This one's got the melancholy tone to go with the bittersweet ending of the series. Opening Night at the Boar's Nest wasn't a favorite episode of mine, but it had some interesting dynamics. Like Bo overreacting when Luke points out that fighting the bad guys isn't working. That moment is what this vignette is built from.
Luke has a strange strategy in playing cards; still, he really knows how to gamble. There's something admirable in a man that is fully aware of the odds at all times and still takes the kind of risks Luke does. Bo usually finds out what kind of danger is lurking when it stops being potential and goes kinetic on him. Makes for scraped knuckles and bruised shins, but really cuts down on the ulcers.
A stomach of steel, that's what Luke claims to have, and having seen him shirtless just about all his life, Bo believes him. It's his face that's vulnerable to getting punched, and it does – more than a few times. He just gets back up though, so Bo does too. Would actually prefer to lay around on the ground holding onto what hurts, but if Luke's fighting, so is Bo. Which means they fight a lot.
This one's futile though, as Luke points out. "It ain't working."
"Well, what do you want me to do?" The way Bo screams that is all out of proportion to Luke's simple statement of fact, stops everything cold for a second. Even the seven-foot giants that they've been losing the fight against pause long enough to stare at the overgrown blonde brat throwing a tantrum.
Fast forward; everything's in motion again. Bo's useless to the fight though; somewhere in that space between the last action and this one, he's realized despair.
Over a hundred struggles, easily, have preceded this. Luke's been involved in more than him, probably, and they've won most – eventually. Even the ones against each other. This one, no matter how it ends, feels like loss.
He's tired of it all. And if he's feeling that way, it's a wonder that Luke's still here beside him. Must have gotten bored years ago, probably has plans to hit the road within an hour of the end of their probationary period. The man knows what the risk is and takes it anyway, plans strategy on the fly and travels light. He doesn't need some tag-along kid cousin weighting him down.
Bo is surprised to realize that the gun is aimed at Boss when it goes off. The bang so eerily coincides with the pain in his own heart he thinks it must be him in the sights, but the sound is followed by the abrupt blur of a body flying off the porch. Dead probably; the round, white breast of a bound and gagged man makes for a pretty easy mark.
He can't quite keep track of the difference between his body and Luke's when they run to the rescue or the remains of the man who has tormented them for most of their lives. Fingers everywhere, looking for bullet holes, blood, a pulse. There's a gasp when whichever one of their hands finds the corner of the tape and pulls it off if his mouth. Boss Hogg is alive.
It ends like almost every other event in their recent lives has ended: happily enough, with the oddly easy capture of outside fools that tried to mess with Hazzard. Then again, that's not really the end, not until everyone gets back to the Boar's Nest to find a distraught Rosco pining for his lost soul mate. It's heartbreak to witness; bad enough that even Boss finds some little scrap of humanity in the bottom of his soul and does a compassionate thing. Watching a moment of genuine affection between two men that have spent nearly every day together for probably more years than Bo's been alive makes him ridiculously happy.
So happy that he storms his way through the rest of the day, striking out at everything and nothing. Couldn't explain it if he tried, so he's glad no one asks. Or maybe not – he sees Jesse shaking Luke off at dinner, tiny little twitch of his head and a meaningful look – and resents it. A kick under the table would be something: contact, nostalgia, proof that Luke cares, maybe.
Bedding the animals is where it all comes to a head. It's one thing to misbehave in the house; out in the barn where the livestock pick up on his behavior and get restless instead of settling, that's unacceptable. At least according to Luke, who grabs his arm, tightening down as Bo fights against it. He gets free in the end, but it's hard to think of himself as victorious, not with the throbbing points of pain just above his elbow.
"Bo!" And here comes another attempt at stilling him, a hand that never quite manages to grab onto him before he hits Luke. It wasn't supposed to be a swing, just some attempt at self defense, but now it's going to turn into an all out brawl. Luke Duke does not like to be smacked – at least that's what he always pretends in those seconds before he hits back.
This time's different; what comes is not so much a punch as a tackle, and Bo's on his back. Chicken shit and hay, and Luke on top of him, holding him down in it. Odd how it's all very quiet, this struggle, nothing like their usual blustering and yelling, not even the sound of skin hitting skin. Panting, maybe, could be. Wet sounding, catching in the back of his throat, he can't breathe right and Luke won't let him up. Turns his head as close to the filth as it'll get, lets his wrists go limp under Luke's hands, feels his cousin's weight let up, still over him but not making him stay put anymore.
Luke settles over him, warm and light. Must be holding his weight up in his own elbows and knees, but their chests are close enough to come together with each puff of air, Luke's breath heavy and hot on Bo's neck.
Bo closes his eyes and concentrates on not making a sound.
"Tell me." It's a whisper, followed by Luke closing in tighter around him so there's no pulling away. "Bo." Tell him? It wouldn't make sense if he tried.
I finally figured out what it's like to have a good idea of what's coming, to see the danger before it gets here, and it doesn't feel too good. Yeah, that would sound stupid, even to Luke, who ought to understand: I've realized what it means to be you.
"Bo," right in his ear, so quiet. "You might as well say it. I ain't going nowheres."
Not right now you're not, but what about tomorrow, or maybe the next day? He doesn't want to say that, either. He bites his lip, but otherwise doesn't move.
"Come on, cuz." Why isn't Luke beating on him? It would be much more tolerable than this patient urging that makes it impossible for Bo to swallow. His throat is sore all the way down his neck; somewhere in there it gets met by his heartache.
Those are fingers his hair, too big and rough to be stroking. Closer to fiddling maybe, but it turns out to be more than he can stomach. Bo knows the odds; he has to gamble anyway.
"I love you." It's a squeak, worse than a twelve-year-old confessing to a crush. More like a fully adult man caught just this side of a sob.
"Okay," Luke answers, not moving except for those fingers still fussing around the top of Bo's head.
He hasn't been understood, maybe. Or maybe he has, can't tell without looking at Luke. So he sucks up his courage, just like his cousin must have to every time he sees the danger in advance, and opens his eyes. Turns his head, but Luke hasn't pulled back; Bo still can't see him. Lifts his arms up out of the barn floor filth and wraps them around that muscled back.
"Okay," Luke mutters again. It's not much, not confirmation of anything, but it's enough. Luke's letting him hold on.