Let's say a year after returning stateside -- after months of Gale finding ways to push the wedding back -- everything falls apart between him and Marge. They part ways amicably enough, but the deterioration of the life he'd envisioned for so long leaves him reeling.
One day, without letting himself think about it, Gale finds himself packing a bag, climbing into his truck and driving hours upon hours to Wisconsin. To Bucky.
He knows he should call ahead but can't bring himself to. Doesn't even know what he'll say when he sees Bucky, much less what he could tell him over a telephone call.
Gale arrives at what he thinks is Bucky's house just before sunset. It's small, but well-tended. Not allowing for hesitation, he walks to the door and knocks brusquely, duffel thrown over his shoulder.
It's a matter of seconds before the door swings open, and Gale flinches back when he sees the man standing inside. A wide grin slowly falls off the man's face, leaving behind something close to shock. Gale thinks their expressions must look about as much alike as the two of them do.
"Buck from Manitowoc, I assume?" Gale finally asks, voice strained.
The man nods, blond hair just a shade lighter than Gale's and eyes a shade darker. "Which would make you Buck from Casper," he says.
Gale shuffles his feet and offers: "I think it might be easier if we stick with Gale. Gale Cleven. I'm here to see Bucky?" It comes out a question.
The man -- Buck, the real Buck -- crosses his arms, and his voice and face are far from welcoming when he says, "He's not here right now."
"So this is Bucky's place?" Gale asks.
Buck's eyes narrow as he inspects Gale from the top of his head to the tips of his boots. "Our place," he says firmly. "And he didn't say anyone was coming to visit."
Our place echoes in in Gale's ears, a flush rising in his cheeks at the implication. "Uh, that's my mistake," Gale says after a too-long pause. "I was just passing through and thought we might be able to catch up."
"Mmmhmm," Buck hums, eyes flicking to the duffel and then back to Gale with a raised eyebrow.
Gale swallows hard. "Maybe I'll catch him on the way back through," he says, as if he has anywhere else to go at all.
"Sure," Buck says. "Probably best if you call ahead in that case."
"Right," Gale says, taking a step back before he registers the sound of a vehicle rumbling closer and closer until it pulls to a stop behind him.
Gale can't quite bring himself to turn around, locked in a staring contest with the other Buck until a car door slams and footsteps falter on their way to the porch.
"Buck?" John says, and it's reflex to turn and face him. John's mouth hangs open, looking back and forth between Gale and the man he's living with. The man he named Gale after.
Gale doesn't even know which one of them John's talking to.
...
And then more stuff would happen, IDK! But lots of jealousy for sure, as neither Buck is sure who's a stand-in for whom. 😌
Young Web running off to the sea and the romance of it being shot down because it's not the 1830s and everything is a damned diesel these days. Packing up those sea shanties and heading back to school.
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