Fic: More Than Chess
Author: Gildedmuse/Stephanie
Title: More Than Chess
Fandom: Chess
Characters/Pairings: Florence/Freddie, Molly
Rating/Warning: PG-13
Word Count: 1,700
Summery: Snapshots of Freddie and Florence's life together.
Author's Note: Fic for Krissy. I think it was like her birthday or something? Who knows. :P There shall, if all goes according to plan, be a second less sucky Chess fic to follow. Because I'm not quite sure this is right but am sort of fond of parts so, well, postage.
More Than Chess
The affair is done in white.
It’s not a wedding exactly, nothing official. More like a party for friends, so they can all see how much they mean to one another. Only between the two of them, they don’t really have that many friends. Even less that really matter.
It’s a huge waste of time. A fool’s move to spend so much money on this game that no one will see or care about. Has Florence lost her head? What about being cool, analytical, the Florence that he needs as his second. Those are the sorts of qualities that get a person to the championship, not all this sentimental nonsense. Florence really should be above this type of shit, the things they sell women in those house wife magazines. Freddie isn’t with her so she can turn into one of those needy, emotional wrecks like his mother.
Florence is just as insistent she should get something, since he’s made his thoughts on proposing so abundantly clear. She should at least have something to show the baby to prove her father is a decent man.
It shakes Freddie up enough that he ends up standing in a room filled with people he barely knows, only half listening to Florence give her fake vows.
What does she mean, baby?
*
It looks like a blob.
Florence is sweaty and smells worse than those drunk street side bums that are always trying to get his change. Oh, the word for it is probably ‘glowing’ or something, but really is looks and smells disgusting. And she sits there smiling at him, like she expects him to be happy to have just waited hours on this thing.
She’s gone from screaming out in pain to smiling in less than half an hour. Then again, Freddie should be use to these wild hormonal shifts by now. She’s been playing at them for months. What is so wrong with women that they can’t keep their emotions in check?
They name the new pink and blotchy blob in Florence’s arms Molly. Or Florence names her, and Freddie just stares, trying to make sense out of this mess Florence has gotten them stuck in. The little creature is so small and disgustingly weak, can’t even manage to hold up her own head. More useless than a pawn. At least pawns can be sacrificed for the grander scheme in the game plan. What can this baby do other than gurgle and roll about?
He’s starting to understand why his own father left. Who could love anything so entirely useless?
*
How in the world is he suppose to be able to get through any practice with all this screaming?
If Florence can’t keep her quiet, she shouldn’t have gone and had the damn child in the first place. God, does she do anything but cry? He means that about both of them. It’s like their plotting together to make sure he can’t have a single moments peace.
If it’s not Molly crying than it’s Florence acting frazzled when she can’t get her to latch on or sleep or whatever it is she is failing at now. She has rules written down for herself, how to behave and when things need done, trying to create rules for this game. Only they’re not working for her.
Freddie should have known she didn’t have what it takes to be a mother. He remembers his own, and while Florence may not have had one, Freddie certainly recalls what they’re like. Mothers are weak, all emotions and softness. Florence is far too clever for that sort of nonsense.
Yet when he tells her this to make her feel better about failing with Molly, she only gets upset with him. Acting like an over emotional woman, probably just to prove how mother like she can be.
It takes about four months before the sounds of the kid’s wailing doesn’t even wake Florence up anymore. It goes on for what has to be hours, and she just stays wrapped up in the blankets next to Freddie, too worn out to go and shut up her own child. She may be too exhausted to hear all that screaming, but Freddie has a game coming up. He can’t be kept awake by all this noise and risk losing because Florence went and made a stupid choice. The exact sort of stupid choice that loses games.
Finally he gets up himself, determined to get Molly quiet for a couple hours. Long enough that he can sleep and maybe have a game of chess without her ruining everything.
In her cradle, Molly looks too small. Rarely even a blimp against all the black and white blankets and toys they have tucked around her. It’s damn near amazing something as small as she is can have so much strength in her lungs. Amazing and annoying.
Freddie stares for a while longer, no idea how to make her shut up. Then, because it seems like the right move to make, he tries picking her up.
She really is too small, he decides. He isn’t sure how to hold her, where his hands are meant to be. Florence does this all the time, it can’t be that difficult, but Freddie finds himself stumbling trying to keep her head up without hurting her. And she keeps wiggling up to him, making it harder to get any sort of grip on her slippery little body.
He doesn’t realize how quiet she’s being until he looks up to see Florence watching him. Staring is more like it, wide eyes and mouth open. How did he…? When she couldn’t even…?
It feels strangely like a victory.
*
His baby girl, she’s going to be the best damn chess player the world has ever seen.
Fair enough, she’s only three months old and she doesn’t know all the rules just yet, but she’ll learn. Besides, when Freddie sets her down on his lap in front of a chess board, he can just tell this is where she fits.
She laughs when he captures one of Florence’s pieces, spits up and picks at her nose when Florence manages to catch him back. Just three months, and Molly already knows to be on the winning side. That’s his girl.
By the time she’s sixteen, she’ll probably have taken on every old man in this game. Hell, with Freddie showing her the rules and her natural talent, she’ll probably end up beating him more than few times.
When Freddie imagines this, he just smiles. No doubt, she’s amazing.
She’s already figured out how to get her little fingers around the pieces, loves waving them around above the board. It may not look all that impressive, but Freddie knows what she’s trying to do. Wants to copy her dad, show how much she loves him.
She understands the game more than most adults, Freddie can already tell that much. Every now and then she’ll grab one of the pieces and hold it up to his face, beaming that toothless smile of hers. She looks damn proud of that special thing she’s holding.
And Freddie will hug her and smile back, proud of that special thing he’s holding.
*
There really is no way they could have known. No way it could have been prevented. The way the doctor explains it, sometimes these things just happen.
It’s no one’s fault.
Of course, if Florence had been a better mother… Less caught up in chess, closer to Molly. She always had trouble getting her to feed or go to sleep, only Freddie could manage that last one. If she’s been a better mother… Freddie doesn’t know.
But then, they say it’s no one’s fault.
Her cradle is huge without her filling it up. Huge and empty and broken when Freddie throws it against the wall. Her favorite thing, her checkered blanket, has already been taken out. Wrapped around her when they set her in the coffin. Wrapped around her like it had been when they came in, found her in this damn cradle.
He screams and swears and throws himself at the cradle until his hands are bleeding and there is nothing left but pieces.
This isn’t right. It can’t be. Molly was too bright, too wonderful. Hadn’t they heard her laugh? How could anyone take someone thing away with such a perfect, giggly little laugh like his baby?
He keeps screaming until he’s near exhausted, until he’s too worn down to even cry properly. He doesn’t have it in him. Fuck, he doesn’t have anything left in him. No rules, no game plan to follow. He’s stuck.
The whole thing falls apart without Molly.
*
The funereal is done in black.
People he doesn’t even know show up, set a hand on his shoulder and tell him how sorry they are, how special she’d been. He doesn’t speak to a single one of the goddamn fools.
Fuck them and their apologies, the way they all look at him so broken hearted and somber and whisper, “Sorry for your loss”. How fucking dumb are they, really? A loss is what happens when someone makes a stupid move on a chess board. A loss, Freddie always figured, is the worst thing that could happen to him. It kills your reputation, everything you work to build up is taken away because of the smallest mistake your opponent catches. Everything is sunk in a loss.
Sorry for your loss. Fuck them, this is so much worse than a loss.
Freddie doesn’t speak to Florence, either. They haven’t said a word since the hospital, and even then it mostly been to doctors, nurses, demanding to know what the hell was going on, what’s wrong with their Molly? None of them had answers, it’s not like Freddie expects Florence to. She can’t fix this, so what would be the point in talking?
He already throw out the old cradle, got rid of Molly’s things, painted over the nursery. Things that needed to get done that Florence wouldn’t have touched. She probably would have wanted to keep them, but what is the point if they couldn’t keep Molly.
No, Freddie has nothing left worth talking about.
Title: More Than Chess
Fandom: Chess
Characters/Pairings: Florence/Freddie, Molly
Rating/Warning: PG-13
Word Count: 1,700
Summery: Snapshots of Freddie and Florence's life together.
Author's Note: Fic for Krissy. I think it was like her birthday or something? Who knows. :P There shall, if all goes according to plan, be a second less sucky Chess fic to follow. Because I'm not quite sure this is right but am sort of fond of parts so, well, postage.
More Than Chess
The affair is done in white.
It’s not a wedding exactly, nothing official. More like a party for friends, so they can all see how much they mean to one another. Only between the two of them, they don’t really have that many friends. Even less that really matter.
It’s a huge waste of time. A fool’s move to spend so much money on this game that no one will see or care about. Has Florence lost her head? What about being cool, analytical, the Florence that he needs as his second. Those are the sorts of qualities that get a person to the championship, not all this sentimental nonsense. Florence really should be above this type of shit, the things they sell women in those house wife magazines. Freddie isn’t with her so she can turn into one of those needy, emotional wrecks like his mother.
Florence is just as insistent she should get something, since he’s made his thoughts on proposing so abundantly clear. She should at least have something to show the baby to prove her father is a decent man.
It shakes Freddie up enough that he ends up standing in a room filled with people he barely knows, only half listening to Florence give her fake vows.
What does she mean, baby?
*
It looks like a blob.
Florence is sweaty and smells worse than those drunk street side bums that are always trying to get his change. Oh, the word for it is probably ‘glowing’ or something, but really is looks and smells disgusting. And she sits there smiling at him, like she expects him to be happy to have just waited hours on this thing.
She’s gone from screaming out in pain to smiling in less than half an hour. Then again, Freddie should be use to these wild hormonal shifts by now. She’s been playing at them for months. What is so wrong with women that they can’t keep their emotions in check?
They name the new pink and blotchy blob in Florence’s arms Molly. Or Florence names her, and Freddie just stares, trying to make sense out of this mess Florence has gotten them stuck in. The little creature is so small and disgustingly weak, can’t even manage to hold up her own head. More useless than a pawn. At least pawns can be sacrificed for the grander scheme in the game plan. What can this baby do other than gurgle and roll about?
He’s starting to understand why his own father left. Who could love anything so entirely useless?
*
How in the world is he suppose to be able to get through any practice with all this screaming?
If Florence can’t keep her quiet, she shouldn’t have gone and had the damn child in the first place. God, does she do anything but cry? He means that about both of them. It’s like their plotting together to make sure he can’t have a single moments peace.
If it’s not Molly crying than it’s Florence acting frazzled when she can’t get her to latch on or sleep or whatever it is she is failing at now. She has rules written down for herself, how to behave and when things need done, trying to create rules for this game. Only they’re not working for her.
Freddie should have known she didn’t have what it takes to be a mother. He remembers his own, and while Florence may not have had one, Freddie certainly recalls what they’re like. Mothers are weak, all emotions and softness. Florence is far too clever for that sort of nonsense.
Yet when he tells her this to make her feel better about failing with Molly, she only gets upset with him. Acting like an over emotional woman, probably just to prove how mother like she can be.
It takes about four months before the sounds of the kid’s wailing doesn’t even wake Florence up anymore. It goes on for what has to be hours, and she just stays wrapped up in the blankets next to Freddie, too worn out to go and shut up her own child. She may be too exhausted to hear all that screaming, but Freddie has a game coming up. He can’t be kept awake by all this noise and risk losing because Florence went and made a stupid choice. The exact sort of stupid choice that loses games.
Finally he gets up himself, determined to get Molly quiet for a couple hours. Long enough that he can sleep and maybe have a game of chess without her ruining everything.
In her cradle, Molly looks too small. Rarely even a blimp against all the black and white blankets and toys they have tucked around her. It’s damn near amazing something as small as she is can have so much strength in her lungs. Amazing and annoying.
Freddie stares for a while longer, no idea how to make her shut up. Then, because it seems like the right move to make, he tries picking her up.
She really is too small, he decides. He isn’t sure how to hold her, where his hands are meant to be. Florence does this all the time, it can’t be that difficult, but Freddie finds himself stumbling trying to keep her head up without hurting her. And she keeps wiggling up to him, making it harder to get any sort of grip on her slippery little body.
He doesn’t realize how quiet she’s being until he looks up to see Florence watching him. Staring is more like it, wide eyes and mouth open. How did he…? When she couldn’t even…?
It feels strangely like a victory.
*
His baby girl, she’s going to be the best damn chess player the world has ever seen.
Fair enough, she’s only three months old and she doesn’t know all the rules just yet, but she’ll learn. Besides, when Freddie sets her down on his lap in front of a chess board, he can just tell this is where she fits.
She laughs when he captures one of Florence’s pieces, spits up and picks at her nose when Florence manages to catch him back. Just three months, and Molly already knows to be on the winning side. That’s his girl.
By the time she’s sixteen, she’ll probably have taken on every old man in this game. Hell, with Freddie showing her the rules and her natural talent, she’ll probably end up beating him more than few times.
When Freddie imagines this, he just smiles. No doubt, she’s amazing.
She’s already figured out how to get her little fingers around the pieces, loves waving them around above the board. It may not look all that impressive, but Freddie knows what she’s trying to do. Wants to copy her dad, show how much she loves him.
She understands the game more than most adults, Freddie can already tell that much. Every now and then she’ll grab one of the pieces and hold it up to his face, beaming that toothless smile of hers. She looks damn proud of that special thing she’s holding.
And Freddie will hug her and smile back, proud of that special thing he’s holding.
*
There really is no way they could have known. No way it could have been prevented. The way the doctor explains it, sometimes these things just happen.
It’s no one’s fault.
Of course, if Florence had been a better mother… Less caught up in chess, closer to Molly. She always had trouble getting her to feed or go to sleep, only Freddie could manage that last one. If she’s been a better mother… Freddie doesn’t know.
But then, they say it’s no one’s fault.
Her cradle is huge without her filling it up. Huge and empty and broken when Freddie throws it against the wall. Her favorite thing, her checkered blanket, has already been taken out. Wrapped around her when they set her in the coffin. Wrapped around her like it had been when they came in, found her in this damn cradle.
He screams and swears and throws himself at the cradle until his hands are bleeding and there is nothing left but pieces.
This isn’t right. It can’t be. Molly was too bright, too wonderful. Hadn’t they heard her laugh? How could anyone take someone thing away with such a perfect, giggly little laugh like his baby?
He keeps screaming until he’s near exhausted, until he’s too worn down to even cry properly. He doesn’t have it in him. Fuck, he doesn’t have anything left in him. No rules, no game plan to follow. He’s stuck.
The whole thing falls apart without Molly.
*
The funereal is done in black.
People he doesn’t even know show up, set a hand on his shoulder and tell him how sorry they are, how special she’d been. He doesn’t speak to a single one of the goddamn fools.
Fuck them and their apologies, the way they all look at him so broken hearted and somber and whisper, “Sorry for your loss”. How fucking dumb are they, really? A loss is what happens when someone makes a stupid move on a chess board. A loss, Freddie always figured, is the worst thing that could happen to him. It kills your reputation, everything you work to build up is taken away because of the smallest mistake your opponent catches. Everything is sunk in a loss.
Sorry for your loss. Fuck them, this is so much worse than a loss.
Freddie doesn’t speak to Florence, either. They haven’t said a word since the hospital, and even then it mostly been to doctors, nurses, demanding to know what the hell was going on, what’s wrong with their Molly? None of them had answers, it’s not like Freddie expects Florence to. She can’t fix this, so what would be the point in talking?
He already throw out the old cradle, got rid of Molly’s things, painted over the nursery. Things that needed to get done that Florence wouldn’t have touched. She probably would have wanted to keep them, but what is the point if they couldn’t keep Molly.
No, Freddie has nothing left worth talking about.