Lookin' for a song to sing/Lookin' for a friend to borrow
Who: Becca & Clyde What: Becca needs a shoulder, Clyde's always got a smile for a pretty girl ((AIM log)) When: backdated to Sat. 8/8/09 Where: Clyde's turf Warnings: PG13 for language
So this was Shreveport. The weekend was barely half over, but after a week full of bad news, bad dreams, and countless volleys of communications with caretakers and other Agency types, Rebecca had finally broken down and reached for a lifeline. Yes, I'd like to phone a friend, please. And then she followed it all the way to the other end: Clyde and his smiling face.
She'd find Clyde busy at work in his father's auto shop: Bailey's Auto. He was covered in grease, grime, and everything else one expected a hard working mechanic might be covered in. The car was some foreign job, and because Clyde had actually taken the time to get certified, they were one of the few shops that could work on this particular car. His long legs were stretched out from under the slightly jacked up car; his feet were tapping to some song that was playing through the shop. There were other men around, but most were starting to clean up from a very long, hot sweaty day.
Becca smiled a little as she wandered into the shop, her eyes roaming curiously until she found...well, not the face that she was looking for, exactly, but the body that owned it. She'd had the good sense not to walk into Bailey's too overdressed--just jeans and a t-shirt--but she still probably turned a few heads. Not that she was paying attention to who noticed her tonight, except for them to point her in the right direction.
"Well, I hope I came to the right place," she said, feigning a ditsy little laugh that didn't quite have her heart in it--though it was certainly feeling lighter with a change of scenery. "It is Bailey's, like the Irish Cream, isn't it?"
Clyde didn't immediately recognize the voice. He was singing to the song after all, even if it wasn't overly loud. He'd gotten enough shit for his singing. He also was under a car, and that did have a tendency to change how things sounded. He twisted slightly to see the feet, but they weren't ones he recognized either.
"Sure, like the drink. Help you with somethin', babe?" He hadn't exactly pulled out from under the car yet. "They can get you started at the desk; if this is your car, you'll have to wait til the tomorrow evenin'. The part we needed isn' comin' in until the mornin'." He started to push/pull himself out from under the foreign and expensive piece of machinery.
"Oh, I'm not here about the car, Mr. Bailey," she said, and this time the hint of laughter that crept into her voice was genuine. "I'm here to see you. would you like me to wait in the lobby?"
He stopped for a moment; while his place in Camelot wasn't exactly well known, he knew that eventually someone might find out. The angle of the screw driver he'd been holding turned slightly from one that was just being held to a possible weapon. He moved slowly out, ready for an attack. "For me? Why the fuck would anyone wanna see me?"
He blinked a few times, his eyes getting used to the light. His brows lifted as he realized who it was, and there was a definite smile for her. "Well, you could wait in the lobby if you could find it? Guess we got one, but it's not nice like a stewardess might like - fuck, flight attendant."
Becca watched him slide out from under the vehicle, her hands spread out in partial surrender. She wasn't even carrying a purse--though she suddenly realized she might want to start, if things really were going to turn dangerous in the reincarnate community. She did take one small step backward, but the look of apology she wore on her face melted into an earnest smile when he recognized her.
"What? I'm not far enough out of uniform for you, that you think I need a posh lounge?" she asked, teasing, when he corrected himself. "I'm trying to get back to my roots."
"Mmhmm. So, comin' to a shop will get you back to your roots?" Clyde managed to get that long body of his up without any help from her or making it look awkward. He was sweating, and there probably weren't many spots that could be considered clean. He unzipped the coveralls and slid out of the arms; she'd get to see him in just the tank undershirt he wore - of course, he wasn't going to strip out of the thing completely, not yet.
"Nah, it's not bad. You could go get a coffee if you want, but I can't promise it'd be good. It's shit really, but no one comes here for the coffee." He watched something over her shoulder, giving his head a slight shake. "Course, you gotta deal with this bunch of asshats, so waitin' in the lobby or whatever the fuck you call it really is enter at your own risk."
"It gets me out of the city of lost angels, at least," she said, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear as she watched him. She tried another smile. "I think I can handle a few asshats, but to be honest, I've been wired enough lately without any caffeine."
"Somethin' goin' on?" Clyde wasn't the internet boy; he'd check it, watch it, but he usually kept to himself. There were a few he found interesting, but really, if they weren't crew members or in certain situations...he didn't give much of a flying fuck.
"Actually, gimme a moment." He shut down the work lights, hit a few switches, and walked over to a small office that sat part in the waiting room and part in the garage proper. He slid open the window, and there was a man who would probably be what Clyde would look like when he was much older, if he were a good four inches or so shorter.
"Gonna leave now, kay, Pa? Needs a shoulder." The man didn't give him any looks; he knew Clyde was a good boy, even if he was a little reckless and such. The man just nodded, and that was all Clyde had to do to punch out.
"Sure thing," Becca murmured as Clyde powered down the lights and equipment, watching quietly as he clocked out. She hoped she didn't look to lost as she stood there, just sort of taking it all in.
"Okay, babe, you can come talk while I get some of this shit off me." Clyde tilted his head in a direction and took a step the same way. He wasn't going to just leave her behind after all. "Drive here, or get a cab? You know I coulda sent one of the asshats to come getcha?" Yes, he had a foul mouth, but he was a good ole boy. He led the way to a large sink and a large container of Lava soap - a mechanic's best friend. It hurt like a mother if it wasn't washed off quickly, but it worked.
Once there, he undid the coveralls the rest of the way, stepping out of them and his shoes, tossing coveralls into a bin waiting for them, and kicking his shoes under the sink. He stood in front of the sink in a pair of worn torn jeans, tank, and sock feet. While he started the water and to lather up, his head tilted again in a direction of a locker.
"Do me a favor, baby, get those...what the fuck are those called? Corks? Chucks? Crocs? I hate those fuckin' things, but got shit all over my shoes." He was busy working the soap into his hands, getting them closer and closer to grime free.
"I took the MTN," she said, following his lead, "And then I called a cab from there, yeah." Her eyes rested on the breadth of his back and shoulders, but she was still a little bit distract-able. He'd invited her to talk, but there was so much on her mind, she wasn't quite sure where to start.
"Oh," she said, blinking herself back to reality when he asked for spare shoes. "Crocs. Right." She took a few deep breaths as she moved to the lockers and back, trying to chill. God. Forget grease and grime, she thought, she was more of a mess than Clyde was. "Here." Hopefully she wasn't turning into a completely useless, distressing damsel.
The things looked ridiculous on his feet, but he didn't have anything better for now. So, there he was, this huge guy in his tank, jeans, and Crocs, standing in front of a nice looking red head who looked confused and distracted as hell. His hands went into his jean pockets as he watched her. "Somethin' on your mind, Red?":
"Everything," Rebecca said, rolling her eyes a little at her own distractedness. "You're...I know you hate it when I talk about Sam Winchester..." she began, chewing on her lip as she hesitated, "I've been trying to sort things out for myself but...I...Tracy Adkins was killed last week."
"Baby, I don' care if you talk bout the douche.." Clyde had been smiling, but then the usual smile fell; he stepped closer. "Had the douche, didn' she? That sucks." He opened his arms if she wanted a hug, if not he'd just shrug it off.
She hesitated for another second or two, then closed the distance to his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. "It's just been one thing after another."
He wrapped his arms round her easily enough. One just stayed around her, the other..his hand lightly rubbed at her back. "Yeah, life happens that way, or so I've heard. Don' think it has really ever happened any other way unless you like thinkin' of life in a nonlinear fashion." Yes, Clyde just said that.
"So, ya know, outta curiosity, looked this Sam bozo up. Dude, Ruby fucked him over. Don' tell me she had some fucked up yen for the idiot."
Becca had to laugh a little at that. Thank you Captain Obvious. But she got quiet when he mentioned that he'd run a background check on her cast-mates. "I told you she's one fucked up little bitch," she said, shaking her head against his shoulder. "I'm not sure if she's more upset that Sam's gone, or that Lilith rained on her parade--that bitch!" The last two words were out before she could bite her tongue.
"No no, tell me how you really feel." He couldn't help the laugh; his hand still rubbed at her back. It was a soft steady motion, but he didn't try touching anything that was too forward. His head tilted to rest softly against hers. "Either way, he's gone, and that poor girl with him."He gave her a soft swat to the rear. "We can have a drink for him, and say a prayer for her. Doubt the bastard would wan' you gettin' all sad and shit about him."
"It's just that I was in the middle of setting up meetings with the Agency people, trying to figure out more ways to shut up the little slut's whining, and now this. You'd think I have one of the other damn Winchesters the way I'm itching for revenge. Or she is. I'm not sure." That was half the reason for her current state of mind--though for whatever reason, Clyde's presence seemed to have a grounding effect on her.
She looked up, arching an eyebrow at him when he swatted her tush. Okay, so that shouldn't have been such a surprise. "You're right," she said, "It's not like tears will do either of them any good now...and a drink sounds good actually." She laughed wryly. "As long as it ain't holy water."
"Well, if someone went after one of the crew, I'd have to hunt them down an' show them just how good I am with a pair of plyers and a socket wrench. But, seein' as I don' think that's gonna happen anytime soon, I think I'm okay." He smiled down at her, giving a quick wink. With that he gently disengaged, stepping back, and motioned for her to head out. He ignored some of the laughs he got at his shoes."Don' believe in that shit. Holy water. Water's water, cept when it isn'."
"Yeah" Becca said, following his lead. "Yeah, I don't think I'd want to get on your bad side. You look like you know your way around a tire iron." She laughed. "And I guess I should be glad I don't have to worry about script-writers any more. This time, we're playing by my rules."
"Somethin' like that." That was all he said to the tire iron or the script writers. He showed her out to a beat up convertible that looked like it had seen better days. His hand softly brushed over the hood as he rounded the car. He was a car whisperer. He'd make the baby purr even if it took all his savings and his time.
Becca smiled softly as she watched Clyde circling his baby. The little touches, the look on his face, there was no doubt this was something special to him. "So this is your lady-love, eh?" she asked.
"This my current baby. She'll be sweet soon enough, and then she'll be gone." He sounded proud, sad, and happy, which was something to be able to do in just one's voice. He climbed in, no bothering with the door, and reached over to open the passenger side for her. Yeah, he wasn't that much of a gentleman. Plus, it was going to take him a little time to get the engine to turn over.
Sliding into the passenger side, Becca allowed herself to imagine what the car would be like once Clyde had her all fixed up. She could see why he might be a little wrapped up in it. "That's the way it goes, isn't it? You love 'em and you let 'em go." Not that she was making any commentary on his actual love life. "It must be nice to work at something that you're passionate about though."
"It's the only way to do anythin'. Why fuck with it if you don' like it?" The engine turned finally after a little murmured coaxing. And with that they were pulling out of the parking space and heading onto a not so busy street. The engine didn't have the purr he wanted, but he'd get her there. Oddly, the ride was smooth. Smoother than the engine would suggest.
Sighing, Rebecca settled back in her seat, gratefully relinquishing herself to Clyde's capable hands with just a fleeting hope that he would warn her if the ride was going to get wild. Not that she couldn't handle a little turbulence--it was just nice not to have to think about it. About anything, really.
She thought about saying that she wasn't so sure she was loving life in general lately, but she thought better of it. She supposed maybe there was something to the idea off letting all your cares blow away on a sweet ride after all.
Clyde glanced at her; there was a slight smile on his lips. Becca was wound pretty tightly, but he supposed if he had someone he didn't like inside him, he'd be a little tightly wound too. He just drove. He took the longest way home possible, not minding the gas. He'd have to fill up in the morning before work, or when he took her back to the MTN, but he didn't mind. Sometimes helping out a hot chick was good for the karma and for the soul.
"You want anything to eat? I could use something." He really hadn't gotten that far from civilization; actually he didn't live that far from civilization. He had a small place, but most of his money went into his own little shop.
Becca smile back at him briefly, combing her fingers through her hair as they rode, letting her eyes drift partway shut until he spoke. The mention of food cunjured up the vague aftertaste of a secondhand craving for French fries, but it was just a grain of salt in the oops-I-spilled-the-popcorn that was life as she knew it. "Sure," she said, "I'm game."
"Burritos cool with you? I love burritos. And tacos, and food in general." Clyde took a hand off the wheel and patted his stomach; not that he really got to eat much when he was working on a project. He tended to zone out on the necessities of life; his focus was spent completely on whatever he was working on. It wasn't healthy, but it was Clyde.
"Hang on." He whipped the poor convertible around and sped off in another direction. He didn't exactly go too much over the speed limit, but he wasn't going to waste time. "We'll get some food, pick up some beers, then hang in hammockland, fuckin' a."
"Yeah, burritos are fine," she said, laughing as he whipped the car around--just when she was starting to get lulled into the sense that it would be a leisurely evening drive. She'd been expecting him to pull a few moves, sooner or later, and he'd yet to disappoint."Sounds like a good time."
"Good. Cause that's what's gonna happen, babe." As if she really had a choice, right? Clyde reached over and gave her knee a squeeze, but he was soon back to driving like a good boy. Or as good as he'd ever be boy. They stopped at a Southwestern place, picked up the food, then a quick jump to liquor store where the guy behind the register seemed to know Clyde by name, if not profession, then they were off again.
"So, somethin' else on your mind other than your friend bitin' it? You seem a little you know, not so smiley, babe." Not that Becca seemed like an overly smiley person, but still.
"Not so smiley, huh?" Becca echoed, after they'd made the rounds, and Clyde turned an attentive ear on her again. "I guess I'm not," she allowed, absently rubbing her knees--the corners of her mouth twitching a little at the not-so-distant memory of having it squeezed. She watched his hands on the wheel for a moment, studying the shape of them, before she finally looked up.
"Aside from wars, and rumors of wars, and the fact that I'm not sure I trust myself with 'that ol' black magic' in the back of my mind?" she asked, tilting her head at him curiously, all the while smiling her best and brightest professional smile--the one that looked sincere enough to charm thousands of frequent fliers, but was really just extrememly well practiced, and something she could put on and off as easily as her uniform. "I think the question is, what isn't on my mind, tonight."
Clyde took a moment to reach over and touch her cheek. His fingers were rough and probably still smelled like an autoshop, with a hint of Lava. It was a smell he loved, but some chicks didn't dig it so much. It was him and he wasn't going to apologize too much for it if at all. His hand lifted to brush a few strands of hair out of the way, they were at a red light so it was okay.
"Yeah, other than all that. And none of that fake smiley on the job shit. I don' give it to my customers, don' give it to my friends either. Just checkin' in on the hot red head in my car." He gave her a wink before flipping off the guy behind them who was honking - the light was green after all. "Assfuck."
Leaning into his touch a little, Becca blinked, her eyelids feeling strangely heavy--as if they were weighed down by whatever the hell it was trying to suck her down into the morass of 'all that.' Or maybe it was just her face finally relaxing as she dropped the fake smile act.
She shot a sideways glance over her shoulder, glaring at the vehicle behind them out the corner of her eye, then back at Clyde--and suddenly burst out laughing. She hadn't missed his wink, but it was the fact that she'd flipped the other driver off at the same time as he had that struck her funny bone. "God, that felt good, not having to be professional," she said, between laughs.
"You aren' on the job, sweetness. Just relax. Don' even have to be all ladylike." Clyde smiled; he didn't exactly laugh. It wasn't that he didnt' find it funny, but he had a few things of his own on his mind. That and he was in relax mode. He waited a little longer before moving; the guy behind him was going to get caught behind the next red light. Yeah, it wasn't a nice thing to do, but the assfuck deserved it.
A few red lights later they were pulling onto a paved drive way. The house was small, probablly one bedroom. But it'd serve its purpose. The yard was mowed. The house needed a few new coats of paint, yet it seemed to be as welcoming as any barely lived in bachelor pad could be. He lifted himself out of the car and grabbed the food and drinks. "Com'on, babe, time to get our hammock on."
"Yeah..." Becca sighed, falling quiet again before she said, "I'm getting there." She shook her head at thought of the poor dumbass behind them when Clyde finally pulled away, then smiling as she looked back at her driver. He didn't let anybody mess with him, did he? She liked that.
At their destination, she ginned at him as she hopped out of the car, "Lead the way, handsome."
Clyde gave her a bright smile. He didn't mind being called handsome; it wasn't like he got it a lot. Okay, so he got it on occasion at the shop when the old ladies came in; they were always trying to set him up with their niece, daughter, granddaughter, god daughter, and on the rare occasion some male they think he'd be good for. He just smiled it off and thanked them for their kindness. It was his job to make things right with their cars if he could.
"Com'on in. Maid hasn' come by so it's trashed." He managed to open the door while carrying everything else. He was just one of those guys. He nudged the door open for her to go in first. The place was full of this and that which belonged in a shop, and there were other things as well, books that had more to do with the space-time continuum, Star Trek memorabilia, other things. It was clean, just not spotless. It looked barely lived in too. He led her through the living room, through the kitchen, to the back yard.
"Oh, you have a maid?" Becca teased as she slipped past him, closer than she needed to, but not so close she would upset his balancing act. "Aren't you just full of surprises?"
Not that she was inspecting, but the place didn't look that bad. It had a vastly different assortment of things than her place back in Los Angeles, but it wasn't as if her appartment looked so much more lived in, either. The back yard, now that was what she'd come to see.
It was as mowed too, nothing fantastic. A tree here and there. And sitting waiting for them was a very large hammock. He'd had to work on getting it planted well enough in the ground that when he sat in it, his ass didnt' kiss the ground. He didn't think she or any other chick he'd have around would be all that heavy, but he didnt' want to try swaying in a hammock while feeling the rocks and grass sweep at his ass.
"Try it out. I'd sit sideways at first. Don't do the full lay out until we've had some food." She'd have to sweep a few leaves and such out of it, but it was ready to go.
"Aye, captain," she said, smirking over her shoulder at him as she crossed the yard to the hammock. Bending over slightly, she shook out a the stray leaves, then slowly brushed her hands off on the seat of her pants--well aware that it would probably draw his attention to her backside--before she turned around and sat down. "Care to join me?"
Clyde paused at the door to watch. She didn't look bad, certainly not from this angle. He smiled slightly before turning to the kitchen and setting their dinner on the kitchen counter. He opened two bottles of beer, grabbed two paper plates, and set out the burritos. There were two small stands - old cable reels, smaller ones by the hammock. He yanked one of them close, setting the plates and the beer bottles down. "Here we go, babe." He settled down beside her, smiling.
Becca watched him, smiling, as he set up the makeshift picnic table. It was nice, she thought, brought back memories of growing up in a small town, making dirt cake in her mom's backyard--back before she decided to grow up and carry the world on her shoulders. Yes, Becky Rice made dirt cakes, and damn good ones if she did say so herself. "It's perfect," she mused, leaning against his shoulder just a little bit more.
"Wouldn' say perfect. But it's not bad. Fuck, it's been a long day. With this fuckin' war shit, long days all round for a while, huh?" Clyde took a quick sip of beer before leaning into the hammock, his arm lifting up and around her to wrap loosely bout her shoulders. He pulled her back, so that they were looking more at the sky than the rickety picket fence that ran around his yard. They could eat in a little bit. "They usually say some stupid shit right bout now. Bout lemon and lemonade. It's fucked really. Life is what you make of it." He shrugged carefully so as not to upset her head too much.
"Yeah," she sighed, settling into his side as she let him take her back, her eyes drifting off to nowhere in particular. "Looks like we're in it for the long haul whether we participate or not." She shook her head slightly, breathing in the scent of his clothes, the lingering hint of automotive that she'd started to pick up on if she payed attention but she hardly noticed otherwise.
"...was a time I would have said, 'when life gives you lemons, grab some vodka, some sugar, and do body-shots,’" she said, almost but not quite chuckling. As if those days were so far behind her.
Clyde's hand softly rubbed at her shoulder and arm. His eyes were closed, and he was just breathing. It was just another day really for him; no one would understand that, but then he really wasn't as much of a sharer as some would think. He squeezed her shoulder softly.
"You talk like you can't do that now. Babe, we got shit to do. We got shit to put up with, but I really don' think there's ever gonna be a time that body-shots would be a bad thing." He chuckled softly, turning his head to kiss the top of hers. "Okay, time to eat. Com'on. Sit up."
"Mm," Becca hummed, planting her feet and rocking herself into an upright possition, relieving Clyde's arm from duty as her pillow. "Maybe you're right." Then again, maybe Ruby would take over if Rebecca drank enough to lose control of herself, but she tried not to let herself think about that. She laughed under her breath as her stomach responded favorably to the smell of food. "Let's eat."