A/N: Well, here we are, about a year and a half on. If you read the original and attempt this, thank you so much. I really have no idea how this'll be received, but I hope those who enjoyed YUM like the sequel too even though it's taken so long.

So much thanks to these people for being test audiences and endless sources of encouragement for me: thecousinsdangereux, WillowyWitch, and my girlfriend. And extra, extra special thanks to hey-its-dash (now dashedbrotato), without whom this sequel probably would never have gotten past the 10k mark and become the monster it is today. She has been absolutely invaluable in terms of promoting the fic, talking through scenes and character motivations with me (the summary and series title "The Calm Before the Storm" are both her ideas), and just generally being an awesome friend throughout the emotional ups and downs from writing this story. I honestly can't thank her enough.

Take a deep breath.

Hold it.

Exhale.

Try and rid herself of that old, familiar but always debilitating tightness in Beca's chest; the rushing thoughts; the sweat breaking out across her forehead and back.

'Beca,' Chloe whispers to her, voice calm and reassuring but still not really enough right now. Even when she runs a gentle thumb back and forth over Beca's right cheek - the rhythm is soothing but does little to break her out of this routine that she's so, so tired of. 'It's okay. Nothing bad will happen.'

Try telling that to Beca's brain, which is carrying out its usual practice of completely melting down over the smallest things. Rationally, she knows Chloe is right. It's just sex, after all, and although she's never done it, billions of other people have, and they turned out alright.

(Probably. She's not exactly done a sex survey amongst her friends - 'How frequently would you say you have a panic attack when someone touches you intimately?'. Aubrey would probably love being asked that).

Nonetheless, it doesn't matter how many times she tries to repeat such mantras as "It'll be okay" to herself; her mind and body never seem to agree. Case in point: this is the fifth time they've tried this month. It's also only one of countless attempts since she and Chloe had started dating and reached a point where this (Chloe's hands and lips on her stomach and travelling down her waist, that's fine; that's good; she can do this - except no, too far, wait, stop, stop) is the logical progression. Ironically, by now she's gotten to the point where just the fear of becoming scared and ruining everything is enough to make her shut down completely.

Chloe has been a veritable saint throughout the whole thing, but even she's beginning to get impatient. The ways she shows it aren't exactly usual, though.

'What about meditation?' she'll say, after spending half a day looking up tips on the internet. 'Or drinking herbal tea?' The word "therapy" is never brought up; Chloe's tried that one before and ended up in tears from the vehemence of Beca's refusal. Now she tries to find other solutions for Beca, but it's plainly obvious which one she favours.

'No,' Beca replies shortly, every time. 'None of that stuff really works.'

'But if you'd just try a little more -' Chloe begins to say one day, after one such exchange, but immediately falters when Beca's nostrils flare angrily.

'Excuse me?' she snaps, voice low and dangerous. 'You think I'm not working my ass off to get through all this already?'

'That's not what I'm saying, Beca.'

'Are you sure? Because it definitely sounds like it.' Chloe just stares at her, with that small frown Beca's becoming extremely familiar with - the one that tells Beca she's going too far. The tension floods out of her, to be replaced by shame. She bows her head, rubbing her temples. 'Sorry,' she mutters. 'I'm not trying to start an argument with you - it's just, Chloe, I am trying. Every day.'

'I know, baby.' She leans over to take Beca's hand, rubbing a thumb over the back of it. Beca stares down at their linked fingers until her vision blurs with tears and a lump forms in her throat. 'All I want is to help you do that. Nothing else.'

'I get it… It's just…' She sighs. 'Sometimes, you don't understand.'

And that's how it always ends, with Beca dejectedly telling Chloe that she doesn't get it. And that she probably never will. She doesn't say that final bit, but it's somewhat implied.

Chloe stops talking after that, but Beca never misses the look of hurt that flashes across her face.

Here in the present, though, with Chloe still ineffectually stroking her face and whispering calming words to her, Beca knows she's failed again. Today is the farthest they've ever gone, but as usual it has become too much. Chloe would tell her to count this as an achievement, but right now it doesn't matter that she's progressed a heck of a lot in a few months - considering where she was at when this all began, anyway. It doesn't matter that it'd be stupid to think everything would fall easily into her lap after a lifetime of holding up her defences. It doesn't matter that these things take time and effort, which Chloe diligently reminds her every time she starts down the well-worn trail of self-hatred.

'Should it be this hard?' she can't help asking afterwards. That's after she's gotten through the whole rigmarole of panicking, leaving the room in order to pace and choke back her tears, then finally pushing past her humiliation to curl up in Chloe's arms again. To her credit, Chloe never questions this little routine but just waits patiently for her to return. 'It's not like I expected everything to all be fixed immediately, but come on. This is ridiculous.'

Chloe nuzzles into her, sliding her legs in the gap between Beca's. 'Sex isn't easy,' she says. 'Anxiety isn't easy. Put them together and you get a bit of a mess. You're doing fine,' she adds, when Beca shifts restlessly and lets out a noise of frustration. 'Don't be so hard on yourself.'

'Oh, like it's that simple,' Beca replies, a tad grumpily. But she accepts Chloe's lips on the back of her neck and her temple, along with the fingers that massage all the tension out of her shoulders, until she's a boneless lump with her shirt half undone and a small but rapidly darkening bruise on her collarbone.

Chloe sits up and buttons the shirt back up for her, kisses the bruise lovingly, like it's some kind of battle wound. Maybe it is, in a way. After all, she's never allowed her to leave marks before, even though she's well aware that's something her girlfriend is into; Chloe doesn't exactly shy away from talking about sex. Beca doesn't really understand it - but then again, there's a lot of things she doesn't understand but engages in just to make her girlfriend happy.

But then there's the other things. The parts that Beca does understand and wishes she could just fucking do already but can't for some unknown reason, despite how much she wants to - and dammit, can't she just make love to her girlfriend like a normal person without all this bullshit? It doesn't make any sense; she's had a great life, so there's absolutely no reason for her to act this way. None at all.

As though sensing Beca's thoughts are straying into dark territory again, Chloe suddenly blows a raspberry on the exposed skin of Beca's neck, making her squeal in surprise. When she rolls away, batting at Chloe, she gives chase and prods Beca's sides until a giggle bubbles out (and yeah, that's a thing that happens too now). The grin she flashes at Beca is so playful, so warm, for a moment she actually forgets that there's anything wrong with her.

But only for a moment.

A/N: Short, but I'm just feeling out the potential audience for this story.

Guys, this is an extremely difficult and personal story for me to write. As such, I really don't mind how harsh people are about the technical parts of the story, but if people could pick their words carefully when commenting on the behaviour of Beca/Chloe I'd appreciate it. Also, I'll be back to university soon, but I've already written the majority of the fic (about 70,000 words). I'll do my best to post as often as I can.