And I mean, Texas forever
AN: These characters are not mine. Spoilers: Takes place after S4.3.
Luke had done it. He’d stuck with Tim’s advice for six weeks and managed to pack on five pounds of muscle, speed up his 40 by two-tenths, and perfect his route running.
Tim wasn’t usually forthcoming with Luke, but he was damn proud of the kid.
So he allowed Luke a wish. Whatever you want, kid, within reason, he told him.
And that, reasonably enough, was to put Riggins through a workout. His own, “home style” workout.
Riggs smirked when he heard. Piece of cake, he thought.
-/-/-/-
You’re native Texan, right Riggs?, Luke asked, walking toward the barn of the ranch his dad managed, and where he worked part-time.
Hells yeah. Got a tat of Texas on my ass, he said grinning. Wanna see, Caff?
Riggs and his nicknames. If it wasn’t a number, it killed him to say two syllables. Or a first name, come to think of it.
Luke gave a lopsided smile back. Well, matter of fact, he did wanna see, he thought-as if Riggs were telling the truth.
Maybe later. Then you know how to handle bales, right?
Bales? You mean hay?, Riggs said, hesitantly.
What the hell other kind of bales are there?, Luke asked, handing him a hook and a pair of gloves.
Okay, Tim. The workout is to unload the bales from the truck, and I’ll put ‘em on the conveyor belt. Jose’s in the loft stacking them.
In truth, Tim had never handled bales in what had turned out to be a pretty suburban Texas life. But how hard could it be?
Luke showed him quickly how to hook the bale, then grab one of the three wires with his other hand and sling it against his hip.
Got it, Riggs? Tim nodded.
He plunged in the hook, but the bale was a lot heavier than he expected and the hook slipped, nearly whacking him in the leg. Shit.
He sunk it in again, managing to drag it toward him, and grabbed a strap. Holy christ, this is heavy, he said.
That’s a one-twenty, Luke said. Truckload's a ton total.
As in pounds? Tim said, thinking of all the times he’d lifted Lyla, who was nearly that much. Feels more than that.
Nah, it’s just awkward, Luke answered, and as if reading his mind, added, And it’s not clinging to you with four limbs, being lowered onto a bed. He gave a goofy grin.
Good one, Caff.
Luke showed Tim again how to plant the hook in the right place so it’d find purchase, then he could balance it with his other hand and body.
Tim got the hang of it, but it took him a lot longer to do it than expected. Not to mention it was nearly 90 degrees that day.
Hey, you’re gettin pretty good at this. If you ever want a job, we need hands all the time. Tim shrugged, filing that for future use.
Okay, lunch, Luke said, clambering down from the conveyor belt.
Tim was filthy, covered in dust and hay. He’d worn a long sleeved shirt, like Luke had told him to, but it was break time.
So he stripped it off and took a hose to himself, rinsing off the grime, running the spray over his hair, and flipping it back, eyes shut, relishing the shower.
What a feeling!, Luke sang in a soprano voice. Please believe me!
Tim stared at him. What the hell, dude?
You know, Flashdance! I love that movie!, Luke said enthusiastically. When she’s on the chair, and a bucket of water dumps on her! So awesome.
You’re not one of those musical theater freaks, are you?, Tim asked. A gleek?
What if I am? I ain’t ashamed, Luke said. Tim smirked.
They wolfed down some sandwiches, along with a gallon of water each. Tim was hungrier than he’d ever remembered.
-/-/-/-
After lunch, they worked for another couple hours, and Tim was wearing down. After a sweet tea-and-apple break, they worked another hour or so before finally unloading the truck completely.
Christ, Caff, you do this all the time? Riggs asked in disbelief. It ain’t easy.
Yeah, well once every two months, anyway. Lay in enough for the barn horses that we use to ride the property, survey the fence, herd cattle. And yeah, it's work, but it don't make me run faster. Not like what you had me doing.
He whistled at Jose to signal the final bale was on its way.
Okay Riggs, final thing. Race to the pond!
He threw his gloves, hat, and shirt in a pile, and started running down the hill in his jeans and boots.
Ah, hell no you don’t, Tim said, stripping to his jeans and boots and giving chase.
Tim was fast, but Cafferty was lighter, smaller and quicker, and knew the terrain.
Before Tim could say you win, Luke tore the rest of his clothes off and dove off the small dock into the jade green water.
A’right, Caff, skinny dip it is, Tim muttered. Even though it’s broad daylight. What the hell, just us and the cows.
He kicked his boots off, dropped his jeans and trow on the wooden slats.
Dove in and swam as fast as he could-half-speed, given how tired he was-chasing Luke.
Dunked his head backward, breaking the surface with his nose so water cascaded around his head.
Shit, this feels good, Tim said. It had been a long time since he’d skinny dipped, regrettably long.
Yeah, right Riggs? Luke exclaimed. Watch this.
He took a deep breath and dove head first into the pond, straight down.
Tim watched, waited. Waited some more. Jesus, what the hell’s he doin’? he thought.
Then he saw Luke floating face down, about 10 feet down in the clear water, blood trailing off his head.
Tim dove down as fast as he could, grabbing Luke under the arms, hauling him to the surface.
As soon as he pulled Luke’s head abovewater, Luke sputtered, coughing up water, gasping for air.
Luke!, Tim said. You hit your head on those bottom rocks, Caff? He started towing him to the dock, pushing him onto the ladder, then hauling himself up and helping Luke out of the pond.
Luke was in a daze, but conscious. He coughed again and again. Tim gasped deeply for air.
Shit, Caff, I’m tired as hell, and you make me save your fuckin’ life?, Tim said.
Luke started grinning. I’ve done that bottom dive a thousand times. Ain’t never hit my head like that. I guess I was just excited. He laughed.
No shit, sherlock. And why were you so excited?, Tim asked.
Luke turned red. Just cause, he stammered. You and me… I really like hangin’ with you, Riggs.
Tim sensed there was more to it than that. In fact he was suddenly feeling like he was with Becky, who mooned over him like he was the second coming.
He cleared his throat, looked right, then left. Listen Caff, I gotta be goin’. Thanks for working me like a slave and then practically dyin’ on me.
He stood, skin half-dry already from the heat, and walked a few steps toward the ranch house. You be okay, right?, he asked.
Luke nodded, staring at Tim wide-eyed, checking out his insane physique. Holy shit! You were serious about your Tex tat!, he laughed, eyeing Riggs’ left ass cheek.
Riggs paused, shooting a sultry look over his shoulder. Would I ever, ever lie about Texas, my friend? And this-he pointed at the tat-is truly Texas forever.
He pulled his jeans most of the way on, grabbed his boots and briefs, and sauntered up the hill, panhandle peeking up over his belt.
Luke had done it. He’d stuck with Tim’s advice for six weeks and managed to pack on five pounds of muscle, speed up his 40 by two-tenths, and perfect his route running.
Tim wasn’t usually forthcoming with Luke, but he was damn proud of the kid.
So he allowed Luke a wish. Whatever you want, kid, within reason, he told him.
And that, reasonably enough, was to put Riggins through a workout. His own, “home style” workout.
Riggs smirked when he heard. Piece of cake, he thought.
-/-/-/-
You’re native Texan, right Riggs?, Luke asked, walking toward the barn of the ranch his dad managed, and where he worked part-time.
Hells yeah. Got a tat of Texas on my ass, he said grinning. Wanna see, Caff?
Riggs and his nicknames. If it wasn’t a number, it killed him to say two syllables. Or a first name, come to think of it.
Luke gave a lopsided smile back. Well, matter of fact, he did wanna see, he thought-as if Riggs were telling the truth.
Maybe later. Then you know how to handle bales, right?
Bales? You mean hay?, Riggs said, hesitantly.
What the hell other kind of bales are there?, Luke asked, handing him a hook and a pair of gloves.
Okay, Tim. The workout is to unload the bales from the truck, and I’ll put ‘em on the conveyor belt. Jose’s in the loft stacking them.
In truth, Tim had never handled bales in what had turned out to be a pretty suburban Texas life. But how hard could it be?
Luke showed him quickly how to hook the bale, then grab one of the three wires with his other hand and sling it against his hip.
Got it, Riggs? Tim nodded.
He plunged in the hook, but the bale was a lot heavier than he expected and the hook slipped, nearly whacking him in the leg. Shit.
He sunk it in again, managing to drag it toward him, and grabbed a strap. Holy christ, this is heavy, he said.
That’s a one-twenty, Luke said. Truckload's a ton total.
As in pounds? Tim said, thinking of all the times he’d lifted Lyla, who was nearly that much. Feels more than that.
Nah, it’s just awkward, Luke answered, and as if reading his mind, added, And it’s not clinging to you with four limbs, being lowered onto a bed. He gave a goofy grin.
Good one, Caff.
Luke showed Tim again how to plant the hook in the right place so it’d find purchase, then he could balance it with his other hand and body.
Tim got the hang of it, but it took him a lot longer to do it than expected. Not to mention it was nearly 90 degrees that day.
Hey, you’re gettin pretty good at this. If you ever want a job, we need hands all the time. Tim shrugged, filing that for future use.
Okay, lunch, Luke said, clambering down from the conveyor belt.
Tim was filthy, covered in dust and hay. He’d worn a long sleeved shirt, like Luke had told him to, but it was break time.
So he stripped it off and took a hose to himself, rinsing off the grime, running the spray over his hair, and flipping it back, eyes shut, relishing the shower.
What a feeling!, Luke sang in a soprano voice. Please believe me!
Tim stared at him. What the hell, dude?
You know, Flashdance! I love that movie!, Luke said enthusiastically. When she’s on the chair, and a bucket of water dumps on her! So awesome.
You’re not one of those musical theater freaks, are you?, Tim asked. A gleek?
What if I am? I ain’t ashamed, Luke said. Tim smirked.
They wolfed down some sandwiches, along with a gallon of water each. Tim was hungrier than he’d ever remembered.
-/-/-/-
After lunch, they worked for another couple hours, and Tim was wearing down. After a sweet tea-and-apple break, they worked another hour or so before finally unloading the truck completely.
Christ, Caff, you do this all the time? Riggs asked in disbelief. It ain’t easy.
Yeah, well once every two months, anyway. Lay in enough for the barn horses that we use to ride the property, survey the fence, herd cattle. And yeah, it's work, but it don't make me run faster. Not like what you had me doing.
He whistled at Jose to signal the final bale was on its way.
Okay Riggs, final thing. Race to the pond!
He threw his gloves, hat, and shirt in a pile, and started running down the hill in his jeans and boots.
Ah, hell no you don’t, Tim said, stripping to his jeans and boots and giving chase.
Tim was fast, but Cafferty was lighter, smaller and quicker, and knew the terrain.
Before Tim could say you win, Luke tore the rest of his clothes off and dove off the small dock into the jade green water.
A’right, Caff, skinny dip it is, Tim muttered. Even though it’s broad daylight. What the hell, just us and the cows.
He kicked his boots off, dropped his jeans and trow on the wooden slats.
Dove in and swam as fast as he could-half-speed, given how tired he was-chasing Luke.
Dunked his head backward, breaking the surface with his nose so water cascaded around his head.
Shit, this feels good, Tim said. It had been a long time since he’d skinny dipped, regrettably long.
Yeah, right Riggs? Luke exclaimed. Watch this.
He took a deep breath and dove head first into the pond, straight down.
Tim watched, waited. Waited some more. Jesus, what the hell’s he doin’? he thought.
Then he saw Luke floating face down, about 10 feet down in the clear water, blood trailing off his head.
Tim dove down as fast as he could, grabbing Luke under the arms, hauling him to the surface.
As soon as he pulled Luke’s head abovewater, Luke sputtered, coughing up water, gasping for air.
Luke!, Tim said. You hit your head on those bottom rocks, Caff? He started towing him to the dock, pushing him onto the ladder, then hauling himself up and helping Luke out of the pond.
Luke was in a daze, but conscious. He coughed again and again. Tim gasped deeply for air.
Shit, Caff, I’m tired as hell, and you make me save your fuckin’ life?, Tim said.
Luke started grinning. I’ve done that bottom dive a thousand times. Ain’t never hit my head like that. I guess I was just excited. He laughed.
No shit, sherlock. And why were you so excited?, Tim asked.
Luke turned red. Just cause, he stammered. You and me… I really like hangin’ with you, Riggs.
Tim sensed there was more to it than that. In fact he was suddenly feeling like he was with Becky, who mooned over him like he was the second coming.
He cleared his throat, looked right, then left. Listen Caff, I gotta be goin’. Thanks for working me like a slave and then practically dyin’ on me.
He stood, skin half-dry already from the heat, and walked a few steps toward the ranch house. You be okay, right?, he asked.
Luke nodded, staring at Tim wide-eyed, checking out his insane physique. Holy shit! You were serious about your Tex tat!, he laughed, eyeing Riggs’ left ass cheek.
Riggs paused, shooting a sultry look over his shoulder. Would I ever, ever lie about Texas, my friend? And this-he pointed at the tat-is truly Texas forever.
He pulled his jeans most of the way on, grabbed his boots and briefs, and sauntered up the hill, panhandle peeking up over his belt.