Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Mmm, Hank?” Bill’s voice rang from his backyard, a strange echo trailing off at the end. “Haaaaank?”

Bobby, who had been laying on the patio settee in his hoodie and listening to his iPod, unscrewed an ear bud and listened. Bill’s voice echoed again, became a whine. “I’m gettin’ too old for this,” Bobby said, rolling to his feet. He had heard his father say the same thing several times, but at 14 and a sudden six inches taller, Bobbie felt that he had earned the right to say it. His voice was still high and sweet, but a slightly slimmer build more than made up for that.

“Dad, Mr. Dauterive needs help. Again,” Bobby said, finding his mother and father watching college football. Longhorns versus Aggies. 

“That’s the third time this week,” Hank sighed, anger edging. “Good thing this is Tivo’d. All right, Bobby, let’s see what we got.”

A few late-season crickets sang here and there as they crossed the street. Light glowed softly in the Redcorn-Gribble windows, and a thin band of gold light shone under Boomhauer’s garage door. Bill’s house was flat dark, and Bobby and Hank stood on his driveway to listen where his yells came from next.

“Haaaaaank?”

“He’s ‘round the side of the house.” Hank shook his head and went to the brief alley between Bill’s property and Luanne’s. 

They found him under the hammock, twisted into the white canvas and stuck head and shoulders into a five-gallon bucket.

“What in Got’s name are ya doin’, Bill?” Hank snapped.

Bobby was fairly sure he could hear his father’s forehead vein pump up and twitch. 

“Oh, I was relaxin’ an’ thinkin’ an’ got to too much thinkin’, so I thought it would be good to bring out my new laptop an’ watch a movie on it from the hammock. Got this bucket to use as a table. An’ long story short, I fell in when I was tryin’ to reach the touchpad from the hammock. Lil’ help?” Bill’s drooping voice almost asked the question “Well, what can ya do?” without using the actual words.

“Damn it,” Hank sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Only you, Bill. C’mon, Bobby, help me get ‘im untangled.”

Bobby wound his ear bud cords around the iPod and stored it in his hoodie pouch. Glad for the dark night because he couldn’t keep the schadenfreude grin from his face. 

They managed to get Bill untangled from the hammock—he fell with a satisfying thwump and a squeal—but the bucket was stuck tight. Lucky for him, the bucket had a sizable hole near the bottom that allowed airflow; Dale had used it to test what he called a Mega-Gribble Cherry Bomb. 

“We’re gonna need some butter or oil or somethin’,” Hank said, standing. “I don’t think Dubya-D 40’s a good idea in the close quarters we’re workin’ with. I’m gonna go get Boomhauer and Dale. This is gonna need more muscle than, well—”

He looked at Bobby, not known for his massive strength. Hesitated.

“It’s okay, Dad. I get it. I’ll stay here and keep Mr. Dauterive from hyperventilating.”

“Atta boy, Bobby.” Hank smiled and patted his son’s shoulder.

Bobby gave him a sweet smile, not a trace of teenage sarcasm in it. 

“That boy’s alright,” Hank muttered to himself as he walked around the fence to Boomhauer’s house. He would never tell Bobby to his face, but he was a good kid. Ten times better than Joseph. Good grades, can-do attitude, respected women. Popular with other kids because he could turn out one-liners like Bob Hope at a USO show. Couldn’t throw a football to save his life but grilled the tenderest steak and made the most robust marinades. In short, the perfect son. 

Boomhauer’s house was dark, the Bugabago parked in the driveway. Dale had been living with their friend for the better part of the year since he and Nancy had mutually called their marriage quits. Danged if Hank understood it. John Redcorn was still persona non-grata in their circle of friends and came and went out of the front door on Rainey Street. The alley was considered Dale’s home turf, and Bill, Hank, and Boomhauer enforced the arrangement. John Redcorn had to park out by the front curb like a sucker.

Joseph was another matter. He had been acting out, cut school, refused to call John Redcorn anything other than Mr. Redcorn. Dale was his dad, always would be, and at least that had a tinge of rightness. There was some small justice in the world, after all.

Co-parenting, an asinine phrase if Hank had ever heard one, was working well, with Dale and Nancy meeting on the neutral ground of their old driveway to coordinate school meetings, football practice carpools, and dealing with Joseph’s truancy. Hank had even heard them both laugh on several occasions, a reminder that deep down, the two had been good friends before they were married. Maybe this would keep the path to reconciliation open. Hank hoped so. 

The radio was playing inside the closed garage. Boston. “More Than a Feeling.” Hank listened for a moment, nodding, thinkin’ hwhat a great track. Walked to the sliding glass door because he figured that any knocking wouldn’t be heard above the transcendent wail of Barry Goudreau’s electric guitar.

“Boomhauer?” he called, stepping into the den. Flicked on the light and—

“Wha’ the dang ol’ HELL, man?!”

Boomhauer was lying on the couch, naked except for his black t-shirt, and underneath him was… Dale. Belly down, glasses and hat off. Dark jeans pulled down to his ankles, brown shirt pushed up around his shoulders, looking like he was—

“BWHAAAAAAAA!” Hank shook, face beet red, then turned and ran off into the indigo night.

“Dang ol’ damn it man yer got some nerve gettin’ all breakin’ n’ ennerin’ man, Got dang ol’ peepin’ Tom the audacity—” Boomhauer rose and tugged his t-shirt down to cover his loins, stalked to the open door and turned off the lights. Slammed the door shut, flicked the lock, drew the shades. Ranted the whole way. “M’private residence, man, call in a section 30.05 tell you what I mean shit, I gotta—”

Dale, who had propped himself up on his forearms, watched Boomhauer’s shadow in the dark, pacing the plush room. Too shocked to feel much, and his confused body felt empty and cold. All he could do was shake his head and muster “Huh. Well, that was embarrassin’.”

All the while Boomhauer cursed a blue streak, finally breaking out the rest of the four-letter words.

Chapter Text

Hank planed a block of white pine with the garage door closed, the sound of the peeling wood making soft pff… pff… echoes against the walls. Reminded him a little too much of panting breath, so he set the plane down and grabbed a sandpaper block, 120 grit. Not exactly right for sanding a block of wood, but it kept his hands busy. And if his hands were busy then his mind was focused. And if his mind was focused then he wouldn’t remember what he had seen on the couch in Boomhauer’s den—

“Got dang it!” He dropped the sandpaper block and spilled out the coffee can full of bent nails. Hammering them out straight again would—

Straight. Bi. Queer.

“BWAHHHHHHHH!!!”

In the kitchen, Luanne and Peggy paused over their evening coffee and listened. On the floor, Gracie squirmed on a blanket and tried to eat her little pink toes. 

“He’s been like that for three days,” Peggy said, lifting Gracie and setting her on the table. Kept one hand on the diapered bottom and let the girl swat at the bowl of fruit in the center. “Won’t go out to the alley, won’t talk to anyone. I need him out of the house, Luanne. How else am I going to finish Clara’s Solarium, I ask you. It’s clean the garbage disposal this, tighten the door hinges that. On and on! It’s obscene.”

“Hmm. You know what else is obscene? Mr. Gribble an’ Mr. Boomhauer are goin’ straight to—”

“Mm mm! Nuh uh. I think God is much bigger than that.” Peggy shook her head and glanced out the sliding glass door, where Bill, Dale, and Boomhauer were visible just above the fence. Backs turned, nodding, talking. Blonde hair, orange cap, bald pate. Just as it should be. “I know that the Bible is clear on sins, Luanne, but you have to consider the time they were written. Cultural relatives, they call it. What made sense in one culture doesn’t make sense in another, but you can be the best person you can be no matter where or when you are.”

“But Aunt Peg, they are given’ in to their lust and temptations! That’s like two or maybe three of the deadly sins! They need salvation.” Luanne wrung her fingers and gripped her coffee cup tighter. “I like Mr. Gribble and Mr. Boomhauer! They’re so nice! I don’t want them goin’ to hell.”

“Well I don't think they're goin' to. I know your heart’s in the right place, Luanne, but isn’t pride one of the deadly sins? You know I am not a prideful woman, but I can recognize when others are goin’ down a dark path. ‘Sides, if you read that passage in Leviticus carefully it says that it’s all right to abuse women as long as it’s men doin’ the abusin’, but men abusin’ other men is wrong.” Peggy snicked her teeth in disgust. “That passage was not written for the modern American woman in mind. Especially if she knows how to swing a softball bat.”

Luanne sighed. “I see your point. Plus… I guess we don’t walk outside town and dig a hole with a paddle and then poop in them anymore. We got indoor plumbin’ for that.”

“Exactly. Follow the Ten Commandments and God’s words of love an’ you’ll come out all right in the end, Luanne. You know that.” 

“Yeah. ...Plus, y’know how they say circumcision is a cabinet with God? Well, Lucky’s not cir—”

Peggy grinned and swooped Gracie onto her lap. “Guess what Grandma has! She got you some chocolate puddin’ is what! Chocolate puddin’!”

Gracie squealed. 

“Aunt Peg?”

“Yes, Luanne?”

“Can I have a bowl of chocolate puddin’ too?”

“Yes. And I’ll even let you lick the spoon.” Peggy smiled and carried Gracie to the cupboard to let her hold the box of pudding mix.

Chapter Text

“Yep.”

“Eeeyep.”

“Mmhm.”

The Alamo beer was lasting a little longer than usual behind Hank’s fence, and the grass had grown in a little at his place in the alley. Bill looked at the empty spot and shuffled his shoe in the dust, looked again. “Yep.”

“Eeeyep.” Dale, automatically around his cigarette.

“NmMm.” Boomhauer frowned. “Naw, man, once’s ‘nuf. Lose its charm iffa use it too much li’ th’ stupid leprechaun a’ his cereal, man.”

“Fair point,” Bill said, sipping his beer delicately.

Somewhere one the next block a lawnmower puttered, sputtered, died. All three men perked up, hoping that they might white knight over and repair the motor, but the lawnmower puttered to life again and there was a faint cheer.

“Aw,” Bill again kicked the dust, moved around a little piece of yellow quartz with the toe of his shoe. “Thought we’d have us an adventure.”

“You know what’s an adventure? Minh has us doin’ a ‘yankee swap’ for the Gun Club this Christmas. I’m plannin’ on givin’ away that Walther P22. Heh.” Dale took the cigarette out of his mouth and pinched it out, tucked the remainder in the Manitoba pack. “That thing jams every other round. I hope Phetsy gets it.”

Silence stretched out, and a flock of pigeons landed, strutted, took off again.

“I miss Hank,” Bill said. “There. I said it.”

“Elephant inna room, man.” Boomhauer nodded.

“Have you talked to ‘im?”

“No.”

“Naw.”

“Mm. Honestly fellas, I don’t understand what the big deal is.” Bill crunched his empty can and bent to open a new one. “Sos you’s together. At least someone’s gettin’ some lovin’ ‘round here. My prison pen pal? Stella? Broke up with me righ’ after I filled up her commissary account.” 

“No!” Dale’s exclamation of dismay sounded sincere but his expression was stoic with lack of shock. Boomhauer gently kicked him in the foot to make him knock it off. “Gih! Sorry, Bill, but honestly that’s for the best. She’s in for taxidermying her ex-husband. ...Which is pretty badass, but still.”

“Yeah,” Bill’s voice drooped. He kicked the quartz pebble across the alley. Considered his beer can. “Long story short fellas, I’m gonna volunteer at the animal shelter again. One of the dog catchers is goin’ through a divorce, an’ I wouldn’t mind bein’ her rebound.”

“Who, Kelly McGriff?” Dale asked. Took his cigarettes out, put them back in his pocket again. “The redhead from Arizona?”

“Yeah. Y’know her?” 

“Only by reputation. Saw her in action once when I was out on a marsupial stakeout. She took down this huge brindle all by herself. Boxer and somethin’ else, I think it was. Nice lady. She throws pottery in her spare time, if you wanna work that angle.”

“Thankee!” Bill rocked up on his toes and smiled.

Boomhauer gave Dale a tiny, fond smile and sipped his beer. 

Dale shuffled his feet, took the cigarettes out, put them back. Scratched at his left bicep. A pale adhesive patch peeked out from under his brown shirt sleeve. Nico-quit embossed on one edge. 

Bill cleared his throat. “So, it’s October. This is what, your… ten-month anniversary?” 

Dale lifted an eyebrow and swung his head to peer at Bill. “What you mean?”

“Just wondered how long you’ve been together. Figured it has to be at least ten months. You moved in at Boomhauer’s from your old house in January, Dale, an’ back in March I caught the two of you asleep in my hammock when you was house sittin’ for me.” Bill looked to Hank’s empty spot again. “You was all cuddled together. It was cute.”

“Oh yeah. That.” Dale frowned, remembering how Boomhauer had gotten up so quickly the hammock flipped and chucked him into the fence. “No, we’ve been together… Well… How ya figure?” He glanced at Boomhauer, who was looking northwest at a roll of clouds drifting their way.

Boomhauer shrugged. “Fuzzy timeline.”

“Was it before or after you moved in together?”

Dale scratched at his arm, took the cigarettes out, put them back, took them out again and chucked the pack across the alley with an angry “Yiih!” Went and retrieved them and tucked them into his shirt pocket. 

Boomhauer coughed and examined his cuticles, adjusted his wristwatch.

Bill watched them fidget with sage patience, then sipped his beer when it was obvious that they didn’t want to say. Probably had been carrying on for years. Well, who could blame Dale? Nancy had been runnin’ ‘round on him for over a decade, on and off. Was good he had some joy in his life. Boomhauer was the greater mystery. He hadn’t stopped chasin’ tail at all since he was a teenager, ‘cept when him and Katherine had been together for the better part of a year. Gap year romance, when Hank and Peggy were married just outta high school, Bill and Lenore were gettin’ serious, and Dale and Nancy were engaged. 

Came close to marriage with Katherine like a comet to the sun and then slingshotted away, never to be seen again. ‘Cept with that whole Patch debacle. Word had come through a year later that Katherine had gotten married to a bridge engineer out of Nebraska. Bill wondered if that news had spurred Boomhauer into walkin’ the straight and narrow. 

Straight. Bill giggled and sipped his beer to cover his amusement. He remembered the gay rodeo that Bug was a part of, how he and Boomhauer had giggled over the absurdity of it all. He wondered about that.

“Boomhauer? Remember when you an’ me were at Bug’s rodeo? If you’re gay, then why’d you laugh, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

He could see Boomhauer mentally shifting gears and glance at Dale, trying to find some diplomatic way of saying “Well, s’wasn’t the rodeo r’ bein’ gay itself, s’just ridin’ bulls n’ broncos inna dress, wrestlin’ goats an’ dogies in drag, man. S’ the spectacle a i’ all, man, just ri-got-dang-diculous. Rodeo’s a sport, man, not a dang ol’ peacock show. A’ I’m not gay ‘xactly. I dunno. Bi. Somethin’ else. Li’ I said before, love’s a dang ol’ journey, notta race.”

Dale, who had been squinting at his boyfriend in suspicion, relaxed and even smiled. Took the silver Zippo lighter out of his pocket and flicked it out of habit. No cigarette in his mouth to bring it to, so he put it away again.

Bill gave him puppy dog eyes in the midst of his confusion. “But you laughed when I said you an’ me were gonna make out in the parkin’ lot.”

Boomhauer coughed and went to take a sip of his beer, muttered against the can. “S’was t’idea a makin’ out with you was makin’ me laugh, Dauterive. Nooffensemeant,man. Just not my type.”

Bill sighed. “I see your point.”

“Yeah. Why make out with Bill when you can make out with me?” Dale shimmied, wiggled his hips. Boomhauer swatted at him.

“Nah here, Gribble. Give Hank a dang ol’ coronary.”

Dale knocked into Bill while evading Boomhauer’s playful swats, unbalanced Bill over the cooler, ran when Bill popped up to chase him. Boomhauer watched them both like a patient father, letting his boys run it out so that they would sleep better, later.

Behind them, deep in the house, Hank leaned against the kitchen counter and watched his friends playing. Sipped his own beer, which he kept getting out of the refrigerator door. Adjusted his glasses. “Yep.”

“You should go out there, Dad.” Bobby moseyed up beside him and heaved himself up to sit left of the sink. His heels drummed against the cabinetry. “You know you wanna.”

Hank sighed. “I dunno, Bobby. I walked in on ‘em when… Y’know how your mother and I have a strict knocking policy on our bedroom door when its closed?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there’s a reason for that. Y’see…” Hank’s face flushed, and he suddenly became interested in the laces of his Timberlands. 

“You an’ Mom are having ‘grown up time,’” Bobby said, likewise looking down at his swinging socks. “You call that ‘relations.’”

“...Yeah.”

“Well, Dad, you should have knocked on Mr. Boomhauer’s door.” Bobby shrugged and hopped down to get a cola from the fridge. 

“Yeah, but that’s not the way it’s always been,” Hank frowned, looking out at the antics in the alley. Glad for the reflections on the door shielding him from view of the guys. “We’ve known each other forever. We’ve always come in when we needed without knockin’, an’ Bill was in trouble!”

Bobby cracked his store-brand root beer and took a slow sip. Looking very much like his father in that moment, with the can of Alamo. “Times change, Dad. I’m 5’6, an’ I wasn’t a year ago. I have a girlfriend now. Amanda’s comin’ over later an’ we’re gonna work on that lever project for science class. Connie and I are best friends. I’m even kinda outgrowing Joseph. You’re still friends with Mr. Boomhauer and Mr. Gribble, Dad. They’ll always be there for you. They’re just closer to each other than they used to be, is all.”

“First it was Nancy an’ John Redcorn gettin’ back together, and now this. I hate that things are changin’,” Hank said, shaking his head. 

Outside, Bill had wrestled Dale down into a headlock in the Hill driveway. Dale shimmied out of his grasp, rolled backward, ran off toward the Souphanousinphone house. Kahn was out on his own driveway, making “Yeehaw rednecks!” sounds while he unloaded his groceries. Boomhauer still stood at the fence, making sure that no noses were bloodied and no feelings were too hurt.

“Oh, things still look pretty similar,” Bobby said, walking back toward his bedroom. “You should go outside Dad. It’s a nice day.”

Hank finished his beer and walked toward the refrigerator for another but found himself opening the sliding glass door instead. Then he was watching his feet cross the back lawn. Then he was peeking around the corner of the fence. Dale and Bill were down at the far end of the alley, rounding the corner toward Milton Street. Boomhauer noticed him, gave him a tiny smile and nod that made him look so damn suave, and walked to the cooler.

“Wan’ a beer ol’ Hank? Got one wi’ your name onna, man.”

“Please.” Hank took the can that Boomhauer handed to him and popped it open. Ice cold, dripping with condensation, just right.

Dale dragged himself down the other end of the alley. Breathing a little labored from decades of cigarettes combined with the prolonged exertion. He took his usual spot, next to Boomhauer, flicked his lighter, put it away. Bill wheezed up and panted for a long time before finally catching his breath. Opened another beer and just held it.

“Yep.”

“Yep.”

“Eeeyep.”

“Mmhm.”

Chapter Text

“Minh! Quit perving on those rednecks,” Kahn squinted at the model of a brig he was trying to build for a large glass bottle currently sitting upright on the kitchen counter. Ted Wassanasong had decided that they were all the rage, and he wanted to impress with a miniature Lady Washington. Most famous tall ship he knew. The main mast wobbled and tipped to the side as he moved tweezers among the rigging. “Dang it! Stupid square-spanked brig!”

“Speaking of spanking, think they into it?” Minh had a dainty pair of silver opera glasses held to her eyes as she peered across the alley. Ran a hand through her glossy black hair so that it cascaded around her face winsomely. “Bet they into it. That Boomhauer seems like the quiet type, but he could be total leather daddy. Big on discipline. That Gribble need it, that’s for sure.”

Said Gribble and Boomhauer loomed in her glasses, both men sipping beer and considering the Bugabago’s engine block. Dale leaned in with a torque and adjusted something while Boomhauer shook his head. Both jumped when something flashed and started to smoke. Dale pulled back, whining. The distance didn’t carry his words far enough, though he seemed so large that Minh felt as if she were standing next to him. Boomhauer camly reached for a ridiculously small fire extinguisher and put the unseen flames out.

“That damn Bugabago. She legs up. Dead. All over,” Minh muttered to herself. “C’mon! Let’s see some hot kissing action! Make him feel better, Boomhauer!”

“Minh!”

“What your problem, Kahn?” Minh lowered the glasses at last and wandered to join her husband at the kitchen table. “I pay plenty of attention to you. But I need to prime the pump! I need some inspiration.”

Kahn grimaced and threw the tweezers down on the table in a snit. “Inspiration? Those rednecks and Hillbillies give you new idea?”

“Bleck. Not Hillbillies. They too white bread applesauce to have any heat. But Boomhauer and Gribble? C’mon, even you have to admit that freakin’ hot.”

“Eh,” Kahn shrugged. Put his feet up on Minh’s lap under the table and smiled to himself as she rubbed his stocking feet. “I can see it, I guess. Attractive men, ya, ya, ya. Not really my thing, Minhie. Now that Nancy and that Luanne. They pretty if they don’t open their mouths.”

“True.” Minh smiled to herself as she rubbed the arch of Kahn’s left foot. Always turned him into putty in her hands. Sure enough, his eyes rolled back in his head and he shivered. “Now put this monstrosity up, Kahn. Got Dale coming over this afternoon to plan next Gun Club fundraiser.”

“Happy to. I need a break. Awh.” Kahn scowled and turned his nose up at the half-assembled mess of the brig. “You think small ship like this be easy. Ted Wassanasong total geek, Minh.”

“Pot, kettle, black,” Minh said, rising and setting Kahn’s feet go gently. “Here. I help you. Don’t want to lose mizzenmast.”

“The Lady Washington doesn’t have mizzen. Just fore and main. And a whole lotta bad attitude,” Kahn said, making sure to brush his hands against Minh’s as often as he could as they picked up the scattered ship.

Kahn hid in their bedroom while Minh and Dale took over the kitchen. He liked Dale, just in very small doses and usually outside. At least that particular redneck had lost his cigarette smell some time that summer. Made sense. If having a boyfriend after living in the closet for most of his life brought him happiness, and that happiness meant that they didn’t have to Febreeze the whole house after he left, Kahn was happy too. He lay back on the bed watching CHiPs reruns on the television set hidden behind closet doors. Looking forward to when Minh came to bed. She usually tackled him after a Gun Club planning meeting.

“That Gribble, he surprisingly eye candy,” Minh had said to him once. Didn’t bother Kahn one bit, as she was playing cowgirl at the time. He had been a chestnut stallion.

“...the finest police firearm in the northern hemisphere. And that’s why I think we should auction off an Israeli Jericho!” Dale popped a peppermint into his mouth and flipped up his sunglasses clips for effect. “Whaddya say, President Minh?”

“Only if we rig the system,” Minh grinned and fished the cherry out of her spiked Shirley Temple. “Make sure I win this time, okay?”

“Oh, that goes without sayin’.” Dale reached for one of Minh’s caramel brownies. Without the cigarettes his appetite had come roaring back. Acne too, though that had passed three months after going on the patch. He had borrowed some of Joseph’s Zits Blitz and taken care of that problem—finito. His appetite though, he had put on some weight, gained color, and looked less like an anemic stork than he had at the height of his cigarette addiction. “Honestly, Madame President, I don’t know how Earl won last year. Your name was the only one on the slips of paper in my hat.”

“Mm hmm.” Minh raised an eyebrow at him but felt too good buzzed on the spiced rye mixed in with the Coke and cherries. Grinned and slid Dale another Fuzzy Navel. The man had a sweet tooth. “You put your name on half those slips. Earl on two, just for token. You gotta learn to cheat better, Honey, give yourself the odds but don’t bet all on house.”

“Right on,” Dale said. Grinning. Not knowing that the hell Minh was talking about. Gambling had never been his game. He was one to squirrel away a few chips up his sleeve while disguised as a cocktail waiter. 

“So.” Minh giggled. “That conclude old business.”

“Any new business?” 

“I don’t know. You tell me.” Minh gestured with her eyes out the back door, through which mid-November showed, lawns flat dormant and trees naked. “You and I not talk since that Hillbill—since Hank walk in on you and Boomhauer. Stupid Daddy and his new project in Des Moins. I had to stay with him six weeks! You know how boring Iowa is?”

“I can take a guess.”  

“So. Spill it, Dale. What’s the happy haps?” Minh’s smirk was wicked and suggestive.

Dale actually blushed, a rise of warmth into his cheeks that climbed up from his chest and made him look as if he were standing midsummer out in the alley. He flipped his sun clips back down over his eyes for protection, like one of his turtles retreating into its shell. “That was awful, Minh. Holy empanada, I have never been so embarrassed. And you know me, I’m shameless!”

“Yah. I’ve seen you run down alley in tighty whities. Several times. Last time, what was it chasing you? Bees?”

“Hornets.” 

“Bingo. So what happen after Hank left?”

Dale sighed and glanced out the back door. The tow truck had come and gone for the Bugabago, the queen ant lying on Boomhauer’s back lawn and draped in a canvas tarp. Boomhauer nowhere to be seen and likely on a grocery run in the Coronet.

“Well, it killed the mood, that’s for sure. We just got dressed and sat there on the couch starin’ at dang all nothin’ for like an hour. Then we went to bed and lay there starin’ at the ceilin’ until we fell asleep.” 

“You were worried?”

“Well, yeah.” Dale flipped the sun clips up again, his blue eyes rumpled up in distress. “Honest, Minh, I felt like my life was over. I’ve always been the cool married guy an’ then to Hank and Bill, me and Boomhauer were just those cool single guys and they had no idea we were together.”

“So why now?” Minh asked, her wicked smirk faded with genuine concern for her friend. “I mean, I always thought you little feminine, but Boomhauer, that right outta left field.”

Dale blushed again but did not close the clips to hide his eyes.

“Dale!” Minh’s salacious expression softened to something almost maternal. “So this not new?”

“No. Boomhauer and I have been on and off for years.” Dale’s whole body relaxed, the truth out to someone other than his boyfriend for the first time in his life. “Since we were in high school.”

“Hey, good for you.” Minh squeezed his arm. 

“Yeah. It’s just that… I was married when… Y’know. Sometimes when Boomhauer an’ me were—” Dale opened his hands on the table, letting Minh fill in the blanks with her own imagination. 

“Dale, Nancy was married when.” Minh frowned and tossed her head to one side, toward Dale’s old house. Indicating John Redcorn.

“But that was different.” Dale took his glasses off entirely and lay them on the table, massaged the red spots on his nose where the bridge pads had rested. “Nancy and me had an arrangement, even if she didn’t know it. She didn’t know ‘bout me and Boomhauer. At all.”

Minh blinked. “Wait, you knew about that John Redcorn mack daddy?”

“Yeah.” Dale shuddered with a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. Crossed his leg across the other, ankle on thigh, an unconscious barrier between him and Minh. “I suspected for years but when Joseph was born…” He again gestured, unable to bring himself to voice that old pain.

“Damn.” Minh shook her head, anger smouldering. She was friends with Nancy and had an indiscretion herself with Roger at Strickland Propane, but carrying on for years and years behind her husband’s back wasn’t something she could condone. If anything, she felt that Nancy should have invited Dale to join in. “That so cold.”

“It was a long time ago,” Dale said, voice creaking, indicating that it didn’t matter that 14 and a half years had passed; that Joseph was not his blood still stung.

Minh took a sip of her soda and considered. “So… All that belief in aliens and stuff. Joseph being half-alien spawn. That just an act?”

“Oh no, I believe in that wholeheartedly.” Dale shook his head and tipped his hat back with his thumb. “Our current Secretary of State? His left side is controlled by aliens. Keeps the right hand from knowin’ what it’s doin’, if ya get my drift. The alien’s ambidextrous, so it can sign anything it wants and Mr. Powell will have no idea. I mean, look at that Iraq mess that we’re wading into. Who else but an alien and a Cheney could come up with that? Wrong country. We obviously should be looking for that Bin Laden jerk in Pakistan.

“It’s just my Joseph. I know he ain’t alien blood. Just John Redcorn’s. That Kate kid, too. And this kid over in Durndel. And this other girl in McMaynerbury.”

“Huh.” Minh wasn’t sure where to go from here. She was too tipsy and wasn’t sure how far to indulge Dale’s wild imagination. Even if he was taking his prescribed antipsychotics as his doctors directed. “You sure your Boomhauer not someone’s daddy? He was big a player as John Redcorn.”

“Don’t think so. Boomhauer’s fixed.”

“Like Doggie is fixed?”

“Yep. Got snipped in 1985.”

“Beat all.” Minh took one of Dale’s macaroons and nibbled halfway through. “How Joseph with all this?”

And here Dale sighed with weariness that went down to his bones. “Badly. He hates Boomhauer. He hates John Redcorn. He keeps askin’ me an’ Nancy when we’re gonna get back together. Poor kid. He just doesn’t understand all of the fucked up shit that adults can do to one another.”

Minh again squeezed his arm. Dale rarely cursed, a holdover from a childhood that seemed hellish from what few details he had let slip through over the years of their friendship. His mother had hated cursing, enough to go after Dale with a wooden spoon for using any four-letter words beyond “darn.” 

“Truth be told, I’m both afraid of and afraid for my son.” Dale wrung his thin fingers. “There’s no biological connection, but he’s startin’ to act like me and not in a good way. Like me before I started takin’ the Seroquel. Truth is, Minh, I’m afraid I messed him up in the head, and me an’ Nancy getting a divorce kinda just pushed him over the edge. 

“And now with Boomhauer, he won’t give him the time of day. Pretends Boomhauer’s not even there in his own house. I think he even tried to poison Boomhauer’s fish, though I can’t prove it. I got them out. They’re fine. But they got sick again the next time Joseph came over. I moved the tank back to the tanning room so he won’t get at ‘em.”

A loud rattle in the back of the house made them both pause. Connie was in the garage, working with Amanda and Bobby on their science fair projects. A laugh, a shout of triumph, and the kids were silent again.

“What you gonna do, Dale?” Minh’s voice was soft, sad. Imagining if Connie were that torn up. Kahn was a pain in her ass, but he was a good friend, husband, and father deep down; Connie wouldn’t ever have to worry, but the thought hurt her just the same. “What you gonna do for Joseph?”

“Nancy an’ I are talkin’ to a counselor ‘bout it. We’re startin’ family therapy next week. It took long enough, ‘cause we had to find a counselor who wouldn’t hear ‘bout me an’ Boomhauer and then start spittin’ fire and brimstone. You know how hard it is to find a sympathetic doctor in rural Texas?”

“Pah. Tell me about it. It took six doctors for Kahn to get his Lithobid. The other five thought he was just some crazy, shrieking foreigner. And we American as apple pie! Damn rednecks. ...Present company excepting.”

“No offense taken.” Dale quirked a smile at Minh. Real fondness thumped in his heart. In many ways, he and Minh were outsiders, through and through. “Sorry about my fellow native-born Texans, tho’.”

“Yeah, not your fault.” Minh flicked her fingers to indicate that she wanted to discard the subject. “Least you enlightened. Somewhat.”

“I try.” Dale looked tired but in a peaceful manner that indicated that he had gotten a lot off of his chest in the past half hour. His expression had lost its pinched quality, and he draped his arms over the back of his chair, letting his long legs flop to the linoleum. “Will you an’ Kahn come over sometime soon? Hank an’ Bill an’ everyone else seem to be accepting, but they’re still steering clear of our house. I think the idea of me an’ Boomhauer is still sinking in.”

“Either that or they afraid of walking in on you. They think you honeymooners, but now I know better.” Minh raised her chin, obviously proud of knowing something that no one else did. Dale idly wondered how long she would keep the secret of his and Boomhauer’s relationship. She tended to be close-mouthed until she either lost her temper or needed leverage to get her way. 

“Possible.” Dale considered. “We really shouldn’t have been having sex on the couch without the door locked.”

“Maybe you secret exhibitionist?”

“Also possible.” Dale tilted his head, considering the dregs of his over-sweet cocktail. Steered his thoughts back to his patched-together family. “Boomhauer and I are solid. Joseph, Nancy, and me tho’? We’re tryin’. Hopefully we get there, wherever there is. Hope it’s happy. Or at least peaceful.”

“All we can hope for, brotha’,” Minh toasted him with her near-gone highball. 

“Amen,” Dale said, clicking his glass against hers. 

They drank, and at the fresh infusion of alcohol, Minh’s wicked smirk returned.

“So, you and Boomhauer. How’s the sex?”

Dale giggled, grateful for the diffusing tension. “Blow your mind, Minh.”

“Any spanking?” Her voice was hopeful.

“Sometimes. Boomhauer’s got these broad, calloused hands.”

“Where kinkiest place you do it?”

“The Coronet. The back seat’s a squeeze, but the front seats go all the way down. We have this place out by the quarry where we like to park, now that it’s protected for that endangered frog They found.”

Minh made a mental note to check out the quarry some nights with her opera glasses. “Who top?”

“Boomhauer.”

“Favorite position?”

“Spoon.”

“Damn. That hot.” Minh fanned her face with her hand. “How often you get it?”

“Every day. Sometimes twice.”

“Ah, now that fever.” And Minh toasted him again with her glass held high.

Chapter Text

“Oil filter n’ 30—naw dubyoo thi’ time, es summer—oil, man, lil’ ol’, two quarts.” Boomhauer held up two fingers at the young man behind the counter, who thumbed the bill of his hat and trotted to get the order. The automotive shop smelled of oil and tires and cloying air freshener. Vanilla, cherry, pine. He picked up a can of BeezWaxx and a set of three chamois cloths. Considered for a brief moment a Hot Wheels car at the impulse rack but then decided naw, what would he do with it? The only kids he knew had outgrown the things ages ago, and Gracie was not even a year old, yet.

“How’s the Coronet, Mr. Boomhauer?” The kid asked as he rang up the purchase. Student at the community college, knocking out his basics and in hopes of being a wind turbine engineer.

“She’s purrin’ li’ a sweet lil’ kitten.” And it was true. The vintage muscle car loved summertime. Windows down, engine throaty, orange paint gleaming and chrome winking in the sun. “Thank’ya man, gotta go, gotta date a’ that dang ol’ drive-in. Bobbie Jo’s. Need’er slick.”

He and Dale had been cautiously going out together, now that the cat was out of the bag. All of their old haunts. The drive-in burger joint, the drive-in movie theater, Sugarfoot’s. Even domestic chores, like shopping at Mega-Lo Mart and choosing a new comforter at Digs. Being out as gay—bisexual? queer? it’s okay if it’s him?—in half-rural Arlen was a risk, but not as risky as it had been when they were kids. The college was mostly safe, and they had even held hands at an outdoor concert in the park. Cover band named Trilloby whose lead was a ringer for Ben E. King, the man himself.

He flicked the radio on, hoping he would get lucky and catch “This Magic Moment.” Sometimes it happened like that. Psychic reading of the airways. Or maybe his fillings picking up the FM. Instead it was Josh Turner, singing “Would You Go With Me.”

Boomhauer frowned. Found himself nodding along. Shrugged and began lip synching. “...If I gave you my hand would you take it and make me the happiest man in the world…”

Wished he had a baritone like that. Boomhauer, like everyone else and their brother, was a tenor. 

He was waiting at the Luca Avenue intersection when he spied the Channel 84 news van parked outside the skate park. Nancy Hicks, formerly hyphenated Gribble, stood clutching her microphone and brandishing it at her camerawoman. Color high in her cheeks, paper bib from the makeup chair still tucked into half of her collar. She pointed at the van, the purse at her feet, the skate park. A young reporter in an ill-fitting brown suit stood nearby, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers.

Boomhauer sank down in the bucket seat and was ready to drive through while peering through the steering wheel. Too late. Nancy had seen him. She waved to ensure his attention and arched her arm in an exaggerated point to the parking lot. Asking him to pull in.

“Damn it,” he muttered. Didn’t really wanna drive over, but he did anyway. He and Nancy had been neighbors for better than twenty years, and in spite of everything, she was a friend besides. 

“Boomhauer!” she cried, running across the parking lot with her high heels clicking. Skirt and blazer dyed Pepto Bismol pink. “Boomhauer, Sug, I just gotta call from the middle school. Joseph’s gettin’ suspended for three days an’ they need me there. I got Jake to fill in for the report—those snot-nosed skaters are taggin’ the ramps with male anatomy this close to Arlen’s sesquicentennial—but I need a ride. Dale’s out exterminatin’ moths at the rendering plant. Could you take me?”

He glanced around, looking for any other solution. Maybe Nancy could take one of the longboards that the rockabilly girls had at the half-pipe…

“Please, Sug?” Nancy bent over and pushed her breasts up with her upper arms. Fluttered her eyelashes. 

Boomhauer melted. “Yo, Hicks.”

“Thank you, honey,” she crooned, and clippety-clopped off to get her purse. 

Idiot, idiot, idiot, Boomhauer thought. Pounded the steering wheel three times before Nancy turned around, but the young pup, Jake, blinked in alarm as he took the microphone. Dang ol’. When your libido gonna shut off, man? Grow up. They’re just tits.

“Ooh,” Nancy sighed as she sat down hard into the passenger seat. “Can’t say how much this means, Boomhauer. Thanks again.”

“No problem, man.”

They drove in awkward silence, Nancy tearing at the paper bib and leaving it wadded up on the floorboard. It rolled and crackled in the breeze as they slowly crossed Arlen, detouring through side streets because all of downtown had been blocked off for the 150-year celebration. Boomhauer had learned long ago how to ignore someone without being rude about it. The dignified tilt of his head, the set of his mouth. His father had been a master at it. Like a square-chinned moai statue at Rapa Nui. 

Nancy fidgeted and played with her lacquered fingernails. Checked her phone, braced her cheek on her fist, straightened, crossed her arms.

Finally, “I’m sorry, Sug. Just twitchy. I’m worried about Joseph. He’s taken the divorce hard enough, but knowin’ that John Redcorn was the one who made him, well, it’s brought out somethin’ real bad. Carl caught him stealin’ from the student store an’ he accidentally elbowed Carl in the mouth when he tried to stop him. Thank Sug for that little bruiser, that little Emily. She was able to subdue him long enough for the resource officer to get there.”

“Mmhm.”

“He’s just goin’ through a phase. Joseph. Least I hope so. He seemed to be doin’ so well in counseling, but now this.”

“Mmhm?”

“Yeah. He feels betrayed by everyone. Angry with me for havin’ the affair with John Redcorn, at John Redcorn for sleepin’ with a married woman, at Dale for keepin’ the truth to himself, though Dale never even figured it out. That’s why I like him. He’s the last true innocent.”

Boomhauer glanced sideways out the window, calculating how much damage he would do if he tucked and rolled out of the car, right now. 

“Not a mean bone in his body, even if he does exterminate roaches an’ raccoons. Least he lets the ‘possums go, awful hissin’ things. But doesn’t that just show how gentle he is, down deep inside?”

“Yo, Nance.”

Nancy sighed and closed her eyes, rubbed at her temples. “The funny thing is? Livin’ with John Redcorn isn’t near as nice as I thought it’d be. We was practically havin’ a honeymoon when we first got back together, but there wasn’t any hidin’ to cushion us in. All out in the open, and Joseph old enough to understand what that meant. It got awful, quick. Between Joseph an’ John Redcorn. Pushin’, yellin’, ‘bout heritage an’ marriage an’ the divorce. 

“John Redcorn and I, it’s okay when it’s just us. He has a bad habit of playin’ his music too loud, an’ he mixes the handwash clothes with the regular, just expectin’ me to figure it out, but otherwise we’re okay. It’s romantic. But then he and Joseph get into the same house an’ it all comes crashin’ down.

“How’s it been with you an’ Dale, when Joseph stays over?”

Boomhauer sighed, looking for a diplomatic way to say “It sucks!” Or to say that he had never intended to be the tertiary parental figure to a kid whom he had always found to be a bit of a brat. Once he got past toddlerhood, anyway. Boomhauer had liked that little boy, who toddled and handed him socket wrenches and sucked contentedly on a box of apple juice. This half-grown Joseph was a jerk.

“S’okay a’ have ‘im over some nights,” he said. Lied.

“I know. It is awful.” Nancy sighed and held her head in her hands. “Dale said that he had to move the fish to your tanning room. When Joseph spiked the fresh water with salt?”

The Coronet swerved a little as Boomhauer convulsively jerked the wheel. Dale had told him that he moved the fish because he felt that the feng shui of the den was too complicated, between the fish tank and the bonsai tree. Damn little liar. 

“S’rry. Pothole,” he said. Wondered if he needed to move the bonsai pine too, or else he would come home to find just a bonsai stump. 

“We’ll work on it, Sug. Dale an’ me. I don’t want you to shoulder any more than you already are, with your new relationship and Lucky an’ Luanne tryina witness to you about salvation. Dale told me ‘bout that. How did you get them to leave, by the by?”

Boomhauer wouldn’t say that he had convinced Lucky to get Luanne to leave by slipping him a twenty. Lucky had grinned with his snaggle teeth and said that he’d put a dollar from that twenty in the collection plate next time it was passed ‘round. That just might prevent Boomhauer and Gribble from goin’ to the warm place. Hadn’t bothered them since.

“Jus’ ask politely, yo. Dang ol’ manners.”

“You’ve always been good at those,” Nancy said, fluffing her hair. She looked tired, television makeup settling into the fine lines around her eyes and in the parentheses at the corners of her mouth. “Thank you for helpin’ a lady out.”

She leaned across the gear shift and kissed Boomhauer on the cheek. He couldn’t help but smile a little. Always had thought that Nancy was cute, not that it meant anything beyond pure aesthetic admiration. She had been Dale’s and Dale’s alone when they were young, and maybe it was shallow, but Boomhauer wouldn’t look twice at a woman if she wore a wedding band. Just couldn’t. Wasn’t fair, wasn’t kind.

Nancy sat back into her seat with her arms folded over her breasts, obviously trying not to cry. Boomhauer reached over and gave her knee a squeeze, as he would have done for a sister, if he had had one. She gave him a tiny smile and closed her eyes. Waiting until they made it to Tom Landry.

As the Coronet eased through congested detour traffic, Boomhauer thought about his own time at Tom Landry. Though he and his friends had been so alike in elementary school, joined at the shoulder and playing outside ‘til the street lights came on, middle school began to change all of that. He, Hank, and Bill had become more athletic and began earning positions on sports teams. Football. Baseball. Track. They could have easily ditched Dale, who was scrawny and underfed but always on the sidelines, cheering so loud his slender body shook. 

Instead, Boomhauer had begun to feel more tender toward Dale, the honesty of his joy beaming all the way across the field when Boomhauer evaded a tackle or made a brilliant pass. It wasn’t just that the other boy’s cheering upheld his ego, either. There was genuine love there. They could only express it in shouts and friendly ribbing, a hard rub of knuckles against hair or a playful shove into an alley fence, but it was no less real. Every now and then, he and Dale had caught one another’s eye in the middle of a scuffle and just smiled for a long moment before going back to scrubbing a cheek against the grass. Or stuffing a handful of gravel down the back of a shirt. Or knocking a school book to the floor. 

And Hank and Bill, they were too good as people to cut Dale loose to navigate the halls of Tom Landry by himself. Boomhauer wondered if Joseph had someone like that; Bobby Hill had understandably begun to outgrow his childhood friend. Bobby had a natural sweetness to him, like Dale had. Was also more thoughtful and mature. Couldn’t blame him for slowly splitting ways. Still, Boomhauer was troubled to see that Joseph obviously felt so alone.

That it was Carl Moss who had taken the hit from Joseph was a bit of good fortune; the man had been in minor trouble early in high school, when his own father had gone off and left his mama grass widowed. Just never came back. There was likely a kinship there that Carl had recognized, even as Joseph stood with his hand in the pie.

“There it is. Thank you, Sug,” Nancy said, spotting the middle school through streetside elms. She gathered her purse and smoothed her blazer. “Look. Dale’s van is there. They must’ve gotten ahold of him at the plant. I’ll catch a ride back with him, okay?”

“Yo. Go’ luck, Hicks,” Boomhauer said, giving her hand a squeeze. 

He waited until he saw Nancy disappear inside the building to return home. Even so, he pulled into the driveway and left the Coronet out, the can of wax and polishing cloths on the front seat, the windows down. There was some paperwork out of Waco he had to finish and submit, so he brought it out onto the back porch and watched Nancy’s house through a series of sideways glances. 

Dale’s van arrived an hour later, pulled into the old driveway and stopped. He and Nancy got out, followed by Joseph sulking from the back. Head down, arms crossed, kicking his Jansport backpack across the cement until Dale bent down and picked it up by one strap. Muttered something, pointed at the house. Nancy followed her two boys, her face pale and shoulders stooped. Disappeared inside.

The paperwork blurred and smudged before him. Permissions for acquiring evidence, phoning an inquiry. Case about meth runners out of the podunk Fiddle Bridge area and into Fort Blanda suburbs. 

Finally, he gave up and went for Perry’s Air bottled water, stripped out of his shirt and started to polish the Coronet while enjoying the soak of sun’s warmth into his skin.

No shouting from the Hicks house. A good sign; Dale could be a strident, neurotic little mess, and Joseph was inclined to tackle anyone whom he felt was slighting him. Then Nancy’s slim form floated by the glass kitchen door. Clad in her casual clothes, lavender blouse and blue jeans. A mug of coffee and talking to someone deeper in the house, beyond the reflections where Boomhauer could not see. Dale sharpened into view, peered out across the alley, and waved a tired “all clear.” Boomhauer waved in kind and returned to polishing the Coronet’s A-frame. 

A little weight off his chest. Good thing. Sometimes his anxiety ratcheted up so hard he could see his taut t-shirt pounding like a drum over his pectorals. Not that anyone besides Dale noticed; Hank described him as immaculate or unflappable or any number of borderline worshipful words. Then Bill would call him pretty or perfect. This troubled Boomhauer sometimes. Kept that inside too. Didn’t want to be flapped, didn’t want to be anything other than immaculate. It seemed to give his friends peace.

It had given his parents peace too. 

Their house had been a warm one, save for in one department; when it came to pain or upset, it was better to remain level-headed than give in to one’s emotions. And as a Ranger who had been in three shootouts, he had to agree. 

But as a man, a lover, and a human being, well. 

That was why he liked Dale, too. Dale was neurotic, yes, and he needed antipsychotic medication to keep his poor brain from running too wild, but there was an emotionally demonstrative aspect to his heart that Boomhauer felt attracted to, right down to the bone. Bee to the honey, moth to the flame, barn cat to the mouse. 

“Boomhauer?” Dale shuffled up the driveway, hands in his pockets, eyebrows rumpled up over his sunglasses. Still in his orange hazard jumpsuit. “Hey.”

“Gribble.” Boomhauer dropped the chamois and gave him a tight hug, just this side of chaste and mindful that Joseph might be watching. “Howda’go?”

“Good as you can expect. Carl said he will suspend Joseph but won’t put the suspension down on his permanent record. For all intents and purposes, Joseph is out sick ‘til Monday. I’m gonna pick up his homework tomorrow mornin’.” Dale went for a nonexistent pack of cigarettes, sighed, and fiddled with his Zippo lighter instead. “Nancy an’ me…”

“Mmhm?”

“Joseph says he wants to spend time with us as a family. Just the three of us, I mean. Me an’ Nancy an’ him. He knows we’re not gettin’ back together an’ that you and John Redcorn’s a permanent thing now, but he wants to spend time with us as— Y’know. Just mom an’ dad.”

“Yo, man. So whass’a plan?”

“Camping. He says he wants to go camping with just the two of us in Twodot State Park. This weekend. If that’s okay.” Dale cleared his throat, nervous, as if asking a parent for permission.

Wholesome as all get out. Boomhauer smiled. “Tha’s great news, man, talkin’ ‘bout campfires an’ marshmallas, sleepin’ inna tent an’ dang ol’ owl hootin’ man. Li’ lil’ spooky ol’ hoo-hoo-whooo! Need annythin’, need my tent or sleepin’ bag? Yers ‘re jus’ about done, Gribble.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Hell no.”

Dale giggled with relief, cramming both hands in front of his mouth before catching himself. Smoothed the front of his shirt and his expression besides. “Excellent. I will get ready.”

“Lemme help.”

Boomhauer went to the garage and aided Dale in pulling down the two-man tent, thick sleeping bag, travel pillow. Coleman stove, lantern. Yeti cooler. Dale remained quiet, but every now and then he smiled and packed a little more quickly for a moment. Calmed himself with yogic breathing. Carried on.

His boyfriend found it dang ol’ adorable, tell you what.