Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’ll wait for you,” she said softly, almost a whisper, hastily adding, “if you want.”

She didn’t look at him, staring out over the hills and valley from their spot, bare legs and sneakered feet swinging over the edge of the outcropping where they sat. Clyde took another swig from the jar they’d snuck out of her uncle’s stash. “Don’t,” he said gruffly, eyes locked on some spot across the way while the mountain breeze swept her hair around them both. “Get out, be somebody, do all that shit we always talked about.”

She sighed and turned up the bottle of Jack his daddy got for Christmas instead of the bonus the mining company promised. “Yeah,” Phee muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Don’t die, okay? Promise me.”

He glanced her way but she stared out across the valley still. He huffed a laugh and shook his head then tipped the jar up again. Almost gone. “Nah, I won’t die.” He offered her the last sip and their fingers brushed, lingered as she took the jar.

“Promise me, Clyde. I’m serious. Ain’t gotta come back here, but you have to live. For me.”

She threw back the last of the ‘shine with a wince and offered the other bottle. Clyde shook his head. He watched himself, almost in slow motion, as he lifted his hand and cupped her jaw, thumb swiping the tear that slipped from her eye. “Don’t cry, Phee. Can’t do this if you cry.”

“Then don’t!” The empty jar and half-bottle of Jack tumbled to the leaf litter below as she threw her arms around him, face against his neck as she crawled into his lap. “Don’t go, Clyde, don’t leave me!”

“Too late,” he muttered into her hair, one hand on her back and he other against her hip. “Army don’t exactly let you change your mind.”

She huffed against his throat. “Yeah.” They sat like that for a while, until the sky streaked pink and orange, until her lips against his skin pursed, until his hands sought a different sort of comfort.

Not their first time, not even close, but he knew he wasn’t the only one afraid it would be the last.

Over too soon, always too soon, but they stubbornly clung, stroking and kissing, whispering vague promises. “Love you, Ophelia Bang.”

“Promise me, Clyde. Promise.”

“I promise, Phee.” He kissed her, soft and sweet, and she held his face and kissed his wet cheeks. “I promise.”

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Hard to say, when and how they lost touch. Probably his fault, pushing folk away when everything went to Hell on his way out. Told himself it was for the best, and from the back row he could see it, even if it hurt.

Not sure why she was so insistent on coming back to Boone County for the damn wedding, lies dripping like honey about how it was home, and she wanted all the people she loved there. She’d been as eager to leave as he had, put it all behind her and conquer the world and all her dreams, and ain’t no way she’d cared one way or the other long as her uncles and brother showed up. Well, her brother and Uncle Joe, least-ways. He’d likely done more raisin’ of Phee than her daddy. Weren’t no shock when she asked Joe to be the one to give her away.

Anyway, Clyde had always known he wouldn’t be beside her for all that. Both of ‘em knowed it, even back when they’s kids, stubbornly insisting they was forever.

The clapping and a couple whoops when the preacher said, “You may kiss the bride,” pulled Clyde from his thoughts. Well, that and his sister Mellie poking him hard in the ribs.

He should just leave, go home, let Phee have her day.

Looked pretty in her dress, though he didn’t think all the lace and fake pearls and crystals suited her, and all that almost swallowed up her mama’s jewelry, the pearl earrings and necklace passed down from Phee’s grandma.

Smile seemed strained, too, lips all thin and pale under the glossy stain. Maybe it was just all the makeup. Didn’t never bother covering up freckles and rosy cheeks, back then. Hell, half the time she only put on shoes in copperhead season.

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“Clyde, come on! We’re gonna miss it!” Phee laughed and tugged on his hand again, dragging him towards the woods.

“You ain’t even got shoes on! Gonna break your damn neck or get snake-bit.”

Phee rolled her eyes and paused, throwing a pair of battered, canvas shoes from the closeout store to the ground and shoving her bare feet in. “Happy now?”

“No.”

“Shut up!” She smacked lightly at his chest and then grinned. “Race you to the creek!”

“Phee…”

Clyde shook his head and let her get a head start then took off after her. He’d let her win, if it made her happy, except he knew what she really wanted. She squealed when he thundered up behind her on the well-worn path and scooped her up, kicking and shrieking and demanding he “Put me down, you booger!” even as she wrapped her arms around his neck and laughed.

The stars and moon filtered down through the summer canopy, the air thick and heavy and only slightly cooler than it had been before sunset. Baby hairs curled and stuck at her temples and ears, and probably the base of her skull, where they’d escaped the confines of the braid holding most of her hair and Phee got real quiet, her arms around his shoulders and neck loosening, more like an embrace as she stared and licked her lips and whispered, “Clyde?”

Clyde put her down slowly and stepped back, both of them just staring. “Phee.”

He didn’t know what else he’d been planning to say. Something was different, had been for a while now, and before he could really think it through and stop himself, he leaned down.

Close.

And she didn’t back away.

Ain’t never kissed no one before, not like that, and far as he knew she hadn’t either, but they figured it out quick enough.

They didn’t make it to their spot before the Fourth of July fireworks started, but Phee didn’t seem to mind.

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Reception hall was all decked out, but no character to it. No personality. None of those touches Phee always loved. Not even her favorite colors, and nary a daisy nor violet in sight. Could have been anyone’s wedding, or just a party, one of them corporate holidays or the like.

Although maybe the lower budget was her influence. Her new husband’s family didn’t exactly lack funds, and it was clear most of them considered the hotel ballroom “slumming it.”

Open bar, though. That was good. Clyde threw back his whiskey and gestured for a refill, tamping down his instinctive urge to give the poor college kid serving drinks some tips. Damn he hoped they were old enough to serve.

Not his business, nor his concern…

Someone tapped the mic and the speakers hissed and squealed as the entrance of the newlywed couple for their first dance was announced. Clyde frowned at the vaguely familiar song started up and her new husband made a clumsy attempt to lead Phee in a…waltz? Maybe? Something that made no sense with the music.

They turned and Clyde knew the moment she saw him over what’s-his-name’s arm. Phee’s eyes went wide and maybe it was the strobe lights, but it looked like she went all pale. Pale-er. She glanced away fast, then raised her eyes again, tilting her head and craning her neck to keep her eyes on him as they turned again.

He’d swear she was pleading with him, just with a look.

Clyde put his glass down and stood, straightening his daddy’s old suit coat, the gray one that was almost long enough for Clyde, but a little too big around. Had to get new pants but the jacket was good enough. (It wasn’t).

Mellie and Phee’s Uncle, Joe Bang, caught him at the door, blocking his escape.

“Whoa, now, soldier, don’t run off just yet. Fun’s just getting started. You ain’t even heard my speech, yet.”

Clyde glared at Joe’s hand on his shoulder, then at the man himself.

“Please, Clyde. You cannot abandon me here with all these rich folks and Joe,” Mellie added. “’Sides, I seen how many drinks you done put away. Ain’t lettin’ you drive like this.”

Clyde sighed and let them lead him to their assigned table, near the head table and stage on account of Joe being family and in the wedding party. “I’m gonna need another drink,” he mumbled, but Mellie just glared and poked him again, pointedly thumping a bottled water with one of those labels printed with the couple’s names and the wedding date.

“Who the hell names their kid Hamlet?”

“I don’t know Clyde, who gives their kid the same middle and last names.”

Clyde frowned at his sister and drank his water.

Order of events was all weird. First dance and toasts before dinner, and more dancing before they even cut the cake…meant he couldn’t get away for a while.

“Ain’t drunk enough for this, Mellie,” he grumbled when his sister tried to keep him in his seat.

“Sit your ass down and don’t embarrass me.” That had to be what she said. Even if at first it sounded like she told him not to embarrass Phee.

Phee who was looking at their table again, peeling at the label on her own bottled water, smile tighter and tighter as the speech continued, and then she fumbled at a champagne flute as her husband tapped it with his beer bottle, laughing at something that must be an inside joke, ‘cause ain’t nothing the best man said could be considered remotely funny otherwise.

Phee glanced down and raised her glass to her lips, then put it back down when her husband looked away.

She didn’t drink.

Clyde caught her eye when she did it again after the maid of honor—some college classmate who didn’t seem to like Phee very much—gave her toast. Phee gnawed at her lip and looked down, hair spilling over her shoulder in red waves from under the veil. She frowned down at her plate and pushed it away, tilting her head back and taking a deep breath as she unscrewed the top off her water bottle and shook her head, hand over the glass as one of the catering servers stepped up with a wine bottle.

What the…

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He closed early, locked up the bar and managed to get back to the trailer around two. He didn’t sleep right in the little house closer to town. Too much light, not enough crickets and night sounds, so once things was settled and Jimmy moved to Virginia to be closer to Sadie, Clyde moved back.

Drive back on nights like this, when he was all tired and out of sorts, well it felt longer’n it should.

Least Phee ain’t come in that night.

Ever since she come back, flitting about with her uncles and Clyde’s sister, going on about her fancy fiancé and his rich family and the wedding she was planning…well, Clyde can’t ever shake the feeling it should have been him.

He shouldn’t never have pushed her away.

And every time he seen her, he got a little closer to making a fool of himself and saying so. How pathetic, still moonin’ about over his childhood sweetheart, as if soulmates and forever and happily ever after was real when he knew better.

Rain started up not long before the gravel drive, coming down in sheets as the wind picked up.

Damn it all, probably lose power for the night, and he ain’t refilled the generator.

Ugh.

If he hurried maybe the hot water would hold out long enough for a shower and he could get a frozen dinner microwaved.

He almost didn’t see her, huddled there in the corner of the porch, curled up on that old glider of Mommy’s he’d restored last summer. Soaked from the rain blowing sideways, hair down eyes swollen.

“Phee?”

She offered a weak smile then shook her head. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Ain’t safe, driving in this storm. You can…you should come in, dry off and stay until the worst of it passes.”

“Cut through the woods,” she muttered as he held open the new storm door and dug out his keys for the upgraded deadbolt.

“That’s worse. Could fall, or catch a dead limb.”

She huffed and rubbed angrily at her eyes, swaying a little on her feet. “Could use a drink, bartender.”

He cupped her elbow, steadied her as she stepped through the door. “Seems maybe you’ve had enough.”

She snorted. “Maybe. Doesn’t change things.”

Clyde closed the door behind them, then slipped past her to the bathroom, grabbed some towels and ducked into his room for a couple of clean shirts and the one pair of sweatpants he owned. His jeans weren’t too bad. She was in the living room, studying the old family pictures on the walls, picking up and putting down some of his mother’s old knick-knacks with a little smile and he stumbled, just seeing her there again, in his space after so long.

She looked up and he cleared his throat, thrusting the bundle of fabric. “Shower still takes a minute to warm up, if you want…”

She took the clothes and one of the towels. “Thanks.” Neither of them moved and she fidgeted after a moment and sighed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come.”

“Why did you, Phee? Why did you come here tonight?”

“I guess I just needed to know.”

Clyde struggled to slow his breathing, his racing pulse jumping in his neck. When did they get so close? “Know what, Phee?”

She licked her lips, tilted her chin to look up at him as he leaned her way. “That it was real. You and me. That I didn’t…” she sucked in a breath that sounded more like the precursor to a sob, ragged and heavy. “Please tell me I didn’t imagine it, that you loved me as much as I—”

She gasped as his hand settled on her hip.

“It was real,” he breathed. “Me and you. Always, Phee. It’s always been you.”

His forehead met hers, their noses touched, and he could feel her exhale, the flutter of her lashes as she closed her eyes and more tears fell. “He’ll never let me go.”

“Don’t go back. Break it off.”

“I tried. It’s not…I can’t walk away, but knowing what we had, it’s worth it.”

“I don’t…what does that even mean?”

She kissed him instead of answering, and Clyde was lost, just like he always had been when it came to Phee.

She was gone before sun up, as if she’d never been there, ‘cept she took his daddy’s old flannel shirt and Clyde’s heart with her.

Only fair. Always been hers, anyway.

Chapter Text

She couldn’t help thinking it should be different, feel different. Right? It had been years; they were different people. Adults. It was supposed to be different.

Except when she kissed him, when he hesitated and kissed her back, it didn’t feel all that different to her.

He even smelled the same, like detergent and Irish Spring soap and Clyde.

And she was almost seventeen again, desperately begging him to stay with her, to never let things change.

Even down a hand, and when he hissed and swore and set her gently back when his prosthesis brushed across her back and caught a tangle in her hair, he was still Clyde.

Her Clyde.

The one she remembered and swore she must have dreamed. Rose-colored glasses and all. Nostalgia goggles.

She started to giggle, but it trailed off into something she wasn’t ready to admit was a whimper as Clyde’s hand cupped her jaw, then slid down, grazing her breast, tracing her waist and hip, sliding around to squeeze her ass. She moaned into his mouth, sucked on his tongue, and tugged at his damp shirt. At least one button tore free. His own laughter was garbled, and he tugged her in as close as he could, any hesitation about his hand gone.

Phee nipped at his lip, leaned back and started jerking her own shirt instead. Clyde grabbed her wrists (BOTH) in his hand and leaned in, nose to nose when she pulled at his shirt again.

“Bedroom,” he said, and she frowned, pulling lightly against his hold. He let her go and she pulled at his shirt again, tugging it free of his belt and pants. She growled at finding another shirt beneath instead of the warm, bare skin she sought and he laughed and tilted her chin up, kissing her again and lifting her up, into his arms. “Bed,” insisted again, firm. “If we’re gonna do this I at least want to do it right.”

Her mind boggled as he carried her effortlessly, one arm holding her up, and even though she wrapped her arms and legs around him she knew it wasn’t actually necessary.

He wouldn’t let her fall.

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“…and the State of West Virginia, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

The warning in Hamlet’s eyes was unmistakable, and completely unnecessary. Phee tilted her head, lips pursed, her cry of surprise muffled by Ham’s mouth when he bent her back unexpectedly, putting on a show for his old school friends. A smattering of polite claps and some wholly inappropriate to the setting calls rang in her ears.

“Oops, messed up your lipstick,” he said, dragging his thumb across her mouth and chin. He smelled of Uncle Joe’s best ‘shine, no matter how he’d turned his nose up at the very notion. Phee looked down at the yards of lace and satin hiding her feet and tried not to stumble or throw up as she was half-dragged down the aisle. The hotel wasn’t far, and she scooted as far across the bench seat as she could when they got into the limo. As soon as the door closed Hamlet slumped and fished that stupid flask from inside his pocket. Phee dug under the sweetheart neckline of her bodice and pulled out the make up wipes and “emergency repair” kit Mellie’s friend had given her, then reached in again for one of the ginger candies Clyde’s sister had given her earlier, ‘you know, in case of that nervous stomach you’ve always had. Never forget you tossing your cookies on Principal Brown at graduation.’

That hadn’t happened, not any of it. The high school principal had been named Dr. Cole, and the only person Phee knew of who had ruined the poor woman’s best Payless heels was Uncle Fish, before Phee’s time there.

Mellie Logan was too damn perceptive.

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Clyde stumbled a time or two on the way to the bedroom, though that was probably more Phee’s fault. Just…now that she was touching him again, kissing him after so long, she couldn’t get enough. She tugged at his clothing, at her own, not accomplishing much other than ripping a seam on one of their shirts (though she neither knew nor cared if it was his or hers), and popping another button or two off Clyde’s. They fell on his bed with a creak of the frame and a little bounce, and she locked her arms and legs when Clyde tried to roll off of her.

“Don’t want to crush you,” he muttered. “And I need to take this thing off.” He lifted his left arm and she couldn’t help a pout but she nodded and let him move—a little. Just enough to remove his prosthetic and the sleeve underneath and tuck them into a half-open nightstand drawer. He kissed her again, tongue swiping the way she remembered, and Phee gave herself over to the feeling. She could smell the bar on him—fryer oil, alcohol, and whatever cleaner or solvent he’d used during closing. But under that he still smelled like Tide, and Head and Shoulders, and Irish Spring.

His body was broader, heavier, but so was hers, and she relished the hot press of his weight, squirmed until she could press herself against him. He pulled away, lifted up just enough to pull off his shirts, the sodden button up and damp t-shirt landing somewhere in the floor with a plop. Phee grabbed at his belt, fumbled the buckle open and fought with the button and zipper on his jeans. The damp fabric, her cold hands, and her increasing desperation all worked against her, so she wasn’t quick enough to free him before his hand covered hers, gently pushed them away.

“You first,” he insisted, helping her sit up, tugging her soaked sweatshirt up over her head. She hadn’t bothered with a bra, even though between a late growth spurt in college and weight gain from stress eating she probably needed one.

She fumbled, hands trying to cover the extra flesh on her thighs, the padding on her hips, but Clyde’s low murmur made her freeze. “Damn, Honey, should have known you’d just get prettier.” Even before she looked up she knew he meant it, and the adoring heat in his eyes only confirmed it. Slowly, she leaned back on her hands, let him really look at her, and lifted her hips when he pulled at the leggings she’d thrown on. Those too ended up in the floor, followed swiftly by her socks, her old, battered shoes still by the front door where she’d kicked them off when Clyde went to get towels.

“Gonna be the death of me, Darlin’” he groaned when he realized she’d not bothered with panties either.

“Seems unfair, me being the only one naked.”

“All in good time,” Clyde insisted, urging her back to his pillows and following her down. His fingers and mouth traced trails he’d mapped long ago, wandered over new curves with little grunts and hums of appreciation, and her giggles at the rasp of his facial hair on her belly turned to gasping moans when his mouth trailed lower.

“O-oh!” she managed, and he had the audacity to raise his head and laugh. Phee pushed his head, something she never would have dreamed she’d do.

But then, this was Clyde.

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It wasn’t as bad as she’d initially thought, really just the lip gloss that had smeared. The liner and stain beneath stayed in place, and Phee studied her reflection in the little hand mirror she’d secreted away at Mellie’s insistence. Horns blared as cars and SUVs sped past. She allowed herself a moment to hope there was a patrol car nearby, a nice little speed trap just waiting for them all.

Not that any of Hamlet’s ‘friends’ would ever see any consequences. Still, it was an amusing fantasy.

She sighed and stared out the tinted windows at the buildings along the highway, the hills and mountains hazy in the distance.

Ugh.

She hated cities. Even small ones.

Not that she’d always thought so.

Hamlet swore and dropped his flask to the floorboard before crossing his arms and sliding down in the seat, every inch a petulant child.

How had she ever thought him worth her time?

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She slipped into the house at sunup, Clyde’s old flannel shirt wrapped tight around her and her wet sweatshirt in a plastic bag from the Grocery Castle. She’d have Uncle Joe make sure he got it back. Most likely it had been his daddy’s, one of the few that didn’t go to Jimmy first.

She paused and pulled the soft fabric up over her nose, breathing him in, fryer grease and Irish Spring and all.

“Morning, Little Bit.”

Phee yelped and stumbled when Uncle Joe called out to her from the little table. He tilted his coffee cup at her in greeting, smiling over the rim. “Uncle Joe!”

“Miss Ophelia, I do believe you’ve been out all night.”

“I…um…I-I,” she stuttered, searching for some kind of words. She felt like she had the first time he caught her sneaking back in after meeting up with Clyde to go night fishing and catch fireflies when she was fourteen.

“Come on in and sit with me. Ain’t talked much, you running about with the weddin’ planning and all.” He stood up, heading into the kitchen. “You want some coffee? Thought maybe I’d fry us up some eggs and bacon.”

Phee frowned. “Uncle Joe—”

“Fine, just eggs.”

“Just coffee for me, please. I don’t want anything to eat.”

Joe shrugged and poured a cup, carrying it back to the table with flavored creamer. Phee hesitated and he pushed the bottle closer. He sat down and watched her nervously pour in a little of the sweetened liquid, take a sip, and grimace. “Little girl, you act like I don’t know you at all.” Phee huffed and poured in a healthy dollop more, then took another sip and sighed. Her uncle smiled at her. “Now, you wanna finally tell me why you’re marrying that hoity-toity city fella when you’re even more ass over eyebrows for Clyde Logan than you was when you were 17?”

Phee choked on her coffee, sputtering as peppermint mocha went simultaneously down her windpipe and up (then out) her nose, spattering the table and Clyde’s flannel shirt. Her uncle tried not to laugh as he helped her clean up once she caught her breath and excused herself to blow her nose.

Unfortunately, Uncle Joe was not easily distracted or deterred. “Now, take two. Why are you marrying someone you don’t love?”

There were a lot of things she could say. Explanations. Excuses.

Or she could just refuse to discuss it. After all, she actually was an adult.

But it was eating at her, and this was Uncle Joe, the man who stepped in and raised her when her father thought business was more important. The one who tucked her in and bandaged her knees and…okay, yes, he made moonshine and robbed banks and got caught for that one, but he did his time and he was just taking care of the family. He was a good man, really.

Someone she trusted.

Phee took a careful sip of her quickly cooling coffee and settled for the truth.

“I have to. For the Logans, and for you.”

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Like a good bit of the actual ceremony, the reception passed mostly in a blur.

Mostly.

Once she caught sight of Clyde, it was all she could do to stay in her seat. She glanced at Mellie again, praying Clyde’s sister was still paying attention.

That she’d keep an eye on Clyde, help them both through this.

Because when the caterers served dinner and Phee refused the wine, he saw. She watched as he put it together, saw his brow furrow and his lips press into a thin, firm line.

He knew.

Uncle Joe stood, glass in hand, and gestured to where the banquet staff were positioning what looked like a projector and screen. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I can borrow your attention for a moment of time, I have a little…presentation, let’s call it, in honor of today’s momentous occasion. My little niece Ophelia is more like a daughter to me, especially since her daddy, my older brother, passed some few years back. Now, I have watched this pretty little girl grow into a beautiful woman. Smart, determined, and with a caring heart. Nothing she wouldn’t do for family, but then that is our way around here.” He looked around with a grin, met with a few polite chuckles here and there, and he nodded.

“You can imagine my own heartbreak when my sweet Little Miss Muffet told me she was getting married to a fine, upstanding gentleman from a good family. Now I tried to be happy for her, even though I miss her something terrible.” He looked around again, nodded to someone near the door, and then to someone near the projector. “If you’ll indulge me just a bit longer, I have prepared for you today, a little video presentation, for the happy couple.”

The lights dimmed further, and Uncle Joe sat down.

A slideshow started, complete with music and ridiculous transitions. Phee as a child. Growing up. Plenty of pictures with Clyde, and a fair few with Mellie. Even Laertes, her older brother on his rare visits.

And of course there were pictures of Hamlet, and his family. A lot of them looked like they were from the news, but his mother must have supplied a few photographs as well.

Their engagement photo filled the screen, then faded, but the lights didn’t come back up. Instead, the audio changed, a crackly recording, with a strange echo, but unmistakably Hamlet. He was talking to someone else.

“She has no clue. After we’re married she’ll sign it over, and it will be like we never lost anything.”

Phee frowned. Sign what over? She didn’t have anything. Her most valuable possession was her mother’s string of pearls and matching drop earrings.

The lights came back up and Phee turned to her husband of roughly an hour. “Sign what over? What was that about?”