk, and a moment later he knelt down beside him and laid a callused hand on the taut swell of his gut, applying enough pressure to be just this side of painful. "But then again, I guess I ain't too upset. You do make a pretty picture like this, so I'm sure we could find some way for you to make it up to me."
Micah shuddered, his eyes darting down to Arthur's hand as his tongue - stained as purple as everything else - flicked out to wet his parted lips. "What'd you..." he stopped, having to clear his throat before trying again. "What'd you have in mind, Cowpoke?"
"You'll have to wait and see," Arthur answered coyly. "It'll be a surprise for after supper - which I expect you to finish." He brushed his thumb over Micah's navel, feather-light, drawing a quiet gasp and another full-body shiver from the other. Then he straightened up and turned away, casual as anything, and made his way over to retrieve the two buckets of berries.
"Best hurry up, though, Mister Bell," he called over his shoulder, grinning to himself when he glimpsed the dazed, wide-eyed stare on Micah's reddening face. "Or I might just give your half o' the pie to Baylock instead."