A fool, Arthur Morgan. You are a damn fool. A fool for kissing her, for allowing it to go as far as it had. For allowing her profession of love to light his world in a brief moment. He bends down, shielding himself from the torrential rain that threatens to drown him and Lemon. The walk to Strawberry is agonizingly slow, taking nearly thirty minutes from the safe cabin to the small sheriff's office set right near the outside of town.
He knocks on the door, stomping his feet against the cold. Maybe he can convince the sheriff to give up Micah and there won't be a need for bloodshed. A lawman opens the door with his rifle resting on his forearm. "I've come from Blackwater," Arthur says, being beckoned inside. "I'm on the hunt of a dangerous gang. Calm O'Driscoll. Heard you might have one of his boys locked up here."
"Perhaps. But you aren't taking, sir. You can look at them when we hang them tomorrow night." Arthur sighs, nodding his head and stepping back through the door. What a waste of time.
He begins to look around at the building, glad for the rain that hid his movements from the officers who may still be looking at him. He has some dynamite in the saddle bag on Lemon, he could blow…
"You'll regret this!" Micah's voice echoes from the left side. Arthur is careful in the mud as he slips down a small mud hill, nearly landing on his ass.
"Have fun, old friend?" Arthur asks causally. He's never liked Micah, not from the moment he joined the gang. It's almost tempting to tell Dutch it was too late, he couldn't save Micah from the hanging.
"Shut it, Morgan. Are you going to get me out of here?"
Arthur laughs, grinning for a moment before turning on his foot and leaning against the slick building. The rain has lessened so he can properly see. "Why should I?" He turns his head, watching Micah out of the corner of his eye.
"You can't just stand there and watch me swing," Micah growls, pressing his face against the metal bars to get a better look at his possible savior.
"Why? I've nothing but shit from your mouth for the last six months and this is an opportunity to watch you hang." Arthur walks away from the wall, inspecting the iron steam donkey. If he so chooses, he could hook the steam donkey on the bars and let Micah free. "Of course, there's only one of me and a whole town full of people who want to watch you hang."
Micah widens his eyes. "I've always looked up to you, Morgan. You've been like a big brother me. You know when I first-"
"Alright, stop your ass kissing," Arthur grumbles, grabbing the large hook and bringing it over to the bars. He places it in the middle, making sure it's snug before turning around and pulling the lever. It's hard work, his hands slipping on the too cold metal until he finally gets a proper grip.
The steam donkey pulls at the metal cord easily, tightening until it breaks the brick wall apart. Arthur tosses Micah a gun, knowing they'll have to fight their way out. It's been too long since he's left Florence and he begins to imagine scenarios of finding her dead or strung up or...worse.
Micah laughs, drawing more unnecessary drama to them by shooting the extra prisoner. "What the hell, Micah?"
"He was an O'Driscoll boy," Micah responds as if it's enough explanation for the shot to the head. And for the moment, it is. Arthur crouches behind a barrell, bullets flying all around them.
"We've got to get out of here," he says.
"Oh no you don't, Morgan. They got something of mine and we're getting it back."
"Micah-I have a woman back at the safe cabin and she can't hold her grou-"
"A woman, Morgan?" Micah asks, raising up to let off a couple of shots. Horses scream, filling the air with even more noise. "'Bout time. I was worried you couldn't get the little feller up."
Arthur grits his teeth against each other, staring down the man. He could easily shoot Micah here and now. Dutch wouldn't know the difference, he wouldn't know what happened to the man, but he doesn't. He pokes his head out from behind the barrel and lets off shot after shot, taking out more men in the single town than he has in a day.
The work is slow and gruesome, in hordes they came. Wave after wave under it seems the entire town lay at their feet. Micah approaches a house with a mission in the middle of town, yelling at a man to come out and face him. The man stumbles from the open door, gun in hand. Micah wastes no time shooting him, a high pitched laughter coming from his mouth as he does.
A woman starts screaming while Micah is saying something unintelligible. Arthur rushes forward to stop him from shooting off his gun, but it's too late. The window lights for a moment and her blood splatters across the glass. "Was that necessary Micah?" Arthur growls as Micah comes out with three guns. He tosses Arthur back his and holsters the other two.
"They had something of mine." He pets the holsters in a sweet way, which is odd for Micah and looks wrong on him. The almost calm look on his loose face combined with a look of love Arthur wasn't sure Micah could actually produce. "Now, Arthur, let's go see about that woman of yours."
Fuck. Arthur has no choice but to follow him. There's no changing Micah's mind when he's set on a path and right now that path unfortunately leads straight to Florence. "You keep on your best manners," Arthur says in a low tone as he nudges Lemon to catch up with Micah's horse.
Micah tips his head towards him. "Oh, yes sir. I'll be the perfect example of a gentleman. Don't you worry." It's the way his grin shines in the moonlight, a sickly white across his face. It speaks of things Arthur doesn't even want to know. There is little background on Micah when he joined the gang, Dutch just blindly letting him in and ignoring the bloodlust that is at least obvious.
"I mean it Micah."
"Oh Morgan, don't you get your head in a twist. I promised I'd be a gentlemen. Don't you trust me?"
The answer is a resounding no, but Arthur says nothing. They gallop across the silver landscape, dark shapes coming up on either side of them until a mass becomes the forest and he slows, calling out in a sharp whistle. Flickering light plays against the floor as a door opens a tiny bit. "Arthur?" Florence calls out uncertainly.
There is no guarantee it's him. It could've gotten her killed. Arthur dismounts, saying yes loudly. He unsaddles Lemon, putting it all in a drier part of the cover and grabs Micah by the arm. "I mean it, Bell, you even look at her wrong and you are out on your ass," Arthur growls. Micah gives him the same sickeningly sweet smile.
"Oh Morgan, I'll be so sweet, you won't know it's me." With a laugh, he pulls his arm from Arthur's hand and heads to the light. "Oh, miss, I've heard so much of you."
Bastard. Arthur is close behind, keeping his hand on his pistol. They enter the warm house and he's surprised to see food laid out on the table. It's a simple meal. No more than bread, jerky and cheese with some whiskey. "Where'd you get the whiskey?"
Florence smiles at him. "I found it in the bottom cupboard. Whoever used this house last left it here."
"Who cares Morgan. Sit down and enjoy the meal your woman prepared," Micah says, pulling out a chair and it scrapes across the floor, filling the suddenly tense air.
His woman? What did Arthur say to this loud man? She sits down as far as she can from Micah, watching him consume the food like he wasn't fed in the prison. His lips smack together as he drinks noisily from the cup.
"Manners, Micah," Arthur says around bread in his mouth.
"Oh Morgan, oh Morgan, shut up." If anything, his eating has gotten more disgusting, dribble and food slowly making its way out of his mouth and into the sides of his handlebar mustache.
Florence takes a piece of cheese for herself, too sick after watching Micah eat to consume more. "So, Florence, is it? Do you give him a good fucking?"
She chokes on the food going down her throat, using the whiskey to chase it down, though that's not much better. It only makes the burning worse. "Excuse me?" What kind of question is that? And where does he get off thinking he can speak that way? Florence clenches her hands in her lap, staring off into the fireplace directly across from her.
"Come on Arthur, details. Does she?" he says after she refused to give an answer.
"Micah, shut the fuck up."
"Oh Arthur, is she sloppy? Not let you finish? Or you too much of a pussy to even think-"
Arthur pushes back his chair, grabbing Micah by the back of the jacket. "That's it, you asshole. I should've let you hang." Micah fights, his fist colliding with Arthur's cheek and it explodes into a full on brawl, the table being turned over nearly on Florence. She jumps back, grabbing the first thing she can think of.
"Knock it off!" she screams, interrupting them. Arthur has Micah by the hair and Micah has him by the throat.
"Oh sweetpea, you don't want to-"
"Shut up, Micah." Florence swings the heavy gun at him. She's sure she's using it wrong, but the barrel points straight at his body. He glares at her. "I don't like you implications of my relationship with Mr. Morgan. He has been nothing but a true gentlemen… doing nothing I wouldn't want-" Or even want to do. "You will stop or I'll shoot."
"Crazy bitch," Micah growls, letting Arthur go and pushing him back. Arthur must still be dazed by the punch as he goes down easily. Florence trips over a fallen chair, managing to keep the barrel pointed at him. "Have you taken a life, Florence?" He's so close, the tip of the gun glazes across his shirt.
Then it's pressed into his stomach. "Go on. Pull the trigger. Do it," he screams, his grin wide. Florence puts her finger on the trigger, a hair away from the metal. "Do it! Do it!"
The gun drops with a thud and a silence louder than a gunshot fills the room. Florence looks at the mess in the cabin, overturned chairs and a table laying on its top. Food everywhere, whiskey seeping into the cracks on the floor. The fire is the only thing untouched and still quite beautiful. "That's what I fucking thought." Micah grabs the shotgun, aiming the barrel at her as he clicks it open. "It's not even loaded." He shoulders it and picks up the half emptied bottle of whiskey, bringing it to his lips and drinking the rest, streams pouring out of the corners of his mouth.
"Ahhh, great meal Florence." He steps out the door and for a heartbeat longer, Florence stares at the door as if it'll open again.
Over the chairs of legs, Florence skids to a stop by Arthur, brushing his hair from his face. He stares up at the ceiling. "Arthur?"
"Scared him off did you?" he jokes, putting an elbow underneath him and sitting up slightly.
Florence laughs, tears rolling down her cheeks. She wipes away the wetness, not expecting to start crying of all things. "Don't you start. I thought he had… I don't know what he did to you and then he pointed the gun at me… and I had it pointed at him and he screamed at me to-"
"Florence, breathe." Arthur's hand brushes her cheek and she leans into it as much as she can. Any contact between them is welcomed, especially after the kiss, she's not sure where they stand romantically. If they even stand romantically.
Arthur gets up, groaning and holding his shoulder. "I took that fall hard."
"Are you alright?"
"I'll be fine." She helps him right the chairs and table, putting the food outside and cleaning up the whiskey with a rag. The smell of alcohol hangs in the air and she opens a window to chase it out.
"Arthur… why is he part of the gang?" Of all the people she's met, Micah is the far worst Dutch puts up with. Bill has a mouth on him, that's true, but he's never come close to acting on the words he's spouted off at her.
"I don't know what Dutch sees in him." Arthur falls back into a chair and throws his head over the back. Florence sits in a chair across from him, rubbing her hand on the smooth wood of the table and sighs.
"Obviously the rescue went well."
"Oh yeah, real smooth. About half the town lay dead at our feet. Micah has a sensitive trigger finger."
"What? Arthur, how could-?"
"I didn't have a choice, Florence! I was being shot at. It's kill or be killed." He lifts his head to look at her. "It's the way of the world. The sooner you realize this, the better we're all off."
Florence doesn't say anything, turning her eyes to the dying fire. "We need more wood," she says quietly. She exits the cabin, letting out a shaky breath. You absolute idiot. That kiss? A mistake. You and him? It'll never work. Not if he's convinced she isn't actually falling in love with him.
"But I am and you are being stupid, Arthur Morgan."
"Am I now?" She jumps, reaching for the missing gun at her side. "Whoa now, trigger fingers. We wouldn't want someone to do something stupid, now would we?"
"You scared the shit out of me."
"And you are talking to yourself. How am I being stupid?"
Florence gathers her wits, breathing in deeply and exhaling. "You are telling me I can't possible be in love with you. You are telling me what I am and am not feeling." She gets into his face, glad her height gives her an advantage to look him in the eye. She pokes him hard, so angry, she can feel her face pinch together. "I am not some living doll you can just dictate around. I have emotions Arthur. I know what they mean and I am falling for you whether you like it or not."
Arthur simply stares at her, his hazel green eyes searching her face for something. What? A lie. "I'm not lying if you think that's what this is."
"Oh, I know you're not." His hand tangles into her loose hair, bringing their lips together into a second kiss, though this one more desperate. Fat drops of rain begin to fall, steadily getting worse as their tongues slip over each other.
The tingling in her stomach won't stop, the elated feeling in her head and the weightlessness of her body as he holds her tighter as if afraid she'll float away.
Maybe he is stupid. Or an idiot. Fool. Dumb ass. Any number of names he can call himself as he pulls her into the house, their hands flying all over each other's bodies. Her shirt is removed, his fingers playing across her skin and her moans fill the cabin, overpowering the sound of rain pounding on the roof.
"Arthur," she whispers, stopping him from going any further. "Are you sure about this? Please don't do this out of pity."
Their foreheads rest against each other. She's in a state of half-dress and he's completely abandoned his shirt. "No. I'm not sure about this, but can't we not think for tonight?"
Florence pulls from him, buttoning up her shirt, head down and shaking it, no. "No, I can't turn off my head for the night. I can't not think about you. I don't want our first time... " She trails off.
"Florence, please. Give me time. I'm adjusting to-"
"Adjusting to what, Arthur? The idea that you may have feelings for me? Do you think I'm blind? I've seen the way you look at me. The way you hold me when we sleep. How close you move before we fall asleep. Are you telling me you don't feel the same?"
"The last time I admitted to loving a woman, she broke my heart." His yell silences her and she looks up, her mouth agape. "She ran off when we were supposed to get married. It's not exactly known by anyone other than those in the gang, but I... " He huffs. Fuck, what has he done?
Florence looks into the fire. "I'm not… ready for this. I can't keep playing these games." She waves a hand and he backs up, not wanting to be in her space if she doesn't want him to. "You pull me in, comfort me, kiss me and then… 'I can't Florence. Give me time Florence.'" Her impression of Arthur is debatable but now is not the time to bring that up.
"Fucking choose one, Arthur. I refuse to have my heart broken. Either you want me or you don't." She enters the only room in the cabin and closes the door.
Arthur sits on the floor after going out and retrieving the bedroll he packed just in case. He didn't think he'd be using it like this, but at least it's something between him and the wood. He also made sure both Chance and Lemon had enough food for the night.
How is he going to fix this? He stares at the door. It's been a good hour and she hasn't come out. He lays down, needing to sleep. Time will fix this right? In the morning, she'll be back and they can talk properly. The fire dies down and it leaves the cabin cold, but he's too uncaring and exhausted to get up and get more wood. Eventually the pounding rain against the roof and the silence of the room lulls him to sleep.