Money to Burn was another one of those episodes I wound up writing two vignettes for. This first one takes place around the time the boys get into tuxedos. (Which, if you watch the episode carefully, takes place in a split second. We look at the boys from one side of the car and they are in blue and yellow. The camera angle changes to the other side, and we see them in tuxes. But for the sake of this vignette, we'll ignore that little slip up.)


"Luke." He's getting whined at. All his life that same voice, even if it supposedly changed a few years back, has nagged him from no more than two feet away (except when he was separated from it by a couple of continents, but there's no point in dwelling on that now). "I need help."

Of course Bo does. He's only been dressing himself for fifteen years or so now, and clothing can be tricky, what with its buttons and zippers, and these are all the left-handed kind. Then again, if Luke ignores him long enough, Bo'll remember that just because the zipper is on the left side doesn't mean he can't use his right hand to pull it up.

"Luke!" Stop dressing yourself and look at me. And what the hell, there's not going to be anything there that Luke hasn't seen a thousand times before. Soon as he gets his socks on, he'll give in and help the pathetic one. He waves his hand through the air in the universal signal for hold onto your hat, and stumbles around until he's got decent footwear on.

Shoot, it's a good thing Bo has no hat to hang onto. He's standing there barefoot in the leaves, cummerbund and tie in one hand, jacket in the other, vest hanging open, suspenders loose and Luke doesn't even want to start wondering where the smaller garments have gotten to.

"Bo." On a better day, one where they weren't trying to save their own necks from larceny charges, he'd laugh. Today he doesn't have that luxury. "You gotta be able to do a better job of dressing yourself than that." Then again, maybe Luke should be grateful. He has managed to get the pants on right.

"I can." Obviously. Look at the fine job he's done so far. "But there's just too many parts to this thing."

Luke takes pity on him. Dukes never have had a reason to be affording anything like a tuxedo affair. Seems like a quick hitch in the Marines might have taught Bo how to handle dress blues, but since there's no such thing as a one-week hitch, Luke has no interest in sending Bo off there.

"Give me that," Luke says, gesturing for the jacket. If Bo drops that sucker out here in the woods, they'll never get their deposit back, and that'll mean no seed corn or grub, and four starving Dukes.

The seat of the hearse is about the only safe place to put the tailcoat, what with how dust-laden the car's hood is, so it gets laid there. Meanwhile Luke's already gesturing with his other hand for the tie and cummerbund. The tie goes with the jacket, and Luke's lesson begins.

"Tighten up them suspenders, Bo." It's encouraging when his cousin bends to the task, chin just about on his chest, and hair dangling down into his eyes. "Now put this on," Luke commands next, handing over the cummerbund.

"Put it on what?" Yeah, Luke should have known this was going too well.

"Bo, we ain't got time for games. We got to meet them federal agents at three." And there was still the little matter of getting hold of the money to begin with. Which could only come after they finished getting dressed and drove themselves out of these woods and off to the coffin factory.

Bo sighs, big dramatic kind that accompanies those moments when he's about to tell Jesse just how unreasonable his nasty older cousin is being. "I ain't playing games, Luke."

Fine. "Just hold still. And button your shirt." Simple enough instructions that lead to Luke slapping at Bo's hands. "Your shirt, not your vest."

"My shirt's already buttoned," Bo complains.

Luke fixes him with his best imitation of Jesse's behave-or-I'll-tan-your-hide expression. "All the way, Bo. To the neck."

"But it ain't Sunday," is the very logical complaint.

"Well pretend it is, and get buttoning." Whatever it takes to distract the man while Luke slides his arms around him. A silly little giggle lets him know that the distraction didn't work. He glowers up at the underside of his cousin's chin while he stuffs the tail end of cloth into the clip of the cummerbund.

"It tickles, is all," Bo explains. Right, it's got nothing to do with the way his big cousin is stooping down to hug his waist.

"Well, you're just lucky it's all done then. Now you can button your vest." And look there how the very top button on Bo's collar is still loose. Luke reaches up to do it for him, ignoring the sour look he gets for his trouble. "The tie ain't going to set right if you ain't buttoned all the way up."

"Yeah, the tie. Luke, I ain't never been any good at ties," Bo starts the excuse wagon rolling.

"Yes, you do got to wear it," Luke tries to preempt the inevitable.

"But I always feel like I'm gonna choke," and now that the wagon's gotten some momentum, there's going to be no stopping it.

"I promise to plug my ears if your choking gets too loud."

"I don't actually choke, I just—"

"Bo, spare me. You're wearing the tie." And that ought to settle that. Except it doesn't.

"I don't know how to tie it. Luke, it's true!" he adds before he can get laughed at or punched, whichever way Luke's confused body decides to go. "You know I ain't never had a real tie in my life."

Luke does know, and Bo's lying. Back when they were kids, before clip-ons, they both had church ties. Luke distinctly remembers Aunt Lavinia teaching them the sequence of twists and turns to get a proper knot.

"That was a long time ago, Luke." Well. Seems he doesn't even need to remind Bo that they grew up together and he knows better. Those long hands are already up in surrender. Must be the way Luke's looking at him; could be that his desire to utilize the hearse for its proper purpose is showing in his eyes. "I ain't done it since then and I don't remember how."

Baby, Luke thinks, but saying it out loud will only set them back a half hour while Bo pouts, then refuses to cooperate until Luke says he's sorry in six different languages. Which would be awfully hard since he only knows the one. Instead of saying what's on his mind, Luke snatches the tie off the car seat where he tossed it a few minutes ago.

"Turn around," he commands.

Bo just gives him that slack-jawed deer-in-the-headlights look.

"Around," Luke repeats, twirling the index finger of his free hand in the air. "I can only do this the one way, Bo. I ain't never had to put on another man's tie for him."

Bo's eyebrows come down like he's considering whether to be insulted, and time is ticking away while he makes up his mind. Luke winds up shoving at his shoulder until Bo's back is to him. At least while he's making up his tiny little mind, Luke can be getting him dressed. Maybe.

"Stoop down."

"What?" Like Luke didn't practically say it straight into his ear.

"You got to get shorter, Bo." Really, there was no good reason Bo ever had to get taller than him in the first place.

His cousin thinks that's funny. Luke could remind Bo that he's not so big as he thinks, what with his inability to dress himself. Maybe later. After he's done trying to restrain himself from strangling the brat.

Or trying not to strangle himself. Bo's method of getting low enough consists of spreading his lags wide enough so Luke can loop his arms over those shoulders that are not only to high but strangely broad. To see what he's doing, Luke just about has to eat Bo's hair.

"That tickles, Luke," Bo giggles, tilting his head away and oblivious to the fact that it means his shoulders follow. Luke tightens his arms around him, holding him still, but has to untwist what he's already begun, and start over.

"Don't go moving, Bo," he warns. Gets another giggle in response, but at least his cousin manages to stay relatively still, chin down and trying to watch what Luke does. "You'll go cross-eyed that way," he warns. And that would be a disaster. There was that cross-eyed kid Luke knew back in elementary school who had to wear those coke-bottle-thick glasses that made his eyes bulge out like a fish. He doesn't want to picture his pretty cousin that way.

"No I won't," Bo assures him. "It's crooked," he gets informed. And if his cousin's not careful, it'll be awfully tight, too.

"Then fix it," Luke suggests, letting go. It's tied anyway. Might not be perfect, but it's better than Bo would have managed on his own. Bo doesn't move, so Luke slaps him on the rump. "Come on, stand up and fix it yourself."

To his credit, Bo manages to find his socks and shoes and get them on, then pull the jacket over his shoulders.

"How do I look?" he asks, turning to present himself to Luke.

Damn. Bo needs to wear a tuxedo more often. Luke makes a mental note to include formal wear into more of his schemes. That tie is still crooked, though. "Come here," he answers.

Reaches up to straighten his cousin's tie, then to fluff his blonde hair.

"You look good," Luke answers truthfully. Has every intention in the world of stepping back, and heading for the passenger side of the car, but he can't seem to get his hands out of Bo's hair.

He gets a grin of a response, and that's the end of it. Uses the hair to pull himself up (or Bo down) until their lips meet. Steps back out of it and turns to the car.

"For luck," he says over his shoulder. Bo giggles and follows him to the hearse.