#sally? not sure yet but girl who wouldn’t he’s ’british’

[futuristicclambiscuitmaker]

fuuuuck i loved episode 7. not without its issues (for example, the pacing felt weird to me) but the overall impression is just so so so good. like this is compelling writing that connects A to B, sets B to later reveal C, shows me instead of telling, makes me connect with the characters and understand where they’re coming from and it was very interesting for me as a longtime fan… good writing, you know?

[fakeyellow]

Revolutionary War spy Kamilah x MC Part 2. Kamilah learns about the curiosity of Genevieve Allen. Genevieve reflects on the events that led to her becoming a spy and makes another life-changing decision by falling for Kamilah. 

(there’s a fair amount of backstory in this chapter but there’s also tension and kissing so you should read lol)

Summary: While infiltrating a British camp, Kamilah meets an unknown woman at gunpoint. Three years later, in the midst of the Revolutionary War, Kamilah crosses paths with Genevieve Allen, youngest daughter of the prominent Loyalist family and the belle of Philadelphian society. Part 1. 

May 19-20, 1980

Over the next two days, Kamilah found herself gracing the parlours of all the well to do women of Philadelphian society. It seemed that they were all curious about the wealthy widow that was Kamilah Walton and it played to her favour since she was able to ask them innocuous-seeming questions about Peggy Shippen and General Arnold. 

Fond of gossip as they were, every person she met was more than happy to oblige, regaling Kamilah with endless tales and gossip, and Kamilah filed each tidbit away.

But once she was satisfied with the information she’d gained on the couple, Kamilah found herself asking about Genevieve Allen.

“Evie? Oh, she’s a darling. She was a bit of a wild child in her younger years but staying with her aunt in New York did her good. You might have known her, Edith Allen?...”

“She’s a charming young woman. Such a good family...”

“Her sisters married so well, it’s a shame things didn’t work out between her and the Shippen boy. I suppose Major André is courting her now but he’s not exactly a Shippen, you know...”

“Oh, it was quite the scandal. You know, Edward and Evie are the same age and having grown up together, everyone just expected they’d marry. But I heard that Evie rejected him right before waltzing off to New York and her father adores her so. There was no way he’d force her to marry him so poor Edward was left to nurse his broken heart. I don’t understand why, he’s so handsome.”

It was at this last house that Kamilah felt like the pieces were slowly coming together.

“Yes, but how did Peggy take that? She seemed close to Miss Allen the other night,” Kamilah interrupted, smoothly redirecting the woman’s attention away from Edward Shippen. 

“That’s all an act,” Sally or Samantha or Sarah whispered conspiratorially, leaning towards Kamilah with an excitement that only gossip could bring her, “They’ve never had a good relationship. And not just because Evie rejected her brother. You know, I heard Major André and Peggy used to be really close before her marriage and now he’s all besotted with Evie… But you know how it is, keep your enemies close and all that. Poor Evie, I don’t think she realises how much Peggy dislikes her.”

Kamilah nodded and the woman quickly began talking about a perceived offense that one of the Penn girls had committed against her. 

Genevieve Allen, beloved daughter, respected lady, secret revolutionary... 

Everything she learned about her seemed to be contradictory but now it was time and Kamilah would finally be seeing the woman herself.

—-

May 20, 1980

Genevieve often thought back to that fateful autumn day: the day that had set her entire life in motion.

Being the youngest child of her family, her siblings had all married or moved onto their own professions by the time she was five. And while her father doted on her especially after her mother’s death, Genevieve had needed more to occupy her restless soul.

From Murray and Wollstonecraft to Warren and Paine, she gorged herself on the eloquence of these writers, feeling the words stir her formerly dormant heart until she decided she could no longer stay still. 

Stealing one of her father’s old, black outfits and covering her face with one of her fine, black scarves, Genevieve spent several months sneaking out at night, committing acts of sabotage that gradually grew in size. 

It was upon the news of her brother’s promotion that Genevieve finally felt prepared enough to do the biggest act she’d ever done yet and after careful nights of planning, she’d snuck out to set fire to the British company’s supply wagons. 

And for the first time in her life, she’d felt like she had a purpose. She was more than just the babied, youngest daughter of the Allen family, she was more than just the future wife of another rich man who would view her only as a breeding mare. She was now part of something bigger than herself, a small cog in the great machine that would be America. 

When she’d locked eyes with the stranger in the woods, she’d felt fear that she’d be discovered. But greater than that fear, she had keenly felt the limitations placed on her. As Genevieve Allen, she would be restricted to these nightly jaunts, unable to do what her heart burned to do, unable to fight as her country needed her to fight.

So the next day, she’d begged her baffled father to send her to New York to indefinitely stay with her aunt. He’d agreed and although Edward, sweet, sweet Edward had begged her to stay and marry him, she’d set on the carriage to start her new life with no regrets. 

She’d bribed the carriage driver to drop her off at a boarding house instead of her aunt’s house and subsequently bribed a messenger to intercept all of the letters sent between her aunt and father. Dressed in trousers with her hair knotted beneath a cap, Genevieve had bought a nice rifle and promptly joined one of the many voluntary militias in New York.  

With her small size, she’d often been sent on scouting missions or petty skirmishes, hiding in the grounds and taking out the British one by one. She’d grown dirty without access to regular baths, her trousers becoming ripped and muddied, and there wasn’t a moment that went by without her muscles ferociously aching but Genevieve had never felt more alive. 

Then it had all changed once she’d gotten clipped in the side by a bullet from the British. She’d been too careless, too confident in her concealed position that a soldier had been able to see and subsequently shoot her. 

The pain was instantaneous, a burning agony flaring out from her grazed side but she was more worried about what this injury meant. Her comrade had seen her go down and if she returned to their camp, she’d be treated by the medic who would undoubtedly reveal her gender. And there was no way she’d go back to her old life, not now when she was finally fighting for her country. 

Through sheer force of will, Genevieve had dragged herself to the boarding house she hadn’t set foot in since her first day in New York. There’d been an unquenchable stream of hot, sticky blood flowing from her side, but she’d pressed her hand against it with clenched teeth. Somehow, she’d been able to pay for her room and go up the stairs before she finally passed out. 

When she’d woke, she’d been freshly bandaged and the owner had sat at her side with a stern expression of motherly concern. 

“There are other ways to help the Revolution,” she’d said and that was how Genevieve had first met Abraham Woodhull, brother of the owner and spy for General George Washington.

He’d quickly recruited her, his eyes gleaming with an unconcealed delight when she admitted her true identity as an Allen.

And so with a fresh scar on her side hidden underneath a thick petticoat and a mission on her mind, she’d finally returned to Philadelphia.

She learned to restrain herself, immersing herself in the subtleties of the society she’d once abhorred, molding herself into the perfect, charming, pure, harmless woman. Her grandmother remarked on how her time in New York must have done her good as she had finally blossomed into a proper lady and Genevieve responded with a beatific smile.

With her new integration into high society, Genevieve wrote down all of the gossip, all of the little hints that slipped out of men ensnared by her beauty, women trying to gain her favour, sending them to a Samuel Culper Jr. 

Although her heart longed to be running out in the battlefield again, adrenaline coursing through her veins, Genevieve knew that this was something much more valuable, something that only she had the access to do. She dutifully sent information, including her growing suspicions that someone high up in the patriotic cause had plans for betrayal. 

Peggy Shippen, the younger woman she’d once been friends with until she’d rejected her brother and run to New York, had married a patriotic general in her absence while maintaining all of her Loyalist connections. General Benedict Arnold was a revolutionary hero and while on all accounts, they seemed to be the model couple, Genevieve saw the fraught tension between them, saw the fissures that Peggy seemed to be pushing wider in him. 

However, with his new command over West Point, he was far too busy and out of her reach. She switched her focus to John André, Major of the British Army and dear friend of Peggy. Although he’d been a formidable opponent, charming and suave in his own right with many women chasing after him, Genevieve had finally caught his eye. It was a precarious game to play with him as she could never be too adoring or too aloof but slowly and surely, André was falling for her, trusting her.

It was him that Genevieve presently should have been focusing on, the man who was her opening into the Loyalist cause, but she found her mind focused instead on the woman who had abruptly entered her life.

Kamilah Walton.

While Genevieve had learned how to blind people with her beauty and charm so that they wouldn’t truly pay attention to her, Kamilah Walton was magnetic. 

Even as Genevieve had danced with Major André, her eyes had been drawn to her: her gloriously tanned skin, her gleaming, brown locks, her utterly sinful, scarlet lips. She’d never seen a woman such as her and when she’d finally heard the woman’s voice, Genevieve had known this was yet another pivotal moment that would change her life forever. 

Though she knew she should feel worried that this woman seemed to know her secrets, or at least that she’d set fire to British supplies, Genevieve felt her heart begin to race at the thought of her. She would be here soon. 

“Evie, I daresay I’ve been conversing with myself this entire time!” Major André teased and Genevieve suddenly regained herself. She was sitting in her parlour, Major André leaning towards her with a playful smile as he ignored the disapproving look of the servant. 

“Please forgive me, I’m not feeling quite myself today,” she quickly responded.

“I suppose I’ll have to try harder next time to gain your attention,” he teased and Genevieve forced herself to smile back at him.

She followed him to the foyer, desperately trying to ignore the woman who had just stepped inside and the furious beating of her treacherous heart.  

“I’ll call on you later this week Evie,” he said, mock saluting her in farewell.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long,” she teased and finally he was gone, leaving her alone with the woman who had occupied her thoughts.

“Evie?” Kamilah asked amusedly and she rolled her eyes in response to the nickname.

“Please, call me anything but that. Genevieve, Eve, they’re all fine.”

“Genevieve then,” Kamilah sounded out and Genevieve couldn’t help but stare at those scarlet lips shaping out each syllable. Her father had once told her she’d been given a name fit for royalty but she’d doubted it until this moment. Because when it came out of Kamilah’s mouth, how could it not be fit for a queen?

She finally raised her eyes to meet Kamilah’s amused eyes, and feeling flustered, she quickly guided them to her parlour. After taking a moment to compose herself, Genevieve spoke.

“Mrs. Walton.”

“Kamilah.”

“Mrs. Walton,” Genevieve repeated, determined to maintain a distance between them, “What brings you here?”

“You’re the one who invited me,” Kamilah replied slyly, looking completely at ease.

“Let me clarify. Why are you here in Philadelphia?”

Kamilah examined her closely now, seeming to slowly admire the flattering cut of Genevieve’s dress before meeting her eyes.

“For the same reason you are, I suppose.”

“That is a very dangerous thing to insinuate, Mrs. Walton,” Genevieve responded with a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. 

“Well it’s a good thing I’m well versed in dangerous things,” Kamilah retorted, moving her skirts so that the gleaming tips of her dagger could be seen.

Genevieve immediately grabbed the ivory pistol in her own skirts, aiming it straight at Kamilah. Other than the finery they were dressed in and the well-decorated parlour they were in, it was the same scene from three years ago. But this time, Genevieve was trained. She was no longer the inexperienced rebel she’d been.

“Whose orders are you under?” Genevieve asked steadily, her arms outstretched.

Although she was facing the end of a gun, Kamilah remained unflustered, her fingers leisurely stroking her blades.

“None except my own.”

“That’s a lie.”

“I suppose you could say it’s someone with a vested interest in seeing America win its independence,” Kamilah finally offered and Genevieve slowly lowered her pistol although she maintained a tight grip on it.

“Now if you'll indulge me, how is a well to do woman such as yourself involved with the War? I can’t imagine your family approves of your revolutionary tendencies.”

“That was simply a folly of youth,” Genevieve smoothly said although she didn’t let her guard lower, “I was angry at my father and brother and I thought the best way to get back at them was to undermine my brother’s new promotion. That’s all.”

Kamilah nodded, unconvinced, “Of course.”

“I empathise greatly with your cause but I hope you’ll understand that the only way I can help you is by keeping your secret,” Genevieve continued in a manner that made it clear the conversation was over and Kamilah rose to leave. 

“Take care Genevieve. I look forward to getting to know you,” She turned to say, freezing the younger woman in her seat with the intensity of her stare.

Genevieve stayed still long after Kamilah’s departure and it was only when she felt her blush subside that she exhaled and began to write.

“To Mr. Samuel Culper Jr…”

—-

June 1, 1980

While Kamilah knew that her mission was to investigate Peggy Shippen, it had been so long since a mortal woman had captured her interest so completely. Kamilah had not missed the endless amount of inane small talk required to fully ingratiate herself into society but Genevieve’s presence was something she welcomed.

Due to Genevieve’s popularity and her own demand as the new woman in town, it was rare that they weren’t both at the same events. They hadn’t been alone together since their tense meeting but Kamilah felt herself being drawn to the enigma that was Genevieve Allen.

There was clearly so much more to her than the charmingly innocent persona she portrayed and Kamilah longed to see it all, to see the fire ignite in those beautiful green eyes again, to hear the younger woman moan her name in a breathless gasp of delight...

Kamilah focused back on the current conversation as one of the Chew daughters said something particularly asinine. In an attempt to contain her growing exasperation, she looked away, inadvertently catching Genevieve’s eyes that were also brimming with annoyance. 

Kamilah gave her a small, knowing smile and she felt satisfied as the woman repressed a laugh, raising her hand to demurely cover her mouth.

The afternoon tea suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

—-

Kamilah spoke and Genevieve wondered how everyone could seem fine and unruffled. Surely she wasn’t the only one who was so affected by Kamilah. With each stroke of her neck, each piercing glance, Genevieve was unable to tear her eyes away from the captivating woman, feeling Kamilah’s each and every action deeply within her.

She hadn’t thought it possible for a person to evoke the same kind of instinctual, passionate response in her that the revolution had. In all her time with Edward and Major André, not once had they made her feel the way Kamilah did. Not once had her heart ever skipped a beat upon locking eyes with them, not once had she ever felt an unbidden blush rise to her cheeks because of them. 

As a younger girl, there had been times when she’d felt a strange infatuation with other women like Angelica Schuyler, but she’d chalked it up to the quirks that came with being a motherless girl. Yet what Kamilah made her feel was at once the same and yet wholly new, and the sheer magnitude of her feelings kept surprising herself. 

“What does our dear Miss Genevieve think?”

Genevieve stared at Kamilah and thought that she could very easily get addicted to the sound of her name coming out of Kamilah’s mouth. She suddenly came to herself and once again, she felt thankful for cosmetic powder; it had been useful in covering up her baggy eyes from sleepless nights and now it was useful in covering the bright red blush she was sure she had. 

Kamilah stared at her without any malice, giving her a small smile and Genevieve made another decision that would change the course of her life.

“I’m feeling rather faint. Would you be so kind as to get some fresh air with me, Mrs. Walton?” Genevieve asked suddenly, rising before she could hear a response.

“Of course,” Kamilah murmured, masking her curiosity.

They made their way out of the parlour, the other ladies not bothering to give them a second glance as they continued their fascinating discourse on the newest British fashions. 

Genevieve wondered if Kamilah could hear the furious beating of her heart and halted upon closing the door behind them.

“Well?” Kamilah asked as she leaned against the door and Genevieve’s eyes seemed to harden with resolve at the sight before she finally leaned in to capture Kamilah’s lips with her own.

Her lips were softer than Genevieve could have imagined and she felt them quirk upwards after a terrifying moment of stillness. In a fluid motion, Kamilah reversed their positions so that now Genevieve was the one pressed against the door and they melted into each other, a week’s worth of tension finally being relieved. 

Genevieve felt Kamilah’s hands wrap around her waist and hair, bringing her even closer, and she lost herself into the kiss, momentarily forgetting that they were in someone else’s house, that they were both spies for the patriotic cause, that their lives were literally on the line.

A sharp burst of laughter behind the door suddenly brought them to their senses, causing them to separate although their foreheads remained pressed against each other. 

Genevieve’s eyes remained closed as if to savour the lingering sensations on her lips and with a boldness she didn’t know she had, she breathlessly asked, “Would you come to me tonight?”

She finally opened her eyes and saw Kamilah’s eyes light up with surprise that quickly darkened into an emotion Genevieve couldn’t name but somehow felt.

“Of course.”

—-

A/N: Upon reading this, I think Carol (the movie and book) may have unconsciously affected my characters, my bad. Let’s just say that as an 1800 year old, Kamilah’s a little less guarded.

Research dump: I was inspired by Agent 355 who is a real historical figure although her exact identity is unknown. She’s referred to in a single letter but she is known to be a Revolutionary War spy in the Culper Spy Ring, who was instrumental in uncovering Benedict Arnold’s treasonous intentions. I won’t say any more so I don’t spoil too much of the next and final chapter. 

The Culper Spy Ring was a patriotic spy ring and Abraham Woodhull was one of its main members, going by the alias of Samuel Culper. He did have a sister named Mary Underhill who had a boardinghouse in New York. Robert Townsend was another spy with the alias of Samuel Culper Jr. There’s lots of speculation that Townsend was in love with Agent 355 and that Agent 355 may have had Townsend’s illegitimate baby (although I think it may have been disproved). While I’m not going to have that in my story, I thought it’d be nice to have Genevieve write to him as her main way of sending information.

I really wanted to put in a Hamilton reference and have Genevieve join Alexander Hamilton and the gang in New York but the timelines just didn’t match up. So I settled for merely sneaking in Angelica once. 

[scoobiesminyard]

If you asked any member of the Losers Club about who the biggest romantic in the group was, they would all immediately answer Ben Hanscom. He wrote love poetry for gods sake! He listened to George Michael and Whitney Houston! (He had attempted to hide this slightly embarassing fact, but he underestimated how goddamn snoopy Richie could be). He may have said that he only agreed to watch When Harry met Sally to appease Bev, but the others knew better. He was, put simply, a huge romantic.

Ben loved strongly and purely, and he liked to express that love through his poetry. It was slowly but surely improving, or at least he said. They wouldn’t let anyone read it. Not since last summer.

It had been months since the poem had been left in Bev’s bag. Months since she realised that it was him who had done it. Months since they had softly said the words to each other... and in those months, nothing had happened. They hadn’t kissed, hadn’t held hands or gone on a date (except in Bens daydreams). They hadn’t even talked about it. The only explanation was that Bev didn’t feel the same way (understandably, she was so beautiful and so funny and so strong and he was so.... not) and she was just trying to avoid hurting his feelings. How could he expect anything differently? He wasn’t worthy of her. Not like Bill. Not like brave, handsome Bill... It was days like this that he listened to sadder songs, wrote more negative poems. He felt his heart aching in his chest as he looked at Bev. He would wish miserably that he didn’t love Bev.

But then Bev would look at him, with that glint in her eye. She would laugh at him- no with him, never at him- and she would smile so damn bright. She would bump up against him or listen to him speak with patience, before interrupting to say what was on her mind. It was when they were lying on the grass of the Barrens cloudwatching lazily or she was jitterbug dancing with Richie until they collapsed with laughter, that he knew Bev was the best part of his life. He had loved her since she signed his yearbook, when she became the first person in this school, in any school to really care about him, He didn’t care if she didn’t love him back because she didn’t owe him anything. Bev smoking in silence, Bev smiling at him, Bev cycling around him, Bev tickling him, Bev crying in his arms. She was the best person he had ever known.

And Ben couldn’t hide how absolutely lightheaded he felt around her. The others had known for absolutely ages. It was just an unspoken thing- Ben is whipped for Bev. Bev’s feelings are unclear. Then again, her thing with Bill never went anywhere. Ben had rubbed his sweaty palms against his shorts as Bill told them that he and Bev, whatever they were, were over and would just be friends from now on. Bev seemed happier after that. She didn’t need a guy. She was fine on her own. She didn’t need Ben.

Ben would probably have left things like that for the rest of his life if it was up to him. The silent pining, the confused feelings, the angst of it all. He had already made a move, he thought. He had made his feelings clear that summer and everyday since. And with no result. Anything further would probably be weird and creepy. Things were fine the way they were. Richie felt differently.

"Benjamin my good fellow, I have to make some inquiries” Richie said in his British guy voice, looking at him sternly.

They were walking to the library, where they often studied (well, Ben studied and Richie tried to distract him). It was a January afternoon and it was absolutely freezing. He was wrapped up in a scarf, hat and thick coat but Richie was seemingly fine wearing a denim jacket. He was unfazed by everything. How annoying. Ben was used to Richie’s antics by now and just sighed.

“Whats up Richie?” “I have to ask my good fellow... what are your intentions with Miss Marsh?”

Ben nearly walked into a streetlamp.

“Wh-What? What are you talking about?”

Richie scoffed and slung his arm around Ben's shoulder. This was awkward, considering the height difference (Richie was starting to shoot up like a bean pole) but Richie continued speaking.

“I mean, its absolutely ridiculous how long you two have been iffing about. Its 1990 my good sir! A whole new year, a whole new decade! Its time to get a move on- its almost Valentines day” Richie said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Ben waited a moment and thought about Richie’s words. He never thought he would say this but maybe Richie was right? He could try again, really lay things on the line, be honest-

Ben shook his head. What was he thinking? He couldn’t risk making things more awkward, ruining their friendship. ‘Bev already knows’ he reminded himself. ‘You’re just gonna make her uncomfortable and force her to reject you properly’

He said as much to Richie, who scoffed again.

“Oh, pish posh! Benny boy, Bev is my best friend. I know her okay? She never shuts up about you when we’re smoking. She listens to the same crappy songs you do. She always defends you when I call you a nerd-“

“Hey!”

“and I really don’t know what the girl is waiting for. She still has your poem by her bed, you know. She likes you. And you like her. Maybe she’s waiting for you to ask her again so she can tell you the right answer this time. Romance is a mystery to me. I just hump em and dump em, you know me. But you need to get a move on and get ready to sweeeeeeeeepp her off her feet on Valentines!”

Ben, still processing Richie’s words, stayed silent as they walked in the library doors. Mrs Clarke scowled.

“Mr Tozier. Here again.”

Oh, you couldn’t keep me away from this dusty, cold, silent room full of old books if you tried. Which I know you have. And yet here I am!” Richie said cheerily and steered Ben toward the tables before Mrs Clarke could scold him for insolence.

“You gotta do the damn thing on Feb 14th, handsome. Life is too short” Richie hissed.

“Oh really? Well, I’ll seize the day if you do”

Richie frowned. “Whats that supposed to mean?”

“Oh please. You're smart but I'm smarter. You’re not the only one with eyes and I am not the only one who has a flaming crush on a fellow loser”

Richie, eyes wide behind his glasses, was seemingly stunned into silence and buried himself in a comic he brought from home. His cheeks were tinted red behind the pages. It was very amusing to see him shown up for once. Ben would usually have used this opportunity to actually study in silence for once but his mind had never been further from academics. All he could think about Bev....

And now, all because of that wretched conversation, he was sealing his doom. He was seizing the day. He was getting a move on. He was asking Bev out. On Valentines day. When she said no, kindly but firmly, it was going to crush him. Yet, here he was by her locker. Flowers in his hand and irrational, stupid hope in his heart.

He heard Bev before he saw her. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath when he heard her laugh echoing down the halls. He would follow that laugh down a cliff, into the sewers, into the very gates of hell. She rounded the corner with Richie, fresh off their morning smoke. She was wearing jeans and a baby blue jumper, her hair freshly washed and beautiful like always. Richie was smacking a kiss on her cheek and she was rolling her eyes in disgust, but her giggling was giving her away. Her eyes landed on him, blushing already and holding flowers as nice as he could buy. She stopped laughing. Richie grinned and started walking away, giving Ben the thumbs up. He was gonna have to kill him after this.

Because Bev didn’t look happy at all. She looked surprised, and a bit worried. She walked slowly toward him and gave a smile that didn’t look too genuine. Ben's heart sank to his toes. This was not going to end well.

“Are these for me?” Bev asked softly. “Y-yes. Happy Valentines Day, Beverly. I was wondering if-if you wanted to, to maybe-“

“Gotta go! Bathroom! See you later!” Bev interrupted, panic clear on her face before she ran in the opposite direction to Ben- and the girls bathrooms. Ben gaped after her for a few seconds before lifting a hand to wave goodbye. By then, she was whipping around the corner out of sight.

Ben couldn’t believe what had just happened. He hadn’t been that confident sure but he thought the worst case scenario would be Bev telling him clearly that she just didn’t feel the same way and she just wanted to be friends. And now it seemed like she was so horrified with him that they would never be friends again. Ben felt tears welling up in his eyes.

“Fuck you Richie Tozier” he muttered and wiped his eyes. He had to get his books and get to the bathroom before anyone saw him crying. The bullying situation had gotten a lot better recently and he didn’t want to change that, especially not today. He ran to his locker, his vision blurry with tears (“stop crying you useless lump” he said angrily to himself with no result) and threw it open-

It was then that a box of chocolates fell out of the locker and hit Ben square on the head, It hurt. A lot.

“What the- can this day get any worse?” Ben muttered bitterly before freezing. Now what exactly was a box of chocolates doing in his locker in the first place? He scrambled to pick it up and stared at it in amazement. There was a note attached.

“My mam used to say that the best way to a mans heart is through his stomach. I personally think poetry is much more effective but I’m not much of a writer. I don’t know how to say this well so I’ll just say it badly. I like you. A lot. you want to catch a movie later? Eat hazelnut for yes, caramel for no. Yes I know you hate caramel, that's the point. Bev x”

Ben had at some point sank down on to the floor of the school, holding the box and note in front of him and staring in awe. He read it again. And again. And again. It didn’t start seeming real. He quickly pinched himself but things didn’t start making more sense. This was real. Bev had-

“Eddie would have a heart attack if he saw you sitting in that nasty floor, you know”

Ben tore his eyes away from the single ‘x’ to see Bev standing in front of him, smiling shyly. She hesitated and extended her arm to him. Ben stared at her for a minute before gulping and taking her hand. Her skin was so soft but when she pulled him up, he felt how strong she was. He didn’t let go of her hand. She didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m sorry for being rude before.” Bev whispered, with a small smirk. “I just- I’ve been planning this for ages. And it was my turn to make a move. I didn’t think you would-and i just wanted to-“

“I wasn’t going to. Definitely no” Ben admitted and Bev looked a little taken aback.

“Why’d you do it then?”

“Richie, he convinced me that maybe I had a chance... I guess he isn’t so stupid after all”

“I disagree! He almost ruined everything! I’m gonna tell him that Eddie likes Stan instead I swear to god, the meddling oaf-“ Bev fumed.

Ben watched her mini rant with a smile. She really had asked him out. She really did like him back. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t think he ever would.

Ben squeezed her hand. “The answer is yes, by the way. A million times yes. I would eat 10 thousand hazelnut swirls if it meant I could go out with you’

Bev’s eyes crinkled as she beamed. This was better than Ben had ever imagined. This was real. And this was really, really romantic.

[cheekygeek05]

The Impossible Impostor (Part 2)

Summary: Alexus King is a FBI Special Agent of the BAU who is uprooted from her home and sent to London to work for Scotland Yard. Upon arriving she quickly loses what little enthusiasm her naivety had allowed her. Turns out the British don't take too well to imposing Americans. Who knew? Criminal Minds maybe some guest appearances! SherlockxOC 

Tag List Open

Words:1,426

Previous Part

"Pleasure to meet you." Alexus greeted holding out her hand.

John looked at the newcomer marveling in the depth of her green eyes. She was beautiful. Yet not overly so. It was a strange kind of simple beauty he'd never seen before. John stopped himself mid thought realizing she hadn't run away crying. That's strange. Looking up at Sherlock, John saw his friend's face slightly stiff…well more than ordinary. He looked agitated.

"American. You surprise me Lestrade, couldn't you find anyone less competent? Clearly she can't have been in law enforcement for long. Taking into account her age I'd say no more than two years. More than likely less. By the state of her dress I'd say she obviously doesn't take her job seriously. Wearing jeans to work, completely unprofessional. Then there are the sneakers. At the very least you could find someone to pretend to care. I'd say incompetent was a bit easy on her,"

Sherlock looked to her expecting to see tears of hurt in her ridiculous eyes. Instead he saw complete indifference. Nothing to note she'd listened to a word he said.

"And you are?" She asked smiling quite mischievously at John, who quite frankly looked shocked at her lack of response to Sherlock's blatant attack.

"John Watson. It's nice to see a new face. Miss King" He said not caring for one second he was probably grinning like an idiot. He liked this girl. She had put Sherlock in his place by doing the one thing that would bother him most, she hadn't care a cent what he had to say. Didn't even seem to listen at all. She had him furious.

"Oh please just call me Alexus. Miss King sounds ridiculous."

Sherlock was flabbergasted! He'd never been ignored like that. He thought for sure her experience and youth would hit a soft spot with her. He had thought he would be intimidating by showing her who was really boss in this division. Looking over at her again he saw the ease at which she spoke to John. That was simply unacceptable! Walking to the body he decided to show off. That would show her just how out of her depths she really was.

"Woman. Age 37 judging by the class ring on her finger. He took another look. Belonged to a Sorority of some sort. Considering she still wears the ring, I'd say she's still involved in it somehow. Definitely not married. No kids. Nail biter, so she was either a naturally nervous person or she had a high stress job. Judging by her skirt suit and heels something formal, though again the lack of height on her heels would suggest something she walked around a lot for. Considering the sign out front I'd say she's realtor and was working to sell this house."

To his delight, he was once again the center of attention. His lips twitched slightly as it fought the triumphant smile begging an appearance.

Alexus finally spoke trying to break the silence and hold his declaration had created.

"Fascinating." She said letting a hint of boredom slip into her voice. "John you were saying you'd been in Afghanistan?"

A shocked silence filled the room. No one dismissed Sherlock like that. John stuttered trying to respond without showing his surprise.

"Yes I have. I served in the English army as a doctor."

"Who did you serve under? My team, you see, was called in to help with some suspected intentional friendly fire."

"Bloody hell! That was you? We never got to meet the team that caught him, we wanted to thank you. There's nothing worse than feeling unsafe in your own home."

"Unfortunately, I understand that feeling all too well." Alexus responded quietly.

"Well," She said clapping her hands together "I believe we have a murder to solve,”

Sherlock, seeing his opportunity to revert attention back to himself began speaking again.

"I believe it's all but solved as I've already told you all you need to know about the victim."

"I never thanked you for your effort. You're quite good you know." She said with a wink.

Hush settled over the group. Almost like the whole room was holding their breath watching what would happen next. Anderson and Sally having just come in, had only heard the last few statements. Lestrade was floored. She couldn't possibly have caught something Sherlock hadn't. No one did.

"You will find, Mr. Holmes, that the victim is not only person that can be deduced in this room. We have yet to catch a killer. There are, however, a few corrections to be made. Though I appreciate your gentlemanly behavior, when a woman is murdered, I believe a gentleman can indeed look through her purse."

"I am not inclined to follow social cues Miss King."

"Really? I had no idea!" Alexus answered voice practically dripping with sarcasm.

"If you had looked in her purse, you would have found loose cereal and loose sweets at the bottom. In my experience things carried by mothers to soothe a child's hunger. The cereal points to a toddler, the candy points to an older, school-aged boy."

"Boy?" Lestrade interrupted.

"There's also a toy car in the bag. Now moving on to the unsub."

"Unsub?" This time it was John who interrupted.

"Sorry it's a term we used back home unknown subject." She continued. "He is…"

"And so the guessing begins." Sherlock stated speaking of her presumption the killer was a man.

"Not at all. The wounds indicate she was hit repeatedly. The blood splatter on the wall hints at his swings reach. Going off that alone, he is at least six feet tall. The crime was a one of opportunity. He didn't bother to take her purse and the fact that she wasn't carrying a wallet with her was simply luck on his part. She had probably left her purse on the mantel piece before he came in. She wasn't selling this house. She was looking to buy it. The room next door has color schemes on the floor as well as in the kitchen. I think she saw something or someone she shouldn't have. The fact that she didn't leave immediately suggests she didn't know she had seen anything of importance. We should be looking for whatever it was she saw. That will lead us to our killer."

Alexus finally stopped her assessment only to realize everyone in the room had halted what they were doing to stare at her. Alexus didn't understand why. Spence would've picked up on all of this in half the time she had. Morgan would have surely seen something she hadn't. At which point Spence would be figuring out what the victim had witnessed. Garcia would be tracking the house and its history while simultaneously working on searching for the victim. She was positive if Sherlock hadn't been in such a rush to prove himself top notch he would have caught it too.

"And who's this then?" Sally asked obviously very unhappy with her new colleague.

"Oh I'm sorry my name's Alexus King. I'm the new girl." Alexus answered for Lestrade noticing his rigid posture.

"Brilliant. That's all we need another bleeding Sherlock." Sally sardonically.

"I'm sorry if I got carried away. I suppose that was rather rude of me. But rest assured I am not a high functioning sociopath. Unless I'm wrong in my assessment of you." She said speaking to Sherlock. "Am I wrong Mr. Holmes?" She paused waiting for an answer. "No? Didn't think so."

"Alright I think we've done what we can for tonight. We'll pick it up tomorrow morning 8:00am sharp. See you all then." Lestrade called out.

Sherlock looked at the woman who had bested him. How had he not seen the spark of intelligence in her eyes? How had he missed that? No matter how much it bothered him he had to admit she was brilliant. His harsh words had been all completely ignored, his deductions proven wrong, his flat mate fascinated, and his DI impressed. He was, in fact, compromised.

That simply wouldn't do. He needed her gone. But first he needed her close. He would unravel her and to do that he would need her trust. Sherlock had done the dance with Molly and was delighted to find it worked. Sherlock decided the best plan of action was to charm her into a comfortable sense of security and then rip her to shreds. He knew it would be easy enough. He was Sherlock Holmes, he could charm the pants off a Mennonite.

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