Bo/Roscoe fic, slash, Rated G.
Dec. 17th, 2002 03:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveAnd I may even have thought of a series title! Go me.
Stay
When Bo showed up at his house, all Roscoe could think was -- it's over. They'd reached the end to their less-than-an-affair and Bo was here to tell him about it. Roscoe had stood in the doorway speechless for nearly a minute before he shook himself. He started to take a step backwards, inviting him in, when he stopped.
They didn't do this. They didn't show up on each other's porches unless it was in the course of police duty. They didn't invite each other into each other's homes unless it was Uncle Jesse or Daisy letting him into the kitchen to talk to him while Bo and Luke snuck away.
He'd never, ever, invited Bo inside his own home.
Bo smiled, half-uncertain. "You gonna let me in?"
"I-- what are you here for?" He hated to hear himself say it, harsh and unfriendly as though what anybody believed about them was true. His hand clenched, because what he really wanted was to touch Bo's face and welcome him. Kiss him and hold him close and --
Not invite him inside where anybody who happened past, could see. He glanced around suddenly, and didn't see the General Lee anywhere.
"Luke dropped me off 'round the bend," Bo pointed, guessing the reason for his look. "He's sitting up at the edge of Rosemont Hill for me."
"What are you--" He realised there might be a particular reason for this visit. Would Bo risk everything just to drop by? Did he think he was risking anything? Was it worth whatever risk… "Is something the matter?"
Bo frowned, and Roscoe felt his stomach hit his boots. But then Bo shook his head. "Not exactly. You gonna let me in?"
"Why are you here, Bo?"
Why didn't he just let him in? Why couldn't he step back, let Bo get off the porch where anyone would see him if they drove past and looked through the trees? Why was it so hard?
Roscoe swallowed. If he let Bo in, how was he supposed to ever tell him it was time to go?
But he stepped back. "Come in," he said quietly, trying not to let his voice shake. Tried not to reach out and grab Bo as soon as he'd come inside and Roscoe had shut the door.
Bo stood in the front room and turned slow, looking around the small house. His eyes rested here and there at places where Roscoe couldn't tell what had caught his attention. Roscoe just watched him, waiting. Hating the feeling in his throat that someone was going to say good-bye.
Why else would Bo have come here? If he'd just come to sneak a visit his eyes would have been dancing with mischief, expecting Roscoe to toss him out and offering an alternative -- up in the hills, or away back behind the house, far from the road.
But he hadn't said anything like that. He didn't look precisely like he was fretting over something -- but he was quiet, and Roscoe couldn't attribute that entirely to Bo just being uncertain as to his welcome.
"Bo?" His voice shook, and he couldn't have helped it.
Bo finally turned and looked at him. Still that unexplained half-uncertain frown, and half something else that looked like happiness. He still didn't answer right away, but his attention was on Roscoe now and not the distraction of a house he hadn't seen before. Then, slowly, his expression faded into just a slight smile.
It didn't really reassure him.
"Bo--"
"Roscoe--" He stopped, waited, then when Roscoe said nothing, he continued. "I…we're… me and Luke we got…." He took a deep breath. "A job. On the racing circuit. We're gonna be leaving--"
It was all Roscoe heard. He could see that Bo was still talking, could see his mouth moving but all he could hear was his own voice, silent in his head, demanding to know what…why…how. All things no doubt Bo was telling him, if he could just listen. But he couldn't.
He felt Bo's hands on his arms, and he focused, wanting to tell Bo to stop talking.
"Guess I shoulda started at the other end." Bo grinned, but he was looking upset. Roscoe shook his head.
"I don't want--"
"So I'm gonna start over. Roscoe, you wanna go with me to Tennessee?"
"What?"
"We haven't taken the jobs yet. We're talking it over, talking to Uncle Jesse. I…I had to talk to you, as well. I can't just leave--"
"You're not leaving?"
"Not right away, and not without…" He looked away, and the uncertainty was back - only this time Roscoe understood. His heart started beating again.
"You wanted me to go with you?"
Bo shrugged. "Won't be but me and Luke, and…it might be as much as a couple years we're gone. I can't go off and leave you for two years."
"You want me to go with you?" He knew he was repeating the question. But this… wasn't in any of the plans he'd ever thought would come to pass. Dreams, maybe. But nothing that ever had to be seriously planned for.
"You could work security, or something. Or…I know…well, if you wanted, I think we could probably take care of everything needing taking care of. Or if you didn't want to quit being Sheriff, maybe you could take some vacation and come up and...at least sometime…."
"You're asking me to go with you?"
Bo didn't seem to mind that Roscoe kept repeating the question, just acted like it was a new one. "I know that we'd have to be careful, and all, but at least we'd be moving around and not like anyone in Hazzard would know. At least…I don't actually know if it would work." Bo looked suddenly scared, and as miserable as Roscoe had felt before he'd said 'come with us. "I.. Luke says it'd work. He thought it all out and explained it to me. He thinks we'd be OK if you came with me."
Roscoe blinked. About a hundred questions started asking themselves. What would happen in two years' time? What would he do with his house, his sheriff's department? What if he decided he couldn't leave for that long, but only went to visit -- he'd only be able to get away once or twice a year. Maybe a couple weekends here and there.
But what if-- Roscoe stopped thinking about it. Too many questions, too many he couldn't answer until he'd had a chance to get over what Bo had just asked, and consider it.
Bo was still answering his questions, though. "If it won't work out, I don't have to go. Luke'll be able to take the job by himself, and I can stay here and keep helping on the farm."
And Roscoe suddenly realised what he was hearing. "You're getting jobs on the racing circuit?" It was only something that Bo had been talking about since he'd been old enough to drive. Not, Roscoe knew, legally.
"Not racing. Not… we're started in the mechanics pool, as test drivers. But we might…we'll be able to… if anything opens or if they see how well we drive we might--" He stopped himself, but everything Roscoe had expected before, was suddenly shining on his lover's face. The same expression he enticed Roscoe away with, burning now because he had a chance to make a dream come true.
And he couldn't go two years without Roscoe.
"I can't tell you, right now," Roscoe began, and he held up a hand before Bo's expression could change. Then he couldn't figure out how to tell Bo what his answer should be. What he knew it would be, once he figured out how.
So he kissed him. And Bo kissed him back, and somewhere in the embrace Roscoe realised that the how didn't matter nearly as much as he thought it would.
The end
Stay
When Bo showed up at his house, all Roscoe could think was -- it's over. They'd reached the end to their less-than-an-affair and Bo was here to tell him about it. Roscoe had stood in the doorway speechless for nearly a minute before he shook himself. He started to take a step backwards, inviting him in, when he stopped.
They didn't do this. They didn't show up on each other's porches unless it was in the course of police duty. They didn't invite each other into each other's homes unless it was Uncle Jesse or Daisy letting him into the kitchen to talk to him while Bo and Luke snuck away.
He'd never, ever, invited Bo inside his own home.
Bo smiled, half-uncertain. "You gonna let me in?"
"I-- what are you here for?" He hated to hear himself say it, harsh and unfriendly as though what anybody believed about them was true. His hand clenched, because what he really wanted was to touch Bo's face and welcome him. Kiss him and hold him close and --
Not invite him inside where anybody who happened past, could see. He glanced around suddenly, and didn't see the General Lee anywhere.
"Luke dropped me off 'round the bend," Bo pointed, guessing the reason for his look. "He's sitting up at the edge of Rosemont Hill for me."
"What are you--" He realised there might be a particular reason for this visit. Would Bo risk everything just to drop by? Did he think he was risking anything? Was it worth whatever risk… "Is something the matter?"
Bo frowned, and Roscoe felt his stomach hit his boots. But then Bo shook his head. "Not exactly. You gonna let me in?"
"Why are you here, Bo?"
Why didn't he just let him in? Why couldn't he step back, let Bo get off the porch where anyone would see him if they drove past and looked through the trees? Why was it so hard?
Roscoe swallowed. If he let Bo in, how was he supposed to ever tell him it was time to go?
But he stepped back. "Come in," he said quietly, trying not to let his voice shake. Tried not to reach out and grab Bo as soon as he'd come inside and Roscoe had shut the door.
Bo stood in the front room and turned slow, looking around the small house. His eyes rested here and there at places where Roscoe couldn't tell what had caught his attention. Roscoe just watched him, waiting. Hating the feeling in his throat that someone was going to say good-bye.
Why else would Bo have come here? If he'd just come to sneak a visit his eyes would have been dancing with mischief, expecting Roscoe to toss him out and offering an alternative -- up in the hills, or away back behind the house, far from the road.
But he hadn't said anything like that. He didn't look precisely like he was fretting over something -- but he was quiet, and Roscoe couldn't attribute that entirely to Bo just being uncertain as to his welcome.
"Bo?" His voice shook, and he couldn't have helped it.
Bo finally turned and looked at him. Still that unexplained half-uncertain frown, and half something else that looked like happiness. He still didn't answer right away, but his attention was on Roscoe now and not the distraction of a house he hadn't seen before. Then, slowly, his expression faded into just a slight smile.
It didn't really reassure him.
"Bo--"
"Roscoe--" He stopped, waited, then when Roscoe said nothing, he continued. "I…we're… me and Luke we got…." He took a deep breath. "A job. On the racing circuit. We're gonna be leaving--"
It was all Roscoe heard. He could see that Bo was still talking, could see his mouth moving but all he could hear was his own voice, silent in his head, demanding to know what…why…how. All things no doubt Bo was telling him, if he could just listen. But he couldn't.
He felt Bo's hands on his arms, and he focused, wanting to tell Bo to stop talking.
"Guess I shoulda started at the other end." Bo grinned, but he was looking upset. Roscoe shook his head.
"I don't want--"
"So I'm gonna start over. Roscoe, you wanna go with me to Tennessee?"
"What?"
"We haven't taken the jobs yet. We're talking it over, talking to Uncle Jesse. I…I had to talk to you, as well. I can't just leave--"
"You're not leaving?"
"Not right away, and not without…" He looked away, and the uncertainty was back - only this time Roscoe understood. His heart started beating again.
"You wanted me to go with you?"
Bo shrugged. "Won't be but me and Luke, and…it might be as much as a couple years we're gone. I can't go off and leave you for two years."
"You want me to go with you?" He knew he was repeating the question. But this… wasn't in any of the plans he'd ever thought would come to pass. Dreams, maybe. But nothing that ever had to be seriously planned for.
"You could work security, or something. Or…I know…well, if you wanted, I think we could probably take care of everything needing taking care of. Or if you didn't want to quit being Sheriff, maybe you could take some vacation and come up and...at least sometime…."
"You're asking me to go with you?"
Bo didn't seem to mind that Roscoe kept repeating the question, just acted like it was a new one. "I know that we'd have to be careful, and all, but at least we'd be moving around and not like anyone in Hazzard would know. At least…I don't actually know if it would work." Bo looked suddenly scared, and as miserable as Roscoe had felt before he'd said 'come with us. "I.. Luke says it'd work. He thought it all out and explained it to me. He thinks we'd be OK if you came with me."
Roscoe blinked. About a hundred questions started asking themselves. What would happen in two years' time? What would he do with his house, his sheriff's department? What if he decided he couldn't leave for that long, but only went to visit -- he'd only be able to get away once or twice a year. Maybe a couple weekends here and there.
But what if-- Roscoe stopped thinking about it. Too many questions, too many he couldn't answer until he'd had a chance to get over what Bo had just asked, and consider it.
Bo was still answering his questions, though. "If it won't work out, I don't have to go. Luke'll be able to take the job by himself, and I can stay here and keep helping on the farm."
And Roscoe suddenly realised what he was hearing. "You're getting jobs on the racing circuit?" It was only something that Bo had been talking about since he'd been old enough to drive. Not, Roscoe knew, legally.
"Not racing. Not… we're started in the mechanics pool, as test drivers. But we might…we'll be able to… if anything opens or if they see how well we drive we might--" He stopped himself, but everything Roscoe had expected before, was suddenly shining on his lover's face. The same expression he enticed Roscoe away with, burning now because he had a chance to make a dream come true.
And he couldn't go two years without Roscoe.
"I can't tell you, right now," Roscoe began, and he held up a hand before Bo's expression could change. Then he couldn't figure out how to tell Bo what his answer should be. What he knew it would be, once he figured out how.
So he kissed him. And Bo kissed him back, and somewhere in the embrace Roscoe realised that the how didn't matter nearly as much as he thought it would.
The end