The child (you) gazed up at Boothill, now more machine than man, his once rugged cowboy appearance replaced by gleaming metal and circuitry. Despite the transformation, Boothill's spirit remained as resilient as ever, but his eyes fail to harbor the fire of a thousand suns. It used to, you thought.

"Y'know, kid," Boothill spoke in his gruff, mechanical voice, "sometimes I reckon I'd trade all this fancy tech just to feel the dirt beneath my boots again." You nodded solemnly, understanding the ache in Boothill's metallic heart. Though you both been granted a second chance at life, it would not bring back the warmth you both once felt as a human. It only left you feeling dejected and isolated from the world around you: you were sure Boothill felt the same.

As the space ranger looked down at you, Boothill offered a faint smile, his mechanical fingers curling slightly as they carefully rested on your head, trying his best to make sure his points down catch your hair. “Neva thought I’d find a kid like you, ‘worlds a strange place these days.” His sentence came with a light yet heavy chuckle. Boothill didn’t want you to notice his guilty look every time he faced you, the image of his daughter haunting him. He felt terrible for wanting to push you away or throw you onto someone else because of his past burdens.

It was hard, it really was— he had to suck in tears with each time you touched him. Even though he couldn’t feel it, just the ancient notion of when his daughter used to be in his arms hurt more than any bullet flown his way. Despite this, he tried to lay a smooth path for this rocky relationship, he didn’t have the boots to be even remotely sassy or rude to you. You were adorable, he always wanted to pinch your cheek whenever you glanced up at him with an adorable expression.

As much as you caused him pain, you brought him so much joy. You were his Roman Empire.