Warning: Use of language

Beth hadn't been joking.

Benny had thought that was only being dramatic, when she claimed her pills were 'everywhere.'

But they were. Half empty bottles still left in her suitcase, forgotten under cushions and even in an empty lipstick tube. Benny even found one in a hollowed-out chess piece.

He got rid of them all, Beth tracking him with her eyes by her spot on the couch, although she didn't say a word.

He still didn't know how to feel about all of this.

Sh was right, they didn't know each other all that well.

But he liked to think that he knew enough.

Enough to try and help her.

Benny sat down across from her, forearms braced on his knees.

His hat was still by the stairs.

He liked it there, as if it belonged, as if it had a home, all of its own.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Beth shook her head. "No. I just want to sleep."

Getting drunk, getting high on pills, was all fine and dandy until the next morning, with nothing on your stomach and a head feeling as heavy as a bowling ball.

Sitting, curled up on the floor of the bathroom, the porcelain tiles cool underneath her, Beth let her head thump against the wall, waiting for the nausea to subside.

It was never usually this bad.

She never usually got so drunk, in all fairness.

Benny sat next to her, long legs splayed out in front of him.

As he'd been all night, holding back her hair as she threw up the alcohol still in her system.

God, she didn't deserve him.

A few days ago, she wouldn't have pictured it, not in a million years: Benny Watts, the most talented American player since Morphy, sitting with her in the bathroom, taking care of her, calling her out on her self-destructive nature.

She didn't know where it came from, this black hole inside her.

But she had a few ideas.

"Better?" he asked her.

Beth nodded.

Benny stood, blond hair catching in the light from the bulb. He held his hands out to her, and she took them, gratefully, swaying into him like an arthritic tree caught in a gusting breeze.

"I hate you seeing me like this," she murmured into his chest.

"Why? Because you don't want me to know that you're human? I'd hate seeing you drink yourself into oblivion or seeing you passed out on the floor. I'd hate seeing you do this by yourself, as some sort of punishment, as if you think you don't deserve to be looked after. Consider it me paying you back."

Beth frowned, brows knotting in confusion. "For what?"

"For the company in New York. Even chess champions get lonely, Beth."

"But you made it sound like you were the one doing me a favour," Beth pointed out.

"Would you have gone if I hadn't made it about chess?" he asked.

"Maybe."

"If only I believed you. Now, go get some rest; my backs killing me from sitting on the floor. Why can't bathroom floors be more comfortable?"

Beth awoke from a fitful sleep once again, taking instant note of the chair beside her bed, the ruffled cushion. As if he'd been watching over her, her own guardian angel.

Although Beth didn't think they wore cowboy hats.

Beth put on some clean pajamas, brushing out her hair, trying to feel a little more alive.

She found Benny in the kitchen, his back to her, flipping pancakes with expert precision, which was no surprise.

He'd never cooked for her, back in New York.

Benny wasn't about culinary skills and pretty presentation; he was more about shoving food in his mouth and getting back to the board, which Beth could appreciate. He just looked so domestic, so normal.

Beth didn't think she'd ever looked that normal, standing there.

Beth perched on a stool. "We need to get you one of those aprons," she said. "You know, 'Kiss the Cook." Or we could change it to 'Kiss the Rook.,'" she smirked.

Benny turned halfway, face in profile. "It's a good thing I heard you on the stairs. Didn't anyone ever tell you it's unwise to sneak up with someone with a frying pan in their hand, by an open flame no less?" Benny remarked disapprovingly.

"My mother died when I was nine," Beth said, picking up an orange from the fruit bowl, needing something to occupy her hands. It's abrasive texture was almost comforting, like a chess piece worn down from constant handling. "But she wasn't exactly a big fan of cooking. Alma, my adopted mother, died before we could go over the whole 'Obligations of a Housewife' routine. So, no, no one ever too me not to. Like most things, I had to learn on my own."

Benny slid a plate towards her.

He'd drawn a smiley face in fruit and syrup.

"To get you to smile," he said.

And it worked.

Benny was used to trying not to fall asleep. When he'd been younger, he'd found it near on impossible to sleep the night before a major tournament or game, so he'd come up with ways to stay awake. However, he was older now and had no such qualms, and there is really only so much your body can take before it calls it quits on you.

He'd been in one of Beth's overstuffed chairs, pretending to be reading the newspaper whilst actually keeping an eye on her, then the next minute, he woke with a crick in his neck and a crochet blanket thrown over him.

It was pink.

With flowers.

Benny shuddered.

Opening his eyes, he was instantly alert when he didn't spy Beth on the couch where she'd been, then cursed himself for overreacting. Instead, he found her seated on the piano stool, but not playing, her hands barely touching the keys.

He sat up, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt. "I didn't know that you played," he told her.

Beth shook her head. "I don't. Alma did. She used to love it, although she always claimed she had terrible stage fright. There was one time, in Mexico, before my game with Borgov, before she died, when I found her in the hotel lobby, playing their piano. And everyone stopped to listen, and I was so proud, proud that she was happy enough to let other people hear her play, that she hadn't let her fear stop her from sharing something beautiful." Beth smiled sadly, the movement full of heartbreak and loss and sorrow.

Beth looked up at him. "However," she said, "I did convince her to teach me a little. It was one of our first Christmases together, and we'd been in a tiny hotel room together, waiting for one of my tournaments to start, and we watched 'The Wizard of Oz' together. I'd never seen anything like it. Before the accident, my mother didn't have a TV, and at Methuen, the only movies we watched were about Christian values and how to wash your hands. I was completely enamoured. So, when we got back home, she sat me down and she taught me how to play 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow.'"

Benny got up from the chair, coming to lean against the piano.

"Play it for me."

"What?"

"Come on, Beth: play for me. I'd like to hear it," he told her truthfully.

It felt precious, this moment, like something you'd keep locked up in a box, to be taken out occasionally, but ultimately preserved, this little bit if herself and her past she was offering up to him.

And he wanted to hear her play.

"It's not great," she told him self-consciously.

Benny rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "You can't be the best at everything, Harmon."

"True," she said with a rueful smile. "Do you want to sit?"

"Sure," he replied, coming to sit beside her on the bench. He could feel the warmth of her, all through his left side, even through her pajamas.

Beth gave him one last glance before she put her feet on the pedals and began to play.

Benny wasn't exactly musically inclined, but he could tell that she was good. And he started to hum along, and she started to match him, and it was easy and light and all the things Benny hadn't felt in a long time, hadn't let himself feel. For so long, life had been about getting to the next match, beating the next opponent, perfecting the next strategy.

Until they all started to blend together.

Until he didn't really remember where he was, and it was a sea of crappy hotel rooms and people wanting to get the scoop from the great Benny Watts.

His life had been like that, until Beth. And it was Incredible, how she made him see the beauty in the game once again. Made him feel like that little kid, sitting down at the board for the first time, chess pieces fitting into his palm as if they'd been crafted entirely for him, only for him. Being with Beth, it was like magic, and he didn't want to lose it, not ever again.

Beth's fingers slowed, the song coming to it's inevitable conclusion.

Benny cleared his throat, somewhat awkwardly. "You play really well," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Beth swiveled on the bench, grinning at him. "Thanks,* she replied. Then her head tilted in that way of hers, and he could almost hear her thinking.

Benny followed her line of sight, and wasn't surprised by what had captivated her attention: the chess board, still sitting on the table, pieces sleeping, waiting to be awoken.

"I haven't played for fun in a while," Beth admitted.

"Was beating my sorry ass three times at speed chess not fun enough for you?" he quipped dryly, eyebrow arched.

Beth rolled her eyes, giving him a playful shove. "You know what I mean."

And he did.

Benny got up from the piano, crossing the living room and picking up two pieces from the board. He walked back over to her, treads swallowed by the carpet, and held his palms out to her.

Beth tapped his right.

White.

"Are you ready for some fun, Harmon?"

"I can't believe you just did that!" Benny said with a laugh, doubling over on his side of the board, tears practically in his eyes. "Jesus, how did I not see that coming?" he said, utterly indignant, frowning like a kid who'd lost his favourite toy.

Beth laughed, too, unable to help herself. It was nice, to laugh like that. She hadn't in a while. Likely not since New York. Since him. Not that she'd ever tell him that. "Well," she began coyly, "you were so focused on the rook that it was easy for me to-"

"Yeah, yeah," Benny said, cutting her off, "I don't need to relive it twice, Harmon." He smiled at her, flicking his hair out of his eyes. "You're even better than you were," he admitted, voice tinged with awe.

Beth tried not to blush at the intensity of it, and only hoped the evening light helped her in her endeavour. "I had a good coach," she supplied, which only earned her an eye roll but she could tell he was secretly pleased.

Beth got up from the floor, stacking their plates and glasses from dinner.

Not surprisingly, one game had turned into five, which turned into ten, and they'd ended up playing chess all day, sitting across from each other on the floor. Neither had minded. And Benny hadn't protested when Beth offered to make dinner after he did lunch. She could see it, settling into a routine, becoming a pattern: taking turns in the kitchen, playing chess at all hours of the day, going shopping and making up stories about the women in funny hats and the guys buying the paper. Or sitting on the couch, his arm around her shoulder, or reading late into the night. Beth could see it, like a tangible thing, like one of the games she played out in her head, on the ceiling.

And she wanted it.

It surprised her, caught her totally off guard.

She'd thought that she'd never get over Townes, that her feelings for him, at such a young age, had left too much of an imprint on her, an indelible mark that no other relationship could possibly eradicate it.

Harry hadn't been able to.

She'd thought maybe Benny could, back in New York, for the briefest of seconds. But Cleo had confirmed what Beth had secretly suspected, that to Benny, him and his chess would always come first.

But now... now, she wasn't so sure. And she didn't like not being sure, it wasn't who she was as a person.

Or maybe she was reading the entire situation wrong, yet again, like she had done with Townes in Los Vegas. Maybe Benny would deem her mentally sound and pack off, back to life in New York. A life without her.

But what if she wasn't reading it wrong? Would that be worse, to know that Benny did want to stay and that she'd only disappoint him, at some point further down the line?

"Beth?"

Beth blinked, looking up at Benny with a startled gaze. "Hey, where'd your head get to?" he asked her, voice carrying a hint of concern.

Beth shook her head. "Nothing, Benny. It was nothing."

He obviously didn't believe her, she could see it in her eyes, but nonetheless he let the matter drop, getting up and stretching like a cat, his shirt ridding up. Did he have no shame?

She hadn't realized she'd said it aloud until his cheerful "Nope" sounded in her ear as he helped her clean off the dishes, the two fitting naturally side by side.

That was what scared her.

How easy it was.

Nothing in Beth's life had ever been easy. Not life as a child with her first mother, not living as an orphan at Methuen, not school or friends or being a normal human being. Nothing had ever been easy except chess.

Chess and him.

She was rattled by it.

But she didn't want it to stop.

Author's Note: Hello, everyone! Happy weekend! I had such fun writing this chapter, and I've got so many exciting things planned. I hope you enjoyed it. Whilst, I'll admit, 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' may have been a somewhat cliché choice, I liked the innocence it brought to the scene, and I can imagine Beth liking it easily. I'd love to hear your thoughts, so leave a review if you wish.

Until next time.

With love, Temperance Cain