I love season one. From Mary Kaye's Baby: Luke's sweet on Mary Kaye, and Bo thinks he knows why...

"You got," Bo says, slinging an arm across Luke's shoulders. "Really weird taste in women." Like Mary Kaye Porter, currently being driven by Jesse and Daisy to the hospital, along with her newborn. Now that McQuade is in jail, there's no reason she can't get properly checked out, then go home to her parents. Her new plan is to stay with them until Andy gets released from prison, and then she'll get hitched to him. This news doesn't seem to have made Luke's day.

Although he's smirking now. "You wouldn't know anything about it, Bo." Superciliousness oozing from his pores.

Because Luke's reasoning behind liking this girl runs as far as—

"Honey blonde hair, baby blue eyes," Bo mocks, moon face and all. Ignores how dirty a look he's getting. "Shoot, Luke. I got them. You ain't never seemed to go too crazy over me."

"That's because you," Luke informs him, "ain't nothing to go crazy over. You ain't got the brains God gave a cow, you run like a duck, and smell like you done stood upwind of the chickens all your life." While he's warming up his insults, Bo picks up one of those silly, useless, needlepoint pillows that Daisy likes to keep on the couch, half an intention to throw it at Luke. Stupid idea, wouldn't do anything but give Luke something to catch and throw back at him. "Stubborn as a mule, dirty as a pig…" At least his cousin's having fun.

"I ain't," Bo reminds him, standing, because it gives him a better chance of talking over Luke, what with his superior height and all. "So big a fool that I like a girl just because she's carrying another man's baby." And just exactly what kind of a mother is Mary Kaye going to be? Insisting that her baby might be president someday, then swearing it'll be a girl. Seems like a woman ought to know what kind of baby she's carrying, but by the time it got born it had turned into a boy.

Luke smirks and scoffs all at once, making the kind of face a man should when he's just had a mouthful of pickled peaches, nothing like sophisticated enough for when he's arguing with his cousin.

"Here you go, Luke." Stupid, pointless pillow donates itself to a greater cause and gets stuffed under Bo's blue t-shirt. Looks exactly like a pillow under there, corners jutting out in places no baby should have them, but it'll do. "Honey blonde hair," he reminds Luke, using one upturned hand to fluff the curls at the back of his head. "Baby blue eyes," and he bats them a few times so Luke can remember where they are. Then he juts his belly out, same as Mary Kaye was just hours ago, does his best back-tipping, hips-forward, heavy-with-child waddle, right up to where Luke stands. Bounces his own pregnant belly into Luke's a few times, still fluffing and batting. "Luke?" he adds, voice soft and pretty. "Will you rescue me from a mobster? I'm ever so helpless and pregnant."

Luke's trying to cover his urge to laugh. Mr. Straight-face, but Bo can see those little crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

"Well, Ma'am," Luke answers, tipping an imaginary cowboy hat and pushing forward against Bo's poor, swollen belly. "I reckon we'd better get that baby of yours birthed first. You just lay down here on the couch, honey, and we'll fix that for you." Now it's more like shoving against Bo's shoulder. Maybe propelling is better, and it's taking all of Bo's effort not to trip over that little coffee table, or that footstool their uncle likes so much. Silly to worry so much about falling when Luke's just going to take him down in a second, and he does, but at least the couch is a relatively soft surface (even if his head smacks into the arm with a resounding thud followed by a wry and unconvincing sorry sweetheart from Luke) to land on. "You having pains?"

"No." This is getting out of hand. "Luke!"

"Well that there is a shame," Luke says, hands tightening down on Bo's upper arms. Leaves him grabbing for purchase on Luke's elbows, trying to get himself sat back up when Luke shoves him back down with another solid smack to his head. "How about now?"

"Well, yeah," he admits, and the blinking he's doing now has nothing to do with his desire to show off his baby blue eyes. "Just not in my stomach." Or wherever these things are supposed to hurt. "Uh, Luke? Maybe you should go boil some water." Or anything else that will distract him for a couple of seconds and let Bo get some leverage.

"No Ma'am," Luke informs him, seriously. "No time for that. You're ready." Like Luke would know. He's only ever seen a heifer give birth, and that was just because Jesse needed their help in keeping her settled. Bo doesn't expect that either of them was looking too much at what Jesse was doing down there between the cow's legs, what with the way their eyes were fixed on each other. Seems to him Luke's color wasn't too good at the time, either.

While Bo's distracted, thinking about shared birthing experiences, one of Luke's hands comes off his arm and shoves the pillow out from under his shirt. Before Bo can take advantage of his freed arm, Luke's got fingers on his ribcage – both hands, it turns out. There's nothing to do put pin his own arms tight to his side in some attempt at self-defense. It's not working very well, and he can't hardly breathe for the squealing and squirming he's doing, all at once.

"Luke!" he manages to squeeze out, somewhere in the middle of it all. Too much sensation, bright lights behind his closed lids, dry mouth and just torment south of there, at least until it gets down to his legs, which seem to be flailing uselessly in the air. "Stop!" Which is a less than pointless use of what little air he has in his lungs; Luke's got no interest whatsoever in quitting this entertaining assault.

There's a sense of vertigo, then a sharp crack as he grazes the coffee table on his way down. Luke's under him, hard and bony and not letting up.

"Pain!" he squeaks, doesn't come out too clear. "I've got a pain!" In his side, from laughing, his knee from where it hit the solid wood of the table, in his chest where Luke's hard shoulder is digging in.

"Too late," Luke explains. "You done already gave birth."

True enough, he has no idea what happened to his pillow in the middle of the struggle. And no longer being pregnant, along with his position on top of Luke, ought to give him some leverage. He manages to come out of the current struggle with a decent grip on one of Luke's hands, pins it up over his head. Goes for the other one while Luke takes advantage of their changing balance to roll them over, straight into the coffee table, resulting in an alarming rattle. It stays upright, but probably loses a few of those dainty glass figurine things Daisy likes to keep on there. Not that either of the boys will miss them a bit, but Luke will be complaining for a week about the starch in his shorts. Which – Bo rolls them one more time, because they're already doomed anyway, and what does it matter if a few more figurines bite the dust – seem to already be starched, or somewhat rigid, anyway.

There's more than one way to tickle a man. Bo uses his temporarily gained upper hand (or upper hips, to be exact) to retaliate for Luke's earlier indiscretions.

"Honey blonde hair," he reminds Luke with a grind, and his cousin is oddly immobile below him. "Baby blue eyes." Speaking of which, Luke's are drooping nicely.

"What're you doing," Luke asks, breathing carefully and licking his lips. "Hitch hiking on this deserted stretch of old country road?" Damn. It's been one thing to hear his cousin talk, all his life. He wonders how it is that Luke doesn't get himself off every day just from the feeling of the vibrations of his own voice.

"You're about to find out," Bo answers, right into Luke's lips.