Single: With Prospects

Disclaimer applies to all chapters

Title Single: With Prospects
Author: Scribe
Fandom: Married: With Children
Summary: Bud is ready to leave the Bundy household, and prospects come from an unusual source--Darcy.
Rating: Fan rated adults only
Pairings: eventually Bud/Darcy, possibly others
Characters: Al Bundy, Bud Bundy, Peg Bundy, Kelly Bundy, Darcy, Marcy
Betas: None
Notes:
Disclaimer: I did not create, and do not own the rights to, the recognizable media characters that appear in this story.
I have no legal or bindingagreement with the creators, or owners.
I do not seek, and would not accept,profit from this fiction.
I have nothing but affection and respect for the creators, and the actors and actresses who portrayed these characters.
This story is in no way meant to reflect on the actual lives or life styles of the actors and actresses who portrayed the characters
All original characters are copyrighted by the author. Do NOT use without specific permission

Single: With Prospects
By Scribe

Part One

"Thank you, sir. We here at Blimpoburger hope you enjoy your meal," Bud said, managing to keep most of the sarcasm out of his tone.

The father cast a jaundice gaze at the two-year-old who was currently wiping his snotty nose on the man's pants, then at the three-year-old twin girls who were engaged in a shoving match, then at the woman beside him, who was trying to arrange an eight or nine month old infant comfortably over the bulge of her new pregnancy. He returned dead eyes to Bud as he hefted the tray of Kiddee Meals. "Right."

Bud turned away with a shudder. "That's it. I'm lookin' into whether or not the Uni Infirmary can arrange a discount vasectomy."

"Come, come, Bundy!"

Bud winced at the high-pitched, pompous voice. "Just mulling over a personal life choice, Mister Abernasty." The short, bald manager frowned. "Oops. Abernathy. DARN that speech impediment."

He shrugged. "Funny how many of you young folk have that particular lisp. Anyway, DON'T go nipping the nads, boy! It would be highly disloyal to the Company. Why, families make up almost 89% of our business, with almost four-fifths of that in Kiddee Meals and Give Away toys."

"I meant to ask you about that, sir. Real clever marketing to have all the bright, alluring piece of crap toys..."

"WHAT?"

*cough* "Piece de resistance toys. Darn that speech impediment. Have them right at the register, where the kids can stare at them while Mom and Dad are ordering, and become obsessed--real clever. But I was wondering... How can you label them 'Give A whe when you tack on an extra charge for them?"

"I explained that at the New Employee Orientation last week, Bundy," said the man patiently. He tapped the sign over the shelf of cheap, garish, plastic and plushie mini-toys. "See that little C in a circle? That's a copyright symbol. The company name is Give Away, so these are Give Away Toys."

"I see. Very sneaky, sir."

Abernathy's chest puffed out. "We have the finest corporate sharks available."

"But don't the parents object when they realize they'll be charged extra?"

Abernathy shrugged. "By then the kid will be in a state of hysterics if they don't get the toy. Believe me, we don't lose many sales. Remember to push them." He clapped Bud on the back. "And keep the plumbing intact. The greater the population growth, the greater the profit margin!" A school bus had pulled up outside, and a steady stream of kids dressed in identical school uniforms were piling out, supervised by two militant looking women in habits. Abernathy rubbed his hands gleefully. "God, I LOVE Catholics! In some diocese our customer base grows at a rate you wouldn't believe!"

As the first kid shoved the door open, Bud stepped away from the counter, jerking his paper hat off. "And my shift is over, thank God."

Abernathy frowned. "You couldn't hang over a little longer to help out? You'll make overtime."

Bud eyed the mob of children who had congregated at the counter. "Gee, as much as that extra $2.57 an hour would come in handy, I have to pass. Friday night is my night for catechism class."

*****

Al Bundy was in his usual position--on the couch, beer in one hand, remote in the other. Actually, that was his second-most usual position--he couldn't get his hand down the front of his pants and still work the remote. He was currently trying to watch a scrambled program on the BBC--Bimbos and Babes Channel. He looked over at Buck, who was sitting next to him. "I think I just saw a boob. Did that look like a boob to you?"

Buck glanced at him. *If you want to see a boob that badly, go look in the mirror. Wouldya mind holding that can over here so I can lick the condensation off the side? The water in the toilet hasn't tasted right since your wife got that free sample of toilet bowl cleaner and actually used it.*

Bud came in the front door. "Ah, home sweet hovel." Buck hopped off the couch and ran to meet him. "Well, I'm glad someone is glad to see... DAMMIT, Buck! Quit trying to eat my pants--I have to pay for the damn things!"

*Then either feed me, or quit coming home smelling like a hamburger, kid.*

Bud squatted down and pulled a handful of cold, greasy french fries out of his uniform pocket, offering them to Buck. He whispered, "Here. Just don't let Mom, Dad, or Kelly know I gave you these. They'll start sending me to work with an order list, and the pockets aren't big enough to smuggle out family sized meals."

*You could always stuff them down your pants.* Buck scarfed the fries, then licked his chops. *Thanks, kid. Next time you forget to let me out, I'll take a dump on your sister's bed instead of yours.*

Bud scratched behind his ears. "Anyway, it's nice to have a living, intelligent creature greet you when you come home."

He stood, and Al glanced over at him. "Did you bring home some of the packs of ketchup, like I asked?"

Bud walked over, digging in his other pocket. "As I was saying, living and INTELLIGENT." He handed Al a handful of foil packs. "You owe me half a buck. Abernasty caught me lifting those, and I had to kick in a nickel apiece so he wouldn't think I was swiping it."

Al ripped one pack open and squeezed it into his mouth. "I'll add it to your allowance."

"Uh-huh. Is this the allowance you promised me when I was ten?"

"I keep telling you, I'm investing it for you. Think of all the interest you'll earn."

"Right. Which bank is it you have it deposited in again?"

"Since when did you switch your major to business?"

Bud gave up. He pointed at the beer in Al's hand. "That wouldn't be my last beer, would it?"

"It would if you haven't brought any home with you. And next time how about buying something other than the generic store brand?" Al belched. "I think this is stale."

Bud rolled his eyes. "A beer hasn't ever existed in this house long enough to go stale, Dad. Are you going out bowling tonight?"

"As per usual. Gonna drink some brews, shoot some shit, and roll some balls."

"Taking Mom to bingo?"

"Yep. She's gonna drink some brews, lose some cash, and break some balls."

"Break balls?"

"Son, you've never seen your mother in a dispute with a bingo caller, have you? Kelly's latest lecher should be here to pick her up soon. Do me a favor? If I'm already gone and he looks too sleazy..."

"Too sleazy for Kelly? Is there such a thing?"

"There must be. There ARE no absolutes, only different gradients. Anyway, you don't hav kic kick his ass..." Al snickered, then waved at Bud apologetically. "I'm sorry--the idea of you kicking ass..."

"Right. If he looks like he might not support the results of their date, tell him you'll turn him inside out, then hold him upside down, shake him, and steal whatever falls on the floor."

"Thanks, Burgerboy."

Bud trudged up the stairs and first went to the bathroom. There was steam seeping out from under the door, the sound of a blow dryer, and the chemical scent of hair products. Bud tapped on the door. "Kel? Any chance of getting in this century?"

"Get lost, Bud. I have to get ready for my date. Oh, wait..." He could hear her snickering. "That's not a concept you'd be familiar with, is it?"

"Kelly, I'm impressed! You made a sentence with TWO words of more than two syllables. What if I need to use the can?"

"Haven't I warned you to keep a jug or something in your room, in case of emergency?"

"Suppose that's not why I need to get in?"

"Why else would you...? Oh. Well, use that flowerbed Mom tried to put in about three years ago. Maybe there's a stray seed in it, and a little fertilization..."

"If I see your boyfriend before you do, I'm telling him that Letter to the Editor in the 2002 October issue of Penthouse was about you."

Bud turned around, and almost bumped into his mother. Startled, he took a step back, but that put him flush against the door. She smiled at him. "Hi, Bud. You can use the Master Bathroom, if you want." She took his hand. "I'll show you the way."

He felt her fingers tickling his palm, and carefully withdrew his hand, "Thanks Mom, but I don't think the Master would like that." She laughed. "Plus, I KNOW where it is."

Peggy pouted, twisting her shoulders petulantly, so that her bosom brushed him. "Oh, I just BET you do." She trailed one scarlet painted fingernail down the center of his chest. "You've gotten so grown up and smart. What happened to Mama's little boy?"

Bud swallowed hard. "Dad's waiting downstairs." Peleanleaned an inch closer. "He'll leave if you're late."

She tugged lightly at his beard, "I bet that tickles. Why don't you give Mama a kiss so I can see?"

Bud played his ace. "All the good spots will be taken up at bingo."

She stepped back. "Bye, kid."

Bud slumped in relief as Peggy bounced down the stairs. He shook his head as he heard the front door slam and his parents' car pull out. *Oh, man, Mom has gotten WEIRD since I came of age. I'm beginning to understand that trapped look in Dad's eyes.*

He went to his room, unlocking his door. He'd had the deadbolt put in when he was fifteen, after Kelly and some of her friends had snuck into his room and pasted the heads of models from the AARP calendar over the faces of all the models in his porn magazines. He carefully locked the door behind himself, then turned and surveyed his room. "My domain." He snorted.

As the youngest, he'd gotten the smallest bedroom. It was about the size of a double walk-in closet. When his parents had moved up to a new bed, he HAD gotten the old double. Unfortunately, once you took into account his chest of drawers and his nightstand, he had to crawl over the foot of the bed to get in and out of it. Still, he could open the doors to the hall and closet without banging into furniture--just barely.

Bud went to his knee-high, cube shaped bookcase. He ran a finger along the spines of the books till he came to a copy of Somerset Maugham's 'Cakes and Ale'. He tipped the volume forward. There was a click and, using the book as a handle, he swung the entire face of the case, books and all, out, revealing the interior of a mini-fridge. He reached in and snagged a dark green bottle, twisted off the cap, and toasted, "Here's to moochers who never willingly pick up anything literary except the TV Guide, Cosmo, or a skin magazine." He drank deeply, then sighed in satisfaction and sat down on the end of the bed. He considered the half-dozen assorted packages of snack cakes in the refrigerator, then decided to save his stash for later.

Bud heard someone banging on the front door. He considered going down to see who it was, then decided it probably wasn't Ed McMahon with a check, and took another swig of beer. *Probably just Kelly's date.*

Someone downstairs yelled, "Yo, haul ass, or th' rooms wit' the pay-per-view porn will all be booked up!"

*Yep, Kel's date.*

"Hold your horses!" Kelly yelled from just outside his door. "Geez, you damn sure better not be in this big a hurry when we get to the good stuff." There was a rap on the door. "Bud! Lend me some money."

"Kel, how many times do I have to tell you--shove some down your bra and don't let pimpdaddy get your whole take. I work at a fast-food franchise. How much money do you think I have?"

"Oh, sorry. Forgot for a minute what a loser you are." She giggled as she went downstairs.

"Said the girl whose claim to fame was being The Verminator," said Bud dryly. He considered going and taking a shower, but considering the steam that had been coming from the bathroom, it'd be midnight before there was enough hot water to make it worthwhile. *And I'm damn sure not in the mood for a cold shower. Had enough of those in my lifetime, thank you VERY much.*

He turned his head, lifting his arm, and sniffed his pit. *Not too bad. I can live with it.* He sniffed his shirt, wrinkling his nose at the smell of stale grease and onions. "The uniform, however, has to go.*

He stood up, sighing, and opened his window to catch a breeze, then started stripping out of his uniform. *This place is gonna drive me to insanity, murder, or suicide. I don't mind the first two so much, but the last one sucks big time. I'm not having any luck getting out on my own, since the only jobs I can get without a degree suck donkey dick when it comes to pay.* He'd peeled off his shirt. Now he shoved down his pants, and took a moment to give his crotch a leisurely scratch, getting in touch with his inner Bundy. *What I need is someone to come and take me away from all this.*

*****

Marcy D'Arcy had put the finishing touches on her 'look', and was ready to go out for the evening. All that was left was to say good-bye to her husband, but Jefferson wasn't anywhere downstairs. She went up to their bedroom, calling, "Jefferson, sweetie, Mommy's going now." The door to their room was closed, and she opened it, poking her head in. "What are you doing with the door closed, silly?"

"Was it closed?" Jefferson, her big, blonde, handsome husband gestured with one hand toward the open bedroom window. "Wind must've blown it shut. I didn't notice." He kept the other hand tucked behind his back.

Marcy's eyes narrowed, and she came into the room. "What's that behind your back, Jeff?"

He blinked. "A window."

"Show me your hand." He held out the hand he'd pointed with. "The other one." Huck uck his pointing hand behind his back, then showed her the other hand. "BOTH of them." Jefferson sighed, and brought both hands into view. He was holding a pair of binoculars. "Jefferson Milhouse D'Arcy! Have you been peeking at Kelly Bundy again?"

Jeff put a hand over his heart, looking wounded. "No, I swear. Anyway, she left a few minutes ago. You heard her boyfriend pick her up."

Marcy nodded. "Helen Keller could have heard that." She cocked her head. "Were you peeking at Peggy?"

"MARCY!" Jefferson looked sick and horrified.

"Oh, I'm sorry, pookie! Forgive me for suggesting it. Anyway, I saw her leave with Al. So, if you aren't looking at Kelly or Peggy, what are you doing with the binoculars?"

"Stargazing?"

"It's still light outside."

He smiled charmingly. "You got me. I was bird watching. I just don't want it to get around that I'm a birder. It's not considered MANLY, you know."

"Aw, sweetie, I'll never tell. I'm on my way to my WWP meeting."

"Have fun."

She started to go, then said, "What sort of birds were your watching? I've never seen much of anything around here."

"Chicken."

"Oh." She left, shaking her head, calling over her shoulder. "I didn't think we were zoned for poultry."

When he was sure she was in the car and pulling out, Jefferson turned back to the window, raising the binoculars. The open window of the house next door sprang into focus. Bud Bundy had once again sat down on the end of his bed. He'd assumed the classic Bundy pose--one hand down the front of his boxers. Jeff licked his lips. *We aren't, but there's still some chicken in the neighborhood.*