Author's Notes: Hey everyone! Well, my computer is definitely fried, and fortunately it's not the hard drive, it's the motherboard - and my computer is becoming as well-traveled as I am, because I just shipped it to my dad in Florida to get it fixed. That leaves me dependent on work computers, library computers, and the good will of my housemates and thier laptops to get anything done. SO, I've got two chapters fully typed in files in my e-mail that I can access (thank God for beta readers!), and much much more written in a notebook and NOT typed - so as soon as I can get it done, I swear I will. For now, hopefully this chapter will tide you over for a bit - or not, since it's an evil cliffhanger right there at the end. :-D I'll plan to post again probably Monday or Tuesday, so no, begging won't help. ;) Thanks everyone!

Chapter 5: Love Thy Enemy

"Better hold on tight…here comes the night…"
- 'Bones' by Little Big Town

As usual, Jesse was the first awake in the morning, true to his lifelong habit of waking at dawn despite his midnight activity. This was Sunday, man's day of rest, but a farmer's work was never done, and the chickens and goats always needed tending.

This morning, dressed and on his way to the kitchen to start the coffee on the stove, Jesse paused at the door to the boys' bedroom, unable to resist checking on his long-missed nephew. He eased the bedroom door open as gently as he could and peered in. The early dawn light snuck in through the curtained window and lit the bedroom with soft light, revealing young Bo sound asleep among his blankets, snoring softly. Luke, however, wasn't sleeping so soundly.

A deep frown creased his brow, and the occasional twitch tightened his jaw and eyelids. Jesse also couldn't help but notice the occasional twitch in his right hand, lying across his belly, as his trigger finger contracted and fired at long-dead foes. He made no sound, nor any wild movements, even in sleep protecting himself from the enemy.

"Luke…" Jesse called into the room gently. Then louder, firmer, "Luke."

Ocean blue eyes flew open and looked around, only recognizing the room and his uncle after many muddled blinks.

"It was just a dream, son. Go back to sleep."

A few more sleepy blinks, then his eyes drifted shut again, fading into friendlier dreams.

It was after Bo had finished the morning chores, after Daisy had cooked breakfast, and after Jesse helped her wash the dishes, when Luke sleepily stumbled out into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing the rough stubble on his jaw. Wearing a t-shirt and boxers, he found a chair and gave Daisy a grateful smile as she set down the plate she'd kept aside for him. While he took his time eating, his cousins and uncle all took their turn at the shower, cleaning up and dressing in their Sunday best. That left them all waiting on Luke forty minutes later, as he quickly dried off, tended his feet, and dug through the closet for a set of nice clothes that still fit him. Finally, tugging at the tight, starched collar, he emerged from the bedroom ready to go, and they went.

The drive to church was filled with the same excited chatter that had filled each meal and idle moment since Friday afternoon, but if Luke was quieter this morning, only Jesse noticed. The Marine responded to the banter, smiling and joking in return, but his eyes told a different story, distant and thoughtful. He lost the thread of the conversation entirely as they turned into the church parking lot, reading the topic of the week's sermon on the announcement board: 'Forgiveness'. Bo was quick to punch his cousin's shoulder and tease him back to reality, which Luke returned with a grin and a gentled punch of his own.

As the Duke family headed for their seats mid-way along the left column of pews, Luke was subject to a similar reception as at the football field. There was no applause, but every elderly matron and callus-handed farmer in Hazzard seemed to want to shake his hand and smile approvingly at his warm response. It wasn't until the front doors were closed and the reverend stepped up to the pulpit that the crowd around him seemed to settle out and quiet down.

As Reverend Jones began to speak, Luke relaxed in his seat at the end of the pew, content to finally be returning to the Sunday morning tradition that had been as constant in his life as the rising of the sun. The Dukes weren't front-row Baptists, but they had their faith and held their trust in the Lord to see them through good times and bad. Sunday morning church was a weekly affirmation of faith and a lesson in the guiding principles of the Good Book, and despite the times it got tedious following a late Saturday night, Luke found he'd missed it in his time away – not that he didn't find plenty of occasion and need for prayer in those thirty-eight months.

Listening to the reverend now, however, began to fill Luke with tension again. 'Forgiveness' in a religious sense could cover many topics, but the particular topic of this sermon was forgiveness between enemies - patience, turn the other cheek, and the like. Certainly the reverend didn't mean Luke or the war in Vietnam specifically, and he might have selected a whole other topic if he knew of Luke's homecoming, but there was no other meaning Luke could see in his words just now. And everything he heard told him his every action in the last three years had been wrong.

Ten minutes into the sermon, Luke had heard all he could take. Without a word or a glance to anyone, he stood and silently walked out, shutting the door carefully and quietly behind him.

Bo started to go after him, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him, and he looked up at his uncle with a mixture of worry and confusion. Jesse gave him a look that clearly said Stay - he was worried himself, but determined to give Luke the space and time to get a handle on whatever upset him. Then he turned to Daisy, who held a similar worried expression, and he patted her hand reassuringly, before returning most of his attention to the reverend's sermon. Fifteen minutes later, as the choir began leading a hymn, Jesse motioned to his niece and nephew, and they all quietly slipped out of the pew. More than a few eyes followed their departure.

Outside, all three immediately began looking for their Marine, but he wasn't hard to find. Across the road, a trickling stream fed a modest duck pond, and Luke was skipping rocks expertly across the surface, his collar unbuttoned and tie untied. He glanced over briefly as his family approached, but continued skipping rocks as they stopped and watched unspeaking, until the handful he'd gathered was gone. Finally, Luke took a deep breath and turned around.

"Sorry, Uncle Jesse. I just, uh…" he faltered, failing to think of an adequate excuse.

Jesse just put a sympathetic arm around his nephew's tense shoulders. "Let's go on home."

The drive back from church was decidedly quiet.

Luke was certain he was losing it.

After spending a quiet morning around the farmhouse, some of Bo's football buddies dropped by and invited both Duke cousins to a friendly pickup game. Luke wasn't especially interested, but Bo's enthusiasm was infectious, and his elder cousin went along for his sake. Most of the varsity team was there, as well as a few of Luke's old high school friends, and some other stragglers who tagged along, and the game quickly heated up.

The fun lasted about five minutes, until Luke had possession of the ball, and threw a pass to his cousin. There weren't many similarities between a pigskin and a grenade, but Luke's trembling hands recognized the same arc and thrust of the throw. It was the end of the game for him.

Ten minutes later, the other bystanders in the bleachers were staring at him as he leaped to his feet, his heart pounding with wide eyes glued to the cloudless blue sky. A news helicopter had flown by in the distance, hurrying to a breaking story somewhere more exciting than Hazzard.

Now Luke sat uneasily in the passenger seat of the old white pickup, the fingers of his right hand restlessly straying to the handle of his knife as he stared out the window, trying to understand why his eyes saw Georgia countryside when the rest of him felt North Pacific jungle. Bo, extracted from the game not even halfway through, glanced fretfully at his cousin between watching the road. He didn't know what was wrong and he didn't understand why Luke insisted on going home early, but he didn't like it one bit.

Jesse was away at one of the stills when Bo pulled the pickup into the driveway, but Daisy was home, and one look at her cousins told her something was wrong. As he shut the truck door, Bo watched with puzzled eyes as Luke walked off without a word. He didn't go far - into the barn, and up into the hayloft, the blond suspected. Bo didn't follow him. Uncle Jesse seemed to think his eldest nephew needed a little space, and he was willing to respect that - for now.

It was dinnertime, two hours later, before Daisy was sent in search of Luke. Once more, he wasn't hard to find - he'd made himself comfortable among the bales of hay in the loft of the barn and stayed there, thinking. Climbing the ladder, Daisy peeked her head over the edge of the loft to get his attention.

'Bo was right to be worried,' she thought to herself, looking at where her cousin sat in the corner of the loft, arms loosely wrapped around his knees, with a somber, troubled expression that would put a basset hound to shame.

"Dinner's ready," Daisy informed Luke aloud.

He turned his head slightly in her direction to meet her eyes, then went back to staring at the square of blue sky through the open hayloft doors. Daisy hung there on the ladder, a little surprised that Luke had hardly even acknowledged her presence, but after a long, silent moment he stiffly rose to his feet to follow her down and outside. She smiled then - dinner was another of his favorites, and she had worked on it half the afternoon for him.

Daisy smiled broader when they walked into the farmhouse together and she saw Luke's nose twitch, smelling the delicious aroma of venison roast with gravy and potatoes, and apple pie for dessert, all laid out on the table and waiting for him. Bo and Jesse sat waiting expectantly at the table, and Bo's expression clearly said he was glad Luke had come in; whether because he was hungry or because he was just happy to see him, Luke didn't know.

In any case, the obvious effort of the hearty meal on the table and the sight of his family was enough to shake Luke from the brooding mood he'd been in all day, and an honest smile lightened his care-lined features. What was there to worry about, when this - his family and their love - was always here for him? Daisy, Bo, and Jesse smiled between themselves as Luke went to wash up.

The rest of the evening passed in happy, sharp contrast to the uneasy morning and afternoon. When dinner was over and the leftovers put away - there were few of those, the way Luke devoured his food - and the dishes were stacked in the sink, Jesse suggested the boys get out their guitars, and play for a spell on the porch. Bo jumped at the suggestion, and Luke was pretty enthusiastic himself - he missed his old guitar, and he'd only rarely gotten his hands on a six-string overseas.

The next hour was spent carefully tuning the treasured instruments, before the boys really started strumming in earnest. Luke was a little rusty, his hands more accustomed to other uses, so he stuck to the simpler background chords while Bo sang and played the more complicated riffs. Luke was impressed by the skill Bo had gained, and he exchanged smiles with Jesse, listening to his little cousin. When Luke left, Bo was still squeaking occasionally when he talked and sang.

The family guitar session went on as dusk fell, until Luke made the mistake of yawning partway through a slow, drawling version of Gene Autry's 'Tumbling Tumbleweeds'. Right about then, Jesse announced that it was getting late, and there were chores to tend to before bedtime. Daisy went inside to wash the dinner dishes, and Bo set his guitar aside to go take care of the animals. When Luke got up to join his cousin, Bo stopped him.

"I got 'em, Luke," he insisted.

Before Luke could respond, Jesse noticed that the normal background clucking of the chickens had taken on a decidedly nervous tone. He frowned and started in the direction of the coop on the far side of the barn, followed by Bo. When the nervous clucking became shrieks of outrage, Jesse shouted and broke into a jog, wishing he had his shotgun handy - that danged raccoon was back, and by the sound of it, he'd gotten one of the hens.

Jesse and Bo hadn't yet reached the barn when a swift shadow overtook and passed them, disappearing around the corner of the barn. An instant later, a shotgun blast cracked through the quiet evening air. Uncle and nephew turned the corner to see Luke standing with the gun to his shoulder, eyeing the motionless bulk of the thieving raccoon some hundred yards away, near the edge of the woods. A newly dead chicken lay on the dirt beside him. When he was sure the coon was dead, Luke lowered the shotgun and looked up at Bo and Jesse's approach.

"Whoo!" Bo whooped excitedly, running over to get a good look at his arch nemesis. "That's him alright! Thievin' rascal!"

Jesse and Luke strolled over to have a look. He sure was a big one, well-fed on his steady diet of Uncle Jesse's chickens.

"What are you doin'?" Jesse asked as Bo pulled out his pocket knife and started unfolding it.

"Oh, I promised Eli Keller I'd make him a cap with the skin, when I got him - though, I guess it's Luke's kill…"

Luke shrugged. "He can have it, I got no use for it."

"Well, don't skin it right here, you'll just attract coyotes, and I don't want anything else getting into the chickens. Take him over into the woods and skin him there, after you get the chickens cooped and take care of the animals for the night," Jesse instructed.

Bo hesitated, and Luke stepped in. "I'll skin the coon, you go take care of the chickens."

"You sure?"

"I got nothing else to do, since you won't let me help with the chores."

Bo grinned, and trotted off to hurry through his chores. With a look to his uncle, Luke took the raccoon in one hand and the dead chicken in the other, and headed for the tree line to gather the hide and dispose of the remains.

Skinning a raccoon is not exactly a clean, neat procedure, so when Luke returned to the barn where Bo waited, he had fresh blood all over his hands, plus the odd stain on his jeans and shirt. He handed Bo the rolled coon hide to stretch, scrape, and dry, then went to the well spigot to wash up. Luke was just finishing scrubbing his hands and knife when Bo joined him, having made quick work of lashing the hide to the waiting frame to dry. Bo grinned, pleased that Luke's marksmanship had finally taken out the troublesome animal, but Luke didn't seem to be nearly as pleased or impressed. In fact, he was frowning again, and when Bo headed into the farmhouse, Luke didn't follow.

"Coming, Luke?" he asked curiously. It was well past dark by now, and he had school in the morning. Besides, tomorrow was the day - the day they would finally get the engine he'd been working so hard for these last five months.

"I'll be in in a bit," was Luke's answer. By the glow of the kitchen light inside, he could barely see his little cousin, but it was enough to see Bo's doubtful expression.

"Alright, Luke. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Bo."

Luke settled himself onto the porch swing, looking out across the quiet farm, and smiling a little when he saw the guitars standing on the corner of the porch. The smile quickly fell. The smell of blood from the raccoon disturbed him on many levels, not the least because it was so familiar that he couldn't even attach it to any one incident or memory. The blood of foe and friend alike had stained his hands, and the strong scent carried with it the images of too many hand-to-hand fights, where his knife had found an artery or vital organ moments before his enemy did the same, or the aftermath of pitched firefights, when his knife cut shirts into bandages and attempted to staunch mortal wounds.

Luke shivered, and not from the cold.

The farmhouse was quiet. Daisy and Jesse had said their goodnights, and his uncle didn't press him to head for bed himself. The Duke patriarch knew it had been a hard day for him, even if he didn't understand all the reasons why. A little quiet time would do him good.

It wasn't long before Luke started feeling restless again, sitting on the porch swing. The sliver of moon from the night before was gone, and the black night was stiflingly menacing. It was a vulnerable feeling Luke didn't like, sitting here guarding the Duke farmhouse without any reconnaissance telling him what was out there beyond the limits of his vision, without any other Marines on sentry to watch the other three sides of the building, without his rifle in his hands, loaded and ready. Finally, he had enough of sitting there, and, like the night before, Luke set off down the driveway with his knife tucked in his belt.

From the farmhouse, a pair of soulful blue eyes watched him disappear into the darkness.

Luke stalked through the dark forest of the Duke farm on silent, aching feet. His eyes strained to see the shades of black that differentiated a looming tree from an open space, and the skin and muscles of his legs strained to feel the brush of a branch or bush that might rattle and give away his presence. These were the worst sorts of nights - pitch black and dead quiet, and thick with tension as the Marine anticipated danger from every angle. There were no snipers or distant gunfire on nights like this - instead, Charlie would lay in wait for a patrol to pass by, then attack their exposed backs by knifepoint with fatal speed. Every skritch of mouse feet or whoof of owl wings sent a twitch of tension through Luke, until he dismissed it as nonlethal.

Then, somewhere behind him, a twig snapped.

Thirty feet, Luke thought, and looked around at his options. Thud thud thud coming closer. In an instant, he was scaling the cottonwood off to his right, to keep from being surrounded, and he crouched on a low, heavy branch some ten feet off the ground, squinting into the darkness with his knife at the ready. Panting breath, now, coming from below…a little closer…a little closer…there.

With experienced silence, Luke dropped down from the tree branch, arcing his knife down to slash across the throat of his attacker.

You know, I'm hoping that's a coyote sneaking up on him - or maybe a bear - 'cause if it's anything without a whole lot of teeth and claws, it's not gonna stand a chance against ol' Luke.