Independent roleplay/ask blog for Beverly Katz from the NBC series Hannibal. Multi-para/novella RP with a penchant for asks/memes. Crossovers and OCs welcome. (Muse and Mun both 26+, so NSFW material may arise.) Feel free to start something via my ask box! Tracking shcblindedmewithscience.
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Ever since Laura Beckett and Seth Marshall were children, they’ve always loved one another—only, they didn’t realize they were in love until it was too late.
Knowing they can never be wed due to their class difference—he, a schoolteacher-turned-military-captain, and she, an heiress—as well as her arranged, loveless engagement to a Pennsylvanian congressman, Laura attempts to dissuade Seth’s affections by putting up barriers. Only, he scales them. Repeatedly.
Amidst their tentative dance around their plight, Seth is fooled by an insincere offer to trade a prisoner of war, and uses his rank to stage an exchange. Only, the trade fails with fatal consequences. The guilt spirals him headlong into an unhealthy dependence upon Laura’s passionate touch. Unfortunately for the ardent couple, Laura’s father grows deathly ill during their romance, and she must choose between obeying his final wish with her engagement, or following her heart.
Tropes you'll enjoy:
childhood friends-to-lovers
inexperienced man x experienced woman
class difference
mutual pining
secret relationship
forbidden love
man in uniform
military romance
tortured hero
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BOOK ONE (this is a three-part historical romance series that can be read as standalones set during the American Revolution)
Their first trace of evidence lay dead in an East London flat, leaving no name, no blood, no face to identify (thankfully he did have finger prints). What was worth further investigation was a sealed file in his cold, stiff hands. It was sealed and much of it was redacted. What was curious about this was that the same file was missing down in the Park's basement archives.
The corpse was a an ex-R.ussian asset, low-level courier under MI5 protection, at least until someone had cracked his ribs open and rearranged his insides like a bloody pinata.
Rank and unfortunate business.
This wasn't anything random or g.ang related. No this was some kind of sickly deliberate with a touch of twisted finesse, as though the culprit wanted it to be viewed as a work of art.
Enter B.everley K.atz. F.BI consultant, fibre analyst, former behavioural specialist. The woman had bypassed protocol when she'd landed on E.nglish soil. No visit to the embassy or local clearance.
Quite A.merican of her, really.
"Despite her breaking every rule in the fucking book book, apparently Park still doesn't think her worth the time of the more competent agents," L.amb sputtered through a wheeze as he took a long drag off his latest f.ag and eyed R.iver once over with a sneer, "Which is why you, the washed-up service brat and Slough's own reluctant Golden Retriever are going to do it for them. If she's in league with the bloody culprit and you're the only one out there riding her P.rada coat, then God help us all."
Insults aside, it didn't take all of mere seconds for River to bolt out the door. If this little venture was what it took to get out of another tedious afternoon of aimless grunt work, he'd take it. Besides, it could all be a much bigger shite show than it appeared, especially given the fact that it was likely Katz was here on behalf of the A.merican g.overnment.
The spark of hope for the latter gave River an uncharacteristic pep in his step as he made his way to the Barts Pathology Museum where she was last seen.
Normally, River was a pro at covert tailing. He'd been the only one to successfully keep tabs on D.iana T.averner for a full day, the folly he'd hoped would impress, not land him a one way ticked to the arse crack of M.I5. And now, for good bloody measure, Katz herself had been able to tell he was following her.
"You must not know who I am. Want to find out?"
Either the woman was as keen as a b.loodhound, or River was rustier than he wanted to admit.
Cursing inwardly, River sighs dejectedly and steps out from the shrouded corner with his arms raised in surrender, one flashing his badge.
"Alright, alright. Relax. I'm with the s.ecret s.ervice, not some bum git with a penchant for s.talking women."
Beverly's nerves were shot raw. As the eldest sibling of six, she was accustomed to chaos -- growing up, she'd often had to babysit her screaming, rambunctious brothers and sisters -- so discord and mayhem were almost areas in which she thrived. But this? Being a world away from home, and unable to trust her team's basic needs were being met? Yeah. She was half ready to pop a mood stabilizer and call Jack. This assignment had to be a mistake.
With Will Graham having a spotty memory, her transfer couldn't have come at a worse time. It's all temporary, Jack had insisted, but Beverly's keen sense of bullshit told her something was amiss. And although Crawford would never lie to her, she didn't know any of these people across the pond.
She understood why she'd been called -- she did. It would seem that their Copycat Killer was either traveling overseas, or he'd inspired yet another copycat, so joining forces was the logical next step. But did it have to come at the price of her present progress at the BAU? At the price of Will Graham's mental health?
Beverly gritted her teeth. Despite her mind swirling a mile a minute, she suddenly caught a flash of movement from her peripheral. Being a big sister had its advantages. When she was a teenager, she'd always known when her younger sister, Gwen, had tried sneaking out to meet boys. She was accustomed to listening for her disobedient siblings, because their parents had often been MIA, and left her in charge.
Sliding a hand to the revolver at her hip, she coolly called back, "You must not know who I am. Want to find out?"
The man gave a curse -- definitely not American -- and she turned, arching a brow as an unfamiliar blonde slowly egressed the shadows. "Alright, alright. Relax," he coaxed. "I'm with the secret service, not some bum git with a penchant for stalking women."
Beverly scoffed. "In English, please? And preferably without you talking about your bum this time."
When he flashed his badge, the tension in her shoulders eased, however slight. Though due to her rattled nerves, she couldn't resist tacking on, "Cute welcoming committee, by the way. But just so you know, a gift basket would've sufficed." She sighed, smoothing her hands over her lapels. "I'm Special Agent Beverly Katz. But since you've been skulking around like Michael Myers, I guess you already know that..." Eyeing him in expectance, she waved a hand. "Hello? I believe this is the part where you introduce yourself. Unless you'd prefer I contact your superiors at...MI5, I'm guessing?"
"But I couldn't tell which were real and which were not," Will relented as he took a wavering drink of the break room coffee. The two had a moment after a case the next day. Beverly had seemed like a relatively good candidate for friendship- and as time passed it seemed like he needed that. May as well get into the thick of things, "It's frightening. Are you ever frightened?" (face the bastards meme)
Beverly kept her back turned as she listened to him speak, all the while fetching cream and sugar for her coffee. It was no secret that the Bureau was leery around Will -- ever since Greenwood, his behavior had set off several warning bells. That didn’t, however, mean that she necessarily shared in their view.
After mixing in her cream and sugar, Beverly turned back to face Will and leaned against the counter, idly curling her hands around the paper cup. “Of course I get scared,” she said. “It’s human to be afraid...to not know what’s coming. If I didn’t, I’d be a robot.” She offered a wry smile. “Have you talked to anyone else about this? Maybe Dr. Lecter? He’s kind of a stuffed shirt, but Jack seems to like him well enough. What does he have to say about your lapses in reality?”
In truth, it worried Beverly that Hannibal didn’t outwardly show any concern. Shouldn’t he? There was clearly something wrong with Will, and yet the older man kept things so close to the vest.
