A/N: Guys! I'm supposed to be working on my in-progress fics, but with the choicemoviechemistry shit (if you haven't voted for Sendrick at Teen Choice, ignore this story and go do that now) and tumblr oh my lord I just got SLAMMED with Bechloe feels! I couldn't help it; I'm so sorry! Feel free to message me if you need to spazz out about it with me because ugh my goodness they are just too much.

That being said, this is a Triple Treble fic. Or the beginning of one, anways.

Let me know what you think!

Week One: the Barden Bellas

To be perfectly honest, their Orientation the previous night combined with the events of the past few days has left Beca with only a blurred impression of the various occurrences she has been forced to endure recently - she can remember being arrested and brought to Barden Federal Incarceration Center (it looks important on paper, but all it really translates to is "jail"), squished in the back of a crowded police van with about fifty other new inmates; she can remember being patted down in a room filled with other uncomfortable people, eating something nasty that had been about the same consistency as mud, and beating the shit out of her new roommate (Kitty, she thinks her name was). But that had all been before she fell asleep last night; now it's morning - if six AM can possibly be called that - and she's finding herself in the midst of another unpleasant deluge of sensations that blow all of her blurred memories right out of her mind.

She's particularly grumpy in the morning anyway by default, but when she wakes up today, it's to the simultaneous sensations of a solitary sunray falling across her face and a sharp tug to her ankle attempting to drag her off the bunk. One is significantly less bothersome than the other, but she chooses to fight them both as she throws one hand across her eyes to shield them from the light and latches on firmly to the bunk post with the other. Another yank nearly dislocates her right leg, and she kicks out hard in response. The muffled thud that follows informs her that she didn't miss. She lets a triumphant expression cross her face, but barely has it settled when the hands return, this time seizing both her ankles, and wrench her off the bunk and onto the floor.

She barely has time to hiss out her displeasure before a boot swings into her vision and makes hard contact with her shoulder. With a grunt, she struggles to her feet and swings the first of her uninjured arm. It is swiftly grabbed and pinned behind her back. She pauses, considering her next move. Her opponent waits as well, which only serves to confuse her. Why aren't they taking advantage of her momentary hesitance? She would examine their face to see if she could spot a reason, but the sun is still shining. She keeps her eyes firmly shut when she kicks out again, aiming to wrap her ankle around the back of her adversary's knee to bring them to the floor.

Her leg is seized at the knee, and in a matter of seconds she finds herself facedown on the linoleum with her hands pinned and a knee pressing sharply into her back. She feels her spine twist painfully as she jerks her head sideways to find air. Immediately, an arm smashes against the side of her head, grinding her ear and temple into the floor. She cautiously attempts to squirm away; the knee shoves harder into her back. She feels a rib strain the wrong way under the pressure, and lets out a low cry.

"All right, all right, I'm done, let me up!" She doesn't really expect her opponent to give; she's been in situations like this before, and is well aware that they only come to an end when somebody bites the dust. However, she's hopeful that if there are security cameras somewhere nearby, they will at least catch that she tried to initiate a truce.

To her surprise, the weight on her back immediately retreats, and Beca opens her eyes to find a pale hand stuck straight in her face. Cautiously, she accepts it, and is being pulled to her feet before she can even register the movement. Her left leg struggles a bit to take her weight, but after a moment she figures out how to shift her stance so that her ankle has to bear it only minimally.

Once she's suitably balanced, she looks up to study her opponent, and is immediately rendered speechless.

This is the most beautiful woman she has ever seen.

She's tall – taller than Beca, anyway, by a good couple of inches – with an incredible amount of wild ginger hair. Her eyes, startlingly blue, make for a deep contrast with her vibrant hair and pale skin.

She's also smiling, which is probably what throws Beca the most.

"Morning Cutie."

What? Oh hell no, she did not.

"I'm not cute," Beca huffs, folding her arms defiantly across the chest of her jumpsuit. The nerve of this girl to insinuate –

"Oh, but you are. Tiny, too. I'd call you Shortstuff, but I'm sure everybody else already does, so I bet you're tired of it, and I don't like being a follower, so I'm going to call you Peanut. But that can't be your real name; my name's Chloe. What's your name? Wait, don't tell me it's actually Peanut, is it?!" By the time the ginger is finished with her bubbly rambling, Beca has gone stock still with disbelief. Who is this person? Why did she beat the shit out of Beca and then suddenly decide to be so nice? And, more importantly, why is she in Beca's room in the first place? In the morning, when nobody should even be awake, let alone this happy about life?

"No, it's not," is the only response she can come up with, and her surprise combined with her normal attitude of general resentment makes her words sound short and brusque.

The redhead – Chloe – doesn't seem to take the tone to heart.

"Oh, that's good. I wouldn't want my real name to be Peanut, either. I like Chloe. It fits me, Denise says. I think so too. Can you tell me your name? Does it fit you, too?" By now, Beca's shock and confusion have made their way to irritation, and she unfolds her arms to swing them impatiently at her sides. The sensation of muscles pulling tight in her right shoulder makes her wince, and she stops.

"Look, Red, I don't care what you call me so long as you don't bother me about it. I don't know who you are or what you're doing here, or why you woke me up and decided to beat the shit out of me before acting like nothing happened, but that sort of shit doesn't fly with me, okay? I just want to get through my time here and get back out into the world and continue with my life like it wasn't interrupted. I don't need friends." The redhead's face falls at that response, and Beca is insane enough to feel a bothersome pull at her heartstrings at the disappointed expression. Chloe looks so sad, it just makes Beca want to give her a hug and reassure her that she didn't mean a thing she just said.

Wait, what?

Before Beca can say something else to counteract the uncomfortable feeling in her chest, Chloe speaks up, sounding decidedly dejected.

"I'm sorry," she says sincerely. "I just – I saw you come in last night and fight that Kitty girl, and you looked a little upset afterwards. I didn't want you to be sad, and I thought you looked kind of interesting when you came from Orientation, so I thought I'd see if we could be friends."

"I don't need friends," Beca reiterates, but Chloe looks sad, sadder than Beca is comfortable with, and somehow, without her permission, it gets on her conscience. Mentally screaming at herself to shut up, she finds herself adding, "But I guess I wouldn't be opposed to having an . . . acquaintance."

What? What? Yes she would! She definitely, definitely would.

Right?

Chloe's eyes light up at that, and a huge grin widens from the corners of her lips and spreads across her face. Beca fights the relief that surges up in her at the expression, and finds herself quickly struggling to suppress a grin.

"Really? Oh, I'm so glad! We can be the very best of friends! That is, of course, if you want to be. Not right away, of course, but eventually. Oh, we're going to have so much fun!" Beca is startled right out of her uninvited feeling of happiness when Chloe pulls her into a tight hug.

"Oof! Red! Back off, I'm not a hugger. Personal space, dude." Judging by Chloe's expression when she reluctantly pulls back, she's been told that numerous times before. It must have happened enough times to have become ineffective, because Chloe looks decidedly unabashed, though not more than a little disappointed.

That reminds Beca of why they're in this situation in the first place.

"So now that we've established the grounds of this relationship," she starts irritably. "Why are you in my room, and why did you try to turn me into pudding before it's even light out?" Chloe looks relieved by the simplicity of the question.

"Oh, that's easy," she chirps, casually straightening Beca's jumpsuit for her as she speaks. "I came to tell you about your roommate. They decided they didn't want you rooming with Kitty after you knocked her out last night – "

"Wait, you're my roommate?" Beca splutters in disbelief, not quite noticing the hands on her jumpsuit for the ridiculousness of the situation. Chloe laughs as she pulls the garment straight with a professional tug, and Beca feels her heart leap at the sound. It's a gorgeous sound, light and bubbly and –

Shut up, Mitchell, you're losing your touch. Are you really going to let her get to you like this?

When Chloe giggles again, her radiant smile matching the lighthearted noise, something in Beca's chest squeezes tightly.

Yes.

"Oh, no, I room with Denise upstairs," she explains happily. "I'm a senior inmate; they wouldn't put me in here with you."

Oh. Beca doesn't know why her heart gives an involuntary clench at that. It's not like she cares about this bubbly redhead, anyways.

"But that doesn't mean we can't be friends!" Chloe finishes with an enthusiastic beam, and Beca is back to feeling irritated and wondering why she ever allowed herself to get into the conversation so early in the morning.

"That doesn't explain why you nearly kicked my shoulder out of its socket earlier," she grumbles, rubbing the injured joint ruefully. Chloe has the decency to look somewhat apologetic.

"I know; I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I probably shouldn't have kicked you, but I wasn't sure if you were actually going to try to hurt me or not." Beca feels her heart squeeze again at that thought, and the realization hits her that although Chloe may be irritatingly friendly, Beca has no real desire to cause her injury. She's not quite sure how to feel about that, actually.

"I wouldn't have hurt you," she grants gruffly. "But why were you in my room, anyways?" Chloe grins.

"They needed someone to tell you that your roommate situation is on standby because your old one is in the clinic, and I volunteered. And they needed somebody to wake you up and tell you that you're really late for roll call." Beca's eyes widen.

"What!?"

By the time Chloe manages to lead her to the gathering hall – known as the Commons – where roll call is being taken, nearly everyone has filtered out of the room with the exception of a tired guard and a couple of wayward looking young girls with shaved heads and tattoos running all the way up their necks and into where their hair should be. Chloe rushes up to the guard, all frizzy hair and flailing hands, and tries to explain their predicament. Her face falls when the officer shakes her head firmly.

"Sorry, no excuses. If she wasn't present, she doesn't get noted down."

"But she's right here!" Chloe exclaims breathlessly. "She's right here, I brought her all the way down here so that she could get noted down!"

"Sorry. That's how it is, Red." The nickname sounds almost derogatory coming from the officer's lips, and Beca fights the sudden rise of anger that she feels at the woman's use of it. Naturally, one would assume that it would be a common nickname among inmates, but the way that this woman says it makes her blood boil.

"Hey, be nice to her, twatface," Beca snaps defensively. "She was only trying to be helpful." She's not prepared for the blow that nearly knocks her off her feet; all she knows is that it makes Chloe's kick feel like a playful caress.

"No disrespecting of officers!" the guard bellows, spit flecks landing on Beca's face. "Do you have a death wish? Learn your damn place!"

"Learn yours," Beca retorts, ignoring the horrified grimace that Chloe is shooting her from her left. "Respect is a gift that I don't give unless it's been earned." Another slap to the side of her neck causes her to stagger. The guard is glaring at her with a kind of venom that she's only seen before in street brawls over in the North Quarter. It almost makes her laugh; this woman knows nothing of hatred.

"You'd do well to learn that that's not how things work here," the guard hisses, curling her fingers around the collar of Beca's jumpsuit. "I ought to put you in solitary; be glad I have a soft spot for newbies."

"Is that what you call it, Barnes? And I thought I was the one they call Cradlerobber." The low, smooth chuckle causes them to freeze, with the exception of Chloe, whose cobalt eyes light up with something that can only be described as glee. Slowly, the guard holding Beca turns to face the side entrance to the room, one that Beca had been too caught up in the situation to notice. When whatever she sees there makes her broad, stubby fingers release the small girl's collar, Beca awkwardly shifts her aching body to view the newcomer. Her mouth drops open.

The woman is uniformed, but not with the high-waisted, park ranger-style suits that the guards are decked out in. Her outfit is darker, a blue not unlike that of a cop uniform, and is somehow subtler in its official presentation. She's only slightly taller than Chloe, but her stance makes her appear much more so; her posture is strong, her shoulders back and chin held up, and it combined with the firm set of her jaw and flashing eyes gives an impression of power that fairly flattens that of the roll call guard. Her hair is blonde, pulled into a sharp ponytail, and the corners of her eyes crinkle with something another than annoyance and authority – amusement?

Barnes, who has taken the liberty of putting several feet between herself and Beca, swallows hard enough that it can be heard from all corners of the room.

"Captain, I – I, uh – " she halts and clears her throat gruffly before continuing with a more hardened tone. "I was simply acting according to procedure. These two were late to roll call; I told them that I couldn't note them down, but they persisted, and I – "

"As well they should have," the Captain breaks in smoothly. "Seeing as it is procedure that you note down all who are present in order to identify missing persons in the event of an escape attempt or illness. These two were merely running a little late, which, as I'm sure you are aware, was due to the fact that Beale here was assisting our newcomer, as she will continue to do for the next month. They were completely within their boundaries. You, unfortunately," she continues when Barnes shows every sign of interrupting. "Are not. I don't recall reading anywhere that it's procedure to strike an inmate unless in self-defense." Barnes's lips thin out, and the Captain raises an eyebrow delicately. "Any explanation for me?" Barnes glares. "No? Then I suggest you leave this area immediately. I'll oversee your transfer to D Block in the morning."

With a considerable huff, Barnes stomps heavily out the main door, tossing a nasty look over her shoulder at Chloe as she exits. The three other women listen as her footsteps fade away down the corridor, remaining still until the only thing that can be heard is the soft sound of inhalations.

Then Chloe breaks the silence.

"Thanks, babe. I was hoping you were somewhere around."

"Chloe, hush!" The Captain appears appalled, casting a nervous glance in Beca's direction before inclining her head meaningfully. Chloe brushes the subtle warning off with a lighthearted wave of her hand.

"Don't worry, Bree; I know we can trust her. She's about as harmful to us as Denise is." She gives the Captain a knowing grin, and even goes so far as to wink flirtatiously at her, but the blonde woman still appears to be nervous. She bites her lip, her eyebrows knit worriedly, and looks pleadingly at the redhead. Chloe hesitates for a moment and then sighs.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry; I know I should have asked you first, but the situation was desperate, and I was just so sure that – "

"Wait, wait, wait; hold up a moment here," Beca breaks in, done being left in the dark. "Chloe, what the hell is going on?" Far from appearing upset, Chloe's expression is nothing short of ecstatic.

"You used my name! Aubrey, did you hear that? She used my name!" Despite her unease, the blonde manages to crack a smile. Beca watches the corner of her lips twitch with it, and suddenly finds herself with a warm feeling spreading through her stomach . . . .

Hold up. She doesn't have time for more of this shit.

"Chloe, Red, whatever the hell your name is; I don't really care. Just would somebody please tell me what's happening?" Chloe only spares the Captain a quick glance before sympathetically turning to Beca.

"Sorry, Peanut; I didn't mean to leave you in the dark – this is Aubrey Posen. My fiancé."

Beca's jaw drops.

"Your what?"

"Chloe!"

"Sorry, Bree! I had to tell her!"

"No you didn't; we agreed that we would consult before telling anybody else!"

"But I just thought that she needed to know!"

"Well maybe you thought wrongly, Chlo; it wouldn't be the first time!"

"Okay, hold on, enough!" Beca breaks in again, because as much as she wants to succumb to shock right now and run screaming from the room, Chloe's face has fallen at the blonde's words, and Beca really doesn't like the way that the redhead is being talked to. "Don't take out your frustration on her, please. She's right; you can trust me – I don't know with what, and I'm sure as hell not sure if I understand what's going on right now, but you should know that I would never butt my head into anybody else's business, and I certainly wouldn't go around telling stories about it to other people. So whatever's up right now with you guys – and I'm really not sure I want to know – I'll keep your secret, okay?"

Despite the apparent though unintentional sincerity of Beca's tirade, Aubrey only looks to be slightly relieved. Her shoulders don't relax all the way, leaving a wrinkle in her uniform top down her back, and Beca watches as Chloe reaches over to instinctively smooth it out. The blonde doesn't quite flinch, but the brunette can see the urge to do it in the green eyes that are watching her intently. She knows that Aubrey is probably just searching her gaze for reassurance, but she can't help that the blonde's intense, probing stare makes her just the slightest bit uncomfortable. It's like having her soul torn open for public viewing – or maybe it's a little bit closer to the feeling she had at the strip search they all had to succumb to the previous evening – but even though she doesn't know Aubrey, it occurs to Beca that she could definitely be feeling something much worse right now than she is.

Plus, Aubrey's gaze is so helpless at the same time that it burns with something a little stronger, and that combined with the body-hugging uniform is making something burn in Beca that she is sure absolutely shouldn't be there.

What is happening to her?

"Chloe, I think that maybe you'd better explain that a little better to me, because I don't want to assume things that I shouldn't be assuming," she says finally, breaking eye contact with Aubrey to look back at the now-nervous ginger. Chloe's body visibly relaxes at that, and she studies both Beca and Aubrey for a long moment before seemingly making up her mind. She smiles warmly before offering a slender hand out for Beca to take. When the brunette hesitates, she shakes it at her encouragingly.

"Come on," she beckons. "I know a better place for us to talk."

Beca looks incredulously from one girl to the other.

"The meadows?" Chloe only shrugs as she sits down, folding her long legs beneath her in the long grass.

"I wanted to go somewhere private, and this is the only place without security cameras everywhere. Plus, if somebody asks us what we're doing, we can say that Aubrey brought you out here for a tour of the place since you're brand new." Beca draws her shoulders up uncomfortably. She doesn't like being one of the newbies; it places a kind of vulnerability on her that she's entirely unused to, and she's sure it can't be beneficial in a prison environment. From what she's seen so far of Barden, it's a brutal, ruthless place, and she has a feeling that despite the slight protection that Chloe's presence offers, being new is going to prove to be more of a disadvantage than an asset.

"Don't worry; I won't let anyone harass you about being out here with us," Aubrey offers with a little smile. "They can't really argue with my authority, anyway." It's the first time that she's spoken since their initial greeting, and Beca is struck, as she was with Chloe earlier, by the loveliness of the blonde Captain's voice.

"Aubrey's head of the whole facility," Chloe states proudly. "Her authority's second only to the Superintendent, and he's in charge of the whole sector of centers in the state. He hardly ever comes to visit us, so Aubrey's pretty much the one in control." Aubrey blushes.

"What Chloe means is that while there's technically another figure governing the situation, I'm generally left to my own devices here at Barden. It really offers me a lot of perks – not that I take advantage of them, of course," she amends hastily, the flush settling more heavily across her cheeks. Chloe grins cheekily and bumps their shoulders together.

"Of course you don't."

"I don't!"

"Sure." Aubrey ignores the smirk the redhead is throwing her in favor of turning back to Beca, her expression all business like she didn't just engage in playful word combat with her fiancé.

Right. Aubrey is Chloe's fiancé. God, this is so messed up. But they're both so flawless, and their voices are so pretty, and –

"Peanut?" Oh. They were talking to her. Focus, Beca.

"Huh?" Yeah, because that's attractive. Look dumb, Mitchell, why don't you?

"I was telling you how Aubrey and I met."

"Oh." Curse her and her inability to find words. She's never this flustered. Damn it. Beca feels her ears turn an unflattering shade of red. "Sorry, Red, I got distracted. Go on." Chloe smirks at the smaller girl's agitated state, and even Aubrey manages a tight grin.

"I was saying that Aubrey and I met in college, in a singing group called the Bellas. We were both eighteen, and we were among the only three girls to get accepted into the group that year."

"What year was this?" Chloe smiles at the brunette's interest.

"Two-thousand and nine."

"Oh." Chloe bits her lip to hold back a laugh.

"How old are you, Peanut?"

"Twenty."

"I thought so. I'm twenty-five; Aubrey turns twenty-six next month."

"Right." The shade of red consuming Beca's ears deepens and spreads down her neck. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sidetrack you. Please continue."

"Well, we continued through college together and graduated after winning the national championships two years in a row. We started dating our sophomore year. Then I started my internship at the hospital near our college, and Bree went to grad school to study pre-law. When we were twenty-three, Aubrey proposed. I accepted, and we moved in together officially. We even started looking at houses – we planned to get married the next summer – but then . . . well, things changed." Beca doesn't miss the way the Chloe's face darkens as she lowers her eyes to her lap. She nearly reaches out to say something to comfort her – anything – but then Aubrey's hand snakes into the redhead's lap and twines their fingers together, giving them a reassuring squeeze. Chloe looks up at her fiancé, her expression troubled, and Aubrey glances quickly around them before she presses a brief kiss to the woman's forehead. Beca turns her eyes away, feeling somehow as though she's intruding on something too intimate to be shared. She's not quite quick enough to miss seeing the tear that falls into Chloe's lap, or the way that Aubrey leans in close, resting her forehead against Chloe's temple.

She listens to the blonde murmuring something low and reassuring, and then the three of them are silent for several long minutes that seem to drag the weight of the conversation like bricks.

Eventually, Aubrey pulls away, though not quite to a distance respectable enough to be called professional, and she clears her throat to continue their story.

"After Chloe came here, I took on a job as a Warden to try to ensure her safety. I'd heard about how brutal things could be here at Barden and I . . . I knew that she could still get hurt even with me here, but I guess I figured that I'd rather be close enough to interfere, or at least make the bitch who did it pay. I couldn't do that as a simple significant other, and the idea of just being a visitor in her life made me feel sick. I couldn't just stand by and watch her fade away from me. So I worked as hard as I could to rise up in the ranks, and at the end of last year, I landed my current position as Captain. Now I can keep an eye on her, and although I can't be as close to her as I'd obviously like, at least I can have some contact with her this way." Beca is sitting speechless by the end of Aubrey's explanation, and she's sure that her jaw will be hurting tomorrow as a result of her mouth hanging open for so long.

She fully intends on saying something introspective and meaningful as a response, but the first words out of her mouth, while not necessarily bad, are out of her control.

"You did all that for her?" Aubrey nods without hesitation, not even blinking as she confirms the act of utter devotion she has just confessed to. Beca's eyes widen. "Holy shit. She must really mean a lot to you." Aubrey frowns, her brow furrowing in something not unlike distress.

"Of course she does," she retorts. "She's my fiancé. I love her; of course I'd do anything for her." She definitely sounds offended, but alongside that there's a note of confusion, as though she can't possibly conceive of another way of being, and truth being told it takes Beca's breath away. It's not as though she's never heard of love – if anything, she's heard far too much about it – but hearing the frankness with which Aubrey express it, and seeing the blonde's honest inability to consider any other possible reality, she has to admit that she's more than a little blown away.

Personally, she can't conceive of anything that could drive her to do what Aubrey's done; she can't imagine being subject to that kind of overpowering love and devotion. It's not that she's adverse to the idea; in fact, a not-so-tiny part of her yearns for it, but she thinks that from what she's seen of life, and has heard expressed, and even has seen in the movies that bore her so, the kind of love that Chloe and Aubrey have is one-of-a-kind. It's the sort of thing that cheesy romantic comedies get written about, except it isn't. It's more like one of those rare, well-acted B-graders that comes out every couple of decades and sticks around just long enough to be recognized as brilliant before it fades back into the archives. It's startling and frank and honestly a little unbelievable, and Beca doesn't consider for an instant that she will ever encounter anything similar for herself. It's like a comet – not Halley's Comet, which one could manage to see twice in a lifetime, but one of those rare, unnamed ones that only comes into view once every couple thousand years; in fact, it's so impossible and distinctive that she wonders if it may even be unique.

Part of her wants to be able to voice this to them, to be able to explain that despite her bumbling inability to respond appropriately, she really is deeply considering what she's been told. Then again, she also knows that if she were to do so, she would be revealing that she actually cares about something, a mistake she is determined not to make.

Watching the thoughts flit about in Aubrey's eyes, she realizes that it might already be too late for that.

"I'm sorry," she says suddenly, and by the way Chloe's body jolts, she can tell that they weren't expecting her to speak. It's been a few minutes since any of them have said anything, and their last exchange ended on a somewhat poor note. That makes her uncomfortable, and she is quick to amend it. "I didn't mean to insinuate anything; I was just surprised. I can see that she's important to you." The tension in Aubrey's body flows out a little at her response.

"Thank you," the blonde says honestly, and Beca nods, seeing no other way to respond without the situation becoming more awkward than it already is.

Thankfully, Chloe finds a way around that.

"Hey, Peanut?" she questions after another quiet minute. Aubrey falls back a little seeing that she has lifted her head, and that no more tears are currently threatening to fall.

"Yeah, Red?" Chloe's eyes are bright, brighter than usual with curiosity and the remnants of heavy emotions, and Beca feels her breath catch a little at the sight.

"What's your real name? You never got around to telling me this morning." Beca opens her mouth to brush off the query, but at the last second, she hesitates. Aubrey is also watching her expectantly, and something about the way that the two have just bared themselves before her makes her feel like refusing to answer would be disrespectful to their confidence. She closes her mouth and considers for a moment, feeling things in her body that she didn't know existed shift and resettle – not just bones and tendons and muscles, but other, stranger things that she's not certain how to name. She didn't know that it was possible to feel concepts anywhere but in her brain, so it feels strange at first to feel them creeping in from all over and sparking through her body, skipping across synapses and weaving in beneath her ligaments like a fog wrapping itself around the edges of a building. The eyes seeking her own don't help, either; they're too vibrant, too expectant; bright greens and blues that blur and mingle at the corners into a single, living being. They rivet and unsettle her in the very best of ways, and Beca can't help thinking that if this is how she's feeling after just one afternoon, then she's headed for some serious trouble. She doesn't know how to handle these two, and a large part of it scares her – the part that feels Chloe's gaze probing at her eyelids and Aubrey's curiosity sneaking into her conscience like an invasive vine.

But there's the other part of her, too; the part that is urging her to latch on; the part that craves eternity only for the fact that it would grant her another lifetime in which to view a comet go whizzing past in seconds, gone in a flash without the promise of return for another thousand years. It's the part that digs the answer from between her ribs and pulls it out of her mouth and into the air that smells of grass and freshly laundered clothes and a mingling of scents that she can't define but knows the origin of like she knows the scarred backs of her own hands.

"Beca. It's Beca Mitchell."