This one's a bit different. It's from Million Dollar Sheriff, and wasn't inspired by any particular moment. It was more the second half in general, after Jesse was comatose and the boys were still being relentlessly pursued by Steele. The boys exhibited opposite behavior (as they generally do), with Bo showing emotion to Luke's solid, calm presence. I reckon that even being yourself can cause problems after a while...
Bo has had enough. It was the niggling refrain ricocheting around in his head, even as he drove them toward the Boar's Nest, where Bo wanted – felt they'd earned, really – a couple of beers. As long as his cocksure cousin was feeling smug from taking down Steele, relieved at Jesse's recovery and still angry at everything that had happened, there was no way they belonged in a bar.
He would've wagered on Jesse holding them back, but the old-timer wasn't much help. Said he was fine, didn't need no fussing over and if the two of them didn't get their fool selves out of his house and go do something, he'd be forced to tan their hides. Out they went, and of course, jumping a creek or three wasn't enough for Bo. He needed a pit stop at the roadhouse.
Might have been smarter to fight him on it, but Luke's tongue got to thinking about beer, about how it was cold and maybe the only cure for a sweaty day. And once his tongue got to thinking, it took only a few more bumps in the road for it to start suggesting, then nagging (because what else were tongues for?) and finally cussing him for taking so long in getting there.
All roads led to the Boar's Nest.
Where Luke's tongue was less than impressed with the swill it had begged for, but Bo seemed content enough, just drinking and ogling. Really, what was the point in sucking in all that beer if he was only going to drool it right back out? Waste of money, if you asked Luke.
Which was why Luke just slouched back in his chair, watching Bo's posture perk up in counterpoint. Must have locked eyes with that flirty little thing near the bar, the way his chest came out and his legs were suddenly under him, unfolding himself to a full out, six-and-a-half foot strutting peacock.
Bo has had enough was the justification Luke gave himself for swigging down the half mug of beer his cousin left behind in the pursuit of something warm and soft to cuddle up to. Didn't have as good a reason to signal Daisy for another, but he did it anyway. The problem with being a Duke, really, was that you couldn't get a beer without having to take a jibe, too.
"What's the matter, cousin, your date dump you for something prettier?" He could at least be thankful that this was the best Daisy's sunshine personality would let her come up with.
"Something long on legs and short on brains, no doubt," he answered, snatching the mug off her tray. "And before you start in on me, Jesse kicked us out." Because she'd only gone to work on the promise that the boys would look after the recently comatose old-timer.
Which just got him a snicker. "You boys can't do nothing right. You ain't got to hover over him. You got to be more subtle than that," she fired over her shoulder in retreat.
Or have big, pretty eyelashes to bat in all innocence when you got growled at. Bo had the eyelashes but not the skill to use them. Luke didn't bother with silly things like eyelashes; he reckoned if a thing couldn't be tricked into submission, it had to be punched, and if it couldn't be punched, walking away was maybe the best option.
Back to that punched thing. Looked like Bo was picking up more than the girl; he'd also collected the eyes of the guy she'd come with or already snubbed tonight, or maybe he was just the kind that had noticed Bo was prettier than the girl. Whatever, Bo was too busy solving that age-old math problem about how legs plus ass plus tits equals let's go somewhere private to notice anything else. As usual, looking after the serious matters fell to Luke.
Who just looked for as long as the other guy just looked, which lasted about as long as Bo just looked. It was somewhere around the time that Bo stooped closer to that skinny little redhead's (but her skin was too tan, couldn't be real) height, all full of look deep into my eyes, sweetheart, that the other guy moved.
Luke let him. If anything, he leaned back further into his own chair, just watching the stranger, who clearly needed to tear the sleeves off his shirt in order to feel tough. Had some meat on his bones, but nothing Bo couldn't handle on his own. Luke settled his arms across his chest and got ready for the big show.
Watched tough guy make his move, looking downright runty next to Bo's frame, which was suddenly back to full length. Smirked when his cousin shuffled the little lady to the side and out of the way of the main events.
Bo has had enough, the back of his mind nagged at him, so he unfolded his arms long enough to swig at his beer, then tightened them back down again. No reason to worry too hard about his cousin; this guy ought to be cake. Just look at Bo there, warning him off, while jutting his chin up high and proud. Nothing Luke needed to get involved in.
Watching the punches get traded did nothing to change Luke's mind. Bo had this fool, hands down. Until some swaggering started up at another table down front; either friends of the man Bo was bloodying, or opportunists looking for a country boy to get in some sparring practice on. Still, unless they did something more than talk tough, Luke had every intention of—
"Luke!" Damn. So much for old six-foot-six out there. Sounded like the same lost little kid Luke had rescued from slugs and salamanders, too.
He didn't want to fight, except that nothing felt better than landing that first punch. Or maybe it was the second. See, this was the problem with all of these kinds of things him and Bo did anymore. They were almost routine, and it could have been the third punch that felt best. Even when he took hits, it was just habit, letting the other guy think he was doing well, not crushing his poor bad-guy spirit. Maybe things didn't get to feeling really good until the fourth or fifth punch, and he kept telling himself just one more until he knew for sure, which number felt best. Blood was part of the whole thing, a little or a lot didn't matter until laundry day when Daisy came after him with kitchen utensils, some of which actually stung. Like that punch grazing his cheek just there did, but he couldn't smack Daisy back, and just maybe it was the sixth punch that felt best.
See, now, it was always a shame when someone went down and didn't get back up. Couldn't hit a man that wouldn't fight back, but fortunately his Duke ethics didn't seem to much matter tonight. For every opponent that gave up the ghost, Luke seemed to be able to find a replacement, and that seventh hit was a real pleasure. Then again, eight nine and ten didn't suck.
Hard to hear much over the whoosh in his ears, or maybe that counted as ringing; an occasional punch had hit its mark on his face. Eventually though, over or maybe even under that constant thrum, came that same voice:
"Luke!" And then tugging on his arm, shoulder, waist. "Luke!"
Bo has had enough. It was about the only thing that would get him to back off now, when eleven was sure to be the best yet, and right around the corner.
"Come on." The tugging was turning into yanking and Luke was coming already. Shook Bo off long enough to make sure no one would challenge them on the way out, but it seemed like the fight was pretty much over anyway. Discovered that his shirt wasn't quite fitting right around all the lost buttons, and used a flapping sleeve to wipe at his lip. "Luke!" And there was Bo, still worrying.
Daisy, too, maybe. Actually the look on her face over there was more like stunned, but, "Shoo!" she said anyway, "before Rosco shows up."
Bo was back on his arm, dragging him out. Annoying as hell, Bo was. Luke's work here was done and he didn't exactly need an escort out of the joint, so he shook Bo off again, and walked to the door just fine without being dragged.
One more time. "Luke!" Bo has had enough. Must be time to get him home to where he could get some sleep get— "Settle down, would you?"
Him settle down? He was just here in the parking lot, looking for the General. He didn't need Bo on his arm again, trying to accomplish what, Luke had no idea.
"You're bleeding." Yeah well, so what. Didn't hurt, whatever it was, so it didn't need doctoring. Where in hell had they parked the General (maybe if everything wasn't tinged in red the car's paint job would stand out?), and why wouldn't Bo leave him alone? This time when his cousin grabbed him, Luke shoved him back. Stumble one-two steps into the nearest car, and maybe now he'd learn to keep his hands to himself. Bo has had enough.
"Dang it," he hollered, not so much at Bo as at the parking lot, or maybe that shifty missing General, or could be just those flashing lights out there on the main road.
"Luke," and Bo's hands were up in the air like Rosco had already arrived, revolver in hand. "We got to—" finger pointing off nowhere in particular, "get out of here."
Damn the General, his cousin was right. Feet would do fine, and running seemed to help, actually. Cool air on his face, even if his heartbeat was throbbing under his eye and in his cheek, and then there was his lip… none of which mattered a lot in comparison to the freedom he felt, just running like this.
"Luke!" panted behind him. Bo has had enough. His cousin never did have much by way of endurance (or real speed) on foot.
So he stopped, leaned on a tree (tree? So they'd run off into the woods behind the Boar's Nest) and waited. Counted the shuffles through the leaves (Bo was thirty-eight steps behind him, then) until they stopped, and Bo was doubled over in front of him, catching his breath. Blissful quiet, or least absence of words. That breathing over there was mighty loud, and they hadn't exactly gotten out of the range of the sheriff's siren.
"Just… just wait," Bo was saying in between heaves. "Don't go nowheres." Which was a worse than pointless way to waste what little air the man had managed to get into his lungs. Luke had no place in particular to go right now.
"Luke," and Bo was coming back up out of his semi-crouch, hands off his knees and on Luke's arms in no time. Got himself shook off again; Luke took two side-steps away from where he'd been leaning. "Just settle down, would you? Settle down."
Look who was talking (Bo has had enough), the man who still wasn't breathing right. The man who couldn't seem to learn to keep his hands to himself (and right now those hands were hovering in the air again, like they were considering coming in for another landing), he was the one who needed settling.
"Let me look, Luke. Let me see your face." Well, no one was preventing that. "You're bleeding, let me see…" You see with your eyes, not with your—ah what the hell. He could make himself tolerate Bo's hands for a minute, just a minute and then—
Bo's hands were on his shoulders, tentative, light touch. Gained confidence with every second they held their ground, rubbing up and down Luke's arms.
"Just settle down now, Luke."
Enough, Bo has had enough.
"Settle down," and Bo was coming closer, squinting into the dim light thrown by the moon or the Boar's Nest parking lot, maybe even Rosco's gumballs still flashing over there, hard to tell. Bo's head was tilting to the side, and one hand was coming up for Luke's face while the other tightened its grip on his arm. "Stay still," like Bo knew he was about to get shaken off again. Took everything in Luke to let Bo touch him, let him get that close. Fighting against the urge to push him away again, felt himself shake with the effort. "Settle down."
Bo has had enough. Yeah, he had, and maybe, just maybe, Luke had too. Took all the energy he was using not to throw Bo off and put it into grabbing onto the back of his cousin's neck, pulling him forward. All the violence and the anger in him, all the frustration, worry, all the times Bo had been on his knees, crying at their uncle's side, went into the way he kissed his cousin.
To his credit, Bo only fought for a minute. Had to have been terrified (Bo has had enough) if the way his heart was bouncing around in his chest was any indication. But after that first little struggle, Bo softened, leaned into him, took every bit of bile Luke dished out and turned it back around as calm, gentleness, acceptance. Slowed everything down to a stop, just two boys in the woods, standing close, heads together, breathing hard.
Enough.