Fic - Go Easy On Yourself (Becky, Becky/Luke) pg-13, 1/4
Title: Go Easy On Yourself
Summary: Here's what you need to know: Becky gets out. You know what they say about best laid plans, though. She just keeps moving on because it's all she knows.
Rating: pg-13
Author's Notes: 17,491 words. Set (and written) post season four and beyond, so nothing that happens in season five is taken into account here. All the thanks in the world go to leobrat for the beta, hand-holding, brainstorming, and natural awesomeness that she brings to the table. This would not exist without you, my dear. All remaining mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not. Feedback is a lovely thing.
funny how my mind counts each day
by the times I've thought of you
funny how the numbers sway
(Ryan Adams, Go Easy)
Here’s what you need to know: Becky gets out.
When she’s got enough distance and clarity on things to be able to look back on Dillon and not taste something bitter in the back of her throat - like when she was thirteen and had her first drink, raiding her Mama’s special cabinet and mixing everything inside of one cup, all equal parts because she didn’t know any better - this will be what matters. This will be what counts.
To her it’s everything.
After Tim gets sent upstate something starts to shift - in her, in her Mama, in everybody.
Billy Riggins comes up to her in the convenience store, beer under one arm and baby food in the other, breathing it’s just a year like he didn’t want her to worry. He’s got a hard look about him, face thinner than she remembers, eyes tired and eventually he puts down the beer and leaves with just the mashed peas and carrots. He smiles at her guiltily over his shoulder as he makes his way towards the exit. Becky’s always thought he was a little weird, so she doesn’t think anything of it then. Just keeps moving on because it’s all she knows.
The shift isn’t big, mind you, just small changes that mean nothing to anyone who doesn’t look hard enough. One day Becky just sort of hangs up her fancy dresses and her dreams of Hollywood and picks up some pompoms and tries her hand at fitting in. Tries harder to understand all the things she can’t seem to wrap her head around. How Tim is never going to love her, her Daddy isn’t ever coming back for her, and her Mama wasn’t ever going to see her has anything but the mistake she never should have made.
Eventually she gets it.
The knowledge doesn’t come suddenly like some sort of epiphany, but it comes all the same, and it’s like some unimaginable weight is lifted off her shoulders when it does. Like she finally just understands everything she never could before, like the world gets just a tad bit clearer. And it’s fine. Really. She’s better than them, better than this small town and it’s simple way of life and Becky’s going to do good things one day. She knows that now.
She is more certain of it than she’s ever been about anything else.
Eventually Luke starts coming around again, all earnest and honest with his soft smiles and wide eyes. At first she’s still got Tim rolling around the back of her mind, still so naively hopeful for things that weren’t ever going to come, so she flirts and smiles and lets her shoulder brush against his as they walk down the hallway, but doesn’t really mean it. Doesn’t even know how to mean even if she wanted to. Eventually Tim becomes just a memory though, something else she’ll be able to look back on fondly somewhere down the road, a wistful what if to ponder during lonely nights. Becky starts seeing Luke as something different altogether. Something other than the guy who bought her beer and knocked her up after a few sloppy kisses and ten minutes in the back seat of his truck.
Luke’s a nice guy, though. Luke’s a really nice guy who tells stupid jokes just to make her laugh, carries her books when he walks her to class and deals with her mother on Saturday nights just so he can hang out with her. Eventually Becky gives in once she realizes fully that he has no plans on going anywhere and she doesn’t really want him to. Eventually they make a play at making this thing between them work and it’s actually kind of perfect when you think about it - the star football player and the pretty cheerleader. Something akin to high school royalty. Something Becky never thought she’d have. Something Becky never even thought she wanted.
Her Mama falls in and out of love with every guy that walks into her bar, even marries one somewhere around the summer before her senior year. There is a tiny ceremony and Becky laughs at her mother’s white dress and too-red lipstick. His name is Bobby and Becky can’t stand the way he handles her mother - with harsh words and fingers so tight around her wrist that they leave fingerprints in their wake. Becky dances with Luke the entire night, loses herself in his presence and the way his hand fits permanently on the small of her back, lips next to her ear as he hums along with the band and she thinks she could love him, thinks maybe she already does.
Then again, Becky doesn’t really know anything about love, doesn’t really understand it outside of wishing and wanting and childish crushes.
They establish rules. They never talk about before, about that night at just sixteen in his truck and the aftermath that followed. She goes to church on Sundays with his parents because it makes his mother feel good and Becky will never be able to stand not being liked so she tries like hell to change it. She’ll help him out with stuff around the farm after school, do her homework in his living room with his mother watching them like a hawk, and Luke never asks why she never seems to want to go home because he already knows.
They make it through his first year playing football at UT. She makes the trip up to see him for home games, counts down the days until breaks and long weekends. Tries her hardest not to be the jealous girlfriend when she visits him, when Stacy and Lacy and all the pretty cheerleaders hang on his every word.
They make it all the way up until she chooses NC State over Texas, chooses the school that would get her as far away from Dillon as possible and, consequently, him. They even make it past that, too, if only for a little while up until a week before she’s set to leave.
“You’re really leaving then?” he asks, shoulder against her door jam as he watches her fold her clothes into neat little piles and place them in labeled boxes.
Becky shrugs and doesn’t look at him. “I got to Luke. I can’t stay here,” she laughs, the sound short and hallow, but it’s not funny. It’s just the truth.
Luke sighs, heavy and weighted, crosses the distance and kisses her softly against the corner of her mouth. He understands. He always has. It was never going to be them. Not here anyway. Becky’s always known that.
Her Mama throws a fit the day before she’s set to leave. The car is packed and ready to go for the next morning and her Mama starts screaming at Becky for anything and everything, trying to garner a reaction, trying to pick a fight. Becky’s been through this before though. Recognizes the signs. This is how her Mama copes - vodka and arguments, the only things she’s really ever known, the only thing she’s ever really been good at. There’s a bruise buried under a pound of makeup on her cheek and it’s dark inside the house so Becky doesn’t really see it at first, but the light catches it just the right way and it takes the breath right out of her.
She grabs her Mama’s arms and pushes up her long sleeves - which should have been a clue, you know, sweatshirts in the middle of a Texas summer never mean anything good, but Becky had started making an effort not to be around much after the wedding so she’s a little off her game - and there are bruises on each one. Four perfect fingerprints lined up in tiny rows and Becky feels like she might throw up. It’s not the first time she’s seen them, but she decides right then and there it will be the last.
“Mom,” she sighs tiredly, “You gotta leave him. You know that, right?”
The slap is so hard when it lands across her cheek that it pushes her backwards, causes her to bite down on her lip. She tastes blood when she looks at her Mama, runs her fingers across cheekbone and winces.
“You don’t know nothing about anything, Becky. Nothing. Who do you think you are? You with your fancy school and your fancy boyfriend. What makes you think you can walk in here and tell me what to do? You’re no better than I am. No matter how hard you try to hide it.”
Once upon a time Becky would have fought back, would have matched her inch-for-inch, screamed just as loud and gone until she was blue in the face, voice worn out to a mere scratch. She doesn’t have it in her anymore. Just grabs her keys and purse, heads to her room and stuffs some last minute belongings into the bag on her shoulder, some things she doesn’t want to leave behind. When she heads through the living room and towards the front door her Mama’s voice is thick with fresh vodka when she asks, where do you think you’re going?
“I’m leaving.”
Her Mama seems to sober at that. “Well, when are you coming back?”
“When you quit drinkin’ and divorce your husband,” she calls over her shoulder as she swings the door open and slams it behind her.
The car is already half-way down the driveway when her Mama comes storming out of the house after her, but Becky doesn’t bother to look back.
She just heads east.
part two
Summary: Here's what you need to know: Becky gets out. You know what they say about best laid plans, though. She just keeps moving on because it's all she knows.
Rating: pg-13
Author's Notes: 17,491 words. Set (and written) post season four and beyond, so nothing that happens in season five is taken into account here. All the thanks in the world go to leobrat for the beta, hand-holding, brainstorming, and natural awesomeness that she brings to the table. This would not exist without you, my dear. All remaining mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not. Feedback is a lovely thing.
funny how my mind counts each day
by the times I've thought of you
funny how the numbers sway
(Ryan Adams, Go Easy)
Here’s what you need to know: Becky gets out.
When she’s got enough distance and clarity on things to be able to look back on Dillon and not taste something bitter in the back of her throat - like when she was thirteen and had her first drink, raiding her Mama’s special cabinet and mixing everything inside of one cup, all equal parts because she didn’t know any better - this will be what matters. This will be what counts.
To her it’s everything.
After Tim gets sent upstate something starts to shift - in her, in her Mama, in everybody.
Billy Riggins comes up to her in the convenience store, beer under one arm and baby food in the other, breathing it’s just a year like he didn’t want her to worry. He’s got a hard look about him, face thinner than she remembers, eyes tired and eventually he puts down the beer and leaves with just the mashed peas and carrots. He smiles at her guiltily over his shoulder as he makes his way towards the exit. Becky’s always thought he was a little weird, so she doesn’t think anything of it then. Just keeps moving on because it’s all she knows.
The shift isn’t big, mind you, just small changes that mean nothing to anyone who doesn’t look hard enough. One day Becky just sort of hangs up her fancy dresses and her dreams of Hollywood and picks up some pompoms and tries her hand at fitting in. Tries harder to understand all the things she can’t seem to wrap her head around. How Tim is never going to love her, her Daddy isn’t ever coming back for her, and her Mama wasn’t ever going to see her has anything but the mistake she never should have made.
Eventually she gets it.
The knowledge doesn’t come suddenly like some sort of epiphany, but it comes all the same, and it’s like some unimaginable weight is lifted off her shoulders when it does. Like she finally just understands everything she never could before, like the world gets just a tad bit clearer. And it’s fine. Really. She’s better than them, better than this small town and it’s simple way of life and Becky’s going to do good things one day. She knows that now.
She is more certain of it than she’s ever been about anything else.
Eventually Luke starts coming around again, all earnest and honest with his soft smiles and wide eyes. At first she’s still got Tim rolling around the back of her mind, still so naively hopeful for things that weren’t ever going to come, so she flirts and smiles and lets her shoulder brush against his as they walk down the hallway, but doesn’t really mean it. Doesn’t even know how to mean even if she wanted to. Eventually Tim becomes just a memory though, something else she’ll be able to look back on fondly somewhere down the road, a wistful what if to ponder during lonely nights. Becky starts seeing Luke as something different altogether. Something other than the guy who bought her beer and knocked her up after a few sloppy kisses and ten minutes in the back seat of his truck.
Luke’s a nice guy, though. Luke’s a really nice guy who tells stupid jokes just to make her laugh, carries her books when he walks her to class and deals with her mother on Saturday nights just so he can hang out with her. Eventually Becky gives in once she realizes fully that he has no plans on going anywhere and she doesn’t really want him to. Eventually they make a play at making this thing between them work and it’s actually kind of perfect when you think about it - the star football player and the pretty cheerleader. Something akin to high school royalty. Something Becky never thought she’d have. Something Becky never even thought she wanted.
Her Mama falls in and out of love with every guy that walks into her bar, even marries one somewhere around the summer before her senior year. There is a tiny ceremony and Becky laughs at her mother’s white dress and too-red lipstick. His name is Bobby and Becky can’t stand the way he handles her mother - with harsh words and fingers so tight around her wrist that they leave fingerprints in their wake. Becky dances with Luke the entire night, loses herself in his presence and the way his hand fits permanently on the small of her back, lips next to her ear as he hums along with the band and she thinks she could love him, thinks maybe she already does.
Then again, Becky doesn’t really know anything about love, doesn’t really understand it outside of wishing and wanting and childish crushes.
They establish rules. They never talk about before, about that night at just sixteen in his truck and the aftermath that followed. She goes to church on Sundays with his parents because it makes his mother feel good and Becky will never be able to stand not being liked so she tries like hell to change it. She’ll help him out with stuff around the farm after school, do her homework in his living room with his mother watching them like a hawk, and Luke never asks why she never seems to want to go home because he already knows.
They make it through his first year playing football at UT. She makes the trip up to see him for home games, counts down the days until breaks and long weekends. Tries her hardest not to be the jealous girlfriend when she visits him, when Stacy and Lacy and all the pretty cheerleaders hang on his every word.
They make it all the way up until she chooses NC State over Texas, chooses the school that would get her as far away from Dillon as possible and, consequently, him. They even make it past that, too, if only for a little while up until a week before she’s set to leave.
“You’re really leaving then?” he asks, shoulder against her door jam as he watches her fold her clothes into neat little piles and place them in labeled boxes.
Becky shrugs and doesn’t look at him. “I got to Luke. I can’t stay here,” she laughs, the sound short and hallow, but it’s not funny. It’s just the truth.
Luke sighs, heavy and weighted, crosses the distance and kisses her softly against the corner of her mouth. He understands. He always has. It was never going to be them. Not here anyway. Becky’s always known that.
Her Mama throws a fit the day before she’s set to leave. The car is packed and ready to go for the next morning and her Mama starts screaming at Becky for anything and everything, trying to garner a reaction, trying to pick a fight. Becky’s been through this before though. Recognizes the signs. This is how her Mama copes - vodka and arguments, the only things she’s really ever known, the only thing she’s ever really been good at. There’s a bruise buried under a pound of makeup on her cheek and it’s dark inside the house so Becky doesn’t really see it at first, but the light catches it just the right way and it takes the breath right out of her.
She grabs her Mama’s arms and pushes up her long sleeves - which should have been a clue, you know, sweatshirts in the middle of a Texas summer never mean anything good, but Becky had started making an effort not to be around much after the wedding so she’s a little off her game - and there are bruises on each one. Four perfect fingerprints lined up in tiny rows and Becky feels like she might throw up. It’s not the first time she’s seen them, but she decides right then and there it will be the last.
“Mom,” she sighs tiredly, “You gotta leave him. You know that, right?”
The slap is so hard when it lands across her cheek that it pushes her backwards, causes her to bite down on her lip. She tastes blood when she looks at her Mama, runs her fingers across cheekbone and winces.
“You don’t know nothing about anything, Becky. Nothing. Who do you think you are? You with your fancy school and your fancy boyfriend. What makes you think you can walk in here and tell me what to do? You’re no better than I am. No matter how hard you try to hide it.”
Once upon a time Becky would have fought back, would have matched her inch-for-inch, screamed just as loud and gone until she was blue in the face, voice worn out to a mere scratch. She doesn’t have it in her anymore. Just grabs her keys and purse, heads to her room and stuffs some last minute belongings into the bag on her shoulder, some things she doesn’t want to leave behind. When she heads through the living room and towards the front door her Mama’s voice is thick with fresh vodka when she asks, where do you think you’re going?
“I’m leaving.”
Her Mama seems to sober at that. “Well, when are you coming back?”
“When you quit drinkin’ and divorce your husband,” she calls over her shoulder as she swings the door open and slams it behind her.
The car is already half-way down the driveway when her Mama comes storming out of the house after her, but Becky doesn’t bother to look back.
She just heads east.
part two