AUTHOR's NOTE: So sorry I've been so long in getting this up. If people still seem to be enjoying it, I promise to have the next chapter up no later than Tuesday. Thanks for droppin' by! Oh! And when last we left our heroes, Noah was having a chat with his and Luke's 13 year-old son, Dylan, regarding a "difference of opinion" he had in the middle of class with one of his teachers. The last chapter ended with a knock from Luke on his bedroom door.

The Biker Boy Badass

Luke stood with folded arms in the open door, his foot anxiously tapping like a runaway metronome.

Noah looked at his watch. (Well, he did last ten minutes longer than I thought he would) "Uh, Honey?" he said, and looked at his hubby's tapping foot, "I think you've got us confused with the casting directors for Bambi: The Musical" – He looked up – "Not that you wouldn't make a great Thumper." He deferred to Dylan. "What do you think?"

"Hmm? Who, me? Oh, sure!" Dylan agreed. "I'd say Dad's got a very bright future in… in uh… th-thumping."

With a strong final thump, Luke brought his tapping to a halt. "Do you know what your son just did?"

"What's that, Dear?"

"That little booger just kicked me outta the kitchen," Luke said. "I made one tiny little mistake and the little iron chef handed me my walking papers!"

Noah stroked his chin. "Hmmm. I'm trying to get an image of the Baby Bear kicking anyone out of anywhere and…" He shrugged. "Sorry, Darlin', it's not comin' to me."

Luke swayed his head swiftly from side to side. "Yeah well, to be fair he did start with 'Daddy, you know I love you, right?' before he confiscated my spatula."

The thought tickled Noah's insides. "Man, you really are a sucker for that line."

Luke said lightly, "You know, I am, I really am." Then his eyes sped, past Dylan, to settle on nothing in particular in a corner of the room.

(He won't even look at me) Dylan thought (Man, this is so gonna suck)

"Do you need me to go down and keep an eye on him?" asked Noah, but by reflex, Dylan clamped both of his hands onto his Papa's arm, anchoring him in place.

"No, he's okay," Luke said, pretending not to notice. "Chris is studying at the kitchen table, so I just handed him the fire extinguisher and told them both to go with God." He offered a small, intimate smile to his companion. "But thank you."

"So…" Dylan said. "Dinner's in God's hands now?"

Luke didn't look at him. "Yeah. His and Rachael Ray's long lost grandson's."

"Well, Honey, did you give Lee a good reason to send you packing?"

Luke hiked his shoulders to his ears. "You tell me," he said. "According to him I strangled the strawberry sauce. Apparently my spoonful of sugar made the strawberries go down."

Noah gave a small wince. "And not 'in the most delightful way', I'm guessing."

Dylan said, "Apparently it's Julie Andrews night here at Snyder Manor." But when Luke again didn't react, Dylan patted his fist like a microphone. "Uh, is this thing on?"

Then Noah, as subtly as he was able, cocked his head in Dylan's direction. (Not me, Honey, look at the boy. I'm not the one who's in trouble here) his eyes said (…I hope)

(But what if I'm too harsh?)

(Well, you're gonna have to say something sooner or later)

(God, I knew I shouldn't have come up here…)

"Ya know what?" Dylan said, getting up off of the bed. "You two and your psychic shorthand look like you could use a moment alone, so I'm just gonna…"

Luke pointed at the bed. "Park it, Perseus," he said.

(Houston, we have liftoff!) Noah thought, giving a wink of encouragement to his parent in crime.

Dylan groaned – "Aw maaaan" – and plopped back down next to Noah. "So was this the idea all along?" he asked his Pop. "You soften me up, then send in the maternal muscle?"

"Yes, young Snyder," said Noah, and twiddled his invisible mustache. "And once again you've fallen right into my evil trap."

Dylan scrunched his eyebrows. "I think somebody needs to cut back on his black and white movie intake."

"I hope he can fix it," Luke asked, shifting his attention awkwardly back onto Noah.

"It'll be fine," Dylan said, "nobody can resuscitate a strawberry like Lee-Lee."

('Atta boy, Dyl) Noah thought (Get in there and show him how it's done)


There's a saying: Often the most difficult opinion for a person to tolerate is the one that they used to hold. Considering that Dylan's character was being fashioned according to the same blueprints as Luke's – or at least, remarkably similar ones – one understands how Luke could have less patience for Dylan's growing pains, as they were pains he himself had grown out of and, even as an adult, had to realign himself from time to time to avoid reverting to some old behavior. But knowing this, where Dylan was concerned, Luke would catch himself early on into his screeching sessions and would (wisely) defer to Noah to handle. Dylan didn't suffer for this, as Luke was far far more than a mere disciplinarian, but for the busy body hand-in-every-pie maternal figure that Luke was, it ate at his insides to not be involved in every aspect of his raising. Interesting, seeing as how he had far less trouble splitting or sharing parental duties with Noah when it came to the other boys.


"Well, I hope he can salvage it," Luke said, braving eye contact. "I just lost my reputation as the Bun Burner. Now suddenly I'm the Strawberry Strangler."

"The Strawberry Strangler?" Dylan echoed. "Well, it's not quite the 'Boston Strangler' but it still has a nice ring to it."

Luke smiled somewhat. "No fruit dare walk the streets of Oakdale with me on the loose."

"Beg pardon, Ma." Two grease-loving hands gripped Luke's shoulders from behind and gave them a good squeeze, a tall, ruggedly handsome, scruffy-faced sixteen year-old young man appeared behind him. "But the gay community, of which both my folks are card carryin' members, finds the term 'fruit' a might bit offensive. Plus…" He stepped to Luke's side, keeping one arm around his shoulders "When you tack on that stranglin' bit, you're lookin' at the business end of a hate crime."

"Don't worry, Honey," said Noah, "I'll wait for you."

Luke bunched his lips together on the side of his face. "Mm-hmm," he said, "and just to recap, Dear, the idea was for us to rub off on the kids, not the other way around."

Noah shrugged. "Hey, I'm only human."

Luke gasped playfully. "Tell me you guys heard that!"

Shane folded his arms, his cocky grin fixed in place. "So he finally admits it," he said, and leaned against the doorframe. "Looks like we've finally worn the old man down."

"Enjoy it while it lasts, Wild Man" said Noah, "I'm expecting a comeback any minute now."

Shane gave a nod to the challenge. "Lookin' forward to it."


Introducing Shannon Percival Snyder, but those accustomed to walking upright had best call him 'Shane'. The closest thing in the family to a traditional badass, Shane had carved his image as a biker long before he was old enough to drive a motorcycle, with his black leather jacket, black biker boots, and whichever of Noah's old plaid shirts caught his eye that day.

A strong, stubborn Capricorn, weeks away from his seventeenth birthday, Shane had already achieved his full adult height of six-foot-one, and his scruffy facial hair – finally long enough to be considered an actual beard – suggested a maturity which had strangers guessing he came nearer the top of the family role call than he did. His hair was short and spiked, the color of apple pie crust, with his beard a few shades darker and minus the golden tones.

Whereas Luke had vibrant hazel eyes that would rush to greet you, and Noah's eyes were a distant blue-grey that would draw you in, Shane had vibrant blue-grey eyes that would rush to greet you, then draw you in. More accurately, they would rush to greet you, kidnap you, and never let you go. And if you're like most of the girls in his class (and some of the guys), you wouldn't mind a bit.

Speaking of kidnapping, Shane had played the villain in all the school plays. Each year, the black hat got bigger and the black cape grew longer but the role remained the same: that of the devilishly handsome schemer with a wicked laugh and a cocky grin, for Shane was indeed a lover of mischief, but only of the teasing variety, teasing being his most comfortable means of showing affection. This chiding streak was the canvas upon which the finer details of his personality were painted, but he took fierce offense to the mistreatment of others, particularly those he deemed weaker than himself (translation: everyone). It was for this reason that his brothers were the least bullied kids on the playground. It was either 'Hands off the Snyder boys!' or 'So what color would like for your cast?'

Of all the sons' paths, Shane's was arguably the longest, due mostly to a trauma he survived at the tender age of six. I'll spare you the specifics for now, except to say that as a result, he suffered from dysthymia: a chronic, 'low grade' form of depression, which was the driving force behind his quick temperedness and his somewhat frequent displays of aggression. However, such outbursts were generally mild (never physically harmful) and tended to leave as quickly as they came.

He was also quite the intellectual, a trait he downplayed by manner and appearance. As a child he read everything he could get his hands on, from books to encyclopedias to the backs of shampoo bottles. He was also incredibly gifted with his hands. By his twelfth year, he had taken apart every electronic device and appliance in his or his grandparents' houses. The vast majority of his attempts to reconstruct said machines were great successes, though Noah had long ago given up hope of his camcorder returning to the land of the living. "Oh well," he said one day to Luke. "What's one dead video camera if it means we have our very own resident handyman?" And handy he was. Sinks drained, ovens baked, TVs blipped, engines purred, and refrigerators hummed at the magical touch of his calloused finger, as though the machines themselves had told him what ached and how to fix it.


"Look, Ma," Shane said, "I know what you're thinking and don't you worry: I'm gonna talk to the guys and we're gonna petition the state to change those prison suits from felon orange to something more your color. We can't have you lookin' less than fabulous, bars or no bars."

"Excuse me? I look just fine in orange, thank you." Due to lack of response, Luke looked at his husband. "Jump in any time, Babe."

"So that jaundiced look?" Dylan heard himself say. "That's on purpose?" But when Luke's jaw dropped, he speedily added, "So… a-a-are those new highlights? Man, are they pretty. No, really. It's like the Sun shining right outta your…"

"Look, kiddo," Luke said, finally ready to square off with his child, "until you're out of the doghouse, maybe you oughta keep your clever little quips to a minimum. What d'ya think?"

Dylan squinted, as if expecting to be pied in the face. "So I am in the doghouse."

"Don't worry, Sweetheart," Luke said, "I've already told the postman to forward your mail." He turned to Shane. "And as for you," he said. "Did you actually need something or is it just time for my pestering session?"

"Ooh, gonna have to take a rain check on the pestering," Shane said, "I actually just had a question for Pop."

"State your business, boy" said Noah, "Your mother's got lectures to give and kids to punish."

Dylan glanced sideways at Noah. "You know, you could enjoy this a little bit less."

"Hush, your brother's got the floor," said Noah, then looked at Shane. "What d'ya need?"

"Well, I was wondering if you could gimme a hand switching out the tables. We're gonna need the big one in the kitchen tonight."

Noah looked up as he pondered. "Uh... yeah. Gimme about… fifteen minutes."

Luke held out his hand to Shane. "Hi there! My name's Liver, but my friends call me 'Chopped'"

Shane looked at the hand then back at Luke, clicked his cheek and said, "Sorry, Ma. This is man's work."

Luke smiled and scoffed both at once. "You know, I am the athlete here."

"Sure ya are, Ma." Shane patted Luke's shoulder. "Sure ya are."

"And why do you need the big table anyway?" Luke spoke as if he were bating the boy. Something that Shane noted.

"Because Anna's comin' to dinner and the kitchen table only seats twelve comfortably and fourteen uncomfortably," Shane said, followed by a burst of excitement on his face. "Hey, that reminds me: Can Anna come to dinner?"

As if Luke hadn't seen that coming... "Gee, I dunno," he said, reveling in the maternal power of the moment. "It's kind of short notice, isn't it?"

"Hey, better late than never, right?"

"Oh, I don't know, Sweetie, tonight was just supposed to be the family."

Shane looked to Noah. "Pop, could you please talk to your wife?"

"Hey, this is between you and your mother."

Luke looked at his husband. "Babe, please don't encourage him."

"But Honey, all the progressive parenting books say that we should."

Luke sighed. "Note to self:" he said, "burn all the progressive parenting books."

"Ma, come on," Shane said, "You ask Anna to stay for dinner all the time. Plus, she's already planning on coming."

Luke pretended consideration. "I don't know, Sweetheart, did you ask the boss?"

"Are you kiddin' me?" Shane said. "There's two industrial sized ovens full of food down there right now. Hell, we could feed the whole Snyder Clan."

Noah quietly grumbled, "Ten thousand dollars for a damn oven, it better be full of something."

"Oh now, Honey…"

"I know, I know, he had to outgrow his Easybake Oven sooner or later."

It's true, Lee did tend to over-do it when he got excited, and having sensed the importance Luke seemed to be placing on this particular dinner, Lee had been treating it like a countdown party to a rocket launch.

Luke smiled at his husband. "Have I ever told you how cute your grumpy old man moments are?"

Noah winked. "And I don't look a day over twenty-six."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Shane rushed, "You're a couple o' saplings. God bless Mary Kay. But can we get back to…"

"Forty-five dollars for a bottle of damn moisturizer," said Noah. "I better not look my age."

Two fingers between his teeth, Shane blew a shrill whistle. "People. If you'd just answer the question you two can go back to playing beauty parlor and I can go pick up my girl." He looked Luke. "Come on, Ma. Please?"

Luke took his time in answering. "One condition:" he said, and paused to further milk the moment. "Take the station wagon."

"Take it where? Crazy Tony's used car lot?"

"To pick up your girlfriend, wise guy."

"But I got her her own helmet and everything! My chick is totally street legal."

Luke pinched Shane's cheek. "Awww, who taught you how to sweet talk like that?"

Shane casually took the hand away. "You know what I mean."

"Look, Sweetheart, any other day it would be fine, but if you take your motorcycle you'll get dust all over your pants."

Shane brushed his thighs. "But I'm just wearing my jeans."

Luke gleefully threw his son's words back at him. "Hey that reminds me!" he said. "Change into some pants before you go."

"But…"

"Shannon," Luke said, with the first sign of a foot dropping, "you are not gonna let Anna straddle a motorcycle while she's in a dress."

"Fine, I'll just take Eastwood."

"She's not gonna straddle your horse either."

"Look. No offence, Mother, but what my girlfriend does and doesn't straddle is between me and…" Shane screeched to a halt. "Whoa, hold the homophone. How did you know she's wearing a dress tonight?"

Luke's lips spread in a cheeky grin. "Because she called and asked what she should wear because she didn't trust her big blonde beau's sartorial judgment."

"Wha-…" Shane stammered. "So you knew she was comin'?"

"Mm-hmm."

"This whole time."

"Yyyep."

"And this whole song and dance has been…"

"Hey, you're not the only one who knows how to pester, Cowboy."

Noah raised his hand. "I can vouch for that."

"Pffft!" Shane shook his head. "So how long you two hens been cluckin' behind my back?"

Luke chuckled as he spoke. "Oh simmer down" he said. "Besides, she called me. Not to mention the fact that she is actually on the guest list... How bout a little grattitude?"

"But I'm gonna look so lame pickin' my girlfriend up in the grocery grabber?"

"No lamer than you'll look serving everybody's food in the frilly pink apron if you keep it up."

Shane froze, then squinted. "You wouldn't."

Luke squinted back. "Try me."

Shane squinted harder. "You're bluffin'."

Luke squinted harder. "Don't – you – wish."

"Careful, tough guy," said Noah. "He's been dying for an excuse to show Anna your baby photos."

"Aw yes!" Dylan said. "That fifth grade haircut alone is worth at least a thousand words."

Shane shot Dylan a playfully threatening look, then fixed his attention back onto his male mother. Propping his fists up onto his hips and he said, "Blackmailing your own kid? Lady, you oughta be ashamed of yourself."

"Sweetheart, when you raise nine boys through puberty, we can talk. Until then, I'll use whatever I've got."

"Here, here." said Noah, though it sounded like surrender.

Shane took a heavy step toward Luke. "In that case, I've just got one thing to say to you."

Luke saw the young man's step and raised him another. "And what might that be?"

"Where…" Shane took another step "…are…" and touched their noses together "…the car keys?"

Luke's squashed laugh erupted in his nose. "That's my baby boy," he teased, and took the keys from his pocket and put them in his son's hand. "Don't forget. Change pants before you go."

"Fine, but you are aware we're not the friggin' Kennedys I'm guessin'."

"Could you walk while you whine, please?" Luke said.

"Hey, this ain't whinin'. This is some serious man moaning here."

"Then take it for a walk, tough guy," Luke said. "You shouldn't keep a lady waiting."

Shane opened his mouth to tease that if anyone would know, Luke should, but… "Don't…" Luke stopped the lips with his finger "…say it!"

It was then that the oldest son stuck his head in through the doorway.


A.N. - Okay, again, if this is still a story people care to continue, I'll be sure and have the next chapter up just as soon asI can. Thanks for readin' and I hope y'all had a little fun.