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With all the incomprehensible things Texas said about biscuits, the real surprise was that it hadn't happened sooner. California certainly didn't expect it to happen as he stood innocently in the lighting aisle in a Lowe's in Tucson, though, and he would later use that as his excuse for why it hit him so hard when it did.
They were in the middle of choosing new fixtures for the fixer-upper condo most of the states had chipped in for with Arizona's blessing, a gift for what the other states were calling their “you've spent ten years together without one of you killing the other, so we guess this is going to stick”-versary. California still got a little choked up if he thought too long about the rest of them plotting and planning in secret to give Texas and him a little place to share somewhere between their states – neither of them had had the slightest clue until Arizona had presented it to them with both a wide grin and a stern warning to behave while they were in his state.
California twisted the gold band around his left ring finger like it was a talisman for patience as he defended his choice against Texas' fifth “but what about that one?” After all, Texas was wearing the half-grin that California recognized from years of experience meant that California was going to get his way in the end, but Texas was going to make him work for it first.
“All right, I spose we can get those since you like them so much. Not much I wouldn't do for you if you ask.” (Again, with years of experience, California managed to refrain from pointing out all of the literal everything that Texas wouldn't do even if he asked. Though he supposed Beto was a start, and Texas had chosen an electric truck when he decided he needed a new one for city driving.) Texas cupped California's cheek in one hand and pressed a kiss to his temple. “You are the biscuits to my gravy, after all.”
Even after a decade, the memory of Washington using those exact words to mock the idea of Texas flirting with California via a googly-eyed flag sprang to mind as fresh as if it were just yesterday. He dissolved into helpless laughter, to the point that he couldn't hold himself up and sank to the floor right there in the middle of the aisle.
“What in tarnation?”
“Wash... can't tell you... but Wash... he...”
Texas pulled out his phone and flipped through his contacts. “Washington, care to tell me why my partner is laughing uncontrollably and the only thing I can get out of him is your name? Well, I just told him that we could get the light fixtures he wants 'cause he's the biscuits to my gravy and now he's... what d'ya mean, 'oh no'? Damn it all, why are you laughing too?”
California yanked the phone as close to himself as he could wrestle against Texas for it. “I'm not telling! I'm not a narc!” California said through his laughter, loud enough that he hoped Washington heard him.
Texas hit the end call button without bothering to say goodbye. “Do I dare call Oregon to find out what's wrong with you two?”
“Depends. You want all three of us to laugh at you?” California managed to squeak out.
That did not sound like something Texas had on his agenda for the day, so he just sighed and started loading the light fixtures that California had chosen into their buggy while he waited for California to tire himself out. California trailed off into chuckles, then uneven, gasping breaths... and then started laughing all over again.
Texas shook his head and took off towards the building supplies section alone. California knew how to find him when he was done with his giggle fit, and Texas had been mulling over a plan that he expected would go over better if he presented it as a nearly done deal. California had become enamored of the egg-and-dart crown molding in the place – “it's gorgeous and historical and we need to preserve it, Texas!” – despite the fact that it was water-damaged in some places and dry rotting in others. Logical arguments hadn't made a dent, surprise surprise, so Texas was going to have to fight dirty.
While Stella would be happiest on his ranch with plenty of room to run around, he thought that the two orphaned kittens his bleeding heart partner had rescued from under the porch a year or so ago – now full-grown and fat and sassy under California's care – would be pleased to have their own domain. If he proposed building them a cat run near the ceiling throughout the place, California would probably cave on the molding issue in seconds. Texas had already sketched out some plans.
He would need to pick up some sturdy beams, screws, brackets... maybe some plywood to turn into platforms in front of the windows for sleeping and bird watching, oh, and some carpet squares and off cuts to give California's hell cats something to scratch that wasn't their furniture. Those claws had grown since the days when the two of them fit in the palm of his hand while he took his turn feeding them with a tiny bottle, and sometimes the little beasts even came close to drawing blood when they made biscuits on him. He was pretty sure he'd seen some fancy self-cleaning litterboxes and automatic pet feeders when they passed by the pet supplies, too, so he could be sure they had nothing but the best in their new place.
Little Betsy could handle the extra load, even if she was a few taters short of a salad, what with being electric and all. Weren't like she had to haul feed and fencing like her namesake on the ranch, and she was a good, solid girl despite her flaws. Texas couldn't say he was sorry for choosing her, 'specially when it had made California's face light up like fireworks.
Texas hummed to himself as he mentally plotted the best route to pick up everything he needed. If he was efficient enough, he might even be finished by the time California got himself together and ready to pick out the new kitchen sink. All he'd need to do was plan his cat run spiel as he went.