Bart blew out a breath. He'd been hoping with everything else that had gone on today Pappy might have forgotten about that part of their earlier conversation. He knew better, but a man could always hope. Feverishly, his mind began working, searching for some viable way to explain the feelings that had lead up to his stupid decision the night before. He wasn't coming up with anything.

Beau was watching Bart with interest. He would swear to the fact Bart had actually paled when he'd been asked the question, which didn't leave Beau feeling optimistic about the answer Bart was going to give him. It wasn't so much what Bart had said that bothered him, but the bitterness behind the words. It was a tone of voice that Bart usually reserved for things that made him really mad. "Bart?" he prodded.

Bart jerked slightly. Apparently he was taking too long with his answer. "Uhh…It's umm…well…."

"Does it bother you I don't drink? That I ask that you don't?" Beauregard had never considered it would. It wasn't as though he belonged to some temperance league, crusading around proclaiming the evils of drink. Beau couldn't care less if a man drank. He simply knew from experience that it wasn't something he needed to do. He'd asked the boys to stay away from it because, well, he'd always been afraid that what had happened last night would happen.

Bart shook his head. "No." How was it possible that things could have gotten turned upside down so quickly? Up until two nights ago it was something he'd never given much thought to. Then one stupid cowboy had made a smart-aleck remark and Bart had forgotten everything Pappy had asked of him, just for his pride.

"Then what is it?"

Sighing, Bart leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. "A cowboy in the saloon said something…" Bart trailed off. He didn't finish the thought, he was almost afraid to, but he knew Pappy would understand. He did.

"Are you saying this whole thing got started because you were insulted!?" Bart didn't answer. Beau ran a hand through his hair. "Lord have mercy, boy!" He'd thought he'd taught the boys better than to be goaded into doing anything because of pride long ago. It was Beauregard's opinion that pride was a great way to get yourself killed. That was one of the reasons he had taken to claiming to be a coward years ago. It wasn't exactly true but playing the part could keep a man out of a lot of trouble, especially in his line of work. "What did he say?" he finally asked when Bart didn't say anything else. It must have been something severe. He hoped it was anyway. If Bart was going to let himself get pushed into something, it had better been for something worthwhile.

Bart kept his eyes glued to the floor. He knew Pappy wasn't going to like what he was about to hear. "A couple of nights ago, we were in the middle of a game and some drifter offered me a drink. I was going..." Bart paused. It didn't matter what he had planned on doing, the issue was what he had done. Scoffing, he shook his head. "Well, this cowboy told him he should have known better than to ask me because 'the Maverick kid don't drink'."

"The Maverick kid don't drink? That's it!?"

Bart grimaced. He could hear the edge slowly creeping back into Pappy's voice, but his father had a point. Bart would be the first to admit that when he said it, the phrase was missing a good deal of the bite Madison's mocking tone had put into it. Without the man's condescending attitude, the words sounded ridiculously simple. Certainly not worth all the trouble they had caused. "Yes," he said quietly.

Beau could feel the tension slowly building up inside of him again. 'Don't lose your temper', he reminded himself as he got to his feet. 'Let him explain'. Blowing up would only put Bart back on the defensive and they'd end up right back where they had been a few hours ago. "Would you care to explain what part of that remark you took such umbrage to?" he asked as he started pacing.

'No!' Bart silently yelled. He didn't care to explain, he wasn't sure he could. What he really wanted was for Pappy to just let the whole thing go. Bart was starting to think he'd rather Pappy go ahead and 'beat the living tar out of him' than have to explain. He'd admitted it was stupid, set through Pappy's lecture, told him he wouldn't do it again. Why did he have to keep digging? "What do you what me to say?" he finally mumbled.

"I want you to tell me why you let something that insignificant get your back up." Beau would have been more than willing to chalk up Bart's indiscretion to youthful stupidity, but he knew that wasn't the case. Bart had been acting somewhat strange for the past few weeks. When Beau added that strangeness to Bart's staunch unwillingness to talk about the time he had been spending at the Dove and his heated reaction earlier, Beau was certain there was something going on that went beyond a bottle of whiskey and a hangover.

The Maverick kid don't drink. He ran the phrase through his mind again wondering what about it had set Bart off. It was true enough that the Maverick's didn't drink, but Bart had already denied being bothered by that. It might have been being called a kid, but Bart generally wasn't testy about that. And if he was he needed to get over it, because he probably had several more years of being considered the kid while at a poker table. There was simply nothing else in the statement that could have offended him. He hadn't been called anything except…. Understanding suddenly hit Beau. He came to an abrupt stop and looked at Bart, who was eyeing him with apprehension "He called you a Maverick? " Bart turned away but not before Beau saw the flush that came to his face. "That's an insult!?"

"No!" Bart cried, facing Pappy again. This was exactly what he had been afraid of, that Pappy would think he was ashamed of his name. "That's not…it wasn't that."

"Then tell me what it is."

Bart opened his mouth and shut it quickly. He knew he was reaching the point where he needed to tread carefully. Pappy was starting to get upset again and it probably wouldn't take much to make him angry. But how could he explain something he hardly understood? It had made some sense earlier when he'd been "talking" to Mama, but he just didn't think Pappy would understand. Again he started to say something and stopped, wanting to consider his words. He had to give some kind of response though. "That's all I am," he finally answered. "Just a Maverick."

Beau went over to the fireplace. Bracing his hands on the mantel, he drew in a long, slow breath, releasing it just as slowly. 'Let him explain', he told himself once again. 'Let. Him. Explain'. "That's a bad thing?"

"No," Bart said firmly. "It's just…I'm not Bart. To anyone. I'm Beauregard's boy or the Maverick kid. It doesn't matter where I play or what I do, everybody expects me to behave just like Bret…or you." Bart had been hesitant to add that last part, and when Pappy turned back around he was almost afraid to look him. The anger he was anticipating wasn't visible though, Pappy was simply watching him.

"I see," Beau said quietly. He was more than a little surprised Bart was so upset by this. Did people really expect Bart to be like Bret? Or him? And did it really matter? Oh, he had tried to ingrain certain "Maverick" qualities in the boys; a dislike for manual labor, a love of cards and the finer things in life, even a certain "cowardliness", but that was about where the similarities ended. Bart had gotten about as much of his mother's personality as Bret had gotten of his father's. Anyone who really knew his boys understood how different they were. And if they didn't know the difference, than their opinion wasn't worth anything as far as Beau was concerned. "So," he asked after a moment. "Was getting yourself inebriated supposed to remedy that?"

Bart almost groaned aloud. Did they really have to go back to that? He looked up to answer and found that the tiniest of smirks had found its way to Pappy's face. Seeing that smirk, Bart relaxed a bit, he just might just live to see another day after all. "No," he admitted. "I didn't mean for that to happen. He offered and then…" he shrugged.

Beau's smirk became a grim smile. "It was hard to stop? I know."

"I guess you do."

"Bart, I can't tell you that the comparisons people make are ever going to stop. I doubt they will. For better or for worse, your uncle and I have made the name Maverick mean something. As long as you're here, you'll probably always be Beauregard's boy or the Maverick kid. I'm sorry that bothers you."

"It doesn't," Bart replied. "It's only, Bret does everything just like you would do it and therefore that's how I'm supposed to do it. Honestly, Pappy, when I ordered that whiskey I just wanted to prove I wasn't Bret."

Beau scoffed. "Oh, you're not Bret, son." Bart's mouth quirked to one side slightly at the bluntness his father put behind the statement. "Just out of curiosity," Beau went on. "when did I ever tell you that what anybody else thought mattered? Why do you care if everybody else thinks you're like Bret?"

Bart shook his head. "I don't know." Pappy was right; Beauregard Maverick had never made an issue of what anyone thought about him, and he'd raised his sons to think the same. So why did he care?

"Think about it."

Again Bart got the impression Pappy wasn't merely making a suggestion, but he didn't have to think about it. Honestly, he already knew what the problem was, he was pretty sure Pappy knew he knew too. He just had to find a way to put it into words.

Bart had been six the first time Pappy had taken him into a saloon, but going to "work" with Pappy hadn't been a common thing. Being able to see Pappy in a real game when he was growing up had been something that was reserved for special occasions. As a result, Bart hadn't spent a great deal of time in saloons until he'd gotten out of school. Even then Pappy had made him stay close to Bret or Cousin Beau for the better part of a year before he let him go off on his own. By the time that had happened, Bart had discovered he was following in the footsteps of the other four Mavericks. He'd also discovered that those four men had already given Little Bend a good idea of what it meant to be a Maverick. That was the problem. Bart had been ready to be his own man, to make a name for himself, and the good citizens of Little Bend had already put someone else's name on him.

Bart cleared his throat. "When you started letting me go out alone, I found out people thought they knew the Mavericks. I guess it was just easier for everyone if I was Beauregard's boy instead of Bart. And with you and Bret being so much alike, when they thought of Beau's boy, they always thought of Bret. That's really why I started going to the Dove," he admitted. "At first it was just because I knew you and Bret would never go in a place like that. Then I found out most people there didn't expect me to be anybody but Bart. It was kind or liberating."

"Alright," Beau said. He could accept that explanation. Bart's reasoning might be a bit off, but he could see the point his son was trying to make. "I understand."

"Really?" Bart was surprised at how easily his explanation had been accepted. He'd been afraid Pappy might see it as being whiny or childish. Maybe it was, but Pappy was accepting it, and accepting it calmly.

Beau nodded. "I'm not going to say I agree with it all, but I understand what you're saying."

"Well, I guess if I'm just the Maverick kid it does keep people from having to keep our names straight."

Beau snorted a laugh. Bart probably had something there. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think they know Bret's name either."

For the first time all day, a genuine smile came to Bart's face and Beau felt the tension that had been his constant companion since late last night start to leave him. He loved his son and he wanted to be there when Bart needed him, but he knew he wasn't always the most understanding man in the world. He also knew he was usually terrible with things that were even remotely serious. Knowing that this episode was nearing an end and they had both survived mostly unscathed was a relief. "You can thank your Mama for that," he added to his earlier comment almost without thinking.

Bart looked over sharply, his interest obviously piqued. "Mama named me?"

"She did." Again Beau felt the familiar pang that always came when he talked about Belle, but he pushed the feeling back. Bart needed this; now wasn't the time to be selfish. "She always liked the way Beau and Belle sounded together. When your brother was born she wanted something that went well with them. She decided on Bret." Personally, Beau hadn't given any thought to his son's name. When Belle had suggested Breton he'd figured it would be fine. "Then Ben went and saddled your cousin with Beauregard. After that, I'm afraid you didn't have much of a chance. She wasn't going to let you be the odd man out."

"So, Bartley was her idea?"

"It was."

Bart smiled slightly. He had no objections to Bart, but he'd always hated the name Bartley. Part of that may have been because it usually wasn't used unless he was in trouble, but knowing his name had been the work of his mother made it a little less awful.

"How the head feel?" Beau asked suddenly, taking his place at the other end of the sofa again. He could tell Bart was enjoying his new found information, and right now he would probably tell Bart anything he wanted to know. But that still didn't mean he wanted to talk about his late wife, and if he could get the talk going in a different direction he would.

"Better," Bart told almost immediately. If he noticed the abrupt shift in the conversation he didn't show it. "Hardly feel it now."

"A good Prairie Oyster works every time," Beau told his son, a smug smile on his face.

"Prairie Oyster?" Bart asked in confusion. He wasn't sure what his father meant and no other explanation was offered. Pappy's self-satisfied grin just grew. Finally Bart realized what they were talking about. The revolting concoction Pappy had given him this morning had a name. "That was supposed to help?" he exclaimed.

Beau laughed. "Is your headache gone?" he asked, in an I-told-you-so tone of voice. Bart's only answer was a scowl. "I told you you'd thank me later." In Beau's opinion, a Prairie Oyster was a guaranteed hangover cure. Granted they were a little hard to get down, but they had always gotten him back on his feet faster than anything else. Really the mere taste of an Oyster should have been enough to keep any normal person from ever needing to mix more than one but there were always the stubborn sorts. Like himself.

"I didn't," Bart grumbled. "What do you put in one of those?"

"You still don't want to know. But it'll knock out a hangover."

"I don't know about that," Bart responded, still skeptical that the vile drink had in any way helped him. "I don't have a previous hangover to compare it to."

The amusement began to fade from Beau's eyes. "I hope you never have another one to compare it to."

"I don't plan to."

"Do you mean that?"

"Yes, sir." Bart wondered if Pappy really felt he needed to ask. Did he think Bart was in a hurry to repeat any of what he'd had to go through today?

"I'm glad you feel that way. It'll make life easier for both of us." Bart chuckled. Pappy was probably right about that. Beau reached over and gave Bart's shoulder a slap. "Now you can work out what you're going to say to your brother."

For the second time that day Bart felt like he'd been sucker punch by one of Pappy's comments. "What?" He was fervently hoping Pappy wasn't serious but nothing in Pappy's look suggested he was joking.

"He's the one who had to drag you home last night. I think you owe him some kind of explanation."

A/N: So, I know I've been away for awhile but I'm back now :) Hope you enjoyed.