Warning: Use of language in this chapter.

"Jolene, you've been on dates before: you should be more helpful with this," Beth said in dismay, sorting through what to wear to dinner with Benny.

"I can't help it if you're impossible, Cracker. It's a date, not a battle. You're thinking too much," Jolene replied, still flipping through her magazine, feet up in the air on Beth's bed. Beth had invited her for the weekend, completely out of her depth. Defeating grandmasters? She could do it soundly. Going out to dinner and pleasing press? Not so much.

But underneath all that, it was nice, having someone to talk to about these things. She'd never talked about boys with Alma, she'd never had a need to, had never needed to get advice about what lipstick matched her dress and want the best way to curl your hair was. Most things she'd learnt through experimentation, through finding what suited her, what she felt comfortable in. And while she was well past the point of playing dress-up, it was still nice to find the perfect look.

Beth took out a dress.

Jolene looked up.

"Not that one."

"What's wrong with that one?" Beth asked, folding her arms, leaning against the mattress.

"You're going to the Four Seasons, aren't you?"

"Yes," Beth said slowly.

"Beth, sweetie, you don't wear a floral print like that to the Four Seasons."

Beth fingered the white cotton material, smiling fondly at the bright yellow sunflowers. "But I like sunflowers. They're cheery. And God knows Benny wouldn't wear anything that wasn't black; I thought a little colour would be nice."

Jolene snorted. "Yeah, if you're a five year old. You might as well start getting out your china doll collection and your Alice bands."

"Ha, ha. You know I didn't like those. The prongs dig in like hell," Beth said, putting the dress back on its hanger. She got out another, more conservative dress.

"No."

"What's wrong with this one now?" Beth inquired wearily. Why had she invited her again, other than to eat take-out and stay up watching the TV and playing their records way too loud?

"You'll look like a nun. If Mrs Deardorff was here, she'd fight you for it. I thought you liked this Benny guy."

Beth hung her head. "It's complicated. We haven't got a choice. It's not like he wants to go to dinner with me, it's not like he asked me."

Jolene tossed her magazine back onto the pile, standing up with a stretch. Even in a denim jacket, jeans and a orange turtleneck, she still liked more beautiful and put-together than Beth had ever felt in her life.

"Complicated my ass. You like him, you're going to a fancy restaurant to eat a fancy dinner and have fancy people take your picture. And he likes you, Cracker, I can tell."

"He does not," Beth protested instantly, going on a defensive as if Jolene had just mounted a bishop attack on an unprotected pawn.

"He does too."

"You heard his voice once, on the phone, I might add."

Jolene took her by the shoulders, face serious as it seldom was. "Beth, just because I'm getting married doesn't mean I'm an expert on love. Hell, sometimes I can't even tie my shoes in the morning. But I know how to read people, the same way you can read a game of chess and figure out your dude's next move. And Beth? I could hear him smiling all the way from that New York dungeon basement of his."

"You could?" she murmured tentatively, not even disputing her comment about the state of Benny's living arrangements.

"Uh huh, you betcha," she said, extending her arm into the recesses of the closet, pulling out a dress. A dazzling smile crept across her face, the kind she'd get in volleyball before she creamed they other team or was about to pull a prank on their odious Geography teacher.

"Wear this one."

Benny didn't have a clue what to expect with this dinner, whether the night would be a disaster and he'd leave with more than his new tie in tatters.

What he did not, expect, however, was for Beth Harmon to turn up in a floor-length, practically backless velvet black gown, her watch on one wrist and a silver charm bracelet on the other, looking for all the world an elegant Hollywood movie star.

And what did he do?

What did Benny Watts, former US Chess Champion, do?

He stood there, staring, trying to pick his jaw up off the floor and failing miserably at the venture.

Wow.

Beth raised a brow, smirking at his choice of neckwear.

"Really? Did you have to?"

"I did," he said.

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, pulling on his black tie with white chess pieces on in order to straighten it, smoothing the wrinkles in his black button-down. "We can't have you looking shabby next to me, Mr Watts, now can we?"

"Indeed not, Miss Harmon. Indeed not."

Beth fiddled with the chain of her bracelet. "God, I'm nervous. Why am I nervous? It's dinner, not the Moscow Invitational," she said in a rush.

Benny frowned, so unused to seeing her so ruffled. He pried her delicate fingers from the bracelet, noticing it had left an imprint on her palm, she'd been holding it so hard. "No, this isn't Moscow, but it is its own kind of battle. But you won't be alone in there, and if it really does all go to shit, if after this you decide to pull out, then I'll pack your play, a hundred percent."

She looked up at him from under her lashes. "Really?"

Benny grinned. "Really really."

That seemed to put Beth at ease. She straightened her dress and took his hand. Benny almost jumped out of his skin at the sudden contact but didn't let go.

"Let's go give people something to talk about," the US Champion said.

Over the years, Beth had become somewhat of a connoisseur of comfy chairs. And at the sight of her chair at the cheapest table at the Four Seasons, she frowned. Was that a spring sticking out if that one?

"The USCF certainly know how to flatter us, don't they?" Beth mumbled.

Without a word, Benny took the sub-standard chair, his back now to the door. She gave him a grateful smile and sat, touched by the small gesture. It was somewhat strange, to have him in front of her like this. Whenever Beth had played him, she'd usually been the one facing him, not the other way around, but Beth decided to simply go with it.

Almost immediately, a waiter descended on them for their drinks. Both of them refused anything with alcohol in it, Benny going so far as to put their menus under the crystal vase out of sight.

"You didn't have to do that," Beth told him.

Benny gave her a knowing look but said, "It's good habit to never be drunk in the face of the press; they can get stuff out if you more easily if you can't even see three feet in front of you."

She grinned, scanning the menu as she purred, "You say that as if from experience, Benny."

He put a hand to his chest, ring glinting in the light. "Beth, I am deeply wounded that you want would think that I wasn't professional at all times," he snarked back, picking up his own menu with an unnecessary flourish.

He was such a drama queen.

The two ordered, nothing particularly fancy but still of good quality. While Beth did enjoy culinary extravagance on the occasion, since coming back from Russia she'd decided to keep things more simple in life and to indulge only for special occasions.

But no alcohol. Not even for birthdays, or anniversaries, or big tournament wins. She wouldn't start down that road again, wouldn't lose sight of what really mattered, the people who mattered. She was Beth Harmon, and that was more than enough, and of the world didn't think so, they could go stick it.

Beth dug into her roast chicken, laughing as Benny waved his fork around animatedly, lettuce leaves quivering, making up stories about their dinner company.

"That one is a CIA operative waiting to make contact with her handler," Benny said, nodding in the direction of a woman three tables over, a briefcase on the chair beside her, glancing at her watch every so often.

"Or she could be waiting for her scandalous criminal boyfriend who her parents don't approve of and this is their last dinner before a grand escape to Europe on the back of his Harley," Beth chimed in, spoon manuvering a wayward vegetable.

"I'll give you points for creativity with that one, Harmon," Benny said, eyes scanning the room for another target. He steepled his fingers under his chin, gaze alight as it so rarely was beyond the realms of the chess board. "Alright, what about that one?" he asked her.

Beth glanced over his shoulder. Two men sat arguing, one pointing to a pile of papers while the other one gave him disparaging looks over his bowl of dessert. She copied Benny's pose, brain formulating the most amusing story. "Let's see. Two brothers, arguing about where the younger one is going to go to college. The older one wants him to study business and be apart of their father's company, but the younger one secretly yearns to go to England and be a rock-god."

Benny laughed, face incredulous. "A 'rock god?'" he asked her, putting air quotes around the phrase. "Where did that one come from?"

"He's got what appears to be Victoria Sponge in his dessert bowl, a distinctly British dessert. He isn't wearing a tie, but his cuff links are musical notes, so I spun away from there."

"Impressive. Who knew there was a secret storyteller side to you, Beth?" he teased her, finishing off her salad.

She offered him a little truth. "At Methuen," she began, gaze not on him but the plate in front of her, "me and Jolene used to make up stories about the parents who used to come and adopt the kids. In a way, we used it to make light of the situation, since we both knew how unlikely it was that we'd get adopted. And really, because who decided that neon green should ever be used for a suit is beyond me."

Beth expected him to make some joke about it, a quick laugh and a sarcastic quip. Instead, he tapped her hand across the table, getting her attention. "Some people just don't realize what they have right in front of the until it's gone," he told her.

She was taken aback. Benny wasn't often serious, unless it was about chess, about analyzing an endgame or the best way to castle. And she felt like there was some hidden meaning to what he was saying, a hidden depth she just couldn't quite grasp, like trying hold on to a puddle of quicksand, there and then gone.

Or maybe she was reading too much into it. So she played it safe, redrawing her hand and taking a sip of her Coke. "Yeah, like that salad of yours. And to think that you used to complain about me eating all the eggs in the fridge."

Benny appeared unruffled, picking up his own glass and giving her a shrug. "Come on, Beth, be reasonable, no one needs that many eggs before ten. At one point I thought you were goin' to start growing feathers and clucking at me."

Beth flicked a bone at him, not deterring him in the slightest.

"We'd have had to ship you to Paris in a cardboard box with some corn and a bucket of hay," he chuckled.

At first, she was too vexed to do anything but hkare at him. But it was Benny, and his laugh was just too damn infectious. After a moment, she was laughing, too, making light squaking sounds so the other patrons didn't overhear and think she'd gone nuts.

One the chicken joke had grown old, Beth and Benny split dessert.

"Remind me how old you are again, Harmon?" Benny said as she dug her spoon into the chocolate ice cream extravaganza she'd ordered, sprinkles and cream and the whole nine yards.

"Do you have some moral objection to ice cream?" she asked him, spoon still in her mouth.

"No," he told her, "I just thought you'd be into something a little more sophisticated, given our current locale and all."

Beth grinned. "Fuck being sophisticated. I'm in one of the most sought-after restaurants in New York, eating dinner with grey company, and I'm not paying for it. Why shouldn't I indulge myself?" she asked.

"Touché. Just save me some, will you? And don't leave me all the orange sprinkles."

"Deal."

She left him all the pink ones.

Benny eyed the front door as they got up from the table, hands deep in his jacket pockets. He felt exposed without his leather coat and his Akubra, but he knew it wouldn't have done if he'd showed up with them, as if he was going to a chess match and not a dinner.

They walked the red runner up to the front door, past the desks and the harried members of staff rushing about to and fro. Benny felt for them: he'd done his own share of waitstaffing when money was tight in his youth, when there wasn't a tournament and he was out on his own, trying to make ends meet.

Beth's face was a complete blank, like a painting stripped by bleach. Without thought, he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, murmuring low in her ear, "Think of a happy memory."

Instantly she replied, "Beating Borgov."

Benny let out a snort. "Something that isn't chess, Harmon."

Beth bit her lip absently, lost in thought. Then, she said, "Ohio. Snowed in at some hotel, huddled up in the blankets with my mother. It was one of the first times I ever remembered feeling safe."

He didn't know what to say. His heart hurt, for this lonely girl who'd been so gifted yet had faced such cruelty from the world, who had had to struggle so much to be where she was today. And because he himself had not felt that level of love in a very, very long time, but he still remembered it, a phantom touch that never really goes away.

"That sounds really nice," he told her and opened the door.

Instantly, they were met with flashbulbs and greedy hands clawing at them like children tapping on the glass at the zoo. Beth squared her shoulders beside him, her small frame knocking into his.

"Alright," he called, "who wants to go first?"

"Mr Watts, are you and Miss Harmon dating?" a woman called out in the crowd.

"To be dating we'd have had to have been out more than once. Next?"

"Mr Watts, is it true that you once coached Miss Harmon and that you're the reason she won against Borgov?"

This from a weasley looking man, arms folded as if he already had the answer. And he had a mustache. He was an affront to mustaches everywhere. He felt Beth flinch into his ribs.

"The only thing I've ever coached Miss Harmon on is my hair-care routine, and she won against Borgov all on her own, because she's the best damned player out there. Next?"

"Miss Harmon, what is your relationship with Mr Watts? Did he throw the US Championship for you because you were romantically involved at the time?"

Oh, that guy really shouldn't have said that, shouldn't have said that at all.

Beth hated it when people used her gender against her, and he did, too. As if whether you had x or y chromosomes impacted on your ability to play chess.

She was going to eat him for dinner.

"My relationship with Mr Watts is none of your business, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't slander my career or the career of Mr Watts in such a fashion. I have never used my feminity to get anything, certainly not when it comes to my chess. Benny did not throw anything, I won because I deserved to win, because that day I was the better player. And for the record, you should be careful what you say about women, for we are as equal as any man. Better, because we don't have to make up trivial gossip to sell our papers. Did you get all that?" she asked sweetly.

Benny hid his snicker with a cough, but Beth saw it, throwing a smile is way.

"Right, that's all folks, enjoy your night!" Benny called authoritatively, pulling Beth through the throng. They hailed a cab back to his apartment, Benny instantly shucking off his tie and fancy shoes.

"See?" he told her. "Easy as pie."

Beth chuckled, hopping about on one foot as she took off her heals. "Have you ever tried to bake a pie, Benny? Let me tell you, they are not easy."

Benny shook his head, offering his arm to lean on so she didn't slip and break her neck. "Since when do you bake, Harmon?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Beth got off the other shoe. "My mother's birthday. She liked pie, so I decided to try and make one for her, the first year after she adopted me."

"I bet that turned out well."

She chucked her shoe at his chest. "The fire department weren't called, so I'd call that a success in my book."

Benny tossed the shoes back. "I'm guessing I don't want to know what you wouldn't deem a success then, would I?"

"Definitely, not if you're ever thinking of letting me near your stove again."

"I think I'll take my chances; your scrambled eggs are just too good to pass up when it's five in the morning and you feel like you haven't slept in a year."

She rolled her eyes, heading for his room and the clothes she'd left, since she had decided to stay until the end of the week. "I did tell you not to do that Eastwood marathon at the movies; it's not my fault if you're too immature to suffer the consequences."

Benny pouted, putting on the coffee machine. "I'm a cowboy, Beth," he stated over his shoulder. "It was obligatory that I go and revel in the cowboy-y greatness."

"That's not a word," Beth admonished, coming up behind him. "And I don't think you owning a cowboy-adjacent hat qualifies you, somehow," she finished, getting out a pair of mugs.

It was barely six, but she was already dressed in pajamas, white with pink and blue flowers. She looked absolutely adorable. And soft. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, to get lost in her going over a favourite game or a well-loved book or just anything. But he was Benny Watts, and he had some damned self control. So he just stood there, waiting for the coffee to finish.

Benny picked up his mug, ring clattering rythmiclly on the handle as his fingers tapped. He glanced at the other mug, her mug, the one she'd claimed that first morning after she'd gotten here, deeming it the bets of the bunch, since it wasn't stained or chipped or was some rude innuendo.

Benny got a lot if weird Christmas presents.

Finally, the coffee machine beeped. Beth's hand shot out but he was faster, pouring a generous amount in each mug before she could object. And it was only natural for him to put two sugar cubes and a splash of cream in her's, the good stuff, and pass it to her, handle sticking out.

"You remembered," she said, as if it was some grand task he had just performed rather than him making her a mere caffeinated beverage.

"Of course I remembered. You forget, while my mind may not be as sharp as yours, it still works just fine," he quipped, plopping a single sugar cube in his own.

"Hey, I never forget how smart you are," Beth chided, grabbing a dish rag to mop up the coffee he hadn't even realized he'd spilled. "I'm grateful every day for how smart you are. Besides, there's plenty of different smarts. I can work out algebraic fractions, but I can't navigate traffic on a Monday morning like you can, or start a conversation as effortlessly as you do."

"My, my, such flattery from you. Whatever did I do to earn such praise?" he teased over the rim of his mug.

"You had my back," she told him truthfully. "And you didn't let go."

Author's Note: Hello, everyone. Happy Saturday! Yay, it's the weekend. I hope you had a great week. I had such a blast writing this chapter, I love having some good banter, the jokes just seeming to flow out of me. And, by the way, I have never actually been to the Four Seasons, so all food, decor and springy chairs are of my own ideas. So, did you guys enjoy this? Let me know! And don't worry, there will be plenty more outings like this in future chapters.

Until next time.

All my love, Temperance Cain