A little disclaimer: I don't write Micah racist. While a part of his canon character, this is fan fiction and I can do what I want! He's still a bit of a bastard, though.
Micah Bell was polishing his guns with some oil stolen from black-lung Morgan, some spit and one of Pearson's bloody rags. He'd already finished with his double actions' and they were set neatly beside him on the ground. -
In his hands now was his most beloved, his Schofield. His first gun. His mother's gun...
Mama had used this gun to... well, daddy hasn't liked to talk about that very much. Daddy's eyes...
Thinking of her brought Micah little comfort as he doubled over wheezing and coughing, sweat beading on his forehead and slipping down the back of his neck, under his stringy hair.
The man spat blood with a grin as someone lay their hand on his shaking arm...but that cruel smile faded when he saw it was Mary-Beth.
His favorite
The fire made her lovely face look so tired. She had always been his favorite.
That's why he hadn't slept with her. That why she would get his money, his horse, even his revolvers when he...
"Here, drink this. Please, Mr. Bell." She had a metal cup in her hand. He took it from her, brushing her fingers - the drink was hot and smelled a little like her perfume.
"Do i even wanna know what this is?" he sniffled, "don't smell like no damned booze...is it poison?"
Mary-Beth blew air out of her lips in irritation, making a loose lock of her hair dance for a moment. "Oh Mic...Mr. Bell, of course it's not. It's for that nasty cough of yours." She rested a hand on her breast, "I read about the recipe in one of my books -
She told him of the herbs gathered from the woods, the well water she had boiled, the honeycomb from Charles she had milked with her bare hands.
"Well and here I thought I wasn't interesting enough to to be cared about!"
Mary-Beth flushed at that and, to his dismay and relief, drew away. But then she smiled and he didn't feel anything anyway.
"I'll dance with you later when Molly turns on the music if you drink my medicine. It will do some good for your cough."
And then she gathered her skirts and walked back to her candles and her romances.
It was funny, Micah HAD planned on taking that old Schofield out with him into the open, lonely country with only one bullet in the barrel. But -
But his lungs were feeling a little easier, and the taste of blood had been washed off his teeth.
And his favorite, the only girl he'd ever really been fond of, had promised him a dance. He smiled from between his fingers...
"What're you lookin' at, black-lung?"
"You seen my gun oil anywhere, you creepy bastard?"
(And Mary-Beth had never planned to let Micah go out into the peaceful night alone, not like that...not with eyes like his.)