…*dang* it I swear that whenever I specifically say “no I ain’t gonna fic that” my subconscious goes right ahead and cooks up a story for me. (This is what I get for napping after reblogging all those Eastwood pics huh.)
Albeit, this is Rawhide through the lens of the 70s GBU filter, so uh….what can I say, I don’t like Gil Favor. I do like how that dynamic works with the distinctly screwed-up nature of 70s Blondie though.
Retrospectively, mind. Post-canon fic, sometime during the trio’s first Christmas together.
It’s a crazy thing the way he and Blondie have swapped off, Tuco thinks. Wishes for what seems like the hundredth time that he could wipe the sweat and snow off his face- it doesn’t seem fair, to get both at once. But even the small end of this pine tree is heavy and walking backwards is tricky, he doesn’t want to drop it.
“Careful now,” Blondie says heartily. “We’re almost at the door.”
His partner’s beaming, pink-faced. Blondie’s taking a deep and lively pleasure in the seasonal festivities, boisterously enthusiastic about every snow-dappled tradition, while he’s been wearying his soul out for warmth and dust-strewn Texas roads. Tuco balances the tree on his shoulder, fumbles for the doorknob-
“You two are the height of absurdity.” Angel Eyes opens the door wide, placing one black-gloved hand on his shoulder to guide him inside. Hearing that wry familiar bewilderment, maybe it still doesn’t make it all worth it.
Goes some ways, though.