A/N: Holy shit, this took me ages but here it finally is: the sequel to Tsunami. It's way longer than I thought it would be, and also less smutty (sorry!) but I hope you'll still enjoy it (and I am willing to write another sequel to this of there's a demand for it).

Also, in this story, Kommissar's name is not Luisa (which seems to have been adopted as universal truth in this fandom), not necessarily because I don't like the name or think it doesn't fit, but because I think the one I chose—Kim—fits better for my head canon Kommissar for three main reasons:

1. Kim (at least in Germany) can be used for both a boy and a girl, and since—as Birgitte herself said in some interview—Kommissar has this kind of masculine vibe, I wanted her name to carry that too.

2. It was most popular around 1990, which is approximately when she was born (at least in my imagination).

3. It's originally a Celtic name (and they were, partly, also based in what, today, is Germany) meaning leader or even chief of war. Apparently, the Celts were pretty big on gender equality, so women could also be priests and chiefs and leaders, which I think is a) pretty cool, and b) inherent to who Kommissar is a person.

(On a slightly different note, if you like Birgitte Hjort Sorensen (even a little), do yourself a favor and watch "Borgen" because not only is she super kick ass in it, but it's also one of the best tv shows I've ever seen!)

It was more than fifteen minutes after Kommissar had first come at her, and Beca was still just standing and staring. She hadn't moved an inch, too baffled to react in any way other than basically being rooted to the spot like a complete idiot.

There was still the very real possibility that she'd made that whole encounter up, that she'd hit her head when getting off stage after their final rehearsal, and it had been her injured brain hallucinating the whole time.

But what if it hadn't? What if it had actually happened, if Kommissar actually wanted her, and was currently waiting for the brunette in her room.

She needed to go back to the hotel all a cappella groups were staying at, anyway, Beca reasoned, and if she then accidentally got off the elevator on the wrong floor, and accidentally knocked on a door that didn't belong to any of her fellow Bellas, that was an honest mistake, wasn't it?

To give herself a little more time to think about the whole thing, she forewent a taxi, and, instead, decided to walk back to where they were all staying. The chilly night air (because "summer" in Copenhagen apparently meant fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit and rain) hit her right in the face, and helped to clear her mind—at least a little.

She would do this, she would take the risk, would venture the very real possibility of being (publicly) humiliated and ridiculed because, in the highly unlikely case that this wasn't just a perfidious setup, it was several hot and kinky recent daydreams of hers coming true.

Much too soon, she was standing in front of room 302. The door seemed so big, so frightening with the silvery number glaring at her, silently judging her, that, for a second, she changed her mind again.

She couldn't do this, she couldn't take the risk. There had to be something wrong about this, something fishy, because there was seriously no way in hell this wasn't some sort of trap.

On the other hand, though, she was in a city where no one actually knew her, where she'd possibly never be again, and where she could have (probably) amazing sex with a woman, who, all the same, she would most likely see for the last time tonight. Really, what did she have to lose here? (The answer was "a lot," but she wanted to believe it was "nothing" pretty badly.)

So taking one last, deep breath, she brought her knuckles to the black wood in front of her and knocked before she could chicken out again.

A second after, the doubts came right back, though.

What if the blonde had just played her? If this wasn't even her room, and Beca was about to completely embarrass herself, while the other woman was laughing her (perfect) ass off.

She was about to turn around and just leave but before that could happen, the door opened.

In front of her, wrapped in one of the white hotel bathrobes, stood Kommissar, looking awfully pleased with herself.

"Took you a while," the taller woman all but purred, the smallest hint of a smile playing around her lips.

"I—" Beca started to explain—to both Kommissar and herself, because she still wasn't a hundred percent sure if this wasn't just an elaborate hoax after all—but got interrupted right away.

"Well, how do you say? Better late than never."

Without any further ado, she stepped aside, and gestured for the brunette to enter the room, who hesitated for only a second, before she nodded dumbly, gaze glued to the floor, and precipitated head first into what was probably her ruin.

"Cat got your tongue, tiny Maus?" Kommissar teased, while she closed the door behind them and turned around to face the smaller woman again, expression questioning, because Beca still hadn't really said anything, too busy completely freaking out inside.

This was a mistake. A big, fat mistake that was for sure going to come back to bite her in the ass at some point. Because they didn't know each other, and they were enemies, and one night stands were a horrible idea in general.

"Why did you kiss me?" Beca suddenly blurted out because that incident in the first place was something she still couldn't fully process; it had seemed a little contextless, since the brunette hadn't perceived the tension between them as inherently sexual (but then again, who didn't love a good round of hate sex).

Still, things were moving pretty fast, and, while she was aware that they probably wouldn't get married with kids at any point in the future, she still wanted to be sure that this wasn't just one of Kommissar's tactics to get under her skin even further. Because the probability that the blonde was just playing her was alarmingly high. What basis did she have to trust the other woman? None. Nothing. Absolutely zero.

But, on the other hand, why would she try this when there was no clear indicator that Beca was even into women. There were a thousand much easier, more obvious ways to throw the competition off the track, so choosing to seduce the enemy seemed awfully tricky and too potentially ineffective to be an actual winning tactic.

And, yes, maybe she was naive, and Das Sound Machine's lead really just wanted to fuck with her head to make it easier for them to win Worlds, but, to be quite honest, she didn't even actually care anymore, because she wanted this, she wanted this—wanted her—way too much, regardless of the other woman's possible agenda.

"Oh, was that not clear? I want you. And I always get what I want."

There was the predator again. The dangerous wild animal, which could eat you alive. It was still kind of hot, though (okay, it was crazy hot).

At this point, Beca's underwear was basically dripping wet (and she was mortally embarrassed about that fact), so it was key not to let the blonde know how desperate she really was, just to be on the safe side.

"But what if I don't?"

She was aware that it was ridiculous to even pretend she wasn't ready to jump the other woman on the spot, because she knew she wanted this, and she knew that the blonde knew she wanted this. It was more of a principle thing; while she was pretty sure that Kommissar wouldn't try anything if she said no (because she might be a complete asshole, but she wasn't a rapist or anything), she still wanted to make sure that the German was, after all, actually a decent person (if a bit competitive and occasionally snobby).

"If you don't want to have mind-blowing sex with me?" the blonde inquired, and Beca was so baffled by her frank reply that, for a few seconds, all she did was blink, while closing and opening her mouth without a word coming out, until she finally managed to stutter a hesitant yes.

"Then that would really be your loss. Good thing we both know that you want to, though."

At this point, going on with playing hard to get was her only option to not completely lose her dignity and drop her panties right there and then.

This whole thing—and every other interaction between them as well, really—was still about power. Someone needed to have the upper hand because both of them were inherently headstrong and unwilling to strike a compromise. It was either one or the other, there didn't seem to be any sort of in-between.

"I—I have a boyfriend."

Yes. Right. Jesse. Her boyfriend, who loved her very much, and who she l—deeply cared about as well (or something; she hadn't thought about him in a while, much less talked to him, to be honest).

It was a weak attempt to evade the inevitable, because hell yes she wanted to be fucked senseless by the gorgeous German. The gorgeous German who could, apparently, look right through all her bullshit.

"A boyfriend who is not here right now, ja."

She took a step closer.

They were not even a hand-width apart anymore now (invading each other's personal space seemed to be one of their favorite games to play, anyway), and Kommissar lifted one of her hands, carefully running it along the Bella's jawline (which made thinking straight all that more difficult).

"But it would still be cheating, and I—"

Kommissar just rolled her eyes, before letting go of Beca's face, and, instead, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"Listen, tiny Maus, we can either do this, and I can promise you it'll be worth it—no one ever complained when I ate them out—or you are too afraid, you go back to your little Bellas, and you will regret it for the rest of your life. Any way, I don't care about your scruples. Get your hands in my pants, or leave."

Holy shit. This was a whole other level of pep talk (and it was hot as fuck, to be quite honest).

For a second, none of them moved, and Beca contemplated the German's words, before she lunged forward and gripped the taller woman's face. The kiss was sloppy, and hurried, and so utterly perfect that Beca's brain almost short circuited. Without further ado, she all but forced her tongue into Kommissar's hot mouth, where it was eagerly welcomed.

Turned out the blonde was way more considerate, and a lot less controlling than the Bella would've thought—she wasn't even necessarily trying to take charge—which, while surprising, wasn't all that unwelcome.

After a few moments of making out, she put her hands on the smaller woman's ass, and, before Beca could fully understand what was happening, lifted her into the air. Eventually getting the hint, she wrapped her legs around the gorgeous German's torso for stability, and kissed her even more passionately.

Somehow, they made it to the bed in a mess of limbs, open mouthed kisses, and clothes being discarded right and left. The smaller brunette on top, they collapsed onto the soft mattress. They were both breathing hard already.

For a while, Beca just looked at the woman she was currently straddling. The blonde really was a gorgeous specimen, all long golden hair, strong arms, and soft lips. Her now exposed breasts were perfectly round, with a small birthmark just under the left nipple. Her stomach was flat, but not overly buff.

"See something you like, tiny Maus?" the German teased, and Beca's gaze shot back up to Kommissar's face, while she gave her a coy smile, biting her lower lip (because hell yes, she did).

Slowly, she let her hands roam the other woman's torso, carefully caressing pale breasts and toned abs. Her skin was so smooth, it was seriously ridiculous, and, for a moment, Beca felt so utterly inadequate and inferior, she wanted to run for the hills.

But then Kommissar smiled up at her, looking nothing like before. Her gaze was soft, so soft, that Beca tumbled head first into the deep blue of her eyes. She was drowning, and everything was blue-grey, and blonde, and white, and she never wanted to come up for air ever again (wow, okay, when had this morphed into some sappy romantic comedy that had her falling in love with the enemy).

Before she could think about stupid metaphors and other ridiculous things any more (or—even worse—blurt something out in the middle of getting it on), she leaned down to kiss the blonde again, her right hand sneaking south to get to work between a pair of strong thighs.

Beca woke with a start, still slightly disoriented and mind foggy from sleep, while she took in her surroundings.

One of the first things she realized was that there was a strong arm wrapped around her middle, and just from the sheer mass of muscle and concurrent lack of hair, she could tell that it definitely wasn't Jesse's (which didn't trouble her nearly as much as it probably should).

All she could see was blond hair and an amazing set of breasts peaking out from under the thin sheet covering the rest of the other woman's body. Her chest was raising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Another loud knock on the door finally shook Beca completely out of her sleep, and also managed to rouse her hitherto mysterious bedfellow.

It was Kommissar.

For a split second, she was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack because she had no idea how the hell she'd landed in bed with her number one nemesis, but then she remembered genuine smiles, and whispered compliments, sloppy kisses, and pussy that tasted like vanilla bean ice cream.

They looked at each other, both somewhat flustered, but before any of them could say anything, a voice from the other side of the hotel room door sounded through the small space.

"Kim, verdammte Scheiße! Mach die Tür auf! Ich hab dich schon zwanzig Mal angerufen; es ist nach halb elf, wen zur Hölle hast du letzte Nacht abgeschleppt?"

She wasn't a hundred percent sure what was going on, all she knew was that it was loud, and angry, and German, and she would much rather stay here—safe in her bubble of postcoital bliss—and cuddle into Kommissar, than face the outside world with its people, and problems, and a Capella world championships (God, she was in deep, deep shit).

She didn't even get a chance to try to ignore reality, though, because the blonde got up without a word, and went to the door completely naked—which gave Beca another chance to admire the German's flawless physique (she did grab her discarded bathrobe from the floor on her way there, though, and slipped it on).

"Ich schwöre, Pieter," she muttered while opening, "wenn die Welt nicht gerade untergeht, dann bring ich dich um."

Das Sound Machine's other lead pushed into the room without a word, and only seemed semi-surprised when his gaze fell onto the basically naked woman perched on the messy bed (at least Beca had the right mind to cover the crucial parts up with the thin white throw).

Wow, this definitely deserved the award for the most awkward German-American encounter of all times

She didn't know what she'd expected his reaction to this whole situation to be, but definitely not him laughing right in their faces.

"Wirklich? Die kleine Bella? Gott, dich hat's ja echt erwischt."

His smile was larger than life, and it almost looked like he was trying to wiggle his eyebrows. Beca wasn't really sure if he was genuinely happy about the fact that they'd spent the night or if he was mocking them (or maybe only her) right now.

"Halt's Maul," the blonde grumbled in response, barely audible, and punched his shoulder a little harder than could be considered "playful." She sounded pretty angry, Beca thought (which was bit concerning), although she had no idea what they were saying—like, at all.

Maybe Pieter hadn't known that Kommissar was gay, or he was mad that she had slept with the enemy, or she was just being really German (because Germans were always angry, right).

He gave his co-leader a stern look.

"Ich geb' dir zwanzig Minuten, dann bist du fertig für die Probe. Die anderen wundern sich schon wo du bist; ich musste mir irgendeinen Scheiß von wegen 'Frauenproblemen' ausdenken."

A nod. "Okay." (That one Beca understood—God, she was such a linguistic genius.)

The whole situation wasn't completely clear to her yet, though. Was Pieter basically walking in on them a good or a bad thing? How did that affect whatever was going on between her and Kommissar? Would this happen again (the sex part, not the being walked in on one)?

Pieter turned to leave then, but the blonde held him back by the arm. "Danke, Mann."

They exchanged soft smiles.

"Schon gut. Versuch' nur diesmal, dich nicht gleich wieder Hals über Kopf zu verlieben."

"Ich hasse dich," the blonde grumbled, but there was a smiley pout thing going on on her lips, and Beca had to admit that she looked absolutely adorable (who would've thought she'd say that about the once so intimidating German one day, seriously).

"Jaja, hab dich auch lieb," he quipped, and gave Beca another look that wasn't completely hostile (it might even be considered a friendly smile, at least with a bit of imagination), before he left the room, door slamming shut behind him.

"Everything alright?" the brunette asked cautiously because she had no idea what had even happened just now (she spoke like three words of Spanish, but German wasn't in her repertoire at all).

However, watching them had been interesting nonetheless. They obviously went way back, because they had this easy way of interacting with each other. It was almost a brother-sister dynamic (and maybe they were actually related in some way, it wasn't like Beca knew anything other than the other woman's bra size, preferred method of intimidation, and how to make her moan this really arousing, low moan—you had to suck on her pulse point while playing with her nipple), and reminded her of how she and Jesse were around each other, which, she knew, wasn't a good thing—at least in regard to their romantic relationship.

Also, now she knew that the blonde's real name was apparently Kim, which—yes, she could see that work.

"Ja, don't worry about it," she said harshly, brushing it aside.

Suddenly, last night's magic was gone—the rawness of it all, the vulnerability and cautious intimacy—and back was the brute, uncompromising leader instead. Great.

They fell into an awkward silence, before the Bella cleared her throat, and got up to collect her clothes from where they were scattered all across the room.

"So—I should probably go. I bet Chloe is already having a mental breakdown wondering where the hell I am and everything," she said eventually—using her best friend as an excuse to get out of here as fast as possible—while she put her bra on.

Also, she needed to figure out some lie to tell the redhead, because there was no way in hell she was going to be cool with Beca fucking the hot, female competition (especially since the redhead had come on to her while drunk a few times already, and always got really petulant when Beca even as much as looked at another girl for too long—which was seriously alarming, now that she came to think about it).

She found her pants and shirt halfway between bed and door, and put the latter over her head.

"I wouldn't want to be the reason for you losing tonight."

With this she could deal—playful banter and good hearted teasing. It wasn't malicious or mean, it was fun; it was their little game.

"Well, good thing we won't then, isn't it?"

"Just keep dreaming, tiny Maus," Kim teased, but now the nickname seemed more like a term of endearment than an actual insult (and maybe it had never been one in the first place).

With most of her clothing back in the right place on her body (except for her thong because—of fucking course—she couldn't find the damn thing, at least not without crawling under the bed and turning the complete place upside down, which—just no), she turned to the door. She really had to get out of here before things could go downhill.

"This was—nice, by the way. You're good with—ehm—your mouth and all."

Jesus Thaddeus Christ.

Beca cringed inwardly about her own words because they had to be—hands down—the absolute number one embarrassing thing she'd ever said (followed closely by her infamous compliment-insults she had constantly given the other woman).

"I am a six time a cappella champion after all," the other woman deadpanned before giving the smaller woman another coy smirk.

"Well, then. Good luck later. See you around," the Bella replied after a second of hesitation, giving some sort of half-wave (what the hell was she even doing with her hands). God, why was she such an awkward, babbling idiot sometimes (okay, most of the time).

It wasn't even that she was intimidated by the gorgeous German anymore (not that much, at least), but, instead, more of a general problem she had around women she found attractive; also, this wake up of shame was extremely fucking awkward, and she didn't do well with things being awkward (plus, she actually wanted to repeat this, or at least see the other woman's face again in a situation that wasn't their respective a cappella groups competing for world domination—but, yeah well, that was something that would definitely never happen, so whatever).

She was just about to leave, when the German's voice made her stop dead in her tracks.

"Beca, wait!"

She almost sounded breathless, and the brunette turned around so fast she almost gave herself whiplash (way to go with not appearing super desperate; really, good fucking job).

Expectingly, she looked across the room at the other woman, who appeared to be uncharacteristically fidgety.

"Would you—do you want to have dinner with me some time?"

"W—what?" was all Beca managed to stutter, completely taken aback.

Had she even heard that right just now? Was Kommissar—Kim, whatever—actually asking her out? Holy guacamole! She must have made that up in her head, right?

"Dinner. You and me. Together," the blonde clarified then.

At a serious loss for words, Beca opened her mouth, only to close it again without saying anything, because what?

Not that she was necessarily opposed to going on a date with the blonde—quite the opposite, in fact—but it was still a little unexpected, even after a night of amazing sex (that had been surprisingly non-bdsm).

"Okay, yeah, sure," she finally managed to stutter, feeling awkward, and scared, and giddy with excitement.

The blonde smiled at her in relief.

"Great! And now you have to leave, I need to get ready to beat you later tonight," the blonde teased but the challenge was lacking the usual venom because their mode of communication had gone from more or less serious threats straight to playful banter.

All of a sudden, Beca felt bold for some reason. Maybe because she'd had a night of seriously amazing sex with a physically flawless German goddess, and they were going on a date at some point soon (she should definitely break up with Jesse asap), or maybe because she had lost both her mind and all of her shame once and for all.

"You need a good luck kiss?"

The German's face broke into a smile (which looked absolutely breathtaking, because it was real, and unguarded, and entirely aimed at her—and also still a little odd), and she raised one perfect eyebrow.

"Rooting for the competition now?"

Beca just shrugged, the stupid grin on her lips matching the German's (why was this whole situation and their altered relationship not even a little bit weird—because it definitely should be, considering where they had started off—the Bella couldn't say in the least).

"Maybe the luck goes both ways. Or I just like kissing you."

"Then come here, feisty Maus," Kim laughed, extending her arms toward the smaller woman, who gladly took the offer.

A/N: Just a few translations

"Kim, verdammte Scheiße! Mach die Tür auf! Ich hab dich schon zwanzig Mal angerufen; es ist nach halb elf, wen zur Hölle hast du letzte Nacht abgeschleppt?" — "Kim, damn it! Open the door! I called you twenty times allerart; it's past ten thirty, who the hell did you pick up last night?"

"Ich schwöre, Pieter, wenn die Welt nicht gerade untergeht, dann bring ich dich um." — "I swear to God, Pieter, if the world isn't ending right now, I'll kill you."

"Wirklich? Die kleine Bella? Gott, dich hat's ja echt erwischt." — "Really? The little Bella? God, you got it bad."

"Halt's Maul." — "Shut up."

"Ich geb' dir zwanzig Minuten, dann bist du fertig für die Probe. Die anderen wundern sich schon wo du bist; ich musste mir irgendeinen Scheiß von wegen 'Frauenproblemen' ausdenken." — "You get twenty minutes, and then you're ready for rehearsal. The others are already wondering where you are; I had to make up some shit about 'ladyproblems.'"

"Danke, Mann." — "Thanks, man."

"Schon gut. Versuch' nur diesmal, dich nicht gleich wieder Hals über Kopf zu verlieben." — "It's fine. Just try not to fall head over heels in love again this time."

"Ich hasse dich." — "I hate you."

"Jaja, hab dich auch lieb." — "Love you too."