Hey, y'all! Another one out of left field here... This just sort of started itself one night when I had brought work home. Like a dutiful little grant writer, I sat myself down at my computer and opened a word file, into which I began to type this. Oh well. The grant got in on time anyway.

As always, I own nothing but the words, earn nothing for what I post here, and thank everyone for their feedback.

It could have been worse; he could have been Bo. Like his cousin, he had two things that people called him, Luke and Lukas. Thing was, when folks used his longer name, almost no one meant anything by it. The people who had raised him, the adults in his life, they could use his full first name in a way that meant trouble. But usually Lukas was a pleasant enough thing to be called.

Bo, he had it a lot worse. Beauregard wasn't anything the kid could stand to begin with, and he'd trained almost everyone out of ever using it (though that sadistic third grade teacher, Mrs. Sailer, she'd made sure to call him by it all year. She was probably the single biggest reason that Bo hated school as much as he did). So when he did hear himself called by that dreaded name that he'd been saddled with by the mother he'd never had the opportunity to know, well, Bo pretty much knew he was in trouble. Out of respect for the tow-headed boy, his family wouldn't say that name unless they really needed to.

As comfortable as Luke Duke was with his full given name, he really didn't want it used here. No choice in that, of course, he belonged to the government for now, and as such he was to be Private Lukas Keller Duke. Oh, that middle name, he loved and hated it, and most of all considered it to be private, personal, no one else's business. His own mother was in that name; it was the surname she'd been born to, she and her sister. No brothers to pass it down, so Luke got it, right in the middle of his other names, where it would be well protected by the rhyming bookends. Smelled lilacs whenever it was said aloud, heard his own childhood screams in his ears. The final memory he had of her (and Aunt Lavinia had told him that it couldn't have been the last time he'd seen her, wrong season, but as much as he loved his aunt, she was just way off base about that, he was sure) involved picking lilacs together, sniffing them, and his mom placing some in her hair. So what if she'd died in September, months after the spring flowers had gone? Certainly, the last thing she ever did was pick a purple clump off a tree.

His own screams, the other half of the memory, that was pure rage. His Mama had left him. His Daddy, too, but that pain came later and sat deeper, got expressed in other ways, with fists instead of lungs. His mother's absence hit him immediately and lasted for a long time, while his Aunt Lavinia tried to soothe him. The sound of her calming words had meant nothing to the child he'd been. It was only the strength of his Uncle Jesse's arms that had finally stilled him long enough to realize that no amount of screaming would bring her back.

And somewhere in there, he learned or remembered or just knew that he had an infant cousin, and if there was anyone screaming louder and harder than him, maybe missing its own Mama even more, it was that baby. For awhile he was annoyed by the little one's ability to outscream him, but honestly, most of the time, the kid was cheerful. Even cute, sometimes. And as the baby grew into a toddling blonde-headed boy, he looked up to Luke, made the older child feel strong and capable in a way he'd never felt back when he'd had a mother and a father and a dead baby brother. A feeling that wasn't entirely bad.

All these years later, Bo was still looking up to him, even though the older boy was now 19 and, if anything, extremely flawed.

He'd only been here an hour, Luke had, and already he'd been called a "maggot" more times than he could count. Bo expected him to dispatch bullies, but despite his own youth, Luke knew better than to take on this kind of tormenter. He shut up and lifted his chin, clicked his heels together and stood at attention.

It could have been worse. If it'd been Bo here, the kid would have swung at the first guy who called him "maggot." He would have learned the hard way that some battles couldn't be won with fists. His impetuous cousin, well, he would've been hurting and doing push ups or squat thrusts in the sand while still getting screamed at, like some of the other guys were, over to Luke's left.

Luke, he'd seen enough when he'd gone for his "evaluation" to know what to expect here. Standing in line in his shorts, watching as boys like him, with similarly low lottery numbers, were sorted onto various benches, he knew before he even got to the front of the line which direction he'd be sent. He was healthy, sturdy, young, uneducated – in other words, I-A all the way. Seemed like a lot more Georgia boys got drafted than New York boys, so he watched the military machine as it inspected its fresh-off-the-farm meat. Watched it and learned, right quick, like his aunt always suggested he could, how to fly just under the radar of those officers looking for someone to pick on. Because he knew he'd be off to war one way or the other, and soon.

It could have been worse, if it was Bo here now, he'd be looking for exactly the best way to annoy all the wrong people. Because that was just who his cousin was, what he did. It worked out all right in high school, got him thrown out of class (and the kid was all for that), got him into fights, but he could win those. Bo's personality, it was too big, proud, and sunshine-filled for this place.

But he had no doubt that in a few years Bo would be a I-A, too. That boy was growing into a mighty fine youngster, just the kind Uncle Sam would like to snap up. The teen had perfect arches on his feet, strong muscles coming in his arms, and the steady aim of a kid who'd grown up hunting. And was just as uneducated and Georgian as Luke.

Daisy, at least, would be spared the draft. Well, she wouldn't be conscripted anyway. Spared was definitely the wrong word to use after witnessing the tears she'd shed when he got onto that bus.

That bus that led here, to his first hours of boot camp, where he was standing at attention in a line of others like him, waiting to enter a shelter from which he would emerge as bald as the rest of recruits he'd seen coming out the other side. Guys he'd just met, but no longer recognized.

He didn't expect to mind this part. He'd never really been all that fond of his hair when he was small; his Aunt Lavinia was always trying to make it lay down with water (and even some kind of a lard mix, from time to time) but his curls kept popping back up in the most chaotic way possible. She was gentler on Bo, but then she loved those little blond waves.

Later, when it was just the four of them left, Bo, Uncle Jesse, Daisy and him, his uncle hadn't cared much about how unruly his hair was, so long as it was presentable for church. So he'd let it grow out, and somewhere in high school, the wildness had settled into some kind of a pleasing shape, at least as far as the teenaged girls were concerned. More than one had found excuses (not that he'd resisted or anything) to run their fingers through it.

Still, his hair wasn't anything he was overly attached to. At least not until this morning, when his uncle had ruffled it and told him how proud he was, when Daisy had pushed a stray curl away from his temple and ordered him to stay safe, when Bo – Bo had let his fingers linger there, on the back of his head, knotted in dark curls as part of holding him close, trying not to let go or say goodbye…

But it could have been worse. It could have been his youngest cousin in this line, waiting to wind up with all those golden curls in his lap. Because Luke was close enough to see now, how the Marine barbers just shoved your head forward and ran the clippers up, so it all fell forward over your face and landed in a fluffy pile on your knees. And such a thing would be a disaster for his youngest cousin, especially now when the young ladies were just starting to want to touch that beautiful blonde silk. The youngster was getting rather vain about his hair.

It hadn't always been that way. As he moved one more step forward in line, listening to the Staff Sergeant chew out some unfortunately clumsy recruit that'd stumbled over his own feet, Luke let his mind drift until the rough voice turned into giggles, his female cousin's gleeful twitter, with Bo's prepubescent high-pitched voice joining in –

Nine-year-old Luke heard the happy noise coming from Daisy's bedroom and was instantly irritated. Every time he turned his back on his cousins (and he had to, all the time, because he had far more chores to tend to than they did) Daisy would whisk Bo into her room and involve him in her silly games. Once, he'd gone in there to find the girl trying to stuff Bo into a doll's dress. And the silly little kid never even fought her on it, just giggled and went along with her. Lavinia kept telling Luke that there was no harm in Daisy playing with Bo, but Luke strongly disagreed. Bo was his boy cousin, and should be doing stuff with Luke, not Daisy. So when he came in from helping his uncle in the barn that afternoon and heard the cheerful ruckus in Daisy's room, he headed straight there.

The scene that greeted him was even worse than the time with the dress. Bo was sitting there, joyful as you please, while Daisy was using her newly acquired sewing scissors to snip off his blonde curls. The little boy hadn't started school yet, and their aunt just loved his angelic looks, so his hair had been allowed to grow out until it formed a baby-fuzz yellow halo around his head. Not girl-long, but certainly longer than boys had been wearing it at that time.

And now Daisy had taken it upon herself to become a hairstylist or something (because her skills left a great deal to be desired) of the sort, and Bo was just – letting her. Enjoying the attention while Daisy was making a disaster of his hair. And even though Luke didn't feel a strong fondness for the overly long blonde fluff that their aunt loved so much, he did mind that Daisy was using their cousin as a human guinea pig – again.

"Daisy," he yelled, snatching the scissors from her hand and placing them on the dresser at the front of the makeshift barber shop that her room had become. "You leave Bo alone!"

"Stop being so bossy, Luke Duke. Bo here don't mind playing with me." It was an argument they'd had before. Luke and Daisy didn't fight much, but when they did, it was always about the littlest Duke, who even as his older cousins were grousing at one another, had picked up the girl's scissors…

And lopped off one of her pigtails.

"Bo!"

It was only seconds later that Jesse arrived to find Luke yelling, Daisy crying and Bo giggling – what a mess. Somehow, Luke had gotten punished for it all, a fact about which he'd been angry, right up until dinner time when his newly shorn cousins were seated at the table across from him, and he had to admit to himself – Bo and Daisy had punished each other enough. And he also had to confess that both his cousins looked cute with short hair. A concept that Daisy would argue against to this day, but at least she'd never tried to tidy up Bo's hair, ever again.

"Maggot! When I say move, you move!"

"Sir, yes sir!" Luke answered reflexively, ignoring the spittle that the Staff Sergeant had just left on his face, thanks to the close-range screaming. And moved. Moved right up into the waiting barber's chair, because it was his turn.

Hadn't expected to care about this part, but now that the senior Marine's hand was shoving his head forward and none too gently warning him not to move, he realized that he was going to mind. A lot.

But it could have been worse. It could have been Bo that Uncle Sam wanted, could have been Bo that was on his way to war. And if there was any way in the world that Luke could prevent that from happening, he'd do it. He'd sacrifice a lot more than his hair. If he had to, he'd give his life.

So he tipped his head forward and didn't move.