Beth had never been a materialistic person, by both nature and nurture. Before the accident, she'd had little, and had been fine with it. At Methuen, greed was prohibited, especially a greed for that which was above your station, was not the norm for a respectable young woman of society.

So Beth had few things she cherished. A book that had given her the tools she needed to find herself. A floral coat, remnants of a forgotten perfume still desperately clinging to it's fabric, like if they went, she'd be gone too. A broken necklace, found on the floor, caught in the pages of a chess book. But memories, memories she cherished most of all.

Like chess games, you could replay them, over and over, get lost in their colour and their texture.

But on the plane back to Kentucky after her win in Moscow, there was one she couldn't seem to let go of.

It was small, as far as moments go. No larger than a pawn, a delicate thing that she could cup in her hand. She'd been in the car with Benny, the sky brilliant shades of pink and purple and orange, the star just staring to come out, dancing in the spaces in-between. They'd been talking all day, from their favourite matches to which cities were the most fun to play in, singing along to the radio. She'd never talked so much in her life, she'd thought at the time. As if Benny brought out that softer side of her, let her strategizing and calculating take a back seat for a while and she could just be.

But chess was always there, sitting between them like a phantom passenger, this thing of both brutality and beauty that they'd both built the foundations of their life upon, that she used to identify herself. Beth never thought: I am a woman who plays chess; she thought: I play chess and I am a woman. And Benny got that. He got that dominant side of her, that driving force at the helm of every decision. Which was why, as her head had begun to lull against the seat, their fingers almost touching, she'd been put entirely off guard by him laying his coat over her in lieu of a blanket.

Benny never did that with his coat. Ever. If he wasn't wearing it, it was on a peg somewhere, hanging neatly. It was a part of him, a valued piece of armour against the world. Beth had her expensive and extravagant clothes, breaking that outdated mentality that chess equated old men in tweed jackets and heavily rolled tobacco; Benny had his hat and his coat and his bracelets and rings, a chess playing rogue, a privateer in a sea of black and white squares.

So Beth knew. Knew what it meant to take off your armour in front of someone. To lay yourself bare in such a fashion. She hadn't been ready for it at the time.

And then they'd argued. It had been so silly and stupid and childish, to shun the hand that he had so clearly offered. She'd been so blind, only seeing the bottom of a pill bottle and the next glass of wine. He'd been right, as he always had been, whether it was about the most effective chess manouver or who was the best cook -he was.

But she was ready now. Or, at least, she was ready to be ready. All she had were her suitcases and the clothes on her back and this hope beating inside her chest, ticking away like a chess clock. This hope that she hadn't screwed it all up. That now that she'd beaten Borgov, she could try to relax a little. To just be, or find who she wanted to be under the chess. Maybe it would all end in disaster. Maybe he wouldn't want to see her, wouldn't want to fix whatever they'd had, whatever they had been to each other.

But she had to try. Because Beth was a fighter by nature, if she was nothing else. She'd fought to stay alive, after her first mother died, when she'd gone to Methuen and sometimes wondered if she'd ever come out, if she'd fade into the walls and become another of it's shadows. And she'd fought in school, when nobody understood her and she'd had no place of her own. But more importantly, she'd fought after Alma, had clawed and scraped and roared at the gaping maw of grief inside her, had not let it claim her when it had come calling.

So she'd fight, fight like she did on the chessboard. Because Benny Watts was the one piece she didn't want to ever lose.

Everything about New York was exactly the same. From the piles of rubbish in the streets to the smell of car exhaust and the hustles of people that jostled about for space as she got out of the cab. She'd wanted to come straight here, to get it over with and know ultimately one way or the other the outcome of this. But she'd gone back, back to home in Kentucky, if she could even call it that. Had done the dusting and the vacuuming and the laundry and everything else she could possibly think of.

Because she knew. Beth knew if she knocked on that door, if it was closed in her face, she knew she wouldn't feel like vacuuming or folding the sheets. She'd feel like drinking, in taking the pills until she felt numb, until all that human emotion slide away, leaving her raw.

Beth fiddled with the clasps on her suitcase. It was Alma's, or it had been, and she carried it with her, a piece of the only woman in her life who had not chosen to leave, not by choice.

She shook her head. She was Beth Harmon, international chess player, the player of the moment, the face of almost every magazine. Yet it didn't matter. Not here, staring down those treacherous steps that led to an even more treacherous uncertainty. She didn't feel brave, or confident, or assured of victory. She just felt like a young woman, holding out her heart, seeing if it would get dropped, fall down like a beaten chess piece.

Beth Harmon straightened her white coat, the coat she'd worn in Moscow, the coat she associated with freedom, with peace, as a person and as a player, and made her trek into the unknown.

With Benny, everything was predictable. Every outcome could be planned and accounted for, every strategy had a clear beginning and end, every move could be plotted for the utmost success. It was how he had always worked.

That was, until Beth Harmon.

She was the one piece in his life he couldn't predict, the puzzle he could never quite crack. And he didn't mind that. He liked that.

He liked her.

And it wasn't just the chess. It wasn't just the fact that she challenged him, challenged him like no one else ever had. It was the fact that she cared. Like the time he'd been up all night, trying to crack a Borgov game, and she'd made him breakfast in the morning. The eggs were maybe a little runny, and she'd practically burnt the place down whilst making toast, but she'd made the effort.

For so long, it had only been him, Benny Watts against the world, and what a world it was. But with her, he wasn't so alone. He didn't feel like his abilities at chess were all there was to him, all he had to offer.

But he was infinitely surprised when a knock sounded at his door, startling him from his attempted cleanup of the apartment after everyone had camped there for Beth's game. Benny shoved the dirty clothes and papers under his bed with the toe of his boot, alert as he made his way to the door.

This was New York, and you could never be too careful in New York.

Benny opened the door.

Standing in the doorway, white coat startling against the grim grey of the alley, was Beth, suitcase gripped in each hand.

There wasn't a 'Hello' or 'How are you?' or even 'I've missed you,' no, that wasn't Beth. All she said was, "I have some things I want to say to you."

Benny nodded, opening the door fully, sweeping his arm out in a grand gesture. Beth took the invitation, moving past him and going down the rail, placing her suitcases by the table, their table, where they'd had so many games.

"Nice to see you too, Harmon," he muttered under his breath, although he suspected that she'd heard him anyway. Benny crossed the distance between them, still leaving enough room so that he didn't corner her.

"I made a list," she began, "on the plane. A list of everything I wanted to say to you. Everything I wanted to apologize for. I'm not good at this, this whole being normal thing. But you deserve to hear this Benny, so I'll try my best."

He shook his head, unfolding himself from where he'd been leaning against the wall. "Beth, you don't have to," he told her.

She smiled at him, but it was full of a quiet sadness. "I know I don't have to, but I want to. I need to. So, will you listen?"

Benny nodded.

"Good." Beth took in a long breath, eyes fixed on the ceiling, as if it would provide her with some secret knowledge, some unknown guidance from the universe.

Benny fiddled with the strings of his necklace, a habit from the days of his youth that he had thought he'd kicked. It had made him look weak, immature. Inexperienced. Like a child playing dress-up. But even when he was a teen, he hadn't been a child. Which his opponents had come to realize when he beat their asses with such finesse.

But Beth brought out those nerves in him. She wasn't an opponent, or if she was, it was of a different kind.

But Benny waited, let her come to him, because he didn't like to be pushed so he sure as hell wouldn't push her.

Beth looked him in the eye. "When I was nine, my mom took us for a drive. We went up to this big old house with flowers in the garden. She argued with someone, someone who she tried to pawn me off with. My dad. But he wouldn't take me. So she got back in the car. And then there was this bridge, this car coming towards us. And she told me... she told me not to be scared as she drove straight towards it."

Benny didn't say a word.

"Then I went to Methuen, and it was scary and horrible and I didn't fit in and I had no one, no one except Jolene. And they gave us pills. Pills every day, to even our disposition, to make us more manageable. They were green."

The pills. The same pills Beltik had seen in her medicine cabinet, the ones he'd told Benny about one night, when the others had been asleep, but not them, no, they'd been awake, trying to help her win. Christ, she'd been on them that long?

"Then I started going down into the basement. And I found Mr Shaibel and the chessboard and convinced him to teach me."

Benny could see it, in his minds eye, a girl with flaming red hair and a fiery expression in her gaze, never taking no for an answer.

"And then I realized, that if I took the pills at night, I could visualize the board on the ceiling, could go through the moves and play out every outcome imaginable. It became a crutch, staring at the ceiling all through the night, made me feel less alone. So I got better. I got so good a man from own of the high schools offered to let me play against his chess club. And I did. And I loved it. Until they stopped giving us the pills. Until I couldn't see the board anymore. I tried to steal them, shoved a bunch in my mouth and stuffed my pockets with them. But I was caught, and I collapsed. And I wasn't allowed to play chess, not ever, for a very long time."

He couldn't imagine it, finding something that you loved, that made you happy, and having it taken away like that. Benny couldn't imagine not having chess.

"Then Mr and Mrs Wheatley adopted me. I came across a Chess Review magazine in the shop. It had your face on it." Despite everything, she chuckled, looking him in the eye as she did. Benny smiled. "I didn't have the money so I took it, found a competition, asked Mr Shaibel for the money, promised to pay him back, and I entered. A few days before, my mom had asked me to get her prescription for her. As the guy got them out, I froze. It was the pills, those same green pills, those pills that I'd become so addicted to when I was a girl. And I took some. So I went to the competition, I met Townes and I met Harry and become the Kentucky state champion. From there, it just exploded. I was taking the pills and I was winning, winning all the time. All I could see was chess, all I could feel was the victory and the thrill of every new game, every move I perfected. Then you waltzed into my life. I'm not surprised you didn't remember me, but I remembered you; I could never forget you."

"Then we played, and I was co-champion, and I'd started drinking. Not much, but here and there. But still the pills, that need to win that took over every cell of my body. After that, Mexico."

"Mexico?" he echoed.

"I was playing, I was playing Borgov and Mark and Mike had promised to save my mom a seat, but she didn't show. Afterwards, when I'd lost, I'd gone back to the room and she was just lying there. I didn't... didn't realize until..."

Despite her valiant efforts, Beth couldn't keep it in. She broke out into fitful sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks like a broken dam, catching in her eyelashes and running into her hair, dampening the collar of her coat.

Benny was there in an instant, drawing her into his chest. He couldn't help himself. "Shh," he murmured onto the crown of her head, "shh, it's okay, it's okay." Beth caught on to the soft material of his shirt, fingers smoothing out the creases. "I know," she whispered, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "I know that now, but I certainly didn't know it then. I was all alone, had to ring Mr Wheatley myself to tell him, after he'd left for his job without a word to either of us. He said that I could keep the house. Then it was coming home, coming back from the funeral and trying to figure out how to be on my own, how to be independent again. But inside, inside I was trying to stay afloat, to not let myself get dragged underwater. And not long after, Harry called in the middle of the night, out of the blue, offering to help me train, to be my coach. I offered to let him stay, and he did."

Beth rubbed at the wetness of his coat, as if she could clean away the shame of her tears. "For a while, things were good. And I was... I wasn't happy, not really, but I was content, or content enough. But in the end, Harry didn't get me, couldn't accept all of me, at least not in the way that he wanted. He wanted someone who could fit into his life seamlessly, who wouldn't leave any rough edges. And that wasn't me. It wasn't me then, and it isn't me know. Before he left, he found my pills. Told me to be careful. Of course, I ignored him. I carried on, until you."

"Until me."

She shook her head, looking up at him with eyes full of wonder and marvel, like a player admiring a beautiful defeat. "And I can't explain it, what happened. But it was like I'd woke up. As if I'd been asleep all this time, living with my eyes half closed, and you came and opened them. And I knew, I knew not long after I'd gotten in the car that you were different. I was different with you. Even with Alma, it had never been like how we were. It wasn't just the chess. And it wasn't just the sex. It was how I knew, that no matter what mess I threw at you, you'd catch it. That you'd pull me when I was being unreasonable, that you'd bring me back from the edge, that you challenged all the best and the worst of me. And I want you to know," she said, cupping his cheek, smiling at him sweetly, "I want you to know that there is nothing I have that is truly mine, that I've never had a real home, not even in Kentucky, but this grimy apartment with it's creaking pipes and the water that takes forever to heat up and the floor that feels like you're sleeping on a bed of cold nails... this place, it's the first place that's ever felt like a home, in all the ways that mattered. And that's because of you."

Beth drew away, taking another long breath, hands in her pockets, gaze riveted on the floor. "So I'm sorry, Benny. I'm so sorry, for all of it. For throwing it all away in Paris, for not coming to New York when you asked. For not telling you I missed you when you told me that you missed me. Because I did, Benny; God, in Russia, I missed you so much. It was cold and miserable and exhausting and frightening, but I know that it wouldn't have been, if I'd had you standing by my side. But you had every right not to, to ask me not to call you. Because I was in a bad place, and it was even worse because I didn't know how to get back up. I don't think I even wanted to get up. I just couldn't stop. And if it wasn't for Jolene, I don't know where I'd be. I definitely wouldn't be here, I wouldn't have even gone to Russia if she hadn't given me the money. But that's not your problem, that isn't about you."

She took his hand, grip as unfaltering as her chess moves.

"All I can say is, that I'm trying. I can't promise that I won't get bad, that there won't be moments were things are hard, because even I can't predict every outcome, and it's not fair to promise you such. But I'm going to try. Every day, I'm going to try. Even if it kills me. Because I don't want to be that person, the person who can't go a day without giving in to their addictions. I survived the years with my mom, the years at Methuen, survived Alma dying, and I'm not throwing that away. They wouldn't want that for me, neither would Mr Shaibel, who I never payed back those ten dollars. I'm a fighter, so I'm going to fight this thing. The only question is: do you want me in your life or not? Because if it's too much, if I've done too much to hurt you, then I understand, and I'll go, and you'll never have to deal with me again."

She tried to hide it, tried to be discreet, but Benny still saw her swipe at her eyes in frustration, at the tears there, twice in the span of a few minutes.

"And that...that will be okay."

Benny moved towards her, like a magnet with another magnet. He hooked a finger under her chin, eyes fixed on her own. "Now why," he murmured, "would I ever want that? As if I could just cut you out of my life, after everything that's happened, happened between us?"

He rested his forehead against hers, and when she didn't pull away, he soldiered on.

"And Beth? I'm sorry too. Sorry about how I handled things, that I lashed out at you on the phone. I was angry, yeah, but I didn't handle it like I should have. I missed you. All I could think about was you, and helping you win, hoping I'd done enough so you could beat Borgov in Paris. But you didn't, and it felt like you'd given up, given up on whatever friendship we'd had. You're my best friend, Beth. No one, not one single person on this God damn earth gets me like you do. And I'm so glad that you won, glad that you're here. As for the rest of it, I known that it's gonna be hard. How can it not be? But I'm here Beth. I'm here for you, and I'm not going anywhere; I'm not going to leave. Not even if you kick me out of my own apartment, if just come crawling back. Because you're worth it. Every moment, huddled around the board, watching the clock, barely eating, definitely not sleeping. It was all worth it, to get that call, that you'd followed this dream of yours, that you hadn't given in to the drink and the pills. So I'm proud. I'm so proud . Not just as your coach, but as the guy who cares about you to an infuriating degree."

"You do?" she asked, entirely incredulous.

"Yeah, I do," he admitted.

"Good," she said, moving her chin until their mouths touched. It was sweet and warm and full of feeling, not like any of those hungry kisses they had first shared. This was not like that, not like that at all.

God damn it, he was so done for.

He was the first to pull away, tucking an errant lock of hair back from her face.

"Now that you've made your grand speech, what do you plan to do now, Harmon?" he teased.

She twined her arms around his neck, grinning, eyes glinting. "Well, that depends on you?"

"On me? How?"

"What would you say to the chess queen wanting to stay with you for a while? I've got a meeting with the President and a de-briefing to go to and likely a myriad of talk shows and magazine interviews, but right now, all I want is to stay here with you, be here with you. Would you be okay with that?" Beth asked, biting her bottom lip.

As if he'd ever say no to that.

"Stay," he told her. "Stay as long as you want. Forever, even. I'll even let you have the bed," Benny said with an amused smile.

Beth rolled her eyes. "How very generous of you," she said, kissing him on the cheek. She untangled herself from him, hands on her hips, noticing the chessboard set up at the very back, the only one without any moved pieces. She took off her coat, hanging it on the hook by the door.

And it felt like a declaration, like a stake in the ground, telling everyone that this was her place, too.

"Shall we have a game? And you can tell me all about how you put the Merry Chess Band together?" Beth offered, jerking her chin in the direction of the board.

Benny held out a hand. "Always."

Author's Note: Hello! Welcome to my very first Queens Gambit fic. I'm a major Beth and Benny shipper, so I had to write my own spin on what could have happened after Russia. It was such fun to write, and I sincerely hope that you enjoyed it. Please, if you've got the time, let me know what you thought of it! The title is taken from the lyrics of one of my favourite Dido songs, 'Life for Rent.' I have another Beth/Benny fic in the works, so stay tuned!

With love, Temperance Cain.