I love you Violet Bridgerton, but you better remember that whole fuckin speech you just gave Benedict about how you were once impulsive, passionate, and wanting to experience all that life had to offer the next time you start harping on Eloise to find a husband
Ya know, I thought this one might not happen. I had a couple other ideas that failed to pan out and was close to calling it quits, but then I landed on this one and, welp, here we are! Still not sure I'm 100% happy with it, more like 90%, but that's still pretty good; happy reading y'all!
Thanks to @flashfictionfridayofficial for the prompt!
Fandom: Carmen Sandiego 2019
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1,089 (this is as low as I could get it;
Dexter scowled as he sat back in his chair and regarded the chessboard, harboring decidedly more black pieces than white. "This is why I don't play chess."
"Practice, dear Wolfe." The white knight clinked despairingly as it was dropped to join its mate and numerous other slain fellows in the box of captured pieces. Maelstrom grinned smugly. "Practice, and foresight. To succeed in chess it to be always thinking ahead."
Dexter gave a grim smile. "All you're doing is outlining why I don't play. You know all my best work is done in the spur of the moment."
"A fatal flaw in chess," Maelstrom purred as he toyed with the captured pieces so a symphony of discordant clinks pattered through the room.
Wolfe chuckled even as he internally shuddered at the unmusical sound. "I don't see you complaining when my 'fatal flaw' makes VILE all the richer."
Maelstrom joined in, a sound that made the clinking dulcet by comparison. "Fair point, Wolfe. Particularly considering how the past year has gone." Planting his elbows on the table, he dropped his chin to rest on interlaced fingers; the air shifted. "By my counts you've taken more than double the solo capers than last year."
Wolfe focused hard on his next move.
"While your successes have been undeniable, I must say the cost has been just as great; we hardly see you anymore. Why, you even missed poker night last month." He pursed his lips in an artificial pout and angled his head to try and catch Wolfe's eye; Wolfe kept them carefully downcast. "It just hasn't been the same here without you cheating us out of our fairly-made wagers."
"The wagers are never fair." Wolfe laid a debating finger on a bishop, then withdrew it. "And you banned me from dealing."
"Still." Maelstrom watched closely as the finger moved searchingly amongst the surviving pieces. "It's almost like you no longer desire our company."
Almost like your loyalties lie elsewhere.
Wolfe froze with his finger on his white queen. The unspoken question hanging like a noxious fume, invisible and strangling. Maelstrom penetrating gaze was of a kind with the surgeon's knife that knows exactly where to cut to bring the hidden to light, and Wolfe felt alarmingly like the patient bare and at its mercy on the table.
A pit opened in his stomach.
He'd been expecting this. As he was readying to leave on an…excursion, the professor had waltzed into his classroom and promptly started setting up a chessboard on his Chippendale table. "Come," he'd said, voice dripping with false cordiality. "Indulge an old amigo in a game of chess and some…conversation."
And he'd been with VILE long enough to listen between the lines. Never mind he covered his tracks thoroughly and always made sure each prolonged absence was more profitable than the last, being Faculty was a double-edged sword; the power and prestige of the position was weighted with things he hadn’t seen until this past year: leashes, suspicion, and a scrutiny that had him accepting the invitation he wished to refuse and taking his seat as his thoughts flew elsewhere.
Carlotta was due any day now, and he wanted to be there to welcome their daughter (she said it might still be a son, but his hunches were infallible).
But he was stuck here, and if he was not careful, he’d lose more than the chess match.
He should have taken the chance and left ages ago.
But he had committed to the game, and the only way out was to see it through.
He looked over the board again, marking the positions of his paltry white pieces and Maelstrom's numerous black forces, then made up his mind. Keeping his finger on the queen, he moved her, carefully, steadily, across the board. Past the shreds of his white defenses into enemy territory, past some offensively obvious traps his opponent had laid, and a sneakier one with humble pawns, then brought her to a stop on a square that afforded her a clear path to the black king.
"Check."
Maelstrom's eyes glimmered darkly. "Bold move, Wolfe. I almost regret doing this." Taking up his bishop he slid the piece across the board towards the queen, only to stop abruptly.
Wolfe smirked. "Hay algun problema, Gunnar?"
"This bishop should have a clear shot at the queen…" he muttered, staring at the pawn he swore wasn't on that square before. He drew back to better study the pieces, then-
Then.
Maelstrom stared at the board, eyes growing wider and wider as he noticed first one then another of his carefully-laid traps undone; rooks lying in ambuscade were shifted a crucial square out of place, knights that had been armed and ready know stood awkwardly just out of reach of their foe, and the line of once-dauntless pawns on a suicide mission cowered back, themselves at risk of being felled by what remained of Wolfe's forces.
Wolfe's smirk sharpened. "Ah, forgive me: I play so rarely, I forgot the term is check mate."
Maelstrom looked up with a furious scowl. "You moved my pieces."
Wolfe shrugged serenely. "And you did not call me on it. Your lack of observation is not on my conscience." He tipped his chair back on its back legs, silently daring Maelstrom to challenge him and the Rules of Stealth.
Maelstrom glowered; Wolfe plucked a white pawn from the board and twirled it between his fingers. Then Maelstrom tipped his head back, and let out a hearty laugh. "Ha! Well played, Wolfe." Grinning in a way so disused it was a wonder his face didn't crack, he reached across the board to shake Wolfe's hand. "Well played! And with that you may take your leave. Best of luck on the caper."
Shouldering his bag Wolfe nodded to Maelstrom as he headed for the door. "I shall compensate you all soundly for my absence."
A farewell wave from the professor, and Wolfe vanished; in minutes he was at the bow of Old Salt's boat, thoughts racing past the horizon and across the Atlantic, and breathed for the first time since his return to the Island.
Carlotta was due any day now.
Alone in Wolfe's classroom, Maelstrom thoughtfully reviewed the chessboard again. Truly, he had not seen the man move any other piece besides his own white queen, yet there was his black army, the meticulously crafted checkmate subtly destroyed, right under his nose. A feat that only a master of stealth such as Wolfe was capable of.
Impressive.
What else was Wolfe doing just under their noses?
(A/N: Tagging @mmaricarmen23 ; thought of you soon as I started writing Maelstrom 😜 (and thank you so much for the birthday wishes!))
Definitely not thinking about how Agatha added the line, 'I hold Death's hand in mine' to the ballad so that Nicky wouldn't be scared when Rio inevitably came to take him
