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The people rose as the organist played the first note, and the doors to the small church opened. There, by her father’s arm, stood Laura, beaming. She was wearing the prettiest wedding dress Clint had ever seen, but if anyone had asked him to close his eyes and describe it, he wouldn’t even be able to say if it was long or short, because all he really saw was Laura.
Laura’s hair was pinned back with the help of small, white flowers and pearls, her lips red and her cheeks rosy. And she smiled. Her entire face, her entire body, smiled. Her eyes glittered. She looked so happy, so unbelievably happy. Clint couldn’t understand how she could be this happy at the prospect of marrying him, but the hard knot in his stomach loosened up as soon as their eyes met.
He really couldn’t believe his luck.
It was a slow-moving mission, tracking people through a war zone. And lonely. Clint wasn’t complaining, not really, but being allowed on the US military base outside Bagram was a nice change. Doing gigs almost above border had its upsides. He had come in two days ago, and had had time for a shower and a shave, so even in the horrible, kaki clothes he was wearing, he actually felt like himself for the first time in weeks. Not to mention that the food they served here was actually edible, though not very aesthetically pleasing.
“Can I sit here?”
Clint looked up from his dinner. On the other side of the table stood a lieutenant, carrying a tray with the same suspiciously looking food as he had in front of him. She had her brown hair tied in a bun in the back of her neck, like all the women at the military base outside Bagram. Like all American women at all American military bases, Clint presumed. To him, all the women and men in uniform looked the same. This one looked like she’d been here a while, judging by her tan. Clint had been moving around the Middle East for almost three weeks now, but he was pale compared to her.
Clint looked around the mess. There were lots of empty seats, which meant the lieutenant had reasons to come here. It made him suspicious, but he nodded at the spot opposite him anyway.
“Sure.”
“You’re new,” she said, sitting down.
“No, I’m thirty-one.”
The lieutenant smiled, even laughed a little. It was a pretty smile, it was something that actually made her stand out among the uniforms and army authorised hairstyle.
“Laura Clark,” she said, reaching over the table to shake his hand.
Clint took it. “Ma’am.”
“This is where you say your name, or is that classified or something?”
“Why would it be?”
“Because there aren’t that many civilians here, and even fewer with earpieces, so…” said Laura, giving him a good look over. “What are you? CIA?”
Clint looked bemused at her. She was so sure of herself, so certain that he was an intelligence agent that he felt like telling her about his loose ties to certain terrorist groups, and that the government that had sent her here had also sometimes paid for him to assassinate people they couldn’t send the military to take out, just to see if he could make her world crumble a little. Not that he would, but it could have been entertaining.
He took a mouthful of food, and said: “I’m an archer.”
She shook her head, smiling again, as if she found him amusing or silly. Probably both. The silly spy she had been sent to drag some information out of because it’s been a boring couple of days. He wouldn’t spoil her fun.
“It’s true. I promise.” He showed her his hands, pointing at the calluses on his fingers. “These are from the bowstring, and these are from the actual bow. You should see he marks I have on my arm.”
Laura met his eyes. “You’re actually an archer.”
“I’m actually an archer.”
“Well, I hope for your sake that you brought something other than arrows to this gunfight.”
Now it was Clint’s turn to smile, and almost laugh. “You don’t have to worry about me, ma’am. I’m just here for the terrific cuisine.”
Laura wrinkled her nose. “Then I think you took a wrong turn somewhere.”
“Believe me, I’ve had much worse.”
“That might be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
This time Clint actually laughed. More because of her grimace than her words. The rest of the time they spent trying to break each other’s stories about bad food experiences. When Clint told her that a week ago he had eaten a lizard of some kind that he had caught and cooked, she raised her hands.
“You win,” she said. “God, that sounds awful!”
“As I said, I’m here for the first class dining.”
Laura looked briefly over her shoulder, to the entrance where more people were coming in. “I’m sorry, I have to get back. But thanks for the company.”
“Lieutenant Clark,” Clint said as she got up to leave. “My name’s Clint. And these—“ he pointed at his ear “—are hearing aids, not earpieces.”
“Clint, the hearing impaired archer,” said Laura, trying it out. “Yeah, that’s too strange to be a cover – even for the CIA.”
She gave him a last, big smile, before nodding, and walking away. Clint pushed the almost empty plate across the table, and watched her go, disappear among the other uniforms. It wasn’t just the food that was better, it turned out. Apparently the company was also better than lizards.
Clint stepped down, walking two steps down the aisle to meet Laura and her father.
“Eager, are we?” Mr. Clark said, smiling and winking at him.
“Dad,” Laura said, nudging him in the side. “Behave.”
“You can’t blame me, sir, can you?” said Clint to his future father-in-law, the short moment he took his eyes of Laura.
Mr. Clark chuckled. He gave Laura a kiss on the cheek and whispered that he loved her, before he took a step back and nodded to Clint.
“Look at you,” Laura whispered, when he took her arm.
“Look at you,” he said, half-choking on the words. “You’re… you’re…”
Laura squeezed his hand, holding it tightly as they turned to the priest.
Clint stepped out of the shower, one green towel around his waist and a blue one drying his hair with. On the bed, former Lieutenant, now Captain Laura Clark, sat smiling, wrapped in a purple bathrobe and with her legs crossed. She had been stateside for two months; he had been in the US for just over three weeks and the first thing he had done when he was back was to look her up.
She said something, letting her eyes wander over his half-naked body. He smirked, throwing the blue towel at her, and he could make out her laughter before she said something again and threw the towel back.
“Wait,” he said, walking back to the bathroom. He rubbed his ears dry enough, and put in his hearing aids. One of them beeped, making him frown and take it out and pop it back in again. This time without problem.
“I’m sorry,” Laura said, deeply embarrassed, when he came back to the room. “I keep forgetting that.”
Clint sat down on the bed next to her, giving her a quick kiss. “It’s okay.”
“It’s okay that I forget that you can’t hear?” she asked, sceptically.
“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” he said, kissing her again. And again. “I’m used to it.”
Laura put her hand on his chest and gently pushed him away. Her shocked, almost appalled expression confused him.
“I’m not going to forget it again,” she said. “Get used to that.”
It was an order. Clint recognised the non-nonsense tone in her voice from other officers he had crossed path with, but he had never heard her use it before. It made him smirk, giving her a mocking salute.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Laura laughed softly, pulling down his arm. “Stop that, I’m being serious.”
“You don’t sound very serious, Captain Clark, ma’am.”
“Well, Archer Guy, I am. Just because you’re used to people forgetting, doesn’t make it okay that they do. And I won’t do it again.”
Clint didn’t know what to say to that, but she seemed so determined that he decided to not argue. Instead he leaned forward again and kissed her. She made a small noise in protest, but wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down on the bed which he took as permission to continue. He smiled as he worked his mouth down her neck, and started to undo her bathrobe; there were more ways to communicate than through spoken words.
“Dearly beloved,” the priest begun as Clint and Laura turned their back to the congregation. “We are gathered here in the presence of God, and before friends and family, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony…”
Clint’s attention drifted slightly. The god talk and the holiness of it all made him slightly uncomfortable, but they’d had eight days to plan this and nitpicking words in the ceremony hadn’t been prioritized. They were just words, though, and the only thing that mattered was Laura, who held his hand so tightly that it almost hurt.
“Clinton,” the priest said, making him focus again. “Do you take Laura to be your lawfully wedded wife to live in the holy estate of matrimony, to love, honor, comfort, and cherish her from this day forward, forsaking all others, keeping only unto her for as long as you both shall live?”
“I do.”
Laura squeezed his hand, smiling from ear to ear when the priest gave her the same question. She nodded, before she said: “I do.”
They sat silently at opposite sides of Laura’s small kitchen table. Time seemed to stand still, dragging out the moment to infinity, even if the clock on the wall loudly counted ever passing second.
They had pretended to live together, in Laura’s small, off-base, studio apartment, for six months. Clint had been there for seventy-eight days, scattered out unevenly over those months. It had been some of the best days of his life, but the secrecy, the coming and going, and the phone calls at odd hours, had put a strain on this charade of a relationship that they had. Clint had expected it, he had had almost every single one of his relationships (romantic and otherwise) ruined by lies and deceit. Therefore, this time, he thought he’d ruin it with the truth instead for a change. And that’s why they were sitting there now, looking at each other.
He hadn’t told her everything – not even close to half of it – just enough for her to understand that he was the faceless villain in every bad action movie. That his archery wasn’t a hobby. That the cut he’d come home with two months ago hadn’t been an accident... He had told her just enough for her to call him a maniac and leave, but so far she just sat there. Staring.
“I love you,” she finally blurted out.
Clint huffed out a laugh. “That’s not what I thought you’d say.”
“Me neither, to be honest,” she said, smiling insecurely. “Why did you tell me this?”
“Because… I think I love you too.”
Laura reached across the table, taking his hand, entwining their fingers. “I think we need to talk some more.”
Clint nodded, he thought so too.
“Clinton, repeat after me,” the priest said. “I, Clinton Francis.”
Clint took a deep breath, taking both of Laura’s hands before he started to repeat after the priest.
“I, Clinton Francis, take you Laura Sophia Emilia, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.”
By the end, Clint’s voice wasn’t much more than a trembling whisper and his eyes were wet, even if his cheeks were dry. Laura smiled at him, so big and bright that little else existed in the world.
“Now, Laura,” the priest said, turning to the bride. “Repeat after me.”
At that, Laura withdrew her hands from Clint. He looked confused at her, as she took a deep breath and nodded at the priest to go on.
“I, Laura Sophia Emilia,” the priest said.
And then Laura started to sign.
It took time as she spelled her way through her names, the forms and shapes clearly not coming natural to her hands and fingers, but she got there with focused determination. When she was done, she gave the priest a quick glance and a small nod that he could continue.
Clint didn’t know where to look, and he altered between her hands as they fumbled for the words and her face as she slowly mouthed along with the signs. Laura kept going, line by line, until she had reached the end, and she let go of a big sigh of relief. Her hands were shaking, and Clint reached out to take them again. He stepped closer to her, bringing her hands to his mouth and kissing them.
“I love you,” he whispered, but it didn’t even begin to cover the wave of affection he felt for her in that moment. Neither of them had dry cheeks anymore. The priest had to touch Clint’s arm to tell him that it was time for the rings, before he took a step back and they could continue the ceremony.
“Marry me.”
Clint got up on his elbow, looking down on Laura who was lying naked next to him, flushed by their previous activities. She looked so happy and content with life, that he almost forgot that he wasn’t either of those things. Yesterday her orders had come in and now she was leaving in three weeks for a second tour in Afghanistan. For twelve months. She couldn’t wait, he knew that. She had talked sentimentally about Bagram their entire time together. Clint understood that longing to get back in the field, he had even done a fantastic impression of someone thinking it was great news that she was going, but he didn’t like it.
“Marry me,” she said again, reaching up to touch his cheek.
“You’re leaving for fucking Afghanistan.”
“I know.” Laura exhaled wearily. She sat up, giving him a very serious look. “I know, and that’s… If anything happens, I want you to get the call.”
Clint blinked.
“And if the people you work for is the type who would call, then I want to be the call. Okay?”
“You’re proposing just because we have fucked up jobs?”
“No, but that’s why I’m doing it now.” She took a deep breath. “I want to put your name there. I want you to know that no news is good news, if I don’t call. I don’t want to worry about you not getting to know. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“So, Clinton Francis Barton, will you marry me?”
“If you promise to not give them any reason to call.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“That’s not good enough.”
They looked at each other for a long time, before Laura nodded.
“I promise to not give them any reason to call,” she said as if she was taking an oath.
Clint smiled, leaning in to kiss her. “Then, yes, ma’am, I’ll marry you.”
When did you learn sign language? Clint signed, sitting on the edge of the bed in their bridal suite.
They had retired for the night, leaving the party to get a moment alone. Clint had taken off his jacket and the tie hung loose around his neck. Laura was standing in her slip, between his legs.
What? she asked, and he signed his question again.
After the third time she asked what he was saying, he just chuckled. “I suppose that mean you haven’t learned sign language.”
“I’m working on it,” Laura said, looking a bit embarrassed. “The vows just had a really hard deadline, so I had to get those down.”
I love you, he signed.
She leaned in and kissed him. I love you too.
Why? he asked when they broke the kiss.
“Why I love you?”
“That too,” Clint said, chuckling. “But let’s not talk about that during our wedding night. Why do you learn sign language?”
“That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever asked.”
Clint grinned. “At least I didn’t ask you to marry me because you might run over an IED.”
She smiled, buffing him in the chest with her fist. “Are you serious, though?”
He shook his head. “It’s just no one has bothered since I was a kid, and even then it was just my brother.”
“Not your parents?” Laura’s eyes were wide.
Clint just shook his head again.
I love you, she signed. For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. Until death do us part.
He reached up and took her hands. “Don’t give them a reason to call me.”
“I promised I wouldn’t.”
She leaned down to kiss him. It took a moment before he kissed her back. He let go of her hands, and wrapped his arms around her waist. When she ran her fingers through his hair, he tipped them back onto the bed. They giggled, both pretending to not remember that it would be a year before they would have a chance to touch each other like this again.