SOME FOLKS WERE BORN MADE TO WAVE THE FLAG

BUCK BRADLEY WHITAKER.

[sugarpascals]

Sugar watched him real close, the kind of look that said she was already two steps ahead, just waiting to see if Buck would bother catchin’ up. "Mm," she hummed, sittin’ back in her chair, arms draping over the sides like a queen on her throne.

"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.

"A trade," she mused, voice syrupy sweet. "A couple drops... for a little honesty. Nothin’ big, nothin’ that’ll keep y'up at night. Just somethin’ real enough to make it worth my while."

[buckwhitaker]

Buck watched the bill flutter back down, untouched, like even his money had to prove itself worthy in Sugar’s hands. He huffed another laugh, slow and knowing, shaking his head like he should’ve seen that one coming. “A little honesty,” he echoed, dragging a finger along the table’s edge, tracing patterns in the dust and wood grain. “That’s a slippery ask, Sugar. You say you don’t want nothin’ big, but I reckon you got a way of decidin’ for yourself what’s worth sittin’ with.” His gaze flicked up, weighing her the same way she was weighin’ him. But Buck wasn’t one to fold easy. If she wanted honesty, she was gonna get it—just enough to satisfy her without giving her too much to run with.

So he leaned in, forearms settling against the table, and let the grin fade just a little. “Alright then,” he drawled, voice low, easy, like he was letting her in on something real good. “Whatcha itchin' to know, magic woman?"

[thevirginabilene]

Abilene let out a shaky breath. It all weighed on her. She wasn’t used to someone handing her the choice instead of making it for her. She wanted something good, and stable. She didn't know if Major Banks could give her that. He would say he could and she knew he would try, but Buck was different. He had proven it to her. When he tried to be the best partner after everything that happened in the woods. It was Abilene who threw it all up in flames.

“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.

[buckwhitaker]

For the first time in a long while, Buck felt something close to relief—except it wasn’t that simple, wasn’t that easy. Nothing with Abilene ever was. Her words were everything he’d been waiting to hear, but the way she said them, the way her fingers curled against his skin like she was afraid he’d slip through her grasp, told him there was still something unsettled beneath it all. “You don’t gotta convince me,” he murmured, his voice quiet but firm, the weight of her touch anchoring him. “But if you’re tryin’ to convince yourself—” He stopped short, shaking his head slightly, letting out a breath that felt heavier than it should’ve. He didn’t want to press too hard, not now. Not when she was finally reaching for him instead of pushing him away. His grip on the wheel tightened briefly before he let it go, turning his arm so her hand settled against the inside of his wrist instead, holding onto him like she meant it. “Alright,” he said, softer now, more certain. “Then we do this.” Before she could answer, before she could second-guess herself, Buck let go of her hand just long enough to reach for her, his palm warm as he cupped the back of her head, his touch careful, deliberate. Then, without hesitation, he bent down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her forehead, letting it say all the things he didn’t know how to.

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

FIN

[thevirginabilene]

Abilene’s breath caught in her throat for just a second. So quick, so fleeting, she wasn’t sure if he’d noticed. She hadn’t expected him to say that. Hadn’t expected him to look at her like that, like this was something he actually wanted. Like he really believed it was his.

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.

Maybe it was too much, too pressing, but she couldn't help her own curiosity. "And what about... us? You and I?" It's not like she was expecting him to get on one knee (although that might help with the whole psycho Christian parents of it all) or anything.

[buckwhitaker]

For a moment, Buck just stared at her, his jaw tightening like he was bracing for something he couldn’t name. You and I. The words hung in the air between them, delicate and dangerous all at once, and he wasn’t sure what the right answer was. Maybe there wasn’t one. His fingers flexed against the wheel before he let out a slow breath, his grip loosening. “I don’t know, Abilene,” he admitted, voice quieter now, rougher around the edges. “I guess that depends on you.” It was the truth, as much as it irritated him to say it. Because if it were just up to him, he’d already have it figured out. He wasn’t the kind to tiptoe around something once he set his mind to it, and God knows he’d already made his choice. But Abilene—she was a whole different story. Buck turned his head to look at her, really look at her, his gaze searching for something she wasn’t saying. “You tell me, darlin’,” he said, softer now, but no less steady. “Are you in this, or are you just waitin’ for the first chance to run again?” There was no accusation in his voice, just a quiet knowing. A history of watching her keep people at arm’s length, even when she didn’t mean to. Maybe especially when she didn’t mean to. “I meant what I said,” he added, the weight of his promise settling between them. “I’m here. With you. With the baby.” The words still felt strange on his tongue, like he was stepping into something bigger than he could fully grasp. But he wasn’t backing down.

His gaze didn’t waver. “But if you’re askin’ me where we stand? That’s not just my call to make, is it?”

[thevirginabilene]

Abilene flinched at the way the truck lurched to a stop, but she didn’t let herself react beyond that. She just folded her hands in her lap, fingers twisting tight, like she could wring the nerves clean out of her body.

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.”

[buckwhitaker]

Buck’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white, the plastic creaking beneath his fingers. He could feel the weight of her words pressing down on him like a thousand-pound stone, settling into the cab with the heaviness of something permanent. Something life-changing. I’ll be fine, Buck. I can handle it. The words were as smooth as they were sharp—so steady, so certain. And for a moment, Buck felt a flash of bitterness cut through him. He hated it, hated the way she had to sound so goddamn independent, like she didn’t need anyone. Like she didn’t need him. He’d seen it a hundred times before in people, especially in her. The way she would bury the things she couldn’t handle under layers of bravado and silence, the way she never let anyone in too far. But this was different. “You keep sayin’ that,” he muttered, his voice low, strained, like he was trying to choke down a surge of emotion that was already clawing its way out. “Like you’re gonna handle it. Like you can just pick up the pieces and move on.” “I’m not askin’ you to do this alone, Abilene,” he said, his voice rough with something that felt like a mix of frustration and something deeper—something vulnerable, something he wasn’t sure he knew how to say without it sounding weak. “You hear me? I’m not askin’ you to carry this by yourself. Not now. Not ever.” His gaze flickered to hers, sharp and unyielding. “I’m right here,” he said quietly, but firmly. “I’m in this with you, whether you like it or not.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, Abilene,” he said, a finality in his voice that brooked no argument. “You and that baby—” he let the words settle, “—you’re stuck with me.”

[thevirginabilene]

Abilene let the low hum of Jack & Diane fill the space between them, her eyes fixed on the road ahead, though she couldn’t help but feel the weight of his question like it had been lodged in her chest. She hadn't expected him to push, at least not so directly.

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.

"Just thought you oughta know."

[buckwhitaker]

Buck’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white as her words settled in the cab like a slow, creeping frost. Pregnant. It was a punch to the gut, one he hadn’t braced for, and for the first time in a long time, Buck Whitaker didn’t have a damn thing to say. He swallowed, his throat dry, his mind clawing for something steady, something solid to hold onto, but all he had was the sound of Mellencamp’s voice bleeding through the speakers and the weight of Abilene’s confession pressing against his ribs. His jaw tensed. He didn’t look at her, not yet. He just kept his eyes on the road, because if he looked at her—if he saw whatever expression she was wearing, whatever hesitation or regret or defiance was in her eyes—he wasn’t sure what he’d do. “Jesus, Abilene.” His voice came out rough, lower than usual, like the words barely made it past his teeth. He exhaled hard through his nose, shaking his head just once before finally glancing her way. A month. A whole month, and she’d just been sitting on this, carrying it around like it was hers alone to bear. Like he wasn’t even a part of it. And maybe he wasn’t. Maybe she hadn’t wanted him to be. He ran a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck as he let out something that was half a laugh, half a breath of disbelief. “Shit, Abilene,” he muttered, shaking his head again. “You just thought I oughta know? That’s it?”

He didn’t know what he expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. He jerked on the steering wheel, with maybe too much force, as he pulled over on the side of a dirt road. "What are you gonna do 'bout it?"

[thevirginabilene]

Abilene never expected visitors at her house. Most people were scared to set foot on the property, others just knew how the Pryor's were. Their privacy was meant to be respected and anyone should have at least had the decency to call before showing up. Luckily, the front family den was never as utilized at it should be.

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.

“Well? You gonna drive or just stare at me all night?” She asked, a pause in her words before softly asking, "you still got that American Fool tape?"

[buckwhitaker]

Buck slid into the driver’s seat, his fingers briefly grazing the leather before he adjusted the rearview mirror, the scent of her already lingering in the air. The cold from the night crept into the truck, but there was something familiar about the tension in the space between them, something that made it feel like nothing had really changed. But they both knew it had. The question caught him off guard. Buck’s lips quirked into a tight smile as he reached for the glove box. "Still got it," he said, his voice quieter than he intended as he pulled out the worn tape. He held it up to her like it was some kind of relic, the same way it had been when they were younger. "Got a few other ones in here too, but you’ll always be partial to this one, huh?" The silence stretched out between them, heavy and thick, and he turned the key, letting the music flood the truck. Mellencamp’s voice poured out, familiar and warm, and for a brief moment, it was like nothing had changed. Like they were still those teenagers, driving down a dirt road with nothing but the night ahead of them. Buck let the truck roll forward, the headlights cutting through the darkness as he made his way down the familiar path. The road ahead was winding, but he didn’t feel the need to rush it. Not tonight. Not with her here.

"You know," he finally spoke, his voice low, like he was trying to measure each word, "this isn't the first time I've shown up uninvited. But this time… felt different." His eyes flickered to her, just for a moment, before looking back at the road. "I'm still wondering if you even know what you want, Abilene. You haven’t said a word about what happened, and you’ve been avoiding me for weeks. What’s that about?" The question hung in the air, uncomfortable, but honest. He wasn’t going to let her off the hook this time. Not after everything that had happened.

[buckwhitaker]

who: buck and abilene <3 where: the pryor house because ig buck can't stay awayyyyy from his shawty

The night was cold, thick with the last breath of the winter, the kind that nipped into skin and made everything feel heavier than it ought to. Buck had half a mind to turn around before he even made it to her street—before his truck tires crunched against the gravel, before her porch light flickered in his periphery like some damn beacon he wasn’t sure he ought to answer. Instead, he sat there for a beat, one hand gripping the wheel, the other running slow down his jaw, like that might wipe away the nagging thought that he shouldn’t be here. That whatever they were before that night a month ago had shifted into something neither of them seemed willing to acknowledge. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head before killing the engine and stepping out, boots landing heavy against the dirt. The cicadas hummed something restless, and he found himself tapping his fingers against his thigh, like his body needed something to do while his mind caught up. A month. A whole month since he’d pulled her close, since her hands had brushed against his skin, since he’d left her house before the sun had a chance to catch him there. And neither of them had spoken a word about it since. It was eating him alive. Didn't he mean more to her than that? What were they? Buck took the porch steps slow, then rapped his knuckles against her door, stepping back just enough to shove his hands into his pockets. When the door finally cracked open, he didn’t bother with pleasantries. Just tilted his head, let his mouth pull into something caught between amusement and hesitation.

"Wanna go for a drive?"

@thevirginabilene

[sugarpascals]

Sugar’s grin curled up slow, like a cat stretchin’ in the sun. “Ain't you supposed to be a nice boy?” She placed a dramatic hand over her chest, feigning deep offense. “Got no snake oil on this table, Bucky, just good, honest remedies. Pascal family-certified.”

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.

[buckwhitaker]

Buck huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he plucked up a small jar from the table, turning it over in his hands like he was actually considering buying something. “Ain’t that somethin’—I come lookin’ for a little peace and quiet, and here you go, tryin’ to pry me open like a damn mason jar.” His gaze flicked up, catching that gleam in her eye, sharp as a fishhook. Sugar was always trouble wrapped in silk—spoke sweet, but she knew exactly where to stick the knife. He let the jar settle back onto the table with a soft clink, exhaling through his nose. “Wouldn’t say I’m hidin’ much,” he drawled, voice slow, easy. “Just got folks thinkin’ I know more than I do. And you know how it is—give one answer, they come scratchin’ for another. Like stray dogs smellin’ supper.” His fingers drummed once against the wood, contemplative. “Could be useful, though, that little forgettin’ trick of yours. Might be the only way I get through the week without somebody askin’ me somethin’ I don’t feel like answerin’.”

He let that hang between them, giving her just enough to chew on without actually offering much of anything. Then, a slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled bill. He held it between his fingers, tapping it lightly against the edge of the booth. “So what’s it cost, then? A couple drops to keep the wolves at bay?” He raised an eyebrow, head tilting just so. “Or do I gotta trade you somethin’ first?” Because if he knew Sugar—and he did—she never let anything go for free.

[lieutenantbanks-deactivated2025]

Lulu feigned offense, mouth dropped wide in shock. "When have I ever had blood on my hands, Buck?" she pressed, leaning forward on the bar. Of course, it had been exactly what she'd planned on getting out of a donated beer and nothing more but a cigarette in return.

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?"

She held out her hand, though the cloud of breath could've convinced her she already had a puff of smoke. "Pleasure doing business."

[buckwhitaker]

Buck stepped out into the cold like it was an old friend, exhaling slow as the door swung shut behind them. “Oh, I got options,” he drawled, fishing the pack from his pocket. “Could start simple—shot of milk, extra warm. Maybe a nice tall glass of room-temperature gin. But if I really wanted to see you suffer, I’d order somethin’ unholy. A Bloody Mary with—hell, I dunno—vanilla schnapps. Make you stand there and watch me drink every last drop.” He plucked a cigarette from the pack, tapping it against his palm before passing it over. His own followed a second later, easy movements born from muscle memory. He let her take the first drag before he spoke again, his voice threaded with quiet amusement. “Funny thing, though,” he murmured, flicking his lighter to life. “Ain’t like you to take the long way ‘round when you want somethin’. You’re a straight-shot kinda woman.” The flame flared, then settled, smoke curling between them as he took his first pull. “So what is it, Lulu? You want a cigarette, or you want me talkin’?” He wasn’t pressing. Not really. If she wanted to keep things light, he’d let her. But he wasn’t blind to the way she’d wrapped this whole thing up like a trade—like the only reason they were standing here was because it made sense on paper.

Buck had never been one to take people at their first answer. And he sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.

[serendipitywest]

If making conversation in the grocery store hadn’t been on Pity’s bingo card, waxing poetic about the very state of living certainly hadn’t been! She may not have gotten the salt she’d come for, but she had gotten some interesting philosophizing! Was that Normal? She really had to recover from that annoyed burst, she really had to be Normal — but, like… this didn’t seem Normal? But who was she to say!

“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.

“Well, then, you keep worryin’ about her worryin’ about you worryin’ about her. Won’t get anyone far.” It was easier to not worry about anyone, and the only way to do that was to either have no empathy or to have no one worrying about you! She’d rather that than the cycle Buck was caught in! This seemed like it could be a Normal time to end the conversation, but it also seemed like she would be waving a white flag which was Not Normal. 

[buckwhitaker]

Buck let out a short breath—not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh—and shook his head. “A fishbowl?” He adjusted his grip on the bag of flour, mulling it over. “Yeah, I guess I can see it. Swimmin’ in circles, bumpin’ into the same damn walls, thinkin’ we got somewhere new just ‘cause the angle’s a little different.” His lips quirked, something wry but knowing. He didn’t call her bluff about the flour, though it was written all over his face. Just a raised brow, a lazy sort of smirk—like he knew damn well she was grasping at straws but was willing to let her dig herself deeper just to see how committed she was. “That so? Alright, then. What’s the best flour for biscuits?” He was absolutely baiting her. Maybe it wasn’t fair, but hell, if she wanted to dodge, he’d make her work for it. But then she threw his own damn cycle back at him, neat as you please, like tying a bow on the mess of it all. Buck exhaled through his nose, studying her for a beat. “Ain’t about gettin’ far,” he said after a moment. “Ain’t about winnin’, neither. It’s just about… givin’ a damn.” He rolled his shoulder, wincing faintly. “Not somethin’ you can just switch off, no matter how much sense it’d make.”

And maybe that was the thing, right? Maybe the whole damn mess of it—the worry, the weight, the going in circles—was just proof they were still here. Still swimming. Even if the water was a little murky. He let that hang there for a second before tipping his head toward the shelf. “So. You gonna grab that salt, or you just here to philosophize in the flour aisle?”

[serendipitywest]

Pity knew better than to argue about this (but just barely!), but she couldn’t shake how this boy, so hurt and helpless that he needed someone shorter than him to reach the flour, was so worried about his grandma worrying about him. One of those things that somehow simultaneously makes absolutely no sense and makes way too much sense, ya know? That was the tragically beautiful thing about empathy. They’d all be better off without it.

“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? 

“Thought we were talkin’ about flour,” she perfectly deflected. Because she was pretty sure no one was worrying about her anymore. Dead or gone, for better or for worse. Her father and her mother and her sister were in the Earth, never to grow old. And the few left — Sugar, perhaps Knox — were a charity act at best and a charade at worst. But it was better that way — she didn’t have to bear that tragically beautiful aspect of empathy if no one had to bear it for her. Win/win!

[buckwhitaker]

Buck huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. Life’s a damn ouroboros, ain’t it? We all just keep runnin’ in circles, bitin’ our own tails, pretendin’ like it ain’t the same damn cycle over and over again.” There was a wry twist to his mouth, something caught between humor and understanding. He wasn’t blind to the mess of it, the way caring about someone was just another way of getting yourself hurt. But hell, that was the way of things. His gaze lingered on her, sharp despite the casual way he shifted the bag of flour in his hands. He didn’t push when she dodged his question, but he sure as hell noticed. “That right?” he murmured, tipping his head slightly, like he was weighing her answer. “Funny. You don’t strike me as the type to give a damn about flour.” It was an easy thing to say, light enough to pass for banter, but there was something else beneath it—something keen. He wasn’t stupid. He’d known her long enough to see the gaps where things didn’t quite fit, the places she deflected instead of answering outright.

“See, me? I’m just tryin’ to get by without my grandma kickin’ my ass for makin’ her worry. But you…” He let his voice trail off, considering her. “Well. I think you’re just tryin’ to pretend you don’t need anyone worryin’ about you in the first place.” He wasn’t expecting her to admit to it. He wasn’t expecting much of anything, really. But he figured he’d let it hang there, just long enough to let her know he saw her.

[rosieroutledge]

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."

[buckwhitaker]

Buck huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Hell, Rosie, you might be onto somethin’." His gaze flicked around the shop like he half-expected someone to pop out and prove him right. But his attention landed back on her soon enough, catching the way her expression shifted—something dimming behind that easy smile of hers. Buck wasn’t blind. He saw the way she hesitated, the way her words danced just shy of what she really meant. So, yeah. He wanted a real answer. But he wasn’t gonna press. Not yet. Instead, he smirked, shifting his weight as he crossed his arms over his chest. “A museum display, huh? Sounds mighty official. Must be important, considerin’ you look like you’re stockin’ up to take down the damn Illuminati.” He nodded toward the supplies in her arms, one brow ticking up. “Don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word to Marshall. Can’t have him snuffin’ out the underground truffle ring before you get your exhibit up.”

His voice was light, teasing, but there was an edge of curiosity beneath it. A quiet offering—if she wanted to come clean, she could. If not, well… he’d known her long enough to figure it out eventually.

[thevirginabilene]

Abilene barely breathed as the space between them vanished. She felt the warmth of his body, the weight of his gaze, the way his fingers hesitated before settling against her wrist like he was still giving her a chance to pull away. But she wasn’t pulling away.

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.

After a few brief moments, she pulled away, lips swollen, and looking up at him like he was her whole world. "Then don't leave," she whispered.

[buckwhitaker]

Buck didn’t move right away. He just stood there, staring down at her, his breath coming a little harder than before. Her words settled in his chest, heavy and warm, like something he shouldn’t let himself hold on to—but already was. His hands found her waist, hesitant at first, like he still had half a mind to stop this before it got too far. But then she looked at him like that—and the way she whispered don’t leave like a prayer only he could answer. “Jesus, Abilene,” he breathed, voice low, almost like a warning. But he didn’t pull away. His fingers flexed against her hips, anchoring himself as he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers again, softer this time, slower. Like he was trying to make sense of this—of them—of the way she had him unraveling without even trying. Maybe she didn’t have to try. Maybe she’d always had him.

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.

But for now—for tonight—he didn’t care.

[thevirginabilene]

Abilene didn’t answer right away. She just stood there, her body leading her farther into her room. The dim light carved out the sharp line of Buck’s jaw, the set of his shoulders, the way he looked at her like he was waiting for her to fold.

“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.

"Came here for a reason, didn't cha?"

[buckwhitaker]

Buck let out a slow breath, his jaw tight as he watched her. She was good at this—saying just enough, keeping him right where she wanted him. Always had been.

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.”

And God help him, he wasn’t sure he’d leave if she asked him to.

[lieutenantbanks-deactivated2025]

A ghost of a smile hit her lips, faint enough to reflect in the glow of the neon sign behind her. "Not unless you wanna get kicked out," she countered, perched on her toes as she leaned toward him. Vesta had made it clear: get the people to stay as long as Lulu possibly could. While she made him an exception to a few of her own personal rules, she couldn't keep him from that.

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."

[buckwhitaker]

Buck huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he traced the rim of his glass with his thumb. “Now, that depends,” he mused, tilting his head just enough to look at her. “You askin’ ‘cause you want the company, or just tryin’ to bleed me for information?”

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.

“C’mon then. Before I change my mind and start orderin’ somethin’ real awful, just to see if you’d actually kick me out.”

[lieutenantbanks-deactivated2025]

It was nice to have a familiar face around the bar, one amongst the regulars and the ones who had simply come for a night out. Lulu hadn't seen the likes of Buck since they were outside the church, smoking to forget whatever had put him in the papers, and Baylor in a coffin.

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."

[buckwhitaker]

Buck’s lips twitched at that, a shadow of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “House rules, huh?” He leaned his forearms against the bar, rolling his glass between his hands. “Guess I’d be a damn fool to argue with management.”

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.

He lifted his fresh drink in an easy toast. “Well, if this one’s on the house, guess I owe you next time.” He took a slow sip, letting the burn settle, then shot her a knowing look. “Long as I don’t end up with somethin’ godawful as payback.”

[thevirginabilene]

Abilene studied him in the dim glow of the porch light, her fingers curling around the edge of the door like she could steady herself against it. Buck standing on her doorstep felt like a memory half-buried, something that still had teeth.

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."

She was lucky that her parents liked Buck, considered him worthy enough let him date her daughter, but she wasn't ready to face any wrath for sneaking him in.

[buckwhitaker]

Buck didn’t move at first, just stood there in the hush of the doorway, watching her like he was waiting for her to change her mind. She still could. He almost hoped she would. But she didn’t. Instead, she stepped back, just enough to let him slip inside.

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.

Because if she let him stay, they both knew this wasn’t just sneaking up to her room. They had been back to this song and dance, but they had always been near people—in public. This was like opening their own Pandora's Box.