Who: Clyde & Becca What: Third "date" w/ a dose of drama When: Sat. 8/22/09 Where: S'port, Louisiana Warnings: PG13, language, etc.
Becca showed up in Shreveport again Saturday evening, only this time, she rented a car and drove herself to Clyde's place. Perks of the job; she got plenty of discounts with the airline, and affiliated rental companies, so why let them go to waste? She pulled up, humming some ridiculous eighties song [You Can Do Magic, by America], but she couldn't shake the feeling that all was not well with the world. She was trying not to think why.
Shutting off the engine, she got out and walked around to the passenger side, carefully lifting out a six-pack of bottled beer and cake saver which held a little something for dessert. She knew he'd told her no big deal, but she'd wanted to do something for him, and besides...she'd needed to do something to take her mind off the events of earlier in the week, namely, her great but not so great Layover in London. So she'd baked. And now she was knocking on her handsome friend's door, subconscious peace offerings in hand, and a nervous smile on her face.
Clyde was a little surprised when he'd heard the knock. He'd been stretched out on the couch with one of the many books that could be found in his place. It really shouldn't have been a surprise. He pulled himself out of the couch, having been quiet comfortable where he was and having wedged himself in while reading. The only thing that might have been missing was the dog stretched out across him or along side the couch. He was working the work out gear, probably tried doing so earlier, but he wasn't in the mood for it. Of course, he could have thought of some very interesting ways to work out; one in particular made him very eager - beating that fuckhead's head seemed like a very good idea.
"Becca, babe?" He had forgotten that they were supposed to hang for the weekend.
"Yeah, it's just me," Becca answered, half-smiling/half-grimacing as she held up her gifts. "I hope you don't mind if I brought a couple things to share," she added with a shrug. He looked a little surprised--or maybe just preoccupied. "Sorry, I guess maybe I should have called to warn you I was dropping by. Did I catch you at a bad time?"
"What, no. Fuck. Com'on inside." Clyde opened up the door a little wider as he stepped back. He was definitely a little distracted, and he didn't mean to be rude. If he wore glasses, now would be the perfect time to take them off and rub the bridge of his nose; too bad he didn't wear glasses. "We had plans, right? Shit. Got a little wasted last night, or night before. Fuck if I know. Come in, girl, com'on. You got beer and what the fuck's in there?"
He was a little cruder than normal maybe, but he didn't mean anything by it. "Set it in the kitchen. Beers in the fridge."
Becca nodded, making her way to the kitchen, where she deposited the cake saver on the counter and the beer in the fridge. "Good night?" she asked, poking her head back around the corner, "Or not so good?" There was always so much going on, in the reincarnate community, it was hard to know if people would be celebrating or medicating. "Not that it's any of my business," she added, "You doin' okay?"
"I'm doin' fine, babe. Just got some shit on the brain. You? How you doin'? Had a good week?" Clyde didn't go for the beers; sure, a good cure was the hair of the dog that bit ya, but he didn't feel like trying it. He settled down on the couch, his legs stretching out in front of him. The room was situated to his long legs and such, so if she wanted to put her feet up on something, she'd have to move it herself.
Becca shrugged, taking a seat next to him, but it was almost as if she wedged herself as far into the corner as possible--making herself small--as if she were trying not to invade his space. Realizing her slightly awkward body language, she sighed, and let herself relax a bit more. Or tried to, anyway. "Well, yes and no," she said, "No more trouble with the Douche brothers--" that is, the Winchesters, "--but I kinda hit a snag in London earlier." She grimaced, realizing she'd just started to open a can of worms she wasn't really sure she wanted to get into, now, or ever. "No big deal," she said, shrugging it off.
"Hey, long as the douche brothers aren' buggin', ya right?" Clyde tried to smile; he looked over at her when she mentioned London. "You hit a snag in London? What kinda snag could a gal like you hit in London?"
"Right," she said, sighing. The corners of her mouth turned up, but it was a noncommittal sort of smile; she was still worried about Tanya Adkins. Tracy's kid sister with Sam and Dean's half-brother in her head. Rebecca knew that Azazel would probably be after the little one next--but he was not going to get his demon paws on her if she had anything to say about it. London though...that was another story. "I had a...a layover," she said finally, "Ran into this guy...ended up getting a bunch of cash stolen...came home generally pissed. You know."
"Did you go to the police?" Clyde looked at her, obviously refusing to get the whole "layover" meaning. "The bobbies. That's what they call'em, right? Bobbies, what the fuck is that, right? So, you get any help with that? Was it the guy who did it? Cause then you could get the police to help out. He didn' hurt you, did he?" Clyde reached over to rub her shoulder, not sure why she was sitting so far away, but he wasn't going to tug her over if she wasn't in the mood for it.
"Yeah, I don't know where Bobbies comes from either," she said, scooting over just a little, so she wasn't quite as tightly wedged into the corner, but not exactly leaning on him either. She shook her head slowly. "Yeah, it was him, and I probably should have filed a report or something but...I was in a hurry to catch my next flight and I didn't realize until I'd landed in the states again that he'd made off with my cash. Besides," she added, "I should know better than to carry so much of it anyway. It just...sort of spoiled the whole trip."
"No shit. How'd you meet this guy?" Clyde's hand rested on her shoulder, just softly squeezing, almost massaging. "And how the fuck did he get your money, babe? You don' seem like the kinda gal to any ole assfuck at her wallet."
Now it was Becca's turn to want to pinch the bridge of her nose. She sighed, raking her fingers through her hair as Clyde grasped her shoulders. How did she explain it delicately, she wondered, and then decided to fuck delicacy. "I met him online. He's...one of us...I guess. I should have known his type though, I've hooked up with plenty of them in my lifetime, you'd think I would learn." The words started spilling out faster as she went along, losing her usual, cultured inflection as she slipped into her Minnesota/West Virginia hybrid "hick chick from the sticks" accent. "I'd like to say that Ruby made me do it," she said, "But I knew full well what I was getting myself into when I met him at the hotel, and I did it anyway. How do you think he got my money?" She wasn't angry with Clyde, but she was disappointed and pissed off with herself, and she was having trouble keeping it from her voice.
"What's his name?" Clyde knew the guy's name. His large hand lifted to pet softly at the red hair before it rested back on his own thigh. He wasn't going to push, but with a name, he'd have confirmation. Sure, he might have said he wouldn't go after the guy, but this was a little different, wasn't it?
Becca let out her breath slowly, eyes falling shut, as if that would somehow turn off the frustration in her head. Oddly enough, Ruby was strangely quiet, and that only left Rebecca feeling own disappointment that much keener. When Clyde took his hand away from her hair...she missed it. "Jack," she said finally, "His name is Jack."
"Jack. You gonna see this asshole again?" Clyde looked at her. He didn't seem mad; he didn't even seem disappointed. He just seemed concerned. That was really how he felt; that and he wanted to beat the shit out of this guy Jack.
Becca glanced at him out the corner of her eye, then looked away. She shook her head then, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees, and her forehead in her hands--letting her hair fall in a curtain around her face. Hiding. "No," she said, her voice slightly muffled in her current posture. "I mean, I doubt I can avoid running into him on the network forever, but I don't think I want to see him again." Not that Jack had been a bad lay...over. On the contrary, it had been great sex. Rough, dirty, impulsive--just the way Ruby liked it, and if she was honest, Rebecca hadn't hated it either. But he was an asshole...and she'd gotten kinda spoiled on a certain good ol' boy.
Sighing, she peeked up at him again, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "God, you must think the worst of me about now."
"Babe, we got our needs. It's cool, but this guy sounds like bad news. Unless you get your kicks outta shits taking your money. I can't stop ya if you do, but I think in this tough economy, you'd be better off tryin' to flip house or some shit." Clyde paused as he thought that one through; he wasn't sure that was funny or made his point. He just reached over and softly rubbed her back. "I was telling a friend of mine when she was vistin': assholes ain't worth it. Hell, I'm sure as hell not worth it, but then I ain' smackin' chicks around or stealin' their fuckin' money."
There might have been a hint of a growl in Clyde's voice, but he soon smiled and kept rubbing at her back. "Babe, you just gotta be careful. You could get yourself hurt otherwise. I don' wantcha to get hurt, you got me?"
Rebecca nodded. She caught the 'bad news' and the fact that she could do better. It wasn't too far off from what she was telling herself. "I'm not...I mean you shouldn't sell yourself short, Clyde, I think there's more to you than meets the eye," she said. "More than just some greasemonkey." Not that he wasn't plenty easy on the eyes too. She smiled a little as she stole another glance. "I've just never been reall good at being careful, you know? Blame my mother's poor example growing up, blame my own poor choices, I'm just..." She sighed. "I guess I'm not too smart when it comes to men."
Clyde laughed. "Babe, I'm a greasemonkey who wants to be in the stars 24/7. Not really all that excitin', but I'm not much. And fuck, the blame shit. You gotta get over it. You're a real peach, babe, but you gotta stop this shit." He'd leaned over and carefully yet firmly claimed her chin in his hand to turn her head and make sure she didn't look away. "You got a bad habit of 'poor me' - you're gonna lose a lotta shit you keep that up. And it's fuckin' stupid. You got things goin' for ya. So fuckin' what if you got some bitch in your head, or the bitch has some beef with douchebags. Who cares if you got a shitty parent thing - mine are real pieces of work. You gotta job, money, and you're a classy chick when you wanna be. You're also pretty cool when you wanna be. I'm not gonna say all these nice things again cause I gotta limit on remindin' people their good stuff. So you get over the shit, let it go, move on, got me?"
He wasn't smiling. His hand never squeezed. He wouldn't leave a physical mark on her, and he'd do his best not to hurt her emotionally. But, he was serious.
Becca let him turn her face so that he held her gaze, and she didn't flinch from meeting his eyes, but she did blink a few too many times, just a little too quickly no to be fighting unshed tears. She would not cry. She would not feel sorry for herself. He was right. She had to stop this. "I'll try," she said, her voice a little rough around the edges, knowing that she'd said the same thing many timed before. "I'll try harder," she said, swallowing hard. Not because he was hurting her. He wasn't. Because she was wrestling with herself. Swallowing her pride.
She let out another deep breath. "It's cake," she said, making a valliant attempt at changing the subject. She'd suddenly remembered that he'd asked her what was in the tupperware, and she'd never answered his question, so it seemed as good excuse as any. "I baked you a chocolate cake. Cause lord knows you deserve it for putting up with peaches like me."
"Fuck. Don't try. Just do it, not to go all Yoda." Clyde let go of her chin. His fingers were rough, he knew that, but he tried to be as gentle as possible with women. He brushed some of her red hair back out of the way before cupping her cheek just for a moment. "I can go for some cake, but you don' think I'm getting pudgy?"
He pulled up his shirt to show off abs that were anything but pudgy. The hand on her cheek moved to slap at his stomach. "I gotta watch my girlish figure."
Becca laughed then, raising an eyebrow at him. Had he been talking to Joy? Nah. He was a Trekkie. He had to know the competition, it went without saying. She smiled, leaning into his hand a little, then letting her eyes wander over his sculpted abs as he showed off his decided lack of pudge. She was so tempted to reach out for him but she felt like she ought to do penance and restrain herself. At least until after dessert. "If that's a girlish figure," she said, shifting in her seat so she could run her hands suggestively over her own hourglass waist, "I don't know what this is."
Clyde reached over, his abs still showing for the moment. He gave her side a soft pinch.
"Babe, that is something most men want. Nothin' girlish bout it." He yanked down his shirt, laughing. He wasn't the shy type when it came to his body, but really, he wasn't the kind to pull of his shirt without a reason. "Okay, let's have some cake."
She squirmed a little at the pinching--it was soft enough that she was almost ticklish--but she managed not to squeal like a little girl. She wasn't quite that hypersensitive. Not unless he found the right spot. She frowned a little at the mention of what men want. She was still acutely aware of the fact that men did find her desirable, and that quite often, she gave them what they wanted--but this time she shook it off. Pushing herself up off the couch, she tossed of her hair over her shoulder with a defiant smirk, grabbing Clyde's hand as if she couldn't drag him to the kitchen fast enough. "Have some cake...and eat it too."
Clyde grunted as he was forced to get off the couch. "Wait, you're not gonna just serve it to me? Man ain' suppose to be in the kitchen. You're the woman, you get my food." His free hand would have smacked her rear if he'd been at the right angle. As soon as they stopped in the kitchen, he gave her a quick smack on the bottom. "So, you cook?"
"Nope, sorry," Becca retorted saucily, "I'm not letting you out of my sight." She laughed. As if he were the one who needed a chaperon. "Never know when Scotty's gonna beam you up," she teased. Her mouth made a pretty little "oh" when he smacked her behind, but she turned and swatted him on the shoulder right back, and didn't miss a beat. "Yeah," she said, leaning back against the counter as she looked up at him, "I cook. Not sayin' that I cook well, but I can cook."
"Is this a box and can cake, or a homemade from scratch deal?" Clyde smiled and looked down at the cake holder thing. "You gonna open it or what? I don't know anythin' bout this girlie crap. I'm a man." His voice deepened as he said man, and he might have beat his chest a little with it too; but, it ended in a grunting cough. "At least that's what I hear. I got the parts."
"Boy, I really need to get out of the city more often if you think I couldn't handle a cake from scratch," Becca said, mock pouting as she turned to collect a couple plates and the appropriate utensils. She looked at him over her shoulder as she finally popped the cake pan open. "This is a real cake, for a real man," she said, "And I like what I've seen of the parts so far, so I believe you."
She went ahead and cut him a generous slice of cake, smiling genuinely as she handed him the place. "So...tell me what you think. Do I pass?"
"Well, it looks like a cake." Clyde smiled, teasing. He claimed one of the forks and cut into it, a nice big bite for his big mouth. He shoved the bite in and chewed thoughtfully. He chewed longer than he needed to, his eyes looking up to the ceiling as if in thought. He kept chewing, then made a big show of swallowing. "Hmm. I don't know. Leave this one here, and bring me another one. It might take two or three of these to decide. Here, tell me what you think."
He cut off a smaller piece for her and held it out, so very close to her lips. "Or are you one of those girls who doesn' eat her own cookin', specially not sweets?"
Becca watched him while he chewed, her smile taking a turn for the mischievous, as if she had some kind of secret. He couldn't think it was too bad, if he wanted to keep it. She imagined he would have said what he thought, if it was terrible, even if he did try to find a way to say it without hurting her feelings.
"Uh-uh," she said, capturing his wrist as he held out the second bit to her, as if she though he would take it away from her any minute. "I'm not afraid of eating what I like." She smirked at him, parting her lips to take the fork into her mouth, cake and all, humming as she pulled away. "Mmm..." she purred, letting her eyes fall closed as she chewed, swallowed, and then licked her lips--finally running her hand over his arm in a flirtatious sort of caress before she let him go. "It's good enough for me," she said, "But I suppose I can share it with you if you insist."
Clyde watched as she made a show of taking the bite, and it wasn't so much that he was unaffected but more that he found it interesting. Clyde finally laughed, shaking his head. "That good, huh? Well, get yourself a piece of cake, babe. I think I got some milk."
He set his plate down to get out two cups and then turned to the fridge to find the milk. He knew there was some in his fridge; at least he thought so. He leaned over to look in the fridge, mumbling to himself.
"I thought there was some."
Becca scooped a piece of cake onto her own plate, licking frosting off her fingers as she turned to see what the fuss was about. Moving to peer around him--she couldn't really look over his shoulder--her free arm slipped around his waist. "Hmm?" she asked, one finger still caught between her lips. She pulled it out with a smack, and asked, "Need a fresh pair of eyes, hun?"
Clyde looked back at her; she was close, very close. And she was touching him. Not at all bad things usually. He smiled at her, standing up. Yes, they were very close together, and he was a normal man - for the most part - and she was a very attractive woman. He looked down at her, his hand lifting to brush knuckles along her cheek.
"I'm capable of findin' milk in my own fridge. What's on your mind?" He really wasn't that stupid after all.
Rebecca smiled softly as he touched her face, but she just shrugged, letting her arm drop to her side. "You probably know the contents of your fridge better than I do," she said, a little sheepish. After all, the first time she'd really seen inside the man's fridge was when she'd put the beer in to chill, and she hadn't really been looking for anything else. "I don't know," she said, "I think I'm just trying to keep myself occupied so I don't think about what's on my mind."
Clyde put either hands on the fridge door, capturing her there between arms and door. He just continued to look down at her, brow raised.
"So I'm something to keep you occupied?" He smiled slightly as he watched her. "And, yeah, I probably do know what's in there, sometimes. I think I have a fridge fairy or some shit like that - ruins the food before I get to it. Who the fuck knows."
Well, he was smiling, so Becca didn't feel like a total heel, but she still shifted a little nervously as he captured her. She couldn't quite say if she were nervous because she was rebounding again, still recovering from the shock of Tracy's and Sam's deaths, still trying to reconcile herself with the voice inside her head and the shadows behind her eyes...or because Clyde was an attractive man and they were still standing very close. "You're not just something to keep me occupied," she said, biting her lip as she stared up at him almost apologetically. "I didn't mean it like that." Sure, he made a great distraction, but he was more that that. "You're...a good friend...one of the only friends I have anymore. The only ones that I can talk with about all this mental shit without sounding like a loon. And I really like you." There. She'd said it. And since he already knew her track record with men, she'd leave it at that.
Clyde used the door to pull her closer, not that they were that far apart to begin with. He just looked down at her, smiling. Soon he leaned in, but the kiss was placed on her forehead. He leaned further in, and his voice dropped. "I like you, too. But, this isn't he best time for..." He placed a kiss near her ear. "This." He stood up to look at her face, his arms falling to wrap about her if she let him. "You've got enough shit to deal with. I want you to meet someone." His accent had faded for the moment, apparently.
By then, Becca was feeling guilty enough for chasing distractions instead of dealing with her shit that she might have ducked and given him the cheek anyway. Might have, but then again, she might not have--and anyway, it didn't matter, she was happy enough that he wasn't angry with her. She didn't know why she expected he would be. She leaned into him, letting him wrap her in his arms again, promising herself she would do better. "Oh?" she said, looking up at him. For a split second, she remembered the rumors that she'd read on the new reincarnate tabloid--incidentally, she'd read it about the time she'd hooked up with the Jack-ass--and she hoped her face didn't look like a deer in the headlights. "Who is it?"
"Mattie. My friend. The one that stayed here a few nights ago." Clyde just held her, his large hand softly rubbing her back. He didn't care that he was standing in front of an open fridge; he could pay his electricity bill. Probably. He kissed the top of Becca's head. "Seems you two have this thing for assholes. Y'all should make a club. Magic chicks who like douchey dicks." He couldn't help the laugh; it wasn't too loud, hopefully, but it did rumble in his chest. "Dude, I just rhymed."
"Mattie," Becca echoed, resting her head on his shoulder once again. She couldn't quite place the name, so she just kept quiet, while Clyde explained why he thought they should meet. Magic chicks. She wasn't feeling all that magical, except for the fact that she was really enjoying his company, his arms, his hands rubbing her back, the smile on his face and the little kisses that he kept dropping on her face and hair. She laughed a little, the tangible rumble of Clyde's own laughter spilling over her, and shaking her out of a little further out of her funk.
Magic chicks who like douchey dicks, huh? She wondered for a moment if Clyde had a thing for damsels in distress, or if he just liked women in general. "Well, at least I know the tabloids were wrong about you," she said, teasing. "Should I be jealous that you had some other woman staying with you overnight?"
Clyde blinked at the tabloid comment. He reached down to tilt her head up. "You're talkin' bout that weird pitcher shit, aren't you? You can be jealous if you want, babe, but she's a friend. That's all I got right now, is friends. As much as I wouldn' mind havin' more, gotta say I'd be a shit more." He kissed her forehead. "I got too much on my plate, and I don' want someone to get caught up with me. I'm bad news." He laughed again.
Becca let him capture her face again, staring up at him. "Yeah," she said, "I couldn't quite figure out if they were trying to say that you were sabotaging the Enterprise or that you were...I don't know." She laughed, shaking her head just barely, not wanting to pull away from his touch. There was that kiss on the forehead again, right on her third eye, chasing away the bad dreams in her head. "You're bad news?" she said, arms around his waist. "All the shit I've just unloaded on you and you try to tell me you're bad news?" Here she'd been worried about getting him caught up in the angel/demon/douche-hunter thing and he was giving her the brush-off? She wasn't having any of it. "Shut up already and stop selling yourself short." she ordered, reaching up to grasp the back of his neck, and standing up as tall as she could. She fully intended to pull him down for a kiss if he would let her.
Clyde's hand rested on her hip, moving from her chin. His brows furrowed as he looked at her. She didn't understand, and he couldn't explain it to her, not yet. She'd understand when she met Mattie; he'd make Mattie explain. Mattie could do it better than he could. "I'm not. I'm just not good..." He didn't exactly fight her, leaning over some, but not quite enough for the kiss, not yet. "I can't." He closed his eyes and shrugged out of her arms, his hands firmly on her waist to hold her still and away. "I need you to talk to Mattie." Again, his accent was different. "I want to, believe me." He looked so pained as he said this. "I really want to, but I can't. I'm sorry, Becca."
She sighed, resting her forehead against his cheek as he refused her, taking comfort in the fact that at least he wasn't pushing her away. She didn't really understand, she thought maybe it was because of Jack, because of everything; maybe it was all just too much--maybe Clyde really did have some deep, dark secret. Or maybe he really was one of the good guys, and she just wasn't good enough. Maybe she'd ruined her chance with a good guy or maybe she'd never had a chance in the first place and she just wasn't used to hearing no for an answer.
She forced herself to meet his gaze as he carefully moved away, moved her away, shivering a little as the cool air of the refrigerator, still open, finally seemed to touch her. She was probably more than a little flushed. Mostly from embarrassment, now. "Okay," she said, blinking, wishing she hadn't caused that pained look on his face. "Okay. I'm sorry. I shouldn't..." She swallowed hard. "I shouldn't have pushed."
"I know what you're thinkin', and fuckin' stop it," Clyde growled softly at her. He took a deep breath and releaased it slowly. "I need you to talk to her. Do it. Maybe she'll get why, maybe not. You can tell her everythin' you've told me; she's cool. Babe, I'd bend you over right now the table, but it wouldn' be right. Matilda Martin. Talk to her."
"Okay," Rebecca repeated, curbing the thought that she wondered how he could know what she was thinking. She tried to breath through a ten-count, or something, anything to stop the whirling thoughts and emotions. She didn't care if it wouldn't be right--but that was part of her whole problem, wasn't it? She nodded slowly. "Matilda Martin. I'll talk to her." She just hoped she hadn't gone and spoiled the whole visit.
"Okay." Clyde's hand lifted as he was about to touch her, but he lightly nudged the door as if to close it. He didn't want to yank her out of the way, but the motion was probably enough of a hint. "Now, cake, couch, tv? It is a good cake. Only had ole ladies fix me cake. And it usually tasted funny cause they did it like I was a diabetic or somethin'. That or they tried slippin' me their husbands' viagra? Dude, that's not right."
Becca caught the hint, moving out of the way so he could close the fridge, hugging herself and rubbing her goose-pimpled arms as she did. She nodded, grabbing their plates from the counter, frowning as she moved to the other room. "Maybe they were diabetic?" she offered, "But viagra? That sounds dangerous." She shook her head. Did not need to be thinking about viagra just now.
Clyde wasn't sure if just settling down in front of the tv was a good thing, but he couldn't just send her home. He'd have to talk to Mattie about Becca. He'd make sure she'd fix this; not that anything was broken necessarily, but he was probably going to make a huge mess of it if he tried anything more.
"It is. And I'm jokin'. Fuck, I hope I'm jokin'. Though that would explain the other afternoon." He might have been a gentleman most times, there were others he failed. Plus, it was too good a joke to pass up.
Becca stared at him in mock astonishment. "You're right," she teased, plopping down on the couch. "You're lucky I've got my hands full or I'd smack you one, and good. You're terrible. Just terrible." But she was smiling. "So, you gonna join me, or what?"