Who: Clara Mackey, Delilah Waller What: Drinking, talking. Fighting. When: Saturday, 23rd, night Where: A sports bar Rating: PG Status: Complete
Her fingers slid into the groves of the bar like knives into fresh wounds and she found herself wondering how many fingers had traced the same empty nooks or if knives had been used to make the first dent. Maybe it was just normal that wood expanded and broke apart. Maybe it had nothing to do with the hand of man.
Dee took a lazy sip, holding her beer with too hands and rolled her eyes into her head. She must've been a lot less drunk than she thought if she was supplying the evening with a run-on commentary solely reserved for her inner ear. The quality of the things she said and thought was always a bit below average - after all, there was a reason she hadn't been suited for college life - but subjecting herself to the treatment was just bad form. Beckoning the bartender close with a crooked finger, she shot a look down the bar to see if she couldn't find a more inspiring audience.
Clara strode up to the bar with purpose, she knew what she wanted, as she always did. She was regular patron enough that the bartender automatically went to fetch her brand of beer the moment he spotted her. One drink, one game.
"What's the score?" Clara asked as she reached for the bowl of nuts sitting on the bar.
Delilah was in the process of deciding between the cute guy with the curly hair who was studiously texting someone and the burly tattooed truck-driver type who was giving her the eye. Okay, so he was probably looking at the screen suspended above her head, but that wasn't a problem. She could feign an interest in sports.
It was why, when the woman who'd only just entered asked her the score, she glanced quickly at the screen and grinned. "Oh look, there's a game on." Guy with the ball rammed into a bunch of guys sans ball. Dee snorted.
"Novel concept, going to a sports bar to watch a game," Clara snorted in amusement. More often than not, most of the patrons in the joint didn't pay attention to the games on screen. The point for most was to get drunk and possibly hook up. Two things that weren't the least bit appealing.
She grinned as she picked up her bottle of beer, "third quarter, Washington's up by 3, they better get their heads out of their asses if they want to win it"
"I know. It's tragic how a sports ignormaus can just walk in and sit down and not even know who's playing," Delilah nodded whole-heartedly. Her fourth or fifth beer arrive and she took a sip, eyes diligently on the screen. "They should card us. Do a pop quiz at the door. Now. Which is Washington and why should we care? Oh home team. Duh." And, coincidentally, also the losers in the current game.
"Hey, if you aren't here for the game, they're not gonna care as long as you buy their booze," Clara laughed and waved the woman over, usually Clara was left alone to watch her game in solitude. She couldn't say she didn't welcome the company. "The odds are against the Wizards, they've lost the last six games they're in."
It wasn't every day that she got to talk sports with anyone - probably because she didn't seek out such people - but the likelihood that the other woman was a wolf in sheep's clothing was decreasing by the minute. A shame, since Delilah was just about tipsy enough to think she was the damn hulk. Picking up her beer, she moved down the bar to join the other woman. "The Wizards? Wow. No wonder we're losing, we sound like the biggest nerds of NFL."
"NBA, B for basketball. Either you don't know much about sports, or you're not on your first drink," Clara took a sip of her beer and glanced at the screen. Being constantly on call meant she couldn't allow herself to get inebriated, which was a shame on nights like this. "NFL's for football. No arguement on the name, I don't even think high schools would use that mascot."
Delilah grinned at her own mistake. "NBA. Right. Totally what I just said." It was several shades of a lie, but she'd been drinking and morals tended to extend and become much more permissive as her inhibitions lowered. It was biology. It was mathematics. It was a fucking brutal sport, from what she was seeing. "Sounds like a bunch of Harry Potter enthusiasts got together and started to play basketball."
"Or some bored billionaire wanted a team, but realized all of the good names were taken after the fact," Clara shook her head as the game moved into the last quarter and New York pulled into the lead. "Surprise, surprise."
"That's just because they have no imagination," Dee muttered, slightly bitter about her own creative block. "I mean, Bulls and Wizards. Why not... parakeets? And platypi?" She took another gulp of her beer, barely tasting it and tried to focus her attention. "Okay, let's see if I get this. Guy with the ball has to put ball through hoop, right?"
"Add a bunch of rules to make it hard to get the ball to the hoop, and you've got it." Clara chuckled, the woman was imaginative whether or not it was fueled by the beer she was drinking was yet to be determined. "Since I missed most of the game, I'm gonna have to figure out what to do."
Of course, it wouldn't be a simple matter of doing simple things while people watched because people wouldn't pay for that. "The Guiness Book of Records had to make money somehow," she murmured, more to herself than the other woman before she caught the last snippet and felt distinctly like she'd missed a step. "Do what about what?"
"I have a rule," Clara propped herself up against the bar. "One beer, one game. Usually I'm here in time for pregame, but as you can see I'm late. So the game's almost over. I don't feel like finishing off my beer and head home so early."
"That's a very restrictive rule," Dee nodded sagely, beer rising to press against her upper lip. "And practically made to be broken." She didn't ask why the other woman didn't feel like going home. There were a myriad of options and Dee didn't really care. "What's usually on after a game?" she asked, leaning her head in her hand.
"I never follow it exactly," Clara laughed as she turned her attention away from the last minute of the game, as surprising as it was that it looked like Washington would pull out a close victory, it wasn't all that exciting to watch. "After the game, there is a boring post-game show, or another game on a different channel. I don't know, I'm usually gone by then."
She looked across the bar, and noted that the game of pool at one of the tables was nearing an end. Clara pointed her thumb in that direction, "do you play?"
Delilah followed the thumb to the table and swept her head right back round with a grin. "Oh yes." Anything that could be done in a bar, she did. Anything that involved showing off to random strangers all the more so.
She set the beer back down and flashed the other woman a smile. "Do you?"
"That's how I got my lunch money in med school," Clara took a few gulps from her beer before she set the bottle down. "Haven't played in awhile, but what the hell? They look easy."
Delilah downed the rest of her beer and slapped a bill onto the counter. "That's okay. I'm drunk. Let's see if it's like riding a bicycle."
"You're drunk, I'm not, that's part of the hustle," Clara winked and slid a few bills to pay for her drink and made her way toward the smokey area reserved for billards play. "Excuse me, fellas, can a pair of ladies join your table?"
Delilah followed, untucking her top not so much to flash skin but because she wanted to be comfortable.
Two men with sticks and wide grins looked her companion up and down first before they even turned to her. Oh, ouch. "You girls play?"
Clara smoothed a hand over her hair and smiled coyly, "I haven't played in years, but I remember it's fun. I was just telling her at the bar about how I used to play for lunch money back in school." Hustling strangers in pool was one of the few occasions in which she tolerated being underestimated. Bigger returns that way. "It's been awhile for her too. It's like riding a bicycle, right?"
One of the men led the other in raucous laughter, like a priest in church, only the dog collar was a double-chin. "It's like riding alright," he snorted. "But don't think we'll just go easy on you 'cause you're outta practice."
Delilah rolled her eyes. Here were women willing to waste money on these assholes and they were flirting. "I'm willing to bet that won't be a problem."
"Careful now, I'm a married woman," Clara warned as she reached for one of pool sticks. "That's why I'm putting up my man's money instead of mine." Most of it was a lie, at least the parts that didn't matter. "More motivation to win, right boys?"
"Hey, if you like losing money, I won't try to convince you otherwise," smirked the same guy, hands held away from his chest like he was totally and utterly sincere. A good guy. Yeah, right.
"Don't start crying if it ends the other way around," Clara patted a hand against the table, getting a feel on how even it really was, stepping back when the guy's friend started to set up balls in the rack. She chose to ignore the impulse to break the random hand that grabbed her ass, not worth paying attention to. "Your break or mine?"
"Ladies first," snorted the man and Delilah resisted the urge to knee him in the groin. No reason, no hand on her ass, just cause. Why not? Instinct said that sooner or later he'd do something to deserve it. She passed him, passing the cue from his hand to the other woman's. It dawned on her that she didn't even know her name.
"Alright," Clara spun the cue in her hand before she set it on the table. She lined it up then picked up the chalk. It looked like it was a standard nine-ball set-up. "Let's say, $100 to the winner?"
"Sounds like a good deal. And we are so, so out of practice anyway," Delilah complemented, crossing to the wall and fishing for cigarettes.
"Your loss," shrugged the man. "Or your husband's. Whatever. Same thing for us, isn't it, boys?"
Clara ignored the raucous laughter as she took her position at the table and lined up the angle of the stick with the cue ball. If there was one thing she was known for in med school was her breaking skill. All it took was to hit the ball with just enough force at the correct angle.
Clara pushed at the cue and watched as the balls scattered and rolled across the table. The rules of the nine ball game were simple; once the nine dropped in the pocket, it was an instant win. "Look at that, on the first try."
Delilah stuck the cigarette between her lips, clapping as she took a drag. "Woo! That's my girl." Which she wasn't, but she sure as hell was more likely to throw her lot in with the other woman's than with the deadbeats she was playing against.
"Beginner's luck," threw one of the men, arms folded over a spare cue.
"Maybe," Clara grinned as she gathered the balls that rolled from the pockets and placed them on the table, "want to go double or nothing?" To prove she had the funds to back it up, she pulled enough twenties out of her wallet and flashed it to the men before pocketing it.
After the men huddled and passed their money to the man acting as their representative, the bet was agreed upon. While waiting Clara took a swig from her beer and passed the bottle to the woman standing next to her. "Like shooting fish in a barrel."
"Yeah," Dee nodded, smirking against the rim of the bottle. "More like piranha." If the looks they traded were anything to go by, being upstaged by a chick wasn't part of their nightly fun. Nor was losing money.
"Hey, you gonna put your money where your mouth is or not?" she called, gesturing with the bottle to lay down the bet. "Bunch of pussies." So antagonizing men twice her size when she was outnumbered wasn't the best bet. So what.
"Go for it, show me how easy it is," Clara nodded to the man after she set up the balls at the center of the table. "How about two fouls, if you can't get the nine when you break, you can get one more try before I take over." She was being generous.
"That's plain charity, boys." Delilah chimed from the side with pretend encouragement "Take it or leave it." It was the other woman's money. She had nothing to lose. But they did. And their tempers showed in the angry flush on their faces.
"One foul," the man grunted and chalked the end of his stick, "charity my ass." He clumsily lined up his shot, the combination of a raised temper and alcohol made for a poor break, not even one ball landed in the pocket.
Clara tsked and lined up with the cue. The break made it even easier for her to knock the balls into the pocket. She cleared the table with ease. "That's game." She sauntered over to the men's side of the table and reached for the cash.
Delilah's claps met with a quick end as the guy with the spare cue snapped it against the table, cutting off the other woman's progress and scratching the green cushion. Dust and chalk flew up along with her temper.
"I'm thinking you had us playing on false assumptions, bitch," he spat. "You're no fucking novice."
Clara didn't back down when the man got in her face, his foul breath causing her to wrinkle her nose. "I didn't lie about not playing in years. You agreed to the bet, so back the fuck off."
The cue rose like a weapon, blocking her from her money. Its owner glowered at her, fully enjoying the few inches he had on her. "You're not taking my money, you fucking bitch."
"Back off before you get hurt," Clara warned, reaching up to grasp the man's wrist tightly. "You agreed, you lost, deal with it."
She looked over at the blonde woman with her, to check to see if the men weren't causing her trouble as well. "Grab the money."
Delilah shook ash from the tip off her cigarette to the floor, then discarded what was left of the nicotine stick along with it. She rounded the table, coming up to the other man's side to reach for the money. Her hand touched green and the cue stick came down, smack over her wrist, like a schoolteacher's ruler. Except she wasn't in school anymore and scruples about hitting perceived authority figuers were long gone.
"Son of a bitch--" Open fisted, her hand connected with the side of the guy's face. It hurt like hell, but it was so worth it.
Clara moved when the cue stick went down, letting go of the man's hand as she rammed the heel of her free hand into the man's face. It was a basic self-defense move, break the assailant's nose and you've got room to move. Years of going to martial arts classes came in handy, and she kind of looked forward to see if those skills were really applicable in a bar fight.
Delilah sucked her bruised fingers into her mouth, glaring at the guy for one, hard moment before the fact that their pal had just been all but knocked over by two chicks half his size registered with the other men. Cue Stick 1 came from behind the other woman. Delilah didn't get a chance to make more than an angry, panicked sort of noise to attract her attention.
Clara ducked and stepped to the side quickly as she turned to look behind her. The movement took the man off balance, which made it easy for her to sweep her foot beneath his ankle to trip him. "Shit."
She grabbed the stack of money closest to her and pocketed it, pushing hard at one of the men before he tried to take a swing at her.
Delilah was less lucky. Guy with the lack of skill but balls to call them cheaters charged at her middle, sending her sprawling onto the table, over balls and chalk and wood. It knocked the wind out of her long enough for the man to slap her, but she had the benefit of leverage and, incidentally, fashion, as she dug her heels into his sides with a sickening sound.
He hobbled back and she took advantage of the moment to roll off the pool table, adrenaline taking over the pain. "I think we should get outta here," she muttered, touching up the blood on her split lip. It totally gave her street cred.
Clara came around to the woman's side and hooked an arm around her waist to hold her up. "You think?" If worrying over the men rallying and attacking in a fashion she couldn't hold them off wasn't bad enough, the last thing she needed was to have to deal with the police if they were called.
"Not really," Dee grinned, tasting metal on her lips. "I go on instinct and wind chimes. You should try it--ow." Her hand patted Clara's shoulder as her knees wavered just a little. Note to self: fight sober next time. "Okay. I'm done. Talking. Got your money?"
"Their money too, I owe you a cut," Clara grinned as she half-led half dragged the woman toward the doors, she waved a hand at the bartender. "I've got it, we're going."
Delilah snorted with laughter. "Damn, you're tough. Poor puppies and their beer bellies." She held the door with one hand as they passed through, figuring she could at least be helpful. "Well that's one bar I'll be coming back to. Sports are fun."
"Now you see why I love going," Clara laughed and moved them to her car, letting the woman lean against it while she caught her breath. "are you going to be alright? It looks like you got hit hard back there."
"I'm fine," Delilah replied, waving a hand to dispel the question and the cloud of dizziness both. "I'll walk home slowly. I only live like a block away anyway. Gimme a chance to savor the entertainment, you know?"
"I'll drop you off, I wouldn't want to catch on the news that those dumbasses tracked you down after I leave," Clara unlocked the car doors. "Come on, consider it part of my Hippocratic oath."
Delilah considered the offered, then decided it would be foolish to try and walk home. It was risky enough when sober, but add a few drinks and a couple of good hits and she was wavering between consciousness and that nice place where her hand didn't throb so bad. "You're a doc?" she queried as she got in. "What? They teach kickboxing in med school these days?"
"Kickboxing came later," Clara dropped into the driver's seat and started the car. "Everyone needs a hobby and sparring makes great stress relief. I work at Seattle Med, in the women's center." She flicked the ID badge that was hanging from a lanyard dangling from the rearview mirror.
Delilah took a look at the designated badge, read Dr Clara Mackey and leaned back in the seat. "I'm Dee. Waller. And you need to take the first right. Nice to meet you. Do you always have such an explosive time when you go out? 'Cause I'll tag along just for the show."
"Nice too meet you Dee." Clara turned the car at the corner, "I don't go out much, but lately whenever I do something happens. Must be a side effect of getting married."
Delilah smirked but didn't comment. There was a lot being said about married life these days - from government-sanctioned press releases to rumors and dirty jokes. Which she wasn't going to trade with the other woman. Examining her knuckles, she groaned as she found she couldn't close her right hand into a fist. "There goes my dream of playing the violin."
Clara looked over and noticed that the other woman was examining her hand. "Ice should help with the swelling, if you still have trouble moving your fingers, I'd suggest getting an x-ray. You got his skull pretty good."
"Oh and you should see the cue stick," Dee snorted, resting her hand on her knee. "You can stop here. Like I said. Only a block away."
Clara pulled the car to a stop and set the gear in park. "I've got a kit in the back, I can take a look at your hand if you want. Maybe save you a visit to the ER." She pulled the crumpled bills out of her pocket and passed half over. "Either way, here's your cut."
"Thanks." She took the bills first and considered the offer second. Money ruled all and all that jazz. "If you think you can fix me up, doc, I'm all yours." Primarily because the thought of going to the ER never rang particularly nice to her ear.
Clara switched on the interior light, "as long as nothing is broken, I can fix you. I can even write a prescription. Let me see your hand."
"It's not broken," Delilah ruled, handing over her knuckles to be examined. She didn't want to entertain the other possibility. "The ice thing, that'll help, right?"
"I don't think it is," Clara decided as she carefully pressed her fingers along the bones of her hand, testing the tendons and bones for any irregularities. "Just normal swelling and bruising. Ice and elevate your hand once very twenty minutes for twenty four hours. After that, twenty minutes every four. You should feel better in a few days."
It was the kind of businesslike assessment that went over well with Delilah, especially since it didn't involve having to get her bones reset or spend time in the hospital. "Thanks." She retrieved her hand and reached with the left to pull open the car door. "I'll do that right after I sleep off all this alcohol in my system. You gonna tell the hubby about breaking that guy's nose?"
"Nah, I doubt he'd care, we're not even living together." Clara grinned at her, "it's been fun, Dee. Maybe I'll see you around."
Delilah snorted because for some reason that kind of fit with the other woman's image. Strong, independent and packing a mean right hook. All under the safety of a lab coat. "You bet on it, doc. Now you know where I live. Have a good night."