Coronilla and Gun Oil

Colton had always admired Martha Graves, although he had never once told her so. From the gunpowder she loaded into her rifle to the Coronilla she picked and slid into her satchel when nobody was looking, she did everything with such care and precision. To her, everything was precious. He didn't understand it, but somehow, it made her all the more ethereal. He rocked back on his heels, his hand on the butt of his pistol as he stood in the front of the tent. Yes, everything was precious, but it was the most precious things that were the first to break. After the heist today, he wasn't sure if she'd be feeling safe enough to do anything but fall into the Frost.

He flipped open the flap of the tent to see her sitting on a small wooden stool, her rifle on her lap and the smell of gun oil stinging his nose. She looked up as the dust rose with his step, the corner of her lip lifting just enough to smirk before she turned back down to her rifle. He felt his chest release, the air escaping his lungs in a whoosh. The tension of the events before still lingered around them, but as he eased himself onto the ground next to her, the air suddenly felt easier to breathe.

"I'm guessing you're here to ask some questions for Brooks?" She asked casually, her pace quickening with the rifle. "He'll get his cut after I count it all out, and then we can take him out. It'll be good for him to have some distraction."

"Graves-"

"What? Was it Wyatt?" She pressed, her hands now moving as fast as her thoughts. "He's got a big enough mouth to walk in here and demand anything he thinks he deserves-"

"Graves."

"Stop saying my name, Colton. I'm right here!" She snapped as she dropped the rag in her hand. "Look what you made me do. Now I need to get a new…"

"Molly," He pressed, the nickname slipping out of his mouth as if it had always lived there.

He gently grabbed her hand as she reached for the rag, stopping her in her tracks. Time slowed as he raised their hands back into the lap, his eyes moving from their grasp to her eyes as his pounding heart filled his ears. They were wide and grey, not that of a killer who had just stolen thousands of dollars with her gang of bloodthirsty criminals, but of someone who was terrified. Terrified of what, exactly? The trouble to come, or the horrors left behind? She sucked in a breath and the tears started to well.

"You've just had to look your past in the face, and then watch him die by my hand," Colton spoke slowly, his normally gruff tone now as soft as velvet. "If I hadn't been there, you'd be dead. That isn't easy; I've been there."

"I'm…I'm…" She used her free hand to wipe the one tear that dared to fall. "I'm fine. This is the life we live, and it comes with plenty of dangers. I won't make that mistake again, I promise."

She tried to pull her hand away, but he held on firmly. "Mistake? Molly, choosing forgiveness is never a mistake. If I had that chance, I would do it in a heartbeat."

"You'd almost die in a heartbeat? You'd risk not just your life, but the life of everyone else as well?" Her tears flowed freely now. "I almost…I almost!"

She fell into him now, curling into his chest as she let out a hefty sob. She shivered uncontrollably, as if someone had dunked her in a frozen lake. He wrapped his arms around her and tried to pull her in as closely as he could. He wanted to stop the shivering and the cold, to bring her into his warmth and hold her there as time stopped. No matter how close he brought her in, though, the shivering wouldn't stop. His own chest began to heave, his eyes slammed shut to stop his sorrow. It failed, the waterfall dripping onto the crown of her head.

"I'm sorry!" She wailed into his shirt.

"No! No apologies," He pulled her away from him and grabbed her shoulders, bringing his gaze back to hers. "I have no regrets. If I have to see his face in my dreams for the rest of my life, then so be it. If I were the one losing my head, I would still do it a thousand times over. You are worth so much more than that moment, Martha. Don't ever forget that."

Martha sniffles and wiped her nose with a shaky smile. "Thank you, Colton."

"Always," He smiled back, picking up a fresh rag and handing it to her. "Now, let's get these guns cleaned, shall we?"

The two cleaned their weapons together, the conversation moving away from the horrors that had passed and towards the excitement to come. Days out on the town, no hunting for the next big thing. Just the gang, finally living the life they were looking for. As the hot sun dipped below the horizon, gun cleaning turned to cards, bets and laughter filling the small tent so loud that Brooks came in twice to check on them. As the moon rose high in the sky and night finally gave way, Colton found himself in the closest place to heaven he could be…laying at her side. As she curled up close, her eyes closing and the tension fading into quiet snores, he finally let his shoulders relax. Tonight would be hard, the bloodied corpse he had created already etching itself deep in his brain. No rest would be truly that, nightmares to haunt him at every step of the way. But as he felt her warmth at his side, those nightmares didn't seem so frightening.

Colton had always admired Martha Graves, and there was no better feeling than telling her so.