'Every man gets his wish,
you told me this.
Where is mine?'

-

In the days following the rather awkward incident by the river, you surprised yourself by the lack of drama that surfaced from it. You had expected no end to be ribbed by the camp, but everyone had appeared to have a snigger about it and move on. Not that you had directly put yourself in any line of fire either way, you had been keeping to yourself after overhearing one jesting conversation by the campfire, where Uncle had been teasing Arthur.

"I heard little Jack said something by the river?"

You then also heard a quick and abrupt interjection from Arthur, a clear cut off for any further conversation.

"Yeah, you probably did. But that's the end of it now."

Let's just say Uncle didn't mention anything further, and quickly switched topics.

--

The mood couldn't linger for long on any small potential relationship drama, as there was a greater issue looming in the balmy summer air.

It had not gone amiss by several members of the camp, that the level of O Driscolls' skulking around Valentine and the surrounding areas had been steadily peaking for the past few weeks, and there was naturally concern amongst the members of the Van Der Linde gang.

For now, Dutch had all simply given you all a careful warning – to be mindful of being followed, keep your heads down, and to not engage with anything violent just yet.

However, with this sense of danger creeping quietly in the background of your daily lives, you still all needed to carry on as usual.

"Miss (name)," Mr Pearson called one morning, waddling over to you with a long list of things written on a stained bit of paper. "I need you to go into Valentine, and get some supplies for me from the store, is that okay?" he had asked, pressing the paper into your awaiting hands.

Your (eye colour) gaze did a quick scan of the items scrawled untidily on the page in Pearson's awful handwriting, and you were thankfully able to make them all out.

Looking back up with a smile, your nod put a delighted smile on Pearson's face. He was just glad that he didn't have to get off his fat backside and go there himself. It was lucky you enjoyed your little jobs so much.

"I'll head there straight away before it get's too busy in town." You affirmed, tucking the note into your small brown leather satchel, slipping the shoulder bag over your arm and making your way over to ready the wagon.

Secretly, you were elated you had gotten to go out to town. The pleasant summer weather always made you feel so radiant, and you fancied dressing nicely today and sorting your hair into a pretty half up-half down fashion, the top section secured into a neat bun tied daintily with a vermilion red silk ribbon. It coordinated nicely with the blush red colours of the roses printed on your pretty summer dress.

Humming a sweetly tuneful song, your figure made it's way to the wagon to begin preparing the horses. You checked the various reins and blinkers and ensured the horses were securely tightly to the big rolling topped wagon. A peaceful trip to town with the horses was just what you fancied.

Loosening one of the cheek pieces on the left horse's bridle, you had been pulled from your concentrated state when you sensed a person lingering to the side of the wagon. You didn't want to look once the periphery of your eyes caught sight of the long-line black leather coat, the red shirt and big hat.

"You headin' out into town, little lady?" those slimy, repulsive tones attempted to charm you, as you turned rather reluctantly to face Micah. Already you could tell he was hoping to come with you... and it shattered your good mood.

"Yes, Micah. I am." You replied rather bluntly, moving down to where the steps to the seat were situated. You spared him the same singular flat look, a clearly disinterested gaze.

"You know it's dangerous out there with all them O Driscoll's hangin' around." He hummed in a musing manner, "And I don't know what I'd do if you got stuck in a spot of bother." The sleaze ball added, cocking his head at you slightly. The git didn't even try to hide the fact now that his blue eyes were roving all over you, really take an unwelcome – but long look. The gesture made you feel like you wanted to cover yourself up in a large shawl.

"I wouldn't worry Micah. I have listened to Dutch, I know what to do." You replied, going to climb up into the wagon to get to the seat. But this pest was not relenting until he got what he wanted.

"Well I don't think Dutch would be happy about you goin' on your own." He insisted, looking up at you from the steps, wispy shoulder length blonde hair framing his largely facial hair dominated face. "I think I'm gonna treat myself to a new gun anyway..."

Micah's persistent and creepy nature had not gone unobserved, and by none other than Arthur; looking carefully from under the brim of his dark brown hat.

After the embarrassing event instigated by young Jack, Arthur had been even further set back confidence wise to address you about this whole chaotic whirlwind of emotions, and the confusing relationship the pair of you appeared to share.

He did curse himself for the way he worked – brave enough to walk into an armed bank and rob the place – but not brave enough to discuss his feelings for a woman he admired.

However, this did not stop him still acting in to make sure you were safe, and Arthur knew better than anyone what Micah's intentions would be – he was no good, a damaged man who liked to focus his interests in digging his talon's into pretty young girls.

Quietly removing himself from his observing spot by the edge of his tent, Arthur went over to young Sean, who looked as if he wasn't doing a lot apart from talking shite to a rather disinterested looking Karen.

"Mr MacGuire." Arthur started, hovering over the log where Sean was sat chatting. The Irish lad looked up, a cross expression on his eyebrows.

"Yes Mr Morgan?" he scorned, clearly not happy Arthur had interrupted his ego-boosting talk at Karen.

"Over there-" Arthur said quietly, and gestured in the direction of the wagon, where you were sat looking rather uncomfortable, whilst Micah looked like some creature just ready to slip into the seat beside you.

"Miss (surname) is headin' into town... and I think Micah wants to go with her... for reasons I'm sure you're aware of." Arthur explained to Sean in a conserved tone of voice. Sean scoffed loudly with a sarcastic ring in his following laughter.

"Don't I just! Dirty bastard wants to fuck any poor lass that sets foot in this camp." Sean exclaimed, and looking over his shoulder with a sly and knowing smirk. "This ain't got anything to do with the fact you like the lass, does it, Arthur?" he remarked. Of course, Arthur now had his guard up.

"No – I – I just know Micah and... he won't let up." Arthur dismissed, "All I'm sayin' is... would you go with them? Just to make sure he doesn't try anything?" Arthur asked Sean quietly. The Irish man seemed to be thinking about it, before he exalted a loud huff.

"Fine. I'll go." He concluded, and stood up sharply, fixing his black hat atop of his ginger hair. "But you've got to grow a pair soon, Arthur." He teased Morgan, elbowing him. Grunting in disapproval, Arthur watched Sean swan over to yourself and the ever-pressing Micah, who was still trying to slither his way into the seat next to you.

Arthur would've liked to of gone himself, but he could not be bothered with Micah making all sorts of insinuations and making you even more uncomfortable than you already looked. Besides, Sean had a certain funny charm that Arthur believed could direct some of the pressure from you on your trip to town.

---

Sean was not wrong when he told you that he could "talk a dog off a meat wagon".

All the way to town he was going on and on about his past, whereabouts he had come from in Ireland, and asked you about your time in England briefly. In a way, it was tiresome – but you were grateful as it meant Micah couldn't get a word in edgeways from his seat beside you. Sean rode in beside the wagon on his horse, trotting steadily by the clunking-rolling of the heavy wood wagon as the tree of you entered the miry-grounded town of Valentine, damp with a road like a churned up pig sty from a previous night of rain. Despite today's heat, it wasn't enough to dry the boggy mud out.

"Right," Sean chimed, tethering his horse to one of the wood posts just outside of the Gunsmith's. "Mr Bell, how bout me and you go and browse these wares?" the Irish man charmed, as Micah slid out of the seat looking unimpressed.

"I didn't really see why you had to come along, Mr MacGuire, if you didn't exactly need anything." Micah stated obviously, but Sean, being the guy he was – just let the comment breeze past him.

"Nonsense!" Sean chirped, patting Micah harshly on the shoulder and putting his arm around him in an overly friendly manner. "It's good to have a look around!"

You remained sat in the wagon, as you watched the two men trundle into the Gunsmiths. The sigh of relief that lifted from your previously heavy feeling lungs now drifted into the air around you, and you could press on down towards the other end of town, to the store.

You only wished your time away from Micah could be endless a you trawled the store for all the needed supplies. The shop-keeper was a friendly man in his 50's – and was happy to help cart some of the boxed up goods out to the back of wagon.

After 15 minutes in the shop, and having paid the kind shopkeeper for his help – you went back out to the wagon and found the boys waiting for you.

"Got all of Pearson's goods?" Sean started, his voice overly loud as it usually was. You nodded in agreement, going to shut the back of the wagon up.

"I have indeed," you replied to Sean, "I can't forget anything, or he'll have kittens at my impotence." You chuckled to yourself, imagining now the dramatic state he would get himself in.

It was as you were pushing the boxes safely towards the top end of the back of the wagon, that a horrible sense of being watched crept into the very fibres of your skin, making your hairs stand on end. You felt similar to a small mouse, creeping through a valley of beady-eyed vultures.

The sense of peril you received when you dared yourself to look past the interior of the back of the wagon, sent a freezing shiver along your spine. All around, on the porch fronts' of the business' – you could see men you recognised, just staring at you. They were dotted around generously, seemingly covering all corners of the centre of the town.

Seeing some of the faces, you recalled the men who had beat you in their hours of frustration – taunted you with morsels of food and called you disgusting names – describing how Colm slaughtered your father to you vividly...

Forcing yourself to keep pushing the stacked boxes of goods to the back of the wagon, you felt the first watery sting of tears brimming at your eyes. You heard the thud of hooves distantly in the back of your mind, and then a hand fell to the small of your back. A sickening lump swelled in the middle of your throat like a boulder.

"That's better... he's gone off ahead so we can have some time alone like we wanted." Micah's tones purred from just behind you. Carefully slowly, you removed your upper half from the interior of the wagon, and straightened up to face just exactly what was going on.

Sean had quietly clearly walked off, as you heard – probably to get away from the thickening crowds of people strolling up and down the main street. You carefully focused your (eye colour) gaze at Micah, feeling repulsed by the cocksure, egotistical smirk on his face. Clearly he thought he had every right to lay his hands on you... like you wanted this.

No more did you wish to confine to the mould of this modern day woman with a weak constitution; expected to be quiet, beautiful – seen and not heard. You ran with a gang of outspoken outlaws for god's sake, and it was time you started acting like it.

Body lashing around, you stepped back quickly. When Micah lifted his hands as if to say 'what's your problem?' , you grew even more turbulent in mood. Filled with frustration and rage, you slapped his hands down snappily. The motion caused a few people to stop and stare at what was unfolding.

"No – Micah." You growled calculatedly, watching the man's eyebrows shift in manner of cool disbelief. "You do not touch me, is that clear? I don't like it."

Micah merely laughed, taking a quick glance around at the people who was still lingering a little – either enticed by the drama or genuinely concerned with a young woman who appeared threatened by an older man.

"Who do you think you are?" he hissed quietly after a few safe moments where most of the people had dispersed, feeling it was not their business. There was a lethal look in his eyes, and for the first time you felt a bit frightened. You'd heard tales from others at camp that Micah could be a bit of a senseless killer when tested.

"You should be grateful for it..." he added, a maniacal purr about his voice that just further sickened you and instilled a sense of fear. You didn't have to be grateful for anything you didn't want.

"Do you want me to write it down?" you returned in a collected manner, deciding if you tried to keep yourself level – then it might not encourage Micah to act any menacing than he already was. "I do not want this from you, Micah. I'm not looking for anything like that-" you tried to say, but it appeared this just humoured him. He laughed at you like a hyena circling it's prey.

"Don't lie – I know the sweet little girls like you always have the dirtiest secrets." He insisted, acting as if he knew you. He knew nothing. "Morgan ain't gonna act on it, so I wouldn't waste your breath waiting on him." He whispered at you, a condescending tone about his voice that you did not like.

"I am not waiting on Arthur." You deflected, lying to yourself, if you were being honest – you were waiting... waiting for him to bloody speak to you again.

"Good, I should hope so." Micah's words were just as greasy as his manner. "He would let such a pretty thing like you go to waste... I wouldn't."

He was all up in your face, the closeness revolted you. This felt like an awful nightmare, and it seemed no matter how brash you tried to act, this snake before you had some way to slip round it.

"I could..." he started, licking his lips and exalting a breathy, grizzling laugh. "I could show you a real good time." His tone was becoming much more intense, much more possessive and demanding in its demeanour.

"And every man gets his wish, little lady..."

This was becoming far too much, to dense, to heavy – a horrible sense of fear that clung to you like a humidly hot day. You wanted out, and fast.

"Get the hell away from me." You snapped bravely, a rash gesture of escape where you suddenly pushed him back, hands firmly shoving him in the chest. Slipping a little in the mud, Micah stumbled surprisingly whilst he gathered his footing.

Before he had a chance to make any sort of verbal retaliations, you had gotten onto the wagon and started it off. He could make his own way back to the camp, he was not getting back with you.

Micah's lip curled in an animalistic way, and in the aftermath of what had just happened – he felt pure hot, white contempt and rage for the rejection he had just received. He looked around at all the O Driscoll's that were dotted around, having watched the whole thing.

And as his angry eyes flickered madly between the faces... he made a note to remember this moment. Remember the dense and deep seated animosity, the feeling of shame and ridicule by the rival gang...

The gang that had once captured you in their clutches.

"What you all lookin at!?" Micah bellowed, the men staring on with empty looking eyes, but studying carefully everything that had gone on. They weren't here to cause a scene or start a gun fight. They had simply enjoyed relishing in seeing the Van Der Linde gang not being as much of a happy family as their leader made them out to be.

Micah mumbled bitterly under his breath, trudging through the thick brown mud – now having to make his long walk back to camp.