Hazzard in Hollywood. Bo and Gabby, Luke and Anita, and... read at your own risk.


Wait For Me

It was achingly slow and heartbreakingly fast. Wasn't much to ask, wait for me, nothing Bo hadn't asked him for throughout their childhood. Wait up, Luke, followed by scraping sounds of small feet shuffling through leaves. Oh, he might have barked hurry up, then back, might have been less than perfectly patient about it. But he'd almost always waited when Bo asked him to. Went off into the military when he got tired of waiting for Bo to catch up; left behind a buck-toothed whining brat and came home to a peer. Yeah, Bo was still Bo, too loud and too lazy and too quick to start things he couldn't finish alone, but he could mostly keep up by then. No more short, little, chasing legs, and even if he would never outrun Luke on foot, he was dangerously quick behind the wheel, the kind of reckless that would either save their necks or get them broken. He'd stopped asking Luke to wait for him. Which didn't change how many hours and days and years Luke had already spent waiting for his kid cousin to catch up, and it really wasn't all that much to ask that Bo wait now.

Of course, Jesse didn't exactly wait for Luke either, but that was just one more drop in a river that was already headed for the sea.

It started with talking, something he and Bo had never entirely mastered, at least not with each other. Doing things – small things like outrunning bullets and unrobbing banks – that they could handle. Looking at each other and just knowing what the other was thinking was what they'd always counted on. Actually having to do all their communicating through words put them at a handicap and gave Bo liberties to ask for ridiculous things.

First it was can you come home for Thanksgiving (no) followed by how about Christmas (not this time) and then well when are you coming home, then (I don't know). It was a good year, might have been great if Bo could have been happy for him instead of constantly nagging. The kind where Luke's pay went up by a solid five digit figure (and it wasn't that long ago when he couldn't imagine earning even a thousand dollars in a year) because he took a promotion and would be training the newly recruited jumpers through the winter. Oh sure, it meant missing a few more holidays, but Bo had stayed out on the road for his share over the years. It was the kind of sacrifice the boys made these days, in order to ensure that Jesse was comfortable and Daisy didn't have to worry about school expenses.

But Bo had never figured out how to deal with not getting everything he wanted all at once. The questions changed, took on a frustrated tone, on their worst days sounded whiny. Went from can you come home soon to when are you coming home then how long do you expect me to wait, and finally what does wait mean anyway?

"Damn it, Bo!" No, that wasn't what he wanted to say. It was just that he was tired from long days of work trying to keep twenty-year-olds with a reckless sense of immortality from getting themselves killed. It was like handling twenty replicas of his cousin all day long, except they weren't half the fun. Day after day of dealing with the likes of Bo, only to come home to disembodied Bo-voice complaining at him. But it wasn't his cousin he was angry at, shouldn't take it out on him. Calmed his tone to say, "Do whatever's gonna make you happy, cuz."

Which got him a sigh and confessions about how Bo had never been happy, not for years, and that a Lukeless circuit wasn't worth doing. Sounded like chopper blades and smelled of sweaty men bunking too close and arguing over Playboy magazines sent from home, while Luke got chicken-scratched letters about how Hazzard was lonely and Jesse's rules were too confining and I just miss you, Lukas – an unwelcome formality from a kid who thought suffering consisted of homework and early morning chores. Blonde boy, pulling his lips in over his teeth, showing Luke the all the scraped-raw places that it hurt, in hopes that, from thousands of miles away, he'd be able to blow on it and make it feel better.

"I miss you, too," was about the best he had to offer. Didn't help anything, so he added, "Do whatever's gonna make you happy," again.

Just about saw the rise and fall of that wide chest with the sigh, lips getting pulled in and eyes closing. "Yeah, I gotta go," was a forgone conclusion.

Winter was just considering warming to spring when the pressure changed. Instead of when will you come home, it turned into you'd better. Jesse wasn't well, according to Bo, but the man himself swore he was doing just fine. Impossible to tell who was more right, and Doc Appleby was no help, swearing he couldn't examine a man that wouldn't even open his mouth for the tongue depressor.

Which meant negotiating for time off, at a job that was dang close to military. Seniority as a jumper, Luke had. But as the newest trainer on the block, he got bottom dibs. Which wasn't too bad, really. First week of April and Luke could just about smell the Mountain Laurel blooming and see the songbirds making their way back onto fresh budded tree branches. Reckoned it was a good thing when he closed his eyes and heard Bo's rolling laugh, tasted the onions that he'd never think to eat on his tongue. Allowed himself to imagine the song of spring peepers and—

Daisy called. Come now, she said. You can't wait until April, because Jesse won't hold on that long. The man who refused to say ahh for the doctor was in the end stages of stomach cancer, almost before anyone knew he was sick.

In the next hour, Bo called. Where the hell are you, Luke? was the beginning, middle and end of the conversation. On my way was the best he could do, as he threw together a few things, made a good dozen phone calls, and got himself to Missoula. On standby for hours, static white walls and nothing to distract him but the echo of Bo's voice. I need you. All accusation and anger and it was less than Luke deserved. Which was fine, he fully expected to get the fist to his chin as soon as he reached Hazzard.

Hours of nothing but thinking; remembering the Jesse that was big enough to hold him still until anger melted to tears after the death of his parents, the uncle who was so sure of right and wrong that he could dole out a whipping, and strong enough that he could love the children he was raising afterward. Tried not to imagine what he'd look like now, white hair, white skin, white sheets and tubes… always tubes. Aunt Lavinia had been wrapped up in tubes, too, when they let him see her. Made himself stop thinking that way only to hear Daisy's forced calm in his ears, and Bo's distraught anger.

Two layovers and a lost night of sleep later, he was in Atlanta, getting picked up by Enos, who'd come from Los Angeles to support Daisy. Couldn't tie his own danged shoes on an average day, but Enos had managed to beat Luke home.

"I got a direct flight," he explained, and that just made it Luke's damn fault for living so far away from an airline hub.

"You seen him yet?" Luke found enough civility within himself to ask.

Frog eyes, was what they used to call Enos when they were rotten little brats, for the way he would go silent and just stare. Just like he did now, before the solemn nod.

"I'm driving," Luke announced. They were in a hurry and didn't have time to unwrap themselves from an unfortunately placed tree or two along the way. Enos was smart enough not to fight him on it.

And thanks to his never-forgotten youth as a wild-driving moonshine runner, Luke managed to get to Tri-County Hospital in time to see Jesse alive, if not conscious. Within an hour, every bit of stability in Luke's life was gone.

Bo's red eyes accused him of everything from selfishness to deliberate neglect, always from across the room, whether it was the hospital or the wake or the lawyer's office as they settled what little affairs Jesse had. A whole life of making nothing but moonshine and mud pies, and it all came down to a few acres of land, a house and a pickup truck.

Daisy let him hold her, kissed his cheek, rubbed his back, then went and did the same for Bo. Tried to bring them together, but Bo didn't want any part of it.

"You wasn't here when I wanted you," got hissed at him behind the closed door of their old bedroom. "And now I don't want you here." And for all that Bo was a spoiled brat, Luke had no argument. He gave Bo all the space the man asked for, and then some. If Bo was going to punish him, he'd bear it like the man he should have been weeks ago.

Bo's anger pounded itself against Luke like heavy hail on the back end of a thunderstorm. Seething, incensed words, in between bouts of icy silence. Just when it seemed like nothing but a tornado could put things right again, Luke woke up from a fitful sleep to Bo trying to find room next to him in that old twin bed Luke'd slept in for most of his life. Wasn't big enough for even one of them anymore, but he shuffled over all the same, and let Bo cling tight to his side.

"I'm sorry, Luke," were the mournful words. "I didn't mean it."

"It's all right," Luke told him, because it was. There was nothing Bo had said that didn't need saying, maybe a good thousand times more before Luke could begin to forgive himself for it.

Bo grieved and Luke held him, in an echo of a similar night some thirty-five years later, after they'd buried Aunt Lavinia. It was the last night before Luke had to go back to Montana.

No one tried to make him stay. Seemed like his family had finally gotten enough of Luke Duke. So he hugged them goodbye and got on a plane.

Calls from Bo were a lot more scarce than they had been before Jesse passed. And his cousin never asked when he was coming home. By summer Bo was engaged to be engaged to a sweet thing named Sarah-Beth that he'd met at the Charlotte 500. Luke wished him well, and took to spending his nights out so he wouldn't wind up sitting by the phone, waiting to hear from his cousin.

The Duke boys were finally men.

Luke was fine, which was why the smoky-voiced waitress at the lodge took it into her head to rescue him like a stray pup huddling at her door. So sad, blue eyes. Why? Her name was Anita and Luke convinced himself he was in love. Bo said he was happy for him.

– – – –

"Well don't run," he hears himself saying. "I did. It was the biggest mistake I ever made."

It's got to be some kind of muscle memory that has him telling Bo all about Anita, teaching his cousin things that he hardly understands himself. Maybe gives more of her side of the story than his, actually. About how she wanted him, but he sent her off to bigger and better things. Maybe he cops to how she scared him, if not all the details of how and why. Mostly he stays in safe and simple territory. She had a life to lead that didn't (or shouldn't) include him.

This notion has to be foreign to Bo, who doesn't stay with anyone long enough to get left. Luke can recite their names just as easily as Jesse could go through the begats of the bible. Sarah Beth lasted until Elizabeth came along, and then there was Cheryl (with legs to rival a younger version of Daisy's, apparently), Mindy, Dana, and Marilyn (none of whom had any distinguishing features that Luke was made aware of), followed by Stacy Lynn (red hair and green eyes, and this is love, the real thing), another pass through Elizabeth and now this Gabriela girl. Who seems to love the shallow face Bo presents her. He wonders if she thinks there's something deeper going on in there behind the fool grin that's about all she ever sees.

Maybe there is, Luke wouldn't claim to know anymore. A week ago and no more, Bo greeted him with all the energy of a tow-headed boy, hands on his face, in his hair, up and down his back, anxious little voice in his ear telling him how good he looked. Maybe, he figured, it had been long enough that they could make peace, and—

"The point is," he counsels, more to his cousin's chest than his face. Dang clean chest, not half as sweaty and greasy as Luke's, and maybe that's the one thing that's never changed between them. Luke takes the dirty jobs, and Bo lets him. "Don't walk away from someone who wants to love you." And walks away to let Bo work it out, because Luke's in no position to do this for him.

It would be easier of he could find any evil intentions in this Gabby, but they're not there. She's just another girl with good enough vision to see just how pretty Bo is. But she seems willing to put up with the idiocy that Hazzard has dragged with it all the way to Hollywood.

She could be good for Bo; she's young enough to give him kids, even-tempered enough to tolerate his wandering attention span, and seems intent enough on settling down that she'll even take a hopeless country boy. Luke would like to hate her, but he can't find the handle by which to grab an objection. The best he can come up with is that she bears watching.

Which he can't do, not when Anita comes to find him at their campsite, and he has to stumble over dealing with her and Bo being in the same place. It's nothing he's ever wanted – for Bo to see him with her, to make his cousin live with that same sense of crawling skin that Luke gets every time he watches Bo touch Gabby.

So he leads Anita away, lets her ask what she needs to know, tries to give her the answers he reckons she wants. Remembers what its like to have someone that close – not so bad, really. Someone to listen to his brilliant thoughts, so out of place now that the Hazzard of his younger years is truly gone. A warm body to mold itself up close, smooth skin and soft hair. Things he expects he'd better enjoy right now, because when this little adventure is done he's likely to sign that new contract that the Forestry Service is so eager for him to commit to. He'd considered otherwise, maybe coming back to civilization as he knows it, but Montana is a safe distance from anything like watching Bo raise his children in the house the two of them shared for most of their lives.

"You're a ghost, Luke," Anita informs him. Maybe. Once, and not during any time that she ever knew him, Luke had a purpose, things people looked to him for. They were stupid things, maybe, less honorable than taming the rage of an out-of-control blaze before it can destroy lives and livelihoods, but they were things that required the presence of Luke Duke. He can be a smoke-jumping ghost, an anonymity, taking risks that people who have anything to lose shouldn't.

And when Anita's gone, Luke lets his ghost eyes rest on Bo – learn something, cousin.

Funny. For a ghost, he feels like a man haunted. By the first thirty years of his life, and a thirty second kiss that got lost in three years ago.

– – – –

He's been teaching himself to live a separate life from Bo's for years at a time. There have been spans of years where he's managed it well. It's just hard to do while they're in the same place. So he's started finding naturally divergent paths for them.

Which falls apart when they leave Hollywood and have that long ride home. Sure, Daisy's between them, but Bo's right there on the other side of her, asking him if he wants to stop, why is he so quiet, and what kind of tree is that? Constant Bo nattering, the kind of thing that makes him want to inform his cousin that ghosts don't communicate in the normal way, but that would require too much explaining.

"Shrub," he answers helpfully to the last question that was aimed at him. He doesn't know Arizona any better than Bo does. "Cactus, maybe."

And it's Texas before Bo gives up on him. A full day of torture before he's allowed to be the ghost he's meant to be.

Which works until they're home and Bo's every other word is about Gabby and how he can't reach her, he's tried her mother and her brother and... More overpowering than the smell of Daisy's fried chicken, louder than the rev of the General's engine, heavier than the axe has gotten in all the years since he used to chop wood on a daily basis, is Bo's worry. A ghost would haunt the barn through all of that, and Luke gives it some serious consideration. In the end, he rides it out more or less at Bo's side, countering Daisy's advice when it runs to the foolish suggestion that Bo scamper back to Los Angeles for the girl. Seems to Luke that if Daisy's in such a hurry to create a bi-coastal relationship, she ought to go back out there herself, after Enos.

At least, when the bus arrives from Los Angeles with Gabby on it, Luke figures he can get on with the whole ghost routine. Disappear into the dark and just haunt the edges of the celebration, but Bo grabs him in something close to a death grip. Damn if his cousin isn't going to keep Luke around him like a security blanket.

– – – –

"Stay," has a desperate sound to it that keeps Luke from laughing at the notion.

"I got responsibilities," he says simply. To haunt hillsides and crevasses on the other side of the country, where it's possible to be a ghost instead of living flesh watching the spits and sputters of things he doesn't want to know about. Like Bo mourning the girl that's gone home without any kind of promises one way or another. Luke, at least, isn't going to leave Bo hanging anymore. This here is going to be the breakup that never happened, because of a relationship that never managed to get started. "I got to go." Like Daisy before him, on her way back up to the school. Research. Looking through a microscope at everything except the remnants of her half-lost love.

Some things never change. Like Bo wanting him to be here when he's got plans to hitch himself back up to NASCAR next month. Stick close in case I need you.

And maybe the man's got a point. Luke was nowhere useful when the family needed him here a couple of years ago. He didn't listen to Bo then, and maybe he should be listening now. He's wavering there when Bo says, "Come back, then."

Some fifteen years back, he would have hit Bo for that. Look Jesse, he wants to announce now. I finally got my temper under control.

Not that there is no meanness in the laugh he does come out with. "You gonna promise to wait for me?"

It's just sad when Bo sighs and asks, "You gonna make me beg again?" There ought to be yelling, fingers pointing, fists swinging. Instead there go those lips, pulled in tight over Bo's teeth. The resulting look is too angular now, not just hurt but harassed.

"Nope," Luke answers, and it's ridiculous. The way the kitchen is too small for this conversation, too bright and making his eyes hurt, too hot and hard to breathe in. "I'm going to leave and let you work things out with Gabby."

It's like watching a five-year-old version of his cousin, the way Bo's posture gets stiff and straight. You-don't-know-everything mixed with the-moon-is-so-made-of-cheese and, "What if I don't want to work things out with Gabby?"

"Bo." At least it's revving up to be an argument. That other thing was—ghosts shouldn't feel like that. "You ain't never wanted the same thing for two months running. You just let me know when you do." He's pushing past his cousin to the door, not that he's got any place to go right now, not without a packed bag. Just out and away.

Bo's gotten braver or more stupid since they used to live together. He grabs onto Luke's hand to keep him from leaving.

"Don't walk away from someone that wants to love you." It's not said nicely. "Ain't that what you told me, Luke?"

Bo expects to get hit; it's in the way he flinches when Luke moves. And for all the gentleness in the gesture, it might as well be a punch, but it's a kiss. Hard and angry, and popping away with a smack.

"That there is binding, Bo. You want that, you better make up your mind that it's forever." He's got to go.

Marches out into the remnants of a farmyard, stomps off to find what used to be fields, goes in search of woods. Decides it's a walk he's going for, somewhere about a mile into it. A long one, the kind where he tries to get lost in places he used to know better than his own name. He plans to be gone for hours, but it's still temporary. He'll have to go back, and when he does, Bo will be waiting for him.