Warning: Use of language
It was a brilliantly cloudy day, the rain falling down in heavy sheets as Beth Harmon crossed the street, heading for the shelter of the nearby building: the unofficial headquarters of the United States Chess Federation in Newburgh, New York. Or the USCF, as she liked to call them.
Benny had affectionately dubbed them: the United States Controlling Fuckers. He was always one for dramatics, but Beth did have to concede that since her win against Borgov and becoming an international Chess queen, they had been incessant in their correspondence to her, asking her to attend Chess functions and go on talk shows. Beth usually tried to decline when she could.
But this time, they had not taken no for an answer, and had wanted to meet in person. Beth crossed the small lobby, slipping off her black coat and shaking the rain out of it gracefully as she went, her navy blue lace dress and stilettos with matching bows were thankfully without any water damage. An overeager receptionist greeted her at the front desk.
"Good afternoon, Miss Harmon. It's a pleasure to have you here. Your presence is requested on the second floor. It's just up that set of stairs on your left, then the next corridor, then fourth door on your right."
Not even an escort. "Thank you," Beth said, trying to hide her annoyance. She did not like being jerked around, all this cloak and dagger nonsense. She'd had enough from the government when she returned him from Russia, the official interviews and debriefings and going over every person she interacted with at the hotel in painstaking and pointless detail.
"You're most welcome, Miss. It's an honour to meet you. Have a nice day!" the blonde chirped, going back to a magazine laying open on her desk, an open bottle of pink nail polish beside it, in immediate danger of tipping over.
"To you as well," Beth said with a wave and made her way up the stairs. She took the corridor, finding the aforementioned door with ease. Folding her coat over her arm, Beth knocked lightly, yet determinedly.
Just because she was a woman didn't mean she couldn't be forceful, yet at the same time it wouldn't look good to break down the door.
"Come in," said a reedy voice from behind the door.
Beth opened the door, the cold metal of the handle reassuring under her touch.
A man sat at the desk, late forties, losing his hair at the front but trying in vain to hide it.
"Good afternoon, Miss Harmon. Please, won't you have a seat?" he implored, waving his hand.
Beth sat down, spinning her coat out over the back of her chair.
"I'm Mr Roberts, advisor to our esteemed Executive Director Mr Edmondson..." he began.
"I know who you are, Mr Roberts," Beth said dismissively. "You were the one who incessantly harassed me about doing that interview with the New York Times." As if she could forget his sniveling voice.
He had the good grace to look embarrassed.
"Yes... well... I'm sure you can understand, Miss Harmon, that I was only doing my job..."
"Of course I can understand that, but that doesn't mean I have to like it, Mr Roberts."
Roberts readjusted himself in his leather chair, fabric squeaking audibly.
Beth tried not to gloat.
"Now, why am I here?" she demanded, eyes cold and unforgiving. She'd had enough of this cloak and dagger business after her match against Borgov, the official interviews and debriefs she'd painfully and pointlessly sat through. Beth didn't like being kept in the dark, about anything.
"I can't tell you that, Miss Harmon. I'm afraid we're waiting on one more person before I can officially declare this meeting."
"Who?" Beth inquired, just as the door opened and Benny Watts stepped in, taking off his hat, shaking rain water onto the threadbare carpet.
"Why, hello Beth," Benny said with a lazy grin.
"Why, hello Benny," Beth replied, their ritual greeting, cemented from what felt like so long ago, rising from her chair to give him a hug.
Since her return home from Russia, things were better between them. He was her best friend in the male category, and they'd hung out on the occasion, having dinner and seeing the odd movie. Most of the time, they played. But it wasn't like how it was in before, how it was in New York. The transgressions of the previous year still hung between them, their private fears and insecurities a bridge they could not seem to cross. So the two were friends.
Just friends.
"I can't believe that I got here before you," Beth admonished, smacking him lightly on the upper arm. "I got here, on a plane, and yet I'm the one on time. You're a native New Yorker!"
"As I'm sure you're aware, Harmon, that New York is a state, made up of multiple cities. And the traffic was killer," Benny told her.
"Perhaps I should buy you a watch for your birthday then," she snarked, retaking her seat.
"Nature is my watch, Beth," he quipped back, taking the chair on her right.
The two turned their glare on Roberts, champions facing down an opponent.
He gulped, shuffling his papers on his desk in some pathetic show of taking control of the situation.
"As I'm sure you're aware, Miss Harmon beat Grandmaster Borgov earlier this year-"
"Really? I wasn't aware of that," Beth drawled.
'Nice one,' Benny mouthed next to her, discreetly giving her a fist bump in the space between them.
Roberts pretended not to notice. "And that win has sent reverberations through the chess community. Miss Harmon, you are an international icon, a figurehead of the future of chess. But ... how should I say this? You lack the societal skills that would be most beneficial not only for you, but for the Federation," he explained.
"Have you ever even played a chess game in your life, Mr Roberts? And since when has chess had anything to do with socializing?" Beth questioned.
"Yes," he said with great dignity, "I have. When I was seven. But times are changing, Miss Harmon. Media is more influential on the people than ever before. Almost every house in America has a television, you know. Everyone picks up a paper or reads a gossip column in a magazine. Image is everything."
"While that's all very well and good, Mr Roberts, I don't see what anything of what you just said pertains to me," said Beth, folding her arms.
"And they said you were smart," the man muttered under his breath, but Beth heard him just fine.
Benny gave her a beseeching look that said, 'Please don't leap across the table and murder him, I just got this shirt cleaned.'
Beth refrained on the sake of Benny's fashionable well-being.
"What you've accomplished in your chess career so far, Miss Harmon, is virtually unheard of, especially for a woman. Well, the only American player to have such an illustrious career in the past few decades is..."
"Me," Benny finished for him.
"Yes, indeed," agreed Roberts. "The two of you are some of the best players this fine country has ever produced. But Mr Watts here has a better presence, if you will, than yourself, Miss Harmon. He's more approachable, is charming and charismatic and you're... not."
Beth sat forward in her chair, gripping the armrests until the nails bit into her palms. "I don't play chess to be charming, Mr Roberts. I don't play it so people will like me, will want to take pictures and do interviews and ask what brand of toothpaste I use. I play chess because I love it, and I'm fucking good at it. And may I remind you, that I am the current U.S Champion, and not Mr Watts, so I don't see what the problem is. No offense, Benny," Beth said, giving him an apologetic glance.
"None taken, Harmon. As least I can be consoled by the fact I'm prettier than you," he purred.
Cheeky bastard.
"We, the Federation, want to put the two of you together. You're both chess players, you're both of a similar mindset, and from your little display when Mr Watts entered the room you obviously have a prior relationship of some sort. So, we want to have you date, in public, for press coverage, to bring chess into a new age, make it more accessible, give people someone to root for."
Beth stood up, almost knocking over her chair. "No, no, no, absolutely not! How dare you insinuate such a thing, give us such a proposition. Just because I am a woman does not mean you have the right to use me gender so that you can sell papers and fund your little club. If I wasn't female, you wouldn't even be able to suggest such a thing!"
Benny put his hand on her shoulder. "Beth's right, Mr Roberts. Now, I've been with the Federation a long time, and, frankly, I'm quite disgusted you've come up with such an idea. I won't allow Beth to be used in some PR scheme, or myself. Find some other way to get young people involved in chess."
"I couldn't have said it better myself," Beth added, taking Benny's hand. "Come on, we've had enough of our time wasted."
"'The Shaibel Fund.'"
Beth turned around, letting go of Benny.
"Excuse me?"
"'The Shaibel Fund.' Youve been trying to set it up since your return from Russia, have you not, Miss Harmon? A fund for young children, especially girls, so that they can enter tournaments without it affecting their families income. But you haven't had much luck, have you. I wonder why that is. Maybe it has something to do with your... femininity."
"You're blackmailing me?" Beth asked, voice rising.
"No, merely suggesting that if you agree to our terms, we may be able to 'grease some wheels' as they say."
"Beth," Benny warned. "Beth, this won't end well..."
"You know how important this fund is to me, Benny," Beth murmured quietly.
He was the second person she had told about it, the first being Jolene, standing at Mr Shaibel's grave after she came home.
Beth sat back down, Benny leaning on the back of her chair. He was going to ruin her coat if he wasn't careful. Benny and his leaning.
"I'm listening," Beth said delicately.
"All we'd ask would be a few dinners with press outside to take pictures, maybe some simple public displays at tournaments, nothing to vulgar, but enough to give the people what they want."
"And what is that?" questioned Beth.
"To be entertained by the glamorous celebrity lifestyle, of course. To have something to which they can aspire to achieve one day if they pay their taxes and don't go over the speed limit. Now, do I have your agreement?" Roberts asked desperately.
"It's not my decision alone," Beth replied.
She looked up at Benny, leaving the ball in his court. If he said no, she'd walk away, find some other way to gain support. She could always get a few jobs, pay for the fund out of her own pocket, or maybe Jolene could talk to some investors: she had a better way with people than Beth did.
"What's in it for me?" Benny asked.
"We'll pay for everything," Roberts supplied.
"Done. Beth?"
Beth sighed, feeling like she was making a deal with the Devil. "You have my agreement."
Roberts clapped his hands. "Excellent. Packages with all the details shall be sent to your addresses. Congratulations on your relationship. I wish you all the best. Now, kindly get out of my office; having you two in here simultaneously is making me uncomfortable. Do you people not blink?"
Benny and Beth stood on the sidewalk, breathing in the fresh air. When he was little, Benny had loved standing outside when it rained, the smell of wet grass everywhere. Now, the world smelled like wet metal and soggy hotdogs and damp newsprint.
Beth kicked a puddle forming on the sidewalk, water sluicing off her fancy heels. Christ, she wasn't even wearing any tights.
"You'll get phmonia if you keep doing that, Beth," Benny warned, hating how childish and overbearing he sounded.
"Good. Then I won't have to go out with you," she shot back, still kicking the puddle.
Benny grasped her by the shoulders, spinning her around to face him.
"Are we friends or not?" he asked her.
"Of course," she replied without hesitation.
Benny smiled. "And have we not had dinner in fancy restaurants before?"
Beth glared at him through wet lashes. "That was one time, and you know I can't resist a good pizza. Chicago has good crust."
"True, but that's beside the point. We're friends, it's not like we hate each other, we don't have to pretend to tolerate the presence of the other."
"No," Beth agreed, "we just have to pretend at all the lovey-dovey crap."
Benny tried not to frown. "Come on, it might not be so bad. At least they're paying for all of it. It's like a vacation, only without the sandy beaches and umbrella drinks."
"What are you getting out of it?" Beth asked him, eyes quizzical. "And don't say it's the free food, I know you better than that."
Damn her, she'd seen right through him, hadn't she? Maybe that was why he liked her so much, right from the start.
"I want to help you with your fund. Because I know what it's like, to not have any money, but having this burning desire to play, a desire that consumes your life entirely. Because I believe in you, and I believe that you can do anything that you put your mind to, it's everyone else that has the problem, that wants to limit you. But I don't, not ever."
Crap, he'd said too much. Benny opened his mouth, brain trying to come up with some snarky remark to undermine the gravity of what he'd just said when Beth took his hand, gratitude and respect and camaraderie shining in her eyes. "Okay, my pretty chess partner in crime. Let's give this a shot."
Author's Note: Hello, everyone! Welcome to my new Queen's Gambit fic! The idea of a fake dating fic was irresistible as soon as it came to me! I have no idea where this is going to go, but I'd love it if you took the plunge and decided to join me! I'm such a huge fan of these two, and the fake dating but real feelings trope, when it's done right. What did you think of this opening chapter? Please, let me know!
I'm working on another Queens Gambit fic, Picking Up Your Pieces, if you're interested in checking it out, as well as a post-show one-shot called Truly Mine. Both are Beth/Benny, since I can't seem to ship her with anyone else, as much as I love Townes. It's just, Benny's hair... *Swoons*
Anyway, stay tuned for more!
Until next time.
With love and excitement, Temperance Cain