SOME FOLKS WERE BORN MADE TO WAVE THE FLAG

"Don't'cha know you gotta be open 'n order f'r the peace and quiet to get in?" she chastised him, watching him a beat before lurching forward to pluck a jar of peppermint paste open. A visual representation of his metaphor. Sugar dipped a finger inside and spread the paste over her gums, screwing the lid tight and holding a finger up to her lips.

Her fingers tapped lazy against the table, a slow, idle rhythm like she was thinkin’ real hard about what his money was worth to her. "Y'think you're gonna spook some wolves with scraps?" Sugar asked, eyes gleaming like she wasn't quite sure if they were talking about the rest of their town or Sugar herself. "Sounds like ya might just be ringin’ the dinner bell."

Let the record show it wasn't innocent 'ole Sugar who brought up the trade, but when Buck asked, her lips grew into a grin befittin' 'a the Cheshire cat. Sugar reached forward, real slow, plucked the bill from his fingers, and held it up between them. Then, just as easy, she let it flutter right back down onto the table.

“I don’t wanna run,” she admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Not from you.” She let her fingers reach for him instead. Hesitant at first before settling against his forearm. Warm. Solid. Real.

“I want this,” she said, firmer. “I want you.” At a certain point, Abilene didn't know where her lies started or ended. She loved Buck, of course she did, she always would. There was a time when he was everything to her, but it didn't change the aching pang she felt in her chest. Like she was making the wrong choice.

Her lips parted like she might say something else, maybe a half-hearted warning about how she was a mess and this wasn’t gonna be easy - that if he knew who she truly was he would leave, but she stopped herself.

Her fingers tightened against his skin, like she was afraid he might disappear if she let go. “I’m in this, Buck. For real this time.”

Maybe if she said it enough times, she'd start to believe herself.

“I got you,” he murmured against her skin, his breath warm, his voice steady as ever. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

She should’ve felt relief, should’ve leaned into the comfort of it, let herself settle into the lie like it was a bed she could finally rest in. But all she felt was tightness in her chest, something too close to guilt.

This was what she wanted, right? So, why did it feel so wrong?

“Buck…” She started, like she was preparing to push him away even as she pulled him in. She had to play this right. Had to make him believe that she wasn’t expecting anything, that this wasn’t some trap he was walking into.

“If you’re sure,” Abilene knew he was. Once he committed to something, he was committed. Abilene could never say the same about herself. “Then… okay.”

She didn’t let herself think too long on what that meant. Didn’t let herself linger on the way her stomach curled at the thought of Buck tying himself to something that wasn’t his.

She could see it in his face. The mix of shock and disbelief. And for a split second, guilt twisted up inside her, ugly and unwelcome. But she swallowed it down. Buried it deep. Because the truth didn’t matter.

“I’m keepin’ it,” she said, steady, like she hadn’t already spent sleepless nights staring at the ceiling, wondering how she was gonna make this work. Her parents were going to have her neck for it and if they were gonna be pissed, she would let the blow land that it was at least Buck's. They always accepted him. “Ain’t no way around it now.”

The words tasted sour in her mouth, and she hated the way they sounded, like she was handing him some kind of burden. But that was the role she had to play, wasn’t it? The girl who made a mistake and was standing by it. The girl who wasn’t asking for his help.

She turned and met his eyes for the first time since she’d said the words, and she knew she had to sell it. So she softened, let her shoulders drop just enough, let a little vulnerability creep into her voice. The words coming out as manipulative to an untrained eye, but to Buck, probably just sounded like the words of a helpless girl who got herself into a problem she couldn't solve, and that he was the one who caused it.

“I’ll be fine, Buck. I can handle it.”

The weight of her own silence fell heavy and Abilene knew she couldn’t keep dodging the truth forever. His question lingered between them and she felt that familiar, ugly churn of guilt twist in her stomach. It wasn't the kind of religious guilt she felt when she lied to her mama about being at the Banks' trailer or wearing skirts too short when she was outside of the house. It was the guilt of trapping him. Trapping him into a life he didn't ask for.

“You wanna know what it's about?” she asked, bracing herself for the impact. “I’m pregnant, Buck,” and it was the first time she had actually said it out loud. Hadn't tiptoed around it like she had with Lou or just completely pretended like it wasn't actually happening to her.

She didn't bother telling him if it was his, she knew he would assume it was. And she didn't know how many lies she could get away with before it all came crashing down on her.

When she opened the door, Abilene had half a mind to just shut the door on him. Maybe if she just closed the door, she wouldn't have to go through with anything. Could just pretend like he didn't exist like Major didn't exist in her orbit any longer.

What a big joke that would be.

She held his gaze for a moment, the cold creeping through the open door. She before grabbing her jacket off the hook. “You got a habit of showin’ up at my door without sayin’ what you really want, Buck,” she told him as she pulled the door shut behind her, before stepping down off the porch.

She didn’t look at him as she crossed the yard, the gravel crunching underfoot, but she could feel him watching her, waiting.

Abilene pulled open the passenger door and climbed in, settling against the worn leather seat, the scent of him already thick in the cab. And for a moment she was sixteen again, her bare feet up on the dashboard as Buck played her whatever Mellencamp song she begged to listen to. Back to reality.

Her hand dropped, and she leaned forward, palms braced against the worn wood of the booth. “Y'know...” Sugar’s eyes gleamed, the kind of look that meant trouble. “I do have a tincture that makes a person mighty forgetful. A few drops in the right cup, and suddenly they ain’t so concerned ‘bout whatever it was they came knockin’ for.”

She reached down, plucked up a dark glass bottle, and spun it slow between her fingers. “Course,” she added, tilting her head, “if you’re askin’ me, it ain’t the questions that’ll get you in trouble. It’s the answers.”

She let that sit a beat before setting the bottle back down, chin propped on her hand as she studied him. “So tell me, Buck—what exactly have you been explainin’ lately? ‘Cause you wouldn’t be stalkin’ ‘round my booth, askin’ for somethin’ to shut people up ‘less you got somethin’ worth hidin’.” It was a fat chance in hell he'd actually tell Sugar anything of substance, but... she banked on the little clues she'd pick up from his response-- after all, there was just as much to learn in what was said as what wasn't.

But Buck didn't need to know that.

He finished his drink quickly while she checked on the rest of the line-up seated at the bar, the usual suspects. A beer to be topped of here, a shot there. It wasn't long before her coworker came back, relieving the blonde of her duties, for now. If it wasn't for the company, she would've taken the single cigarette in her pocket and come back inside to continue to schmooze for tips.

"Alright, then, give me your worst," Lulu requested as she swung open the back door. The night was colder than she'd anticipated; her arms crossed as she kept the warmth close to her chest. "What d'you think you could order that'd get you kicked from a bar?"

“I’d argue it’s more of a fishbowl.” And like that, she had no clue what the hell she, herself, was talking about -- she was just pretty sure she had to ping-pong back with some other overused metaphor. But whoever first likened life to a fishbowl wasn’t wrong! Aimless circles, thinking you’re going somewhere but winding up in the exact same place (not unlike the cycle of the ouroboros), lacking any semblance of real privacy — really the only thing humans had on goldfish was the ability to breathe on land. 

All of which she could have said, but… see, she may not have been the best judge, but it really did not feel Normal to get deep in the middle of a grocery store. She also simply would have preferred not getting deep in general (not talking at all!), but she brought it on herself!

“Really? ‘Cause I love flour — got some real strong opinions.” While it was obviously a joke (what other choice did she have?!), she found herself mentally rushing to prepare some strong opinions. Best brand of flour? King Arthur. Whole Wheat. Unbleached Self-Rising... what else…?

But of course she could not just live her fake flour-loving life in peace! Of course she had to be psychoanalyzed on a trip to the grocery store! Man, it would be annoying in any setting, but being surrounded by flour and sugar and vanilla just made it 10x worse — not to mention any potential eavesdroppers. She was growing more certain by the very second that this was not a Normal conversation to have in a grocery store.

“Just sounds like a fucking ouroboros t’ me.” She did her best to match the levity in his tone, shaking her head as she feigned a light amusement -- all in a valiant attempt to Be A Person -- but she could not shake just how outrageous it was, right? How outrageous it was that he was hurting for her. She had every right to worry, after all — she should worry! It was right of her to worry! And he shouldn’t have found himself worrying about that! Ah, Pity couldn’t shake how outrageous it was that it made so much sense and absolutely no sense! What a fuckin’ tangled mess, huh?

Turning the table on her, though? 

If she had to run into someone on her mission to untangle her thoughts, Rosie was relieved that she'd narrowly avoided a collision with Buck. Though he was an old friend, a connection so recently revisited that they were still shaking off the dust, the basic level of familiarity there had her exhaling in relief. An easy response was tumbling from her lips seconds later.

"Sorry. This place just always seemed a little like that chocolate factory of Willy Wonka's. You know - nobody ever goes in, nobody ever comes out. You kind of always wonder if it's a front for somethin,'" she explained, her quick glance around the store indicative of her belief that it could be true. It didn't take long for her eyes to settle back on Buck, though.

She'd been meaning to check in on him after his name appeared in the paper. Earlier, even. Sometime after the Flurry Festival. But with so much going on, terrifying nightmares haunting her both while asleep and awake, she'd developed a particularly one track mind as of late. Once again, she seemed to be deprioritizing friendships. And though she hadn't realized it until just then, it took no time at all for the guilt to set in. For the soft smile that spread across her face as she spoke to dim.

She should have called. Not... necessarily for answers, but as someone who wanted to check in. Though it had been a long time since they'd been considered close, she did care about him. And in a time when so many of her friendships were precarious, the least she could do was appreciate those still in her life. Especially those who knew which side of the aisle she came down on in the battle between fugitive and sweater.

"That depends. You want a real answer?" she asked, supplying one believable excuse as a means of delaying the inevitable. If they got to talking about her conspiracy board, she'd start asking questions. And then what? Like a mouse with a cookie, it could only spiral from there.

"Would you believe I'm plannin' a new display at the museum? Can't tell Marshall, but no one seems to be all that interested in truffles."

Not while she had him hook, line, and sinker.

She stepped in closer, just enough that she had to tip her chin up to look at him. “I know what this is,” she murmured. Her fingers slipped from his hand and smoothed up his chest, pressing flat against his shirt. His heartbeat was steady beneath her palm. Abilene swallowed, trying to quiet the pounding in her own head.

Her fingers curled into his shirt, drawing him in as her mouth brushed against his, just barely. Just enough to make sure he’d fall into her. When he didn't give any indication that he was pulling away, Abilene pressed her lips harder against his, her hands snaking up to wrap around his neck.

Buck let out a breath against her mouth, forehead pressing to hers for just a second before he spoke. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, and I won’t.” He knew he was past the point of walking away. Knew he was stepping into something bigger than just this moment, something he might not be able to claw his way out of later.

“I ain’t sure about anything,” she murmured, voice low, like speaking too loud might crack something open between them. “But you’re already here, aren’t you?”

The truth was, Abilene had a plan. She wasn't sure what her next course of action was, but, her time was running out. Everyday that passed was just a constant reminder that in a handful of months, she would have a child. Whether she liked it or not. It was out of her control. But, what was in her control?

Who she chose to have this baby with.

It was devious and manipulative, whatever, but Abilene didn't want to lay eyes on Lulu ever again and as horrible as it was, there was nothing about Major Banks that screamed father of the year. She just didn't know how far she could take it with Buck. She could just confess, explain everything from the past year, and beg for his forgiveness or...

Well, he was already in her room, wasn't he?

She moved closer to the door, where his back was still pressed against it. Abilene grabbed his hand to pull him closer towards her. "Don't tell me your getting cold feet," she spoke, her voice low, almost hushed.

His fingers curled around hers for half a second, like he meant to hold on, before he let her pull him in. He could smell her perfume this close, something light, familiar, the same damn scent that had been stuck in his head for longer than he cared to admit.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice rougher now. “Reckon I did.”

That was the problem, wasn’t it? He knew exactly why he was here, even if he’d tried to tell himself otherwise. Even if he’d been looking for some excuse—any excuse—to turn around before he got too deep. But she wasn’t giving him one.

His free hand came up, fingers grazing along her wrist, barely there, like he wasn’t sure he should. Like he knew better but still couldn’t help himself.

“You sure you wanna do this?” he asked, quieter this time. It wasn’t a challenge, not really. More like a lifeline. One last out. He knew something like this meant something to Abilene.

His thumb brushed along the inside of her wrist, slow, deliberate. “’Cause if I stay,” he murmured, his voice just above a whisper, “we both know what this is.”

It was a downright shame, how lovesick he was over the girl at the top of her shit list. Not even the conflict with Major could've stopped her--it certainly hadn't when it'd come to Marshall--but there were certain battles better left alone when the war wasn't hers to be won.

Sure, the chase was fun, but could a girl really be blamed if she didn't want to have to sweat for the prize?

"Careful, almost sounds like you wanna hang out with me, Whitaker." Lulu glanced at the clock behind her; it was nearly time to take her break. The least she could get out of the extra pour was a drop of information; if she was lucky, the hope that she truly didn't have to worry about Abilene weaseling her way back into her life. "Whenever you finish that, you can pay me back in a smoke, if you got one."

He wasn’t stupid. He knew how Lulu played her cards—smooth, sharp, never showing more than she had to. She was good at it, too. But Buck had been around long enough to know when someone was fishing, and he had a feeling she wasn’t just after a cigarette.

Still, he wasn’t one to turn down an excuse to step outside, get a little distance from the press of bodies and the static hum of too-loud conversations. He reached into his jacket, pulling out his pack, giving it a light shake. “Reckon I can spare one,” he said, voice low, easy. “Long as you ain’t expectin’ me to spill my guts in return.”

He lifted his drink, finishing it off in one slow swallow before setting the glass back down with a quiet clink. Then he slid off the barstool, tucking the cigarettes back into his pocket as he nodded toward the door.

She'd planned on comping one, though Lulu couldn't tell just when Buck was about to be done. The dark beer she'd accidentally poured had only gone to the man beside him because, given his order, the bartender was certain he'd hate it, even if it was free beer.

"Yeah, yeah. I was gettin' to you." With a roll of her eyes, she poured a pint of what he'd been drinking Buck's way as she grasped the cash with her other hand. "You woulda spit out the other pour, I know your taste."

He'd given her too much. While Lulu wasn't above accepting handouts from the older men who were arguably paying extra to ogle, Buck was the last person here to do that. "Keep the change," she insisted, "unless you want another one'a those. You earned yourself one--house rules."

He wasn’t the kind of man who took handouts, but if Lulu was calling it even, he wouldn’t fight her on it. Besides, the warmth of another drink was starting to sound like a fine idea. Anything to keep him anchored, to keep the night from stretching too thin around him.

His gaze flicked to her hands, deft and sure even as the cold nipped at her fingers. “You ever take a break, or they got you runnin’ ragged all night?” His voice was easy, but there was something behind it—something almost like concern, if he let himself admit it.

She should’ve sent him away. Should’ve told him to go before her parents woke up, before she got herself into any more trouble than she was already in. But she didn’t. She couldn't.

She shifted, leaning back against the door, one foot still half-pressed inside, like she wasn’t sure if she was stepping out or locking him out. “Didn’t think I’d be awake?” Her voice was quiet, a touch wry. “Buck, you of all people should know I don’t sleep easy.”

Her gaze flickered to the street behind him, the yawning dark stretching in every direction. No car. No excuse. Just him, standing here like something had drawn him back. Like he hadn’t thought twice about it.

She let the silence settle before she said, “you can come in, but you have to be quiet."

He shut the door behind him without a sound, careful as ever. The house smelled the same—clean linen, old wood, something faintly floral that had always clung to her skin. It hit him all at once, a memory crawling up his spine.

Buck followed her inside, his steps lighter than they had any right to be. He’d been up these stairs before, back when it wasn’t sneaking, back when the world hadn’t yet pressed its weight between them.

Her room was the same, mostly. A little more lived-in, a little more cluttered. It wasn't as pristine as he had last seen it—a clear reflection of her. The moonlight spilled through the lace curtains, silvering the edges of everything. It made her look softer, too, even with the tension wound up tight in her shoulders.

Buck exhaled through his nose. “Didn’t think I’d end up here tonight,” he admitted, voice just above a whisper. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, glancing around like the room might give him an answer for why he’d come in the first place. It didn’t.

His gaze drifted back to her, back pressed against her door. “You sure about this?” The words were quiet, careful. A last chance to turn him away.