Summary: Chloe Beale is the daughter of a wealthy family. Beca Mitchell has been a thief most of her life but finds herself working for the family after her old life gets blown to hell. AU
Author's Note: Most of this was written before the second movie and has been sitting in my files for a long time now. Most chapters will average around 3,000 words, and updates will probably be infrequent.
Chapter 1
So few people in this world could ever consider themselves 'lucky'. There is no sense of ability to climb up the social ladder. If you are wealthy, you were born that way, and you are fortunate. And none are stupid enough to waste such power. Others could slide by through trade, or simply knowing the right people, but you needed some sort of skill that was considered worthwhile. And competition was strong. A person needed to be the best of the best in their respective skill if they wanted to get anywhere. If a person found themselves without a skill, the common belief was that they would be better off dead than suffering.
It was a cruel place; a world full of death, of murderers and thieves, of people longing to see a better future, but lacking the means to obtain it. Those thoughts drove many over the edge. Those who remained pure enough not to kill or steal were often not pure enough to live through their suffering. It wasn't news when a body was found, cold and bloated after days of being ignored. It was normal.
Many turned to hard labor. Slavery was the term the average people used; better selling yourself than being dead. The wealthy families always needed people who would work for them, their only pay being meager meals and even worse housing and treatment. These people became nothing more than cattle. Their dignity stripped in the process of offering their lives wholly to another man, they became less than human, a fate considered worse than death by the many that did not fear it. Those same families, probably in an attempt to make themselves feel like they weren't doing anything wrong, referred to their slaves as laborers.
But some of these 'laborers' were lucky. It was a different sort of luck of course. It wasn't the same luck of being born into a family with money. It was being offered a second chance to live.
The Beales were a wealthy family. Their business was their land, which extended more miles in rolling plains of strawberry fields for their signature wine, in apple orchards from which came their cider, dense forestry for game and the furs that could be sold through the winter, and a lake occupied by several species of fish. The family mansion sat atop a hill in the center, over-looking the small paradise that was well kept by the folk the family kindly employed.
They were a kind family, one of the few in the world, and only seemed to breed good hearts and caring souls without an ounce of bad intent. They did not treat the men and women who served them like they were property, and the workers did not consider themselves as slaves who had given their lives away to continue living. The Beales were a rare find in a cruel world, giving many their chance to live in peace, the only chance they ever had.
Beca Mitchell considered herself lucky.
Her father had disappeared before her birth, leaving her mother and his wife with an infant to care for and no means of money. Beca had never known him; her mother never spoke of him, not even his name. Beca never asked. Growing up there was nothing to show that he had ever existed other than her own presence.
They managed for several years. Beca's mother was a healer—a breed as rare as the Beales. It was a talent that ran in a bloodline, only the women being graced with the power. They could cure sickness, mend broken bones, close the most gruesome of wounds, and many other ailments.
It brought in money and paid for food and shelter. In such a world, wounds and sickness were common and something always needed fixing, but people couldn't always pay. Beca's mother was a kind woman and tended to such people anyway and they would always find some way to pay her back, be the payment gold or something else.
How ironic that the woman died of disease.
Beca was nine when it happened, only a year away from beginning her own healing training. One could not hope to unlock their power without the guidance of another healer, and teachers were few and far between.
Rather than try to seek one out, Beca decided that she would make her own path. She was taught not to believe in destiny, and that faith was a hopeless concept created to keep people from seeking the betterment of their lives, only left to hope that it would come to them eventually. If one lost that faith, death was eminent, self-served or not. Better to never believe at all than be let down in the future.
Grace Mitchell had been a kind, gentle woman, but even she did not see past the cruelty of their world, and would not have her daughter be brought up believing in senseless ideals created by the very men that put them in their position.
Most girls in Beca's position—an orphan with no one to turn to—would fall into prostitution. There were men who sought out those very girls, only searching for some hint of kindness so that they might survive, and under the guise of a protector put them under torment, keeping them drugged and dazed to the point that they would not be aware of how wrong the situation was, giving their bodies away and receiving nothing in return, believing that they were alive, so they must be living.
Beca was not most girls. She turned instead to thievery. It began with small pickpocketing. No one would suspect such a small girl to be such a threat. Soon she became adept at lock-picking, breaking into small shops under the dark of night. She only ever took what was necessary to keep her alive, small bits of gold, furs to keep her warm at night. That was enough to keep away the thought of how disappointed her mother would be if Grace could see her actions. This was survival, that was all. There was little else she could do.
By the time she was ten she had been contacted by a guild of thieves. She had been watched for some time, her thefts counted and even scored for two months before being given the offer to join.
They became her family. Eight years she stayed with the guild, going on heists, honing her talents. She and her brother in arms Jesse Swanson, became two of the best the guild had to offer. Every day was a party, celebrating their luck at having been blessed with the skills they had, the skills that made living easy. There was no shortage of food or drink. There was no fear; who would dare harm anyone in the guild whose main rule was 'The Guild is family. Never turn your back on family, defend it with your life'? There was no questioning when things would get better—they were already great. They were feared and had the law in their pockets.
By then Beca had pushed any thoughts of her mother from her mind. This was a life Grace had scorned, taking from people who already lived with need, fueling self-greed. She would be utterly disappointed in her daughter, that she had never even tried to follow her blood, that she became a thief instead. So rather than let those thoughts control her and let them lead her away from a life that was so easy to live, Beca let the memories of her mother go.
Well, it wasn't always easy. Sometimes a heist would go south and in that situation there was little that could be done about the law besides fight it. Beca had the scars to prove it, but those losses were just mistakes she taught herself to correct. The Guild had its enemies, some who wanted revenge, some who wanted the power the Guild had.
It all turned upside-down in an instant when their leader was murdered in the night. Immediately the rule of family was forgotten as each member turned on one another, accusing each other of being the murderer. It was a bloodbath. Beca killed at least three of her brothers and sisters—she did not fully remember the incident and could not say for sure how many lives she had taken that night. But at the sight of her brother Jesse lying dead on the floor was enough to bring her mind back, to make her turn tail and run—though not before taking the hoard of gold she had beneath her bed.
For the second time, Beca had become an orphan.
Something happened in her heart after that night. The pain of losing her mother came back tenth-fold. Why would anyone choose to love in a world where everything of value was constantly being ripped away? Why would someone choose to feel that pain, time and time again? It was inevitable and Beca could not see the point of it.
So she looked only to herself. She was more capable than most: well off in a fight, sneaky and light on her feet, seductive if the situation were to call for it. She had all the skills to get what she needed, never staying in one place for long as to not get attached.
But her reputation caught up to her eventually. Rarely did she let her guard down, but at some point exhaustion had set in and she got sloppy. They found her, some men working for a family she had Jesse had stolen from some years back. That is the conclusion she had come to anyway. They beat her, left her for dead.
And along came James Beale, travelling home from a business trip. By chance he had his healer with him, a blonde, middle aged woman by the name of Gail. Her life saved, James asked of her story. She told him pieces but not all.
Everyone knew of the Beale family and their kindness. When the man offered her a place there, she would have to be a fool not to accept.
She became a part of the hunters. Beca was not suited for housework of any sort; she could not cook, couldn't knit even a simple scarf, and only ever made messes, never cleaned them. She was however, great with a bow and arrow and she had a knack for tracking.
Though the other workers were a nice bunch, each considering themselves as lucky as she, and they accepted her quickly, Beca held them all at arm's length. Her promise still stood. Eventually something would happen and she would be left alone again. Not letting the others in saved her from pain later on.