A/N: So I haven't done this in forever. Actually, I figured I was done with the fanfic world, but then I saw Pitch Perfect and felt motivated to finish Beca and Jesse's story. As nice as it might be to think that Beca is totally changed by the end of the film, someone with such a long history of trust and relationship issues would not be likely to remain in a healthy relationship without some serious hiccups. I'm particularly interested in how she and Jesse might function as they transition from college to "real life." Beca's got just the right combination of cynicism and misguided arrogance (I do like her character - I really do!) to struggle a bit with adulthood.

I decided to write this because I hadn't really seen an extended one-shot that explored the Beca/Jesse relationship to its fullest extent. Of course, almost immediately after I finished my first complete draft, I saw that Monroeslittle (one of my favorites!) had posted exactly what I'd been wanting to read. Live and learn, huh? If you haven't read that story, I urge you to do so. It's what I wish I could have written.

This is my take on how things might unfold for these two characters. I write because it's fun and will never demand reviews as ransom, but I do appreciate any and all feedback.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy. :)

Crescendo

May 23, 2016
Atlanta

She thinks their beginning was actually the beginning of their end.

Really though, what kind of couple can have such a Hollywood-worthy beginning and then sustain a normal, functional relationship? Especially if said couple is hoping to do so across a three thousand mile chasm. A surly girl with piercings and tattoos serenading a nerdy film-buff with a 1980s hit song? Come on.

And then there was the kiss. If she's totally honest, it had been the third best kiss of her life - the second best being the one that came after Jesse first told her he loved her. Of course, the number one spot always goes to the kiss he had given her as she curled into his side and pressed her cold feet against the warmth of his calves on the morning after the first time they...well, you know. Yeah, that one had gone down in history.

She loves him. She knows that. She's even told him so a few special occasions. (Progress, right?) They have a relationship so normal that sometimes she has to pause and ask, "Is this real life?"

They hold hands as they walk around campus - as long as there aren't millions of people around, they kiss at the back of the movie theater once the lights have dimmed, and she's even been known to sit in his lap during group gatherings - but only if there's a shortage of chairs. The point? She's all about the girly, romantic shit now. She owns it. But that doesn't change who she is. She's a realist. And as perfect as their relationship has been (because she includes all of their little squabbles and their earth-shaking blow-ups as elements of that perfection) she knows that it's not humanly possible for a couple to remain as happy and well-matched as them. That just doesn't happen anymore, right?

So isn't it better to end on a high note? (No pun intended.)

She finds herself watching Jesse as he zips the black graduation gown, and she feels her sense of melancholy even more acutely.

Then she looks at her own reflection.

"I look ridiculous."

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Jesse moves to stand behind her. He's clearly making a concentrated effort to smother his laughter.

"I look like I've been shopping at Darth Vader's garage sale."

"Nice film reference," Jesse remarks approvingly. "Although I'm thinking Darth wouldn't want strangers rooting around in his garage."

"I said five feet," she grumbles irritably. "Five! What's so hard about that?'

Having been a respectable five feet tall since the fifth grade (she was the tall kid until sixth grade when suddenly she was the short kid) she knows that she told the Jostens rep the correct height. It's not like it's difficult to remember when you spend your life having to stand on your tiptoes to complete normal, everyday tasks like, oh, getting a bowl from the kitchen cupboard.

"Stupid Jostens idiot," she mumbles. "I think I know how tall I am."

"Or how small," Jesse chimes in.

He's still snickering loudly at the way the black fabric pools on the carpet around her feet. He loves to tease her about her petite stature, and she glares at him because she knows this incident has armed him with at least a year's worth of short jokes.

Still fuming, Beca crosses her arms over her chest and looks in the mirror. She hadn't wanted to pull the gown out of the package. Hell, she hadn't even wanted to walk in the graduation ceremony. Jesse had been the one to insist that they had started the college experience together, so they would finish together. She had, of course, flatly refused, but then he had shown up at her apartment with Capri Suns, Jiffy Pop with extra butter, and a copy of Empire Records. By the time he'd started to press his lips to the skin just below her ear, she'd caved. Which is what has led them to now...this moment...a pair of graduation gowns Jesse had insisted they try on…and Beca looking like she's wearing Voldemort's hand-me-downs.

"What am I supposed to do? I hate being short." Beca groans. She perks up for a moment. "Wait...I guess this means I can't walk in the ceremony. But don't worry, I'll still come watch. Hey, if you're lucky, you might even get 'lei'd'," she remarks cheekily, forming air quotes to emphasize her ridiculous pun.

Jesse shakes his head and lets out a wry laugh. "Oh no," he counters, "you're going to walk." He pauses for a moment and strokes his chin in a show of deep contemplation. "My cousin Connor might still have his preschool graduation gown. That would work."

"Oh," Beca coos suddenly, reaching out to brush a hand over his forehead. "Are you okay?"

Jesse rears back, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Yes," he responds cautiously.

"Oh good. I just figured your wit must be exhausted, you know, since it's gotten so weak," Beca observes cattily.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jesse retorts indignantly. He raises his voice obnoxiously and cups his hands around his mouth to amplify the sound. "I can't hear you from all the way up here!"

She rolls her eyes before reaching out to smack him on the arm. "I hope you're still this funny when you find all of your DVDs have been rearranged and moved into the wrong cases." She nods wickedly. "Oh yeah, you're going to be in the mood to watch Citzen Kane, and pop open the case to find Glitter in its place. And when you go to open the Glitter case—because you're logical and you'll assume I've pulled a neat and tidy switch—you'll discover just how devious I can be, because in the Glitter case you'll find The Big Lebowski."

Jesse chokes on his laughter when he recognizes the seriousness of her tone, and his eyes widen. "Please tell me you didn't."

Beca smirks. "Only if you can tell me you don't actually own a copy of Glitter."

Jesse's lack of response is answer enough, and Beca shakes her head sadly.

He watches her pleadingly and his tone begs for mercy. "It was in the $3.99 bin at the Blockbuster closeout, okay? Leaving it would have been like driving by a horrifically bloody car accident without even looking."

"Dude, there's nothing okay about it. But I suppose I can overlook your tragically tolerant taste in movies if you agree to stop making fun of my daintiness." She narrows her eyes at him and pokes at his chest threateningly. "I'm adorable."

Jesse chuckles before grabbing her by the hand. He pulls her into his arms and then presses a kiss to her hair. "I don't think dainty is really the word I would use to describe you, Bec. Ever."

She grins triumphantly for a moment before she glances back to their reflection in the mirror in front of them. "I kind of can't believe we're graduating."

Jesse nods and squeezes her even tighter. "It's awesome, right? We finally get to start our lives. I'm off to the Big Apple. And you finally get to move to your beloved Los Angeles."

Beca smiles weakly. "I do."

Jesse continues to ramble excitedly and Beca continues to smile. It's comforting, really. His ability to remain optimistic regardless of the circumstances is familiar, and it makes her feel secure—like nothing has changed. As tough as she's always considered herself to be (and she is a badass...make no mistake about it) she has realized that Barden is the closest thing to a stable home that she's ever had. Sure, she probably would have been voted Most Likely to Burn The Place Down during her freshman year, but the Bellas and Jesse have become the most important things in her life.

For the past three years, she's created a niche for herself. People know her. She's not just the weird music girl or the daughter of Dr. Mitchell. She's Beca Mitchell: leader of the Barden Bellas, student manager of the campus radio station, talented musician. Oh, and she's also the lucky girl who's got that adorable Treblemaker wrapped around her little finger. (Rumors of her own smittenness may or may not have been greatly exaggerated.)

She really doesn't want to break up. No, it's too terrifying to think of making the conscious decision to separate herself from Jesse. She feels safe and confident and - as cliched and anti-feminist as it may sound - beautiful when she is with him. He's a total nerd, but he's her nerd. Unfortunately, her nerd is headed to New York, and she is headed to L.A.

Realist that she is, she has an idea of how it will unfold.

He'll promise to visit her whenever he has a chance. She'll make an effort to FaceTime at least once a week. He'll actually make it out to visit once or twice. The first time will be fun. They'll explore the city together: make fun of the cheesy tourists, eat at the best hole-in-the-wall restaurants, and (inevitably) go see movies in the most historic theaters. The second visit will be awkward. The distance will have taken its toll, and their paths will have forked and separated to a point that they will appear strange to one another. They'll hug and kiss and laugh, sure. But out of a mixture of habit and obligation. She'll be bogged down with work and fixated on "paying her dues" while he will avoid mentioning the several girls who have made themselves available to him. He won't have touched a single one of them. Beca knows without a doubt that that's not Jesse's way. But how can she expect a guy like him - so charismatic, so kind, so earnest - to be in love with her - someone so brooding and cynical - in spite of such a distance.

Isn't it better to let things fade gradually?

She's suddenly jarred from her state of deep thought, and she smiles immediately up at Jesse who is watching her with concern flickering in his eyes.

"Are you okay, Bec?" he asks sincerely.

Smiling, she nods and turns in his arms. "I am." Raising her arms to his broad shoulders, she slides them around his neck and pulls him down to her. "I love you, nerd."

She feels his arms tighten around her, and she knows. Sure, it's probably going to be a difficult mess. Yeah, it might be better to let things fade. But she can't imagine these feelings fading away no matter how large the distance.

Jesse's brow furrows as he tries to process Beca's sudden sentimentality, but he holds her tight and breathes her in and tries to memorize her because he knows he'll be limited to seeing her over his computer screen in another few weeks. "I'm rather fond of you too, weirdo."

December 12, 2017
New York City

"Swanson! When I said I needed it now, I meant right now!"

Fumbling with the cardboard carrier, Jesse manages to set it down without spilling a drop from any of the four coffee cups it holds. A white paper bag dangles from his teeth, and he sets it down before using a napkin to pull out a croissant.

"Here you go, sir."

The balding man looks through thick black frames and then glances down at the coffee and pastry Jesse is offering. Finally, he accepts the offering and nods his thanks. "Okay, kid. Have a seat. Let's see if you've got anything to offer."

Wide-eyed, Jesse sits in the chair adjacent to the piano and listens as Oliver Billings, Golden-Globe winning composer, actually involves him in the creative process. Sort of.

It's been a year since Jesse had landed the job of a lifetime and almost a year and a half since he'd left his college life behind and embarked on his new "grown-up" life in New York City. He can't believe his luck.

He'd already been given a paid internship upon arriving in New York, but that had been a six-month gig. He'd been afraid that he would complete the internship and be unable to find any kind of viable work, in which case he would have had to return home. The prospect of returning home to work for his father's contracting business had not been a particularly attractive one, so he'd been thrilled when he'd gotten a call to interview for a position as an assistant to a composer on a Broadway project. He hadn't actually been expecting to get the job, but he'd figured it would be good experience to get an interview out of the way.

Apparently Billings had appreciated Jesse's unaffected positivity and what Beca describes as his "dorky passion," because upon hiring him, Billings had informed Jesse that all of the other candidates had been "whiny, self-indulgent pricks."

Jesse had been too nervous to respond, but Billings hadn't been deterred and had continued to grumble, "All of these little shits claim to know and love film, but they're too goddamned high and mighty to go and see what the people are actually watching. If it's not black and white...if it's not playing in an art house theater, it's too "mainstream" for their tastes. Throwing around words like 'auteur' or 'mise-en-scene' like little film school parrots - as if that actually means a damn thing." He had turned to Jesse with narrow eyes, "You listen to me. It isn't a crime to work on a film that might actually make money. You aren't a sell-out if you score a film people will actually go see. What's your favorite movie?"

Still stunned by the sudden rant, Jesse had stumbled over his words. "Uh, I'm sorry...what?"

"Your favorite movie," Billings blurted impatiently. "What is it?"

Jesse shrugged, "Uh, The Breakfast Club?"

"See? That's what I'm talking about. You say it like you're embarrassed. Did you enjoy that film?"

"Yes."

"Did it affect you? Influence you? Did the music move you?" Billings had leaned even closer, peering through the black frames at Jesse's uncertain face.

"Yes."

"Then that's good filmmaking. And a successful score. And that's all we as composers can ask for. We want to use music to tell a story and move an audience - original score or not. If you want to learn how to do that, I'll teach you. But look, it's only fair to warn you...I expect a lot from my assistants, and I'm generally an asshole to work for. If you do a good job and stick with me, I'll help you get your start in this business."

Jesse had simply nodded.

"Well," Billings had barked, "do you want to learn?"

"Yes...yes, sir."

And so it had begun.

"Hey, Jesse! What's your hurry?" Sarah Collins calls out as he goes jogging by her desk. A tall redhead with a friendly demeanor, Sarah is Oliver's other assistant. While Jesse typically assists with the music-related tasks and is rapidly become more of an second-in-command than an assistant, Sarah handles the planning, scheduling, and organization. They've forged a comfortable friendship in the months since she started working for Billings.

"I'm off early," he calls happily. "My girlfriend is flying in this evening."

"That's nice," Sarah smiles politely. "You must be excited."

"Ridiculously excited," he agrees. "I haven't seen her in almost six months. All of the texting and Skyping in the world can't replace face-to-face interaction, you know?" Jesse doesn't mention the fact that texting and Skyping are also poor substitutes for skin-to-skin interaction. He figures that's probably an overshare.

Sarah smiles absently and nods before giving him a wave and turning to answer the phone.

Jesse continues his hurried pace to the elevator and through the lobby of the building where Billings rents studio-space. While Jesse's not making a ton of money, Billings had given him a raise just a few weeks ago. The increase in pay had allowed him to rent a decent one-bedroom apartment in a decent neighborhood, and he can't wait for Beca to see it. He can't wait to see her shoes strewn about his living room floor, her toothbrush next to his, or even her make-up staining his bathroom counter. He's excited to wake her with her favorite blueberry pancakes and to engage in their usual banter as they watch late-night infomercials from beneath the covers of his bed. Living alone has been the most difficult part of moving to New York. It's not like he and Beca have ever officially lived together, but they rarely spent a night apart during their time at Barden. He misses her - to the point that he has seriously considered moving out to L.A. just to be with her.

He hails a cab - a rare treat - and begins planning his afternoon. He needs to stop by the bodega near his place to pick up some groceries, and then he needs to hit the flower stand at the end of his block to buy some flowers. He wants to cook her dinner, and he definitely wants to greet her with a bouquet. He also needs to straighten up his apartment, make room in his closet for her clothes, and put the flannel sheets on his bed because he knows she's always cold and she's probably gotten used to the mild California winter. It's Beca, he knows, and she'll absolutely make fun of him for being a cheeseball. But he also knows that she secretly loves his romantic gestures because they make her feel special. He gets the sense that she's been rather depressed lately. He'd really had to sell her on the idea of coming out to New York, so he wants to do everything in his power to lift her spirits while she's here.

He's juggling a paper bag of groceries, a cellophane-wrapped bouquet, and still grinning stupidly at the thought of waking up to Beca's face when his phone rings. He somehow manages to wedge it between his ear and his shoulder as he makes his way back to his apartment.

"Hey," he greets, his smile growing even larger.

"Hey," she replies. Her voice is rather subdued, but he knows she hates flying and airports, so he's not really surprised.

"You at the airport? I just bought groceries and I'm getting ready to clean so I don't offend you with my bachelor lifestyle. Bec, I can't wait for you to see my new place. It's actually got walls between the living room, kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. Walls, Bec!"

"Cool," she comments rather unconvincingly. "Look, Jesse..."

"Seriously, you just need to be here already. I can't wait for you to get here. I need to see you. And possibly touch you," he adds teasingly.

Silence.

"Beca? You there?" He pauses on the sidewalk and turns slightly to see if maybe his reception improves. He hears her take a breath.

"I'm not going to be able to make it out. Something came up."

Her voice sounds rough and ragged, and Jesse knows that he must have misunderstood her.

"What was that?" Jesse questions.

"I'm not coming, Jesse. I just...can't."

"Why? Beca, we've been looking forward to this for ages. I haven't seen you in months! What could possibly be so important that you would back out of this trip on the day you're supposed to leave? What's going on with you? You haven't been yourself for the last couple of months. I'm worried about you. And what about your ticket?"

"Things are just hectic here. It's not a good time," she starts. "It's a refundable ticket."

"Refundable," Jesse echoes. "Not transferable. Which means you aren't planning on making this trip at all."

"Jesse, that's not-" Beca tries to interrupt his line of thought, but Jesse already has a pretty clear picture of what's going on.

"You know what? It's okay, Beca. I guess this has been a long time coming. I mean, I practically had to beg you to come out here, and even that took months. You've been distant over the phone like you don't even want to talk to me... I thought things would get better once you started your new job, but I guess that was pretty stupid of me. I really should have paid more attention to the signals you were sending."

"Jesse, just let me try to explain..."

Jesse shakes his head and smiles bitterly before responding, "No explanation necessary, Beca. I know how important your music is to you, and I know that you like to keep your life to yourself. Hell, you've been this way for as long as I've known you. I guess I just thought I'd finally broken through that wall."

"Jesse!" she chokes out on the other end of the line.

"I hope you get everything you've been dreaming of, okay?"

He hears her repeating his name as he manages to end the call with the bouquet in hand. He stands in the middle of the sidewalk, frozen, and doesn't move for several long moments. People mill around him, totally unaware of the fact that the world has just shifted beneath Jesse's feet.

There isn't room in the nearest trashcan for the flowers, so he takes the time to break the stems in half, one at a time, and then forces them into the pile of hot dog wrappers and coffee cups before heading home.

September 20, 2018
Los Angeles

"I think we should see other people."

The coffee spatters and burns as the mug falls with a clatter to the tabletop.

"Shit. Shit!" Beca exclaims as she tugs napkins from the dispenser and attempts to mop up the mess. "Shit!" she utters once more.

"Damn it, Beca! I just bought this shirt!" he mutters as he steals one of the napkins to blot the spray of coffee stains on his cuff.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Beca replies sarcastically. "I was just caught off guard by the fact that you actually broke up with me before even saying hello."

Mark continues to blot at the coffee stains - a few had managed to catch the end of his tie. It's early in the morning, so he's dressed for work. The new shirt is one of several he'd purchased after being promoted to junior partner at Hayward, Martin, and Taylor, one of the best law firms in Los Angeles.

He shrugs semi-apologetically. "I thought it would be kinder of me to be up front about it."

"Yeah, well a greeting is customary," Beca remarks bitterly. "Even if it is to be followed by some sort of pathetic break-up cliche."

He crumples the napkin, crushing it with his balled fist, and sets it down with a sigh. He rubs at his forehead and suddenly looks much older than twenty-nine. "Look, Beca, the truth is...I met someone else."

"So you're cheating on me?" Beca questions incredulously.

"No," he replies quickly.

There's the thinnest sheen of sweat on his forehead, and Beca takes pleasure in the sight of the flustered expression on his stupid, handsome face. Jerk.

"Nothing's happened with her, but she," he hesitates for a moment, "...no, we are on the same path."

"So she's a lawyer," Beca assumes.

He shakes his head. "No, she's in PR. She works for one of the companies I've been representing. She's very driven."

"Whereas I am...not." Beca surmises. She nods her head solemnly, but she feels the implied blow like a punch to the gut. She's been accused of many things, but never a lack of ambition or drive. If anything, it's always been the opposite.

Mark gives her a look that is a cross between pity and sympathy. "Look, it's not really appropriate for me to be dating my secretary anyway. People are talking."

Beca narrows her eyes as she waits for him to get the the point. "So...now what?"

Mark watches her imploringly. "Well, that's up to you. I'm not going to fire you..." he trails off.

Beca processes the comment for a moment before she nods knowingly. With a wry smile, she wraps her hands around the new cup of coffee one of the Euclid Cafe employees has placed in front of her. When did that get there? She clears her throat as she attempts to maintain a thin layer of composure. "So you won't fire me, but you don't particularly want me working for you."

"Come on, Beca," he remarks. "Fire the girl I've been sleeping with? I'm not stupid. And I am a lawyer. I've represented guys like that before."

"Well, then I guess you should have known better, huh?" Beca bites back. "You know what? It's fine. Let me make things easy for you and clear the path to your precious PR exec. I quit. I hate that damn office anyway. I'm pretty fucking tired of you hounding me about professional attire anyway."

He gives her a condescending smile. "You're so childish. You'll figure it out one day. I'm not sure what kind of trauma you're attempting to assuage by mutilating your body, but it's pretty hard to get ahead in this world when you've got ink and metal in or on every inch of your skin."

She's furious at herself when she actually flushes at his comment. He sure hadn't minded her "mutilated body" when he'd been kissing and stroking it in his bed. In fact, he'd seemed pretty damned excited by the florid designs scattered over her pale skin. Ugh. Whatever. She shouldn't give a damn. No, she doesn't give a damn what he thinks. "Thanks for the words of wisdom. I guess it's a good thing I have no desire to spend the rest of my life hunched over a computer in a padded cube." Rising from her chair, she glances down at her black slacks, black pumps, and emerald button-up - an attempt to blend into the very bland atmosphere of Mark's office. She thinks of how many times she's pulled out her earrings and how many times she's worn long sleeves on warm days so that she can hide the tattoos on her forearms.

As she hurries out of the coffee shop, her heels tapping her quick rhythm, she wonders when and how she stopped being Beca.

She walks back to her apartment, pushing through the broken security gate in front of the building. It's a seedy, little complex with peeling paint and a crumbling foundation. Bent and broken mini-blinds hang in the rows of windows, and sirens are considered to be comforting background noise. It's not the most dangerous part of the city, but it's definitely a low-rent, blue-collar kind of building. As strange as it is for her to admit (she's spent her whole life living in colonials and riding in BMWs) she realizes that these are her people now.

After trudging up the stairwell, Beca unlocks her front door and pushes through to her tiny apartment. She'd been in a rush this morning, so her bed is still unmade and her curling iron is still plugged in - oops. Dropping her bag on the tiny stretch of kitchen counter, she crosses over to her bed and falls into the warmth of her down comforter. Mark had always managed to convince her to come to his place - a high-rise condo on Wilshire - so her apartment is still a blissful Mark-free zone.

She stares at the cheap popcorn ceiling and scolds herself for sinking to a new low. How could she ever have found him charming or attractive? She was never in love with him, of course. She'd never had any ideas or thoughts of love. Really, she had just been flattered by his attention. When she had started temping at his office, it had been out of desperation. She had searched for months and months for some kind of opportunity in the music industry. She'd completed unpaid internships here and there, but nothing seemed to stick. And nobody wanted to pay. By the end of her first year in the city, her dad had started to make noise about the cost of her little venture. "Maybe this isn't your time, Bec. You know, Barden has a great Masters program in music. I'd love to have you back home... Your living costs haven't exactly been cheap as of late, and I can't keep paying your bills so you can work for free."

The temping had been meant as a temporary solution to her financial woes. She'd been without a job, without a car, and without an inexpensive roof over her head. She had figured she'd temp here and there - enough to pay the rent on a studio apartment (complete with Murphy bed!) and buy her enough time to get her big break. That had been more than six months ago.

"What the hell am I doing?" she mumbles to herself before bringing a pillow to her face. She screams into its dense fill before pulling it down from her face and looking around at her messy little home. It's cozy - every nook and cranny filled with books and albums - but it's certainly not what she had envisioned when she and Jesse had talked about the future.

Jesse.

She smiles at the thought of him. It's been close to a year since they ended things, but she still feels a sharp pang of sadness when she thinks of their last conversation.

The worst day of her life.

She had been planning to go and visit him. She'd been incredibly excited because she had been anticipating a break from pounding the pavement in search of a paid position. He had been hounding her to come out to see him, but she had demurred, offering every possible excuse but the truth: she was too broke. Truth be told, she would have visited him every weekend if she'd had the opportunity, but she was hardly able to pay her rent, and she was quite literally living on top ramen. Even now, she knows that Jesse would have paid for her ticket without a second thought, but she couldn't bring herself to let him know just how much she was struggling. She had wanted him to be proud of her - she hadn't wanted his pity.

She'd eventually purchased the round-trip ticket when she became certain that her unpaid internship was going to become a position as a paid assistant. Her boss had repeatedly told her how impressed he was with the work she was doing, and she knew that his current assistant was being promoted, which would leave the perfect opening for her. A trip to New York had seemed like the perfect way to celebrate her good fortune, especially since Jesse would be so thrilled by her success. Finally, after six months of loneliness, rejection, and struggle, she could breathe. She had been eagerly counting the days until she would be bundled up in the cold New York winter, cuddling with Jesse, and sipping hot cocoa.

Well, until her boss informed her that the position that had been all but promised to her had already been filled - by his own nephew. He had been apologetic, but he was firm in telling her that her services were no longer needed.

She'd been stoic as she absorbed the news and packed the small box with her few personal items. She'd held it together as she made her way out to the parking lot, the items rattling against the sides of the cardboard box as she set it in the back seat of her Jetta.

It wasn't until she pulled onto the 405 that she had finally started to sniffle sloppily. By the time she had fully merged into the center lane, she was a full-on mess, sobbing deeply with hot tears blurring her view of the road in front of her. In the end, the police (and, more importantly, the insurance company) had decided that it wasn't her fault. The guy in the Ford Explorer had been zipping back and forth between lanes, winding in and out of the traffic, when he finally lost control and flipped his car. The rolling SUV had plowed right into the passenger side of Beca's car and had pushed her into the concrete median, where her car finally turned over and came to a stop on its roof.

She'd woken up in the hospital the next morning, her father at her side. That had been the start of his campaign to get her back to Atlanta.

She still doesn't know why she didn't tell Jesse. She had called him that afternoon to tell him why she wouldn't be able to visit him - not to break up with him. But he had answered her call with such excitement, and he had spoken of his job, his new apartment, his new life with such confidence, that she'd found herself feeling incredibly, painfully inadequate. Here was her goofy (but incredibly talented) boyfriend who'd practically been handed his dream job on a silver platter. And then there was Beca: perpetually unemployed, debt-ridden, and in the hospital. Oh, and the proud owner of a flattened VW Jetta.

She couldn't do it. Couldn't let him know what a mess she really was. Couldn't let him feel disbelief at the fact that he could have fallen for such a wreck of a human being. So she didn't.

"I'm not going to be able to make it out. Something came up."

His confusion and subsequent anger had brought tears to her eyes. Her throat had ached and she'd tried to swallow the emotions as they'd come bubbling to the surface.

"Jesse," she'd tried to interrupt, "that's not..."

But he'd plowed ahead, certain that he knew what she wanted from the conversation. He'd thought he was setting her free. He was wrong. So, so wrong. What she had wanted was for him to come to her and hold her and help her make sense of the chaos that was her life at that very moment.

What she had gotten was a package four days later. A New York postmark and an eclectic collection of knick-knacks: three flash drives worth of Beca's mixes, the childhood teddy bear she'd sent to New York with him, a Barden Bellas t-shirt she'd left at his place eons ago, a framed photo of Beca performing with the Bellas, various toiletries she always kept in his bathrooms - wherever he was living, and a post-it note with a simple message.

Be happy.

June 4, 2019
Los Angeles

The first time she returns to the scene of what she dubs "the humiliating break-up," she's nervous. Not because she's still humiliated - the humiliation stems more from the fact that she was ever in a relationship with such an asshat than from the break-up itself. No, she's nervous that she'll run into said asshat and have to make mortifying small-talk. She passes the wide front windows casually, peering through the glass and hoping she can run if she spots him. When she realizes he's not there, she laughs at her ridiculousness. Mark had always hated this place. "A bunch of pretentious potheads pretending to have mastered the art of brewing coffee," he had grumbled the first time they had gone there together. Yeah, Mark had been a class act.

A bell jingles over the door as she enters, and she takes a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of good coffee and better pastries. Mark can keep his pricey Ice Blendeds and his precious Coffee Bean. There's nothing like a good cup of plain ol' coffee from Euclid Cafe. As long as it doesn't make her late.

She glances quickly at her phone to check the time against the length of the line, and she freezes when she sees the date.

June 4th. Jesse's birthday.

There's a moment of melancholy that hovers, but then she smiles when she thinks of the last birthday they'd spent together - her birthday. Jesse's first and only visit to L.A. She'd been between internships, so they'd had an entire week to devote to one another. It had been just as she had imagined. They had spent an inordinate amount of time curled together in her bed, watching movies on her tiny television. They had strolled down here to the Cafe at a leisurely pace, her hand clasped loosely in his, and talked about nonsensical things. And though she wasn't in favor of PDA for the sake of PDA, she found that she genuinely enjoyed being near him - that the hand-holding and the hugging and the way he brushed his fingertips across her skin just because he wanted to touch her - weren't really all that bad. Jesse had forced her to consider and appreciate things she might otherwise have considered to be lame or cheesy. Sure, she gave him shit for his excitement over the Griffith Park Observatory, and she rolled her eyes when he insisted that they had to visit the Santa Monica Pier, but she secretly (and not-so-secretly) relished his presence. Jesse was as unabashedly enthusiastic as Beca was jaded. Being with him was like seeing the world through fresh eyes.

And late at night, under the cover of darkness, she had been open and honest with him. He would brush his fingertips over her skin and press kisses to all of her most sensitive spots while she would describe her despair at being abandoned by her dad, her hurt at being forgotten by her mom. When she lamented the fact that she'd been a "late bloomer" and had been tormented for her tiny size until her boobs finally went into overdrive when she was seventeen, he'd complimented her body on being a late closer before winning the race. They would both stare at the ceiling while she would provide caricatured descriptions of the moronic guys she had dated - a series of guys with last names as first names, who refused to listen to anything but NPR, and insisted they didn't really want to make it in the music industry because success would be "selling out." And the message, though implicit, had been clear: you are the guy for me.

Before she can overthink it and change her mind, she types a quick text message and sends it to the number she hopes is still valid. It's a message only he will understand.

Her high heels tap against the hardwood floor as she moves with the line, and she looks down to search through her oversized handbag to locate the five dollar bill she knows is floating around inside. Dressed in a pencil skirt and a silk blouse, she's now officially running late for her job as a legal assistant at a small, nearby law firm. As much as she hates it, she can definitely appreciate the irony of the fact that her Los Angeles work experience (paid, at least) is limited to the legal field. She's spent her entire life dreaming of making and mixing music. It's all she's ever wanted and all she's ever worked for. And here she is in her prim and proper clothes getting ready to spend a day in front of a computer screen. Again.

She heaves a sigh and is waiting for her coffee and bagel when she hears a vaguely familiar voice.

"Beca?"

She's hesitant as she turns, afraid of what she might find. Her suspicions are confirmed when she recognizes the shock of red hair on her old friend.

"Chloe?"

"Oh my God! It is you! This is crazy! I'd heard that you moved out here, but I could never seem to find you listed anywhere. Don't you have a Facebook?"

Beca shrugs and smiles. "Not really into the social networking thing. And I don't even have a landline, so no phone book listing for me." She's sure that Jesse is probably still in touch with most of their friends from their Barden days. Following their break-up, she figured she would bow out and allow him to continue his friendships with all of them. She's never wanted anyone to feel like they're in the middle of the Jesse/Beca saga. Besides, Jesse is the friend the average person wants to have around anyway. Optimistic, outgoing, and dependable. All the things Beca has never been accused of being.

"This is amazing! I can't believe I ran into you today of all days!"

"What's going on today?" Beca questions. She flips through the rolodex of memorable dates in her head, and she comes up empty. She knows Chloe can't possibly remember that today is Jesse's birthday, and even if she did, Beca can't imagine even Chloe would be dense enough to mention it.

"I'm getting married!" Chloe squeals, bouncing on the balls of her feet like a pre-teen girl.

"Today?!" Beca exclaims incredulously.

Chloe immediately halts her bouncing. "What? Oh! No! The wedding is on the twenty-sixth." Chloe shakes a finger Beca, "You would have received an invitation if you hadn't disappeared from the face of the earth. Seriously, Beca, where have you been? Nobody's heard from you for, like, a year. We were worried."

Beca shrugs. "Life happened, I guess. Isn't that what happens to friends? They drift apart."

Chloe frowns. "Only if you allow them to."

Beca feels the tiniest bit of guilt at that. Truthfully, she never really thought they would miss her. Of course, she figured they'd notice her absence, but she thought they'd chalk it up to Beca being Beca. Well, Beca being Beca-minus-Jesse.

"Well, it's water under the bridge because I know where you are now. You must live around here - only the locals know about this spot."

"So why haven't I seen you before?" Beca questions suspiciously as she turns to place her order at the counter. Chloe is still chattering excitedly as Beca pays for her order, and when she receives her change

"I teach music at the elementary school just down the street. Normally I make my own coffee, but I was running late this morning."

"Huh. Imagine that," Beca comments with another glance at her watch. She is so getting fired. Again.

The barista calls out both of their names, and they both step up to retrieve their orders.

Chloe continues to chatter, "Anyway, tonight's my bachelorette party. You have to come!"

As soon as her coffee is in her hand, Beca immediately starts to slink away from the perky redhead. No stranger to Beca's standoffish tendencies, Chloe grabs her arm and hauls Beca back to her side.

"Oh, no you don't! None of this antisocial business. You are coming. We're getting a party bus and everything! Stacie and Aubrey are going to be there. Everyone else is too far away to make it, but I know they'll both be thrilled to see you."

Beca smiles through gritted teeth. "I'm sure."

It's not that she's not happy to see Chloe. Even from the moment she met the quirky girl, she'd had a soft-spot for her - largely because she envied Chloe's free-spirit. She was also one of the first people at Barden to see beyond Beca's walls and tough exterior. Despite the fact that Beca had erected those walls in an effort to avoid such interaction, she's always been appreciative of the fact that there are people who desire her friendship enough to persist - even when faced with Beca's persnickety attitude.

"Will you come? Please tell me you'll come!" Chloe pleads.

"Uh..."

June 4, 2019
New York City

The date practically glares at him from the display on his phone. There's also been a constant barrage of text messages all morning. From his mom's Happy Birthday to my precious baby boy! to Oliver's Happy Birthday, kid. Don't forget the cream for my coffee. For most people, this would be a day of celebration. After all, it comes just once a year. But Jesse has never been big on his own birthday. Beca had always been the one to force him to acknowledge the day.

"How can you, my totally dorky and overenthusiastic boyfriend, not like birthdays? I don't get it!" Beca had exclaimed one day during their sophomore year at Barden. They were stretched out on Beca's bed in the dorm room she shared with Fat Amy, and they were watching Sixteen Candles. Beca had already teased him relentlessly for his choice in film, but he argued that he was a completist and as such needed to study each and every John Hughes film.

"It's not an accomplishment to be born," Jesse had argued. "It's like saying, 'Happy Anniversary of the Day You Fell Into The World.'"

"I think your mom might object to the use of the word 'fell' since it kind of minimizes her efforts," Beca had remarked. "But I, for one, feel Molly Ringwald's pain. I empathize. My mom totally forgot my birthdays. Like...all of them after the age of 13. I feel totally validated in my depression now."

"See?" Jesse had announced triumphantly, "It's therapeutic. I'm pretty sure this movie serves as some kind of girly rite of passage. So until you've seen this, you're not really a woman."

Beca had quirked an eyebrow at his bold statement. "Oh, really? If you want to pause that so-called rite of passage, I'd like to refute your argument." With a naughty grin, she'd swung a knee over him so that she straddled his lap. Pressing her hands against his shoulders, she'd forced him back against the mattress and pressed her lips against his. His arms had gone to her waist almost immediately, and she could feel him tugging at the hem of her t-shirt. Beca lowered her hands to the waist of his jeans, and then she ran them over the skin beneath his t-shirt. He hissed at the feel of her fingertips on his skin, and she pulled back to give him a wicked smile. Would you care to rephrase your earlier statement?"

"I know nothing," Jesse had growled. "Ever. And you're always right."

With a triumphant grin, Beca had nodded. "Good answer."

Jesse smiles at the memory while he waits for the elevator to bring him to the correct floor. When the double-doors roll open, he's greeted with a cheery exclamation.

"Happy Birthday, Jesse!"

Sarah is standing behind her desk when he walks into the office. In a clear attempt to be adorable, she's wearing a pointed party hat, and she is holding a large cupcake with a candle in the center of its frosted top.

Jesse forces a smile. "Wow, Sarah, that's...that's really sweet of you. Thank you."

Sarah beams happily and leans over her desk to press a kiss to his cheek. Jesse stands awkwardly as he accepts the kiss and then eyes her with some trepidation. Of all the mistakes he's made (and there are a lot) this is one of the worst. She's a sweet and beautiful girl, and she couldn't be more different from Beca. Sarah is as soft as Beca is razor-sharp. Sarah is the type to state exactly what she's feeling as she's feeling it, while it had taken Beca close to a year to share even her middle name. It had been Sarah's openness about her feelings for Jesse, the way she looked him in the eye and said, "I think you're a great guy and I'd really like to have dinner with you," that had won him over. It had been so...easy. Especially when he was still recovering from the whiplash he'd gotten from the Beca Mitchell roller-coaster.

That simplicity combined with a bottle of wine and the sound of Sarah's laughter had landed them in her bed on their second date. And even as she slept next to him, her arms tucked beneath her pillow, all Jesse could think of was Beca.

Beca and all of her hard edges.

Beca and all of her walls and boundaries and trust issues.

Beca was worth every bit of the effort.

"So..." Sarah probed curiously. "I hope you're hungry. I know you leave for L.A. tomorrow, but I was thinking we could go to-"

"Listen, Sarah," Jesse interrupts. "We need to talk."

Her smile disappears and she sobers at his tone. "Uh-oh."

Jesse smiles apologetically. "This isn't going to work."

Sarah clears her throat uncomfortably and gives a quick nod. "Is it because of Beca?"

Jesse's eyes widen in surprise. "We never talked about Beca. At least not by name."

Sarah shakes her head sympathetically. "Jesse, I've been to your apartment. You still have photos of her, her music is on your iPod, and a bunch of your DVDs have her name on them.

"I used to keep copies of my favorites at her place...just in case," he explains. And immediately he knows how ridiculous he sounds. "I'm really sorry, Sarah."

She shrugs her shoulders and offers a tight smile, "It was worth a shot. You are a great guy, Jesse. I hope she realizes that one day."

"Thanks," he replies. They stand for a moment, staring awkwardly at one another. Finally, Jesse breaks the silence. "Is everything set for my trip?"

Sarah jumps at the chance to divert her attention to her computer. With a few clicks of her mouse, she nods. "Everything's set. You'll get to L.A. tomorrow, you'll have your meeting tomorrow afternoon, and then you'll return the following afternoon."

"A whirlwind trip, huh?"

Sarah narrows her eyes at him, obviously pondering something.

"What?" Jesse wonders. "Something on my face?"

"She lives in Los Angeles, doesn't she?" Sarah queries.

Jesse swallows. "She does. But that's not what this trip is about."

"Maybe it should be."

Jesse considers her words for a moment when his phone chimes and vibrates yet again. Rolling his eyes, he tugs it out of his pocket and prepares to turn it off. He stops when he sees the message. It's not from one of his contacts, but he's quite familiar with the 310 area code. Only one unfamiliar number would be texting all the way from Los Angeles. Only one person would send him this exact message:

Happy Anniversary of the Day You Fell Into The World

June 5, 2019
Los Angeles

"Do we have to?" Jesse asks for the tenth time.

"In honor of this momentous occasion, we must," Benji replies formally. "If you don't want to do this, we can always go to The Magic Castle. I'm a member!" he announces proudly.

"Uh...Rainbow Bar and Grill it is!" Jesse exclaims.

"Good," Benji gushes, "Because I created a Facebook event and invited all of our a cappella comrades. It's going to be a reunion of epic proportions."

"Oh, good," Jesse mutters. "Wait," he pauses. "You invited all of them?"

"Not to worry, my lovesick friend," Benji assures him. "Beca is not of the Facebook world."

Jesse chuckles, "Yeah, she always said she had devoted way too much time and energy to perfecting her misanthropy to turn around make contact through the internet."

"She was always nice to me," Benji remarks quietly, his tone totally sincere.

Jesse eyes Benji for a moment and nods. "Yeah, she was."

June 5, 2019
Los Angeles

"Starships were meant to FLY-YYYYY! Hands Up and touch the SKY-YYYY!

The alcohol has been free-flowing, and it becomes quite obvious as Chloe and Stacie attempt to sing along with one of their favorite songs from their Barden days. Beca tries to hide her smile, but everyone's excitement is the tiniest bit contagious. She had been surprised at how good it felt when Aubrey and Stacie squealed and wrapped her in hugs from either side. Almost good enough to make up for the fact that she'd been let go from her job earlier in the day. Surprisingly, her tardiness hadn't had anything to do with it - she'd actually managed to make it on time. Unfortunately, the hard economic times had taken their toll on the firm. Beca had been the most recent hire, so she wasn't surprised that she was the first to go.

Although it had been tempting to go home and wallow with a pint of ice cream and her remix of "Everybody Hurts" playing on a loop, she'd known there was no way Chloe would let her stay home. Beca had been able to hear the party bus coming from several blocks away, the bass rattling the walls of every structure within a mile radius.

So she had done what she assumes normal twenty-something girls do when they're depressed. She'd searched her closet for something that could pass for bachelorette party attire until she found a slinky little black dress hanging in the very back. A pair of skyscraping heels, a curling iron, some eyeliner, and some lipstick, and she'd been good to go.

Which brings her to the here and now.

Chloe is dressed in all of her bachelorette glory with a rhinestone tiara, a feather boa, and a skin-tight tank top, each designating her as the Bride-to-Be. Stacie, who owns a pole-dancing studio, is demonstrating some of the more elementary moves on the pole in the middle of the bus, and Aubrey, now a mother of two, is sitting rather primly as she sings along with the old Nicki Minaj tune.

"The Rainbow Bar and Grill? Really?" Beca observes skeptically. "You do realize this is, like, the biggest tourist trap ever, right?" She gives a half-smile as she watches Chloe attempt to imitate Stacie's movements on the pole.

"Don't be such a downer, Beca! It's going to be aca-amazing!" Chloe squeals as she turns upside down, her legs squeaking as she slides slowly down the pole. With labored movements, she manages to right herself and smile widely. "Besides, we're only here because according to Facebook, there's going to be an impromptu aca-reunion."

The smile drops from Beca's. "What?"

Chloe nods happily. "Apparently some of the local Trebles are meeting here. I think Benji and Unicycle and maybe Donald. I thought we owed them our company."

Well, Beca thinks. At least he's in New York, right?

It unfolds in a rather cinematic manner - kind of like their first kiss.

Really, neither of them should be surprised. With all of their common friends and their shared history, the fact that the bar is notorious for 80s music, and the way fate seems to enjoy playing with their lives, they should have expected it.

The guys are at the bar loading up on drinks when the girls arrive. "Danger Zone" from Top Gun is playing, and it feels oddly appropriate as he stands with a group of single guys getting ready to embark on an evening of debauchery. Bumper and Donald are scoping their potential hook-ups and planning their approach, Benji is pulling quarters from behind the ears of strange women (he's going to have to put a stop to that), and Jesse is catching up with a couple of the guys who drove in from Las Vegas where they've been working. They've each already had several shots - one round in honor of Jesse's 25th birthday - and the volume of their group as a whole is growing exponentially.

Jesse recognizes the final notes of "Danger Zone" but is not prepared for the distinctive start of the next song. "No way..." Jesse murmurs to himself. Benji also recognizes the signficance of the song and looks at Jesse with something resembling astonishment.

Won't you come see about me?

I'll be alone, dancing you know it baby

"No way," Jesse repeats. He turns to Benji, "Did you...?"

Benji raises his hands in the air. "Definitely not me."

He's ready to question the rest of the Trebles, but can't believe that any of them would remember the significance of the song. He's still marveling at the coincidence of the timing when he hears someone yell.

"BELLAS!"

Bumper's shout seems to come out of nowhere, and Jesse is baffled by the sudden outburst until the shouting continues, "Horrible you may be, but you ladies are HOT!"

Jesse turns his attention to the entrance of the bar and sees the looks of disgust on the faces of the former Bellas: Chloe, Aubrey, and Stacie. He feels a mixture of sadness and relief when he realizes Beca isn't with them...until the others separate and reveal her standing just behind them.

"Holy shit," Jesse chokes out. "Holy shit!"

Oblivious as always, Bumper takes a good look at Beca and then turns to Jesse. "Damn! Alternative Barbie is looking good! Bet you wish you were still tapping that, am I right? Am I right?!"

"Shut up, Bumper!" the guys chorus.

"Cool your jets, boys. I'm just stating the obvious. I mean, I wouldn't mind getting her in treble!"

"Bumper, ENOUGH!" Jesse shouts.

Obnoxious as the commentary may be, Bumper is right. Beca looks amazing. The slinky black dress displays her petite body to its best advantage. Her legs are elongated in the black heels, her arms look trim and toned, her skin is dewy and flawless, while the deep neckline reveals a peek at the tops of the breasts he knows so very well. Her eyes are lined, her lips are red, and her expression is unreadable as she stares right back at him.

The sight of her is enough to make him ache for her. Enough to make him realize that no matter how much time has passed, he's not over her. Even now, when he hasn't seen her in almost two years, he wants nothing more than to rush over to her, pull her into his arms, and kiss her silly. And then he wants to hear every detail of her life for the past two years. He misses that. The talking. He misses having her open up to him - making him feel like she was giving him a gift by telling him things she wouldn't tell anyone else.

He watches as the former Bellas approach, and without even realizing it, he moves to meet them in the middle. He doesn't take his eyes off her, and Aubrey, Chloe, and Stacie are perceptive enough to fall out of the way.

They each stop when they're less then a foot apart, and they stand for several moments just looking one another in the eye while the song...their song...plays in the background.

As you walk on by
Will you call my name?
As you walk on by
Will you call my name?

Finally, she breaks the silence.

"Hi."

June 6, 2019
Los Angeles

At two in the morning, they take a cab back to his hotel since it's closer than her place. It's his birthday (or was) and she's just been fired (or let go) and they're both sick and fucking tired of tiptoeing around their mutual attraction.

He opens the cab door for her and lets her slide across the vinyl seat before he gets in behind her. After giving the driver the appropriate address, they sit in silence, Beca watching the glow of the meter while Jesse stares out the window at the city lights. They maintain this facade of restraint and propriety for the duration of the cab ride, as the driver runs Jesse's credit card, and as they walk side-by-side through the lobby of the hotel. They pause at the concierge desk where Jesse makes a quick request, and then he leads her to the elevator.

It's only once they're in the elevator that they stare at each other, their desire growing more and more unbearable, as the elevator chimes its way to the top of the very tall building. When the doors finally open, they practically explode from its confines and nearly run to Room 2230. It takes him three tries to get the door unlocked, but when the tiny green light finally flashes, it serves as the green light for them to act on their pent up emotions. She's in his arms before the door has even closed, and he's lifted her right off her feet as he brings her lips up to his. Their kisses are hungry, and they're spinning without even realizing it as they make their way to the king-sized bed. He drops her gently on the feather-soft surface of the expensive duvet and she watches him through the fringe of her lashes as he unbuttons his shirt.

She smiles eagerly as he pulls it off, and reaches out to touch the skin he reveals. He's still spending time at the gym, she can see. And her smile widens when she realizes her touch still causes him to hiss and stiffen. Dropping her hands to his waist, she fiddles playfully with the button on his slacks before popping it open. She lowers the zipper and then waits for him to step out of the pants.

"You're falling behind, nerd," he teases before grabbing her hands and pulling her to her feet.

Her heart flips at the sound of the familiar nickname, and she turns to allow him to unzip the back of her dress. He brushes her hair to the side to keep it from getting caught in the zipper, and she feels heat coiling in her middle at the feel of his hot breath against the skin of her neck. She moans lightly when he drops his lips and presses several quick kisses to the exposed skin. She feels a quick rush of cool air and realizes her dress is now pooled at her feet.

Giving her a thorough once-over as she stands in her lacy lingerie, he gives her a lopsided smile. "You always did look hot in your underwear."

Balling her hand, she gives him a gentle punch in the bicep, and then rises to her tiptoes to kiss him as she tugs his boxers off. Kicking his boxers off his feet, he suddenly hoists her up and sends her flying back onto the bed, laughing as she bounces on the mattress.

"Seriously? You are so weird. I'm trying to be sexy here," she pouts.

"Oh, that was sexy," he assures her. "Especially the bouncing."

"Ew!" she exclaims, and then she laughs as he leaps and his naked body comes flying at her.

He's still grinning like a fool at her, and she's about to call him on it when she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror across the room.

She's grinning too.

Suddenly, he's over her, his elbows resting on either side of her, and he's looking intently at her, as though he's feeding on the sight of her.

"You're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, you know."

She's flustered for a split-second, but she manages to compose herself enough to respond. "Well, sure, I mean you've been looking at Oliver for the past two years, so..."

He chuckles, but then shakes his head. "I'm serious, Bec. I've missed you. So much."

She sobers and raises a hand to his face. She smoothes a fingertip down his cheek and then touches it to his lips. "Me too."

They're still for a moment, just watching each other, reveling in the opportunity simply look at each other. Finally, Beca sits up and reaches around to undo the clasp on her bra.

"Dude, let's get this show on the road, huh? You can look and touch."

He watches with amusement as she shimmies out of the lacy boyshorts, and then whistles at the sight of her in all her naked glory. "Aca-amazing!" he declares loudly.

"Shut-up," she laughs with a roll of her eyes. "You're such a freak. Now come here."

She giggles (yes, giggles) when he does.

A siren wails somewhere in the distance, and the city lights cast a golden glow across the darkened hotel room. Beca is curled up against Jesse, her leg thrown over his, her head resting in the crook of his neck. Her left hand is entwined with his right hand and she can feel him stroking her back, brushing his fingers against her tattoos the way he used to. She closes her eyes and takes a breath and wishes that time could just freeze right here at this very moment. If this was the only moment she could live and re-live for the rest of her life, she would be utterly content.

Unfortunately, reality is lurking in the shadows.

"You know I've got to go in the morning, right?" she whispers regretfully, her fingertips trailing up and down his arm.

He nods. "I know. I don't understand it. But I know."

"It's just...not the time. I want it to be. I can't even tell you how much I want it to be. But I'm a disaster. An unemployed disaster." Rolling onto her back, she covers her eyes with her hands.

"Hey," he protests, "hey, hey, hey...you're not a disaster." He gently tugs her hands down from her face, and when she finally relents, he's surprised to see tears welling in her eyes. "Beca, listen to me. You aren't a disaster. You've had kind of a rough go of things. You're one of the most talented people I know, but this business is tough to break into."

Beca laughs bitterly and scoffs, "Says the guy who was hired to score movies within six months of graduating. Didn't you have a meeting with Paramount or something?"

"Or something," he mumbles.

"And?"

"It's just this independent film. Nothing major."

"But they offered it to you and not Oliver, right?"

"I think it's more that Oliver passed on it and recommended me, but yeah...it would be my project."

She smiles to herself and nods. Lifting herself up on an elbow, she presses a soft kiss to his lips. "I'm proud of you."

"Yeah?" He continues stroking her back and his eyes are closed.

"Yeah," she nods. "You're doing these amazing things and achieving everything you dreamed for yourself." She turns onto her stomach and folds her arms across his chest before setting her chin on them. "I mean, you're the biggest dork I know. But you're pretty fucking impressive."

His chest rumbles as he chuckles. "You're going to do amazing things, Beca. I have this feeling in my gut. You're going to get your big break, and you're going to blow up in a huge way."

Beca watches him closely for a moment and then bites her lip anxiously.

Jesse opens his eyes and looks at her questioningly. "What?"

She gives him a shy half-smile and lifts a shoulder. "I haven't been doing anything with music. Not for the past year."

"What?!" Jesse shoots up in bed, nearly causing Beca to roll off the edge.

"God," Beca mutters. "A little warning would be nice."

"Yeah, I agree," Jesse replies. "What do you mean you aren't doing anything with music?"

Beca considers his question for a moment before responding, "I guess I just...lost my inspiration."

Jesse looks at her - really looks at her - for several seconds before he says matter-of-factly, "Well, you'd better find it."

Settling back against the mound of hotel pillows, he opens his arms invitingly and closes his eyes when Beca quickly settles against him once again.

"I feel like me again," she murmurs under her breath as she starts to doze off.

"Good," Jesse answers. "Cause you're my favorite when you're you."

She's not surprised when she wakes up to find the sun pouring through the window to cast light on the empty spot next to her. She vaguely remembers hearing soft murmurs in her ear a few hours ago, and she knows she felt a trail of soft kisses down her spine. She is, however, surprised to find a room service cart next to her side of the bed. When she lifts the silver lid, she's giddy when she discovers a stack of blueberry pancakes - still warm - and a carafe of coffee.

There's a piece of thick, cream-colored paper perched atop the empty coffee mug, so she picks it up to read the familiar handwriting.

Your time will come. So will ours.

-J

She can't stop the smile that appears on her face. Hurriedly scarfing down the delicious pancakes, she hops into the shower, and then prepares for her walk of shame as she pulls her dress back on. The cab ride back to her place is a quick one, and she is a woman on a mission from the moment she walks through her front door, pulling out every instrument and every piece of music or sound technology she owns.

She spends twelve straight hours working before she finally falls asleep in her chair, headphones still pumping the notes of her own music into her ears.

December 2019
Los Angeles

She only notices because she catches sight of his name in the paper.

The film is called Hindsight and there's been all sorts of positive buzz ever since its screening at the Tribeca Film Festival. She wouldn't even have noticed the article since she (clearly) hates movies, but the letters that form his name jump off the page, almost as if they've been bolded, italicized, and underlined for emphasis. Before she knows it, she has searched the film on her laptop and discovers that it's playing at a yuppie theater (you know, the kind that sells eclairs and espresso rather than Coke and Sour Patch Kids). There's a showing in just a few hours, and it's a walkable distance from her studio apartment. She's been dying to see the film because she knows he's proud of it, but he's also self-conscious and insists that he can't listen to his own work if others are with him because he gets too distracted.

After her night with Jesse, she had decided to start from scratch. Rather than temping, she had decided to start networking. By just swallowing her pride and asking her fellow a cappella alumni if they had any leads on jobs or internships, she had landed a paid position in a matter of weeks. Surprisingly enough, it had been Bumper who had come through for her. With all of his work as a back-up singer, he was in touch with quite a few producers and sound engineers. With his (somewhat) genuine recommendation, she'd received a phone call from an independent label looking for new set of ears and a fresh sound. Beca had fit the bill.

She hasn't spoken to Jesse, in part because she's afraid to ruin the perfection of their last night together, but also because they've both been so genuinely busy. They text fairly often-in a friendly way. Silly photos with ridiculous captions, random observations, or little nuggets of humor from their respective lives. So she buys her ticket, heads to the theater, and snaps a photo of the old-fashioned marquee with the movie title displayed in prominent block letters. Beneath the photo, she taps out a message.

I know a guy who worked on this film.

He responds to her message while she's in the darkened theater, so she has to peek into her purse to read his reply.

I hear the music is life-changing.

She chuckles to herself before turning her attention back to the movie. It's good. The writing is smart, the acting is top-notch, and story is moving. The score is beautiful and sweeping and epic, and Beca finds herself closing her eyes just so she can hear and appreciate what Jesse had worked so hard to create. She's the last one out of the theater because she waits to see his name roll slowly across the black of the screen, and she feels almost sated.

She texts him as she leaves the theater.

Consider my life changed.

March 2020
Los Angeles

When she gets accepted to the graduate program at NYU, she wonders if things are finally falling into place. She'd had an inkling that her interview had gone really well. The panel had seemed to appreciate her enthusiasm, and they'd asked several questions about the work she'd submitted.

In the nine months since she's been working at the record label, she's rekindled her genuine passion for the art of mixing and making beautiful noise. Ironically, she's also realized that she has an interest in continuing her education in music technology. It's hard for her to admit after her dad had lobbied so passionately for her to return to Barden, but eventually she decides to go for it. When she applies to NYU, it's totally on a whim. But when she gets accepted, she thinks it might be a sign that, as Jesse had put it, her time is coming.

She still hasn't actually spoken to Jesse. Instead, they have continued sending occasional text messages. She knows he's busy working on his first film, and he knows she's busy trying to jump-start her career. Text messages are a quick reminder that they've got each other's backs, but they also allow the magic of that one night to remain unaltered. For the first time in a long, long time Beca believes that things will work out if they're meant to work out.

She snaps a picture of the acceptance letter and quickly sends it to Jesse.

His initial response is Jesse at his nerdiest:

East Coast Represent! HOLLA!

His second response is the Jesse she still loves desperately:

Reasons to come to NYC:
Best Blueberry Pancakes ever on 42nd St.
Jesse
Everything happens three hours sooner
Jesse
Scowling is an accepted social norm
Jesse
New Yorkers love tattoos and eyeliner
Jesse

In a matter of seconds, she scratches a tidy little check mark in the box indicating that Rebeca Mitchell will be attending NYU Steinhardt in the Fall of 2020.

Fall 2020
New York City

Thursday is their night.

He's able to get off early, and she gets out of class right before it's time for dinner, so it only makes sense that it becomes a standing date. He introduces her to his favorite restaurants in the city, which quickly become her favorite restaurants in the city, and she dazzles him with her ability to find the best coffee spots no matter where's she's living. They visit museums before they decide that no one actually enjoys museums, they attend concerts (which the spend their time critiquing), and Beca finds that she enjoys visiting parks because every once in awhile, she actually misses California's space and foliage.

They're both on their best behavior for the first Thursday. They meet on campus, head to a nearby diner, and gorge themselves on cheeseburgers, fries, and milkshakes until the waitress finally has to ask them to leave because she's got to get home to feed her cats. Jesse walks her to her front door because, as he announces, that's the kind of guy he is, then he kisses her softly and waits to hear her lock click before he walks away.

The second Thursday is much of the same, except when the lock clicks this time, he's on the other side of the door. Her apartment is cute. Small, modest, but very Beca, and he actually likes spending time there because he enjoys being in such close proximity to her.

The second Thursday is really the last Thursday, because after the second Thursday every day is "their day."

Their lives slowly begin to intertwine, and soon there's not really a clear boundary between his and hers. She's finding his razor on her bathroom counter, his t-shirts in her laundry hamper, and his tv shows on her Tivo. He finds her bras hanging over the shower curtain rod, her lip balm on his nightstand, and her favorite brand of coffee in his coffeemaker.

It takes about two dozen more Thursdays before one of them (neither remembers who) acknowledges the ridiculousness of the situation. She's moved into his place in the span of a week, and the only thing she misses about her apartment is the fact that the street noise had drowned out Jesse's snoring.

Jesse's in the process of unpacking the last of her boxes while she's in the kitchen making spaghetti for dinner. He can hear her singing softly to herself as he sorts through stacks of CDs and photos. One particular stack catches his eye, because he knows he's never seen these particular images before. His stomach knots at the sight of them because he suddenly realizes that he's missing a big piece of the Beca Mitchell puzzle.

"Hey, Bec?"

"Yeah?"

"What are these?"

She ducks her head around the corner to see what he's holding. She's in shorts and a tank top as she attempts to outsmart the stifling humidity, and her hair is in a knot, tiny flyaways fluttering around her face. Her face sobers when she sees the stack of photos.

"Oh." She twirls the wooden spoon in her hand and tries to wave off the photos. "Those were just for insurance purposes."

He thumbs through the pictures, recognizing her dark blue Jetta, but not understanding its crushed state. The roof is almost completely flattened, and the passenger side has been smashed. The windows and headlights are shattered, and the top of the car has been scraped down to the bare metal - as though it's been sliding across pavement. The images of the car are horrifying enough, but then the images are of Beca.

Beca in a hospital bed.

Beca with a split lip, two black eyes, and a large bandage on her forehead. There's a cast on her left ankle. And there's a date/time stamp in the bottom right corner of the image.

Beca is leaning against the door frame, trying to split her focus between the boiling water and Jesse's temper.

"What the fuck, Beca? This was taken on the day we broke up."

"You broke up with me actually," she remarks jokingly, trying to make light of the situation.

"This isn't funny," he comments stonily. "What the hell is going on? I think I finally deserve some answers."

Beca looks uncomfortable - like she wants to flee - but then she nods resignedly. "That's the reason I couldn't come to New York."

"What happened?"

Beca shrugs, tapping the wooden spoon nervously against her palm. "Some asshole rolled his Explorer right into my car. Ran me into the median and then flipped me over.

Jesse closes his eyes and lets out a hiss of air as the event unfolds in his mind. The images of the wrecked car and of Beca's injuries are bad enough. The thought of her being tossed across the freeway actually makes him sick to his stomach.

"Hey," she says softly.

Jesse opens his eyes and realizes that she's now standing right in front of him.

"I'm fine," she assures him. "It all worked out."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks. "You know I would have been there for you. I would have paid anything to get a flight out there."

"I know," Beca smiles. And she does know. She'd known it back then. "But I was a mess, Jesse. The last thing I wanted was for you to see what my life was like. Unemployed, broke, and in a car wreck. I mean, that's ridiculous." She offers him a lopsided grin. "That's why it took me so long to agree to come and see you. I was broke. We're talking ramen noodles and hot sauce on a daily basis. I was a trainwreck."

He starts to protest, to argue, but Beca shakes her head.

"No, really," she assures him. "I was genuinely depressed. I couldn't find a decent job, I was having trouble keeping crappy jobs, I couldn't afford to pay my bills, and I kept hearing about how things were going so amazingly for you."

He winces. "I'm sorry. It never occurred to me that I might be hurting you."

"You have no reason to be sorry. I had issues to work through. I think I halfway expected Los Angeles to welcome me with a red carpet and open arms. I thought people would be begging me to work for them. I was arrogant. Now, as I look back, I'm sure that was part of my problem. Nobody wants to work with a cocky kid who thinks she's got nothing to learn, you know?"

Jesse starts to respond, but then he pauses and spends a moment just looking at her. She's smiling. Genuinely smiling. And she's being completely and totally honest with him. Beca has just opened up to him. Without another word, he reaches out and pulls her into his arms.

She relaxes into his embrace, but then stiffens suddenly. "Oh, shit! The spaghetti!"

And then the smoke alarm goes off.

May 2021
New York City

They don't really talk about marriage.

It's not that they don't think about it or that they're opposed to it. It's just not really a necessary component of happiness for them. They share a comfortable two-bedroom apartment in a neighborhood that's both safe and clean. They wake up every morning and manage to get ready for the day in their small bathroom. They work within blocks of one another, so they always walk together (except when it's really cold and they splurge on a cab), and they always buy coffee from the same tiny shop - one that reminds Beca of Euclid Cafe.

Every evening after work, they meet at the same bench on the same corner, and they decide what to do with their time - whether it's a sushi night, a pancake night, or a pizza and movication night (because movication is a lifelong pursuit). Regardless of the dinner menu, the nights nearly always end in the same way. Jesse sprawled across the couch in a t-shirt and plaid pajama pants as he watches late-night tv, and Beca sprawled across Jesse in a t-shirt and plaid pajama pants as she sleeps on his shoulder.

Their routines are totally predictable - something Jesse loves to point out since he still remembers Beca's hatred for predictable endings. But Beca has come to appreciate "predictable" because what she's finding is that predictability is actually stability. And stability is something that was lacking during her formative years.

This newfound appreciation for predictability is what causes her to freak over the very unpredictable development that takes place just before Jesse's 27th birthday.

"Shit!" she cries out. "Damn it!"

She's barricaded herself in their tiny bathroom as she attempts to confirm or deny her own nagging suspicions.

"JESSE!" she yells through the closed door. "Get in here! God damn it!"

"Top of the morning to you, my love," he responds cheekily as he knocks on the door. "Is it really that bad? I swear I used the air freshener-"

"Shut up!" Beca cries out. She yanks the door open and then jerks him into the bathroom, his arm dangerously close to being ripped out of its socket. "Seriously?! Seriously?!"

Jesse is more than a little nervous in the face of Beca's irrational freak-out. She's standing in front of the sink wearing one of his t-shirts and a pair of black yoga pants, and she's waving her hand around like she's directing traffic at a busy intersection.

"Whooooaaaa..." he interrupts in an attempt to slow the pace of her mental breakdown. "If you can tell me what I did wrong, that would be extremely helpful."

"This!" she snaps. "This is what you did!" She slaps a plastic stick into his palm and then crosses her arms, glaring at him as she waits for him to try and make amends for his actions.

"What is..." He starts to request further clarification until he notices the teeny-tiny window with the teenier-tinier plus-sign on display. "Wait, Bec, you're...are you?"

Her arms are still crossed, she's still glaring at him, and she's tapping her foot impatiently. "Aca-children, huh? Try aca-fucking stretchmarks, aca-fucking labor pains, and aca-fucking lovehandles!"

Jesse is staring at her with a look of total horror and disbelief, as though her head has just started spinning and her body has levitated. She takes a moment to consider the situation, glances in the mirror, and sees her wild hair, crazy eyes, and raised arms. Clearing her throat to bring her voice back down to level that's audible to humans, she smoothes a hand over her hair, and crosses her arms. "Well, say something," she orders, trying to hide the nerves she's feeling.

"We're going to have a baby?" Jesse whispers, his eyes alight with excitement and disbelief. "You're pregnant?"

Somehow, the sight of him looking so awestruck, so amazed helps to soften the very unexpected blow. Beca has never thought of herself as a kid person. She doesn't have a problem with kids, but she's never considered herself to be particularly maternal. But she thinks there's probably nobody in the world better equipped to be a dad than Jesse.

His birthday is less than a month later, and she racks her brain, trying to come up with the perfect way to spend the day. She's been exhausted—more exhausted than she's ever felt in her life—so it's been difficult for her to find the energy to make any concrete plans. Plus, she never knows what scents or tastes will set off her morning sickness, so it seems foolish to try and make any kind of reservations. She's fairly certain Jesse would rather not celebrate his birthday by holding her hair back as she projectile vomits her way through the day. Unfortunately, the best-laid plans seem to be the hardest to execute, and on the morning of Jesse's 27th birthday she finds herself hunched over their toilet, her knees pressed painfully into the tile of the floor as she retches pathetically into the bowl.

She's so miserable that she wants nothing more than to curl up against the cool floor and sob, but she can't bear to put a damper on Jesse's day - even if he's not a birthday person. She's about to pull herself to her feet when she feels another wave of nausea cause her stomach to clench. A moment later, she feels a strong arm circle around her waist to support her, and she feels a warm hand rubbing circles on her back. He murmurs a nonsensical string of comforting words as she empties her stomach, and then he hands her a glass of cool water before dropping to sit next to her on the floor.

"You made me sick," she accuses weakly, offering a half-smile to show that she harbors no ill-will.

"I'm sorry, Bec," he murmurs sincerely as he leans over to press a kiss against her clammy forehead.

She nods in understanding and then perks up a tiny bit. "Hey," she says simply. "Happy Anniversary of the Day You Fell Into the World."

Jesse smiles tenderly at her attempt to joke even when she's feeling so sick.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Beca leans back against the bathroom wall. "I think the nausea is passing. I should be good in another half-hour or so. What should we do for your birthday?"

He thinks for a moment about how he would most like to spend the day. The answer is glaringly obvious.

"Let's get married."

Beca stares at him, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Then she nods.

"Okay."

April 2022
New York City

Beca isn't the type to spend hours upon hours trying to generate lists of clever names with subliminal messages and unspoken expectations - that's all Jesse. Instead, she's more inclined to go with a name that won't get the kid beat up, but when Jesse starts offering perky options like Madison or Hayden, Beca starts having visions of khakis and argyle, so she agrees to offer her opinion. Surprisingly enough, she's the practical one when they finally agree upon Allegra. They figure there will be little danger of their little girl being forced to go through school using her last initial to separate her from the sea of Emmas and Olivias and Bellas (pun not intended, but definitely appreciated). And they decide that she will be able to find salvation in a nickname as ordinary as Ali. (Beca figures if she could go through life with one C, Ali will survive with one L.)

Labor is pretty fucking awful. She knows that she's supposed to talk about how beautiful it had been and how the sight of her baby had made it all worth it, but really it had pretty much just sucked. Jesse had, of course, been with her the whole way through, and she's pretty sure a more upbeat father-to-be has never existed in the history of the world. When Ali had finally decided to make her entrance into the world, all wrinkly and pink, Jesse's expression of utter amazement had been enough for Beca to reconsider her promise that he would never touch her again.

Beca is no Pinterest mommy. She doesn't make Ali's baby food or knit adorable hats. She doesn't snap ridiculously large plastic flowers to stretchy headbands on her baby's head. She's not on the wait-list for "all the best preschools" nor is she signed up for every Mommy & Me class under the sun. (Mommy & Me Wood-working? Mommy & Me Oil Painting? Really?) She doesn't buy organic everything and she is more than happy to use the university-affiliated daycare center because it's cheap, thank-you-very-much, and she's pretty sure the sweet and nurturing Child Development majors are less likely to fuck up her kid than she is.

She vows that her kid won't live entirely on pizza, Cheetos, and Happy Meals. She also vows that her kid won't live entirely on carrot sticks, tofu, and green juice. She refuses to prop her baby in front of the television because she's freaked out by the glazed look in Ali's eyes when she sees the TV. She encourages her baby girl when she discovers the joy of beating pots and pans with a wooden spoon. She's got a good sense of rhythm, and Jesse's pretty sure Ali is going to be a musical prodigy.

Beca sings as she rocks Ali to sleep. She spends hours on the floor exploring and examining the books and toys that Ali finds so fascinating.

Jesse insists that they take Ali on regular walks through the park (weather permitting) so she recognizes that concrete is not actually a part of nature. They're not one of the fashionable New York couples that they so often see throughout the city. They aren't dressed in cashmere or pushing a Bugaboo—they still favor jeans and flannel, and they push a Britax - but they are both still a little shocked by how much they love their daughter.

Beca's not even grossed out the first time Ali pukes over her shoulder and down her back because, hey, she's a baby and she's precious and adorable. She's really not grossed out the first time Ali pukes into Jesse's mouth because, well, he really should have known better than to play airplane right after dinner.

When she looks at Ali, she sees her own blue eyes and Jesse's dimples, and she thinks maybe she managed to short-circuit her own anti-mothering gene, because she can't believe she's a mom and he's a dad and this is their kid and they're all happy. But then she thinks maybe she's grown and that all of the shit and the struggle were meant to prepare her for exactly this.

This is pretty nice.

Chloe and Aubrey have arranged an official five-year reunion of the Barden Bellas, and Beca has nothing to wear.

Glancing in the mirror, she glares at the sight of her fuller figure. She's still got about ten more pounds of baby weight to lose, and this dress shows every single one of them.

She finds herself watching Jesse as he plays with Ali, and she smiles at the fact that her nerdy husband is such a great dad.

Then she looks at her own reflection.

"I look ridiculous."

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

She waits for the inevitable punchline or for the teasing grin because she knows he's got to be kidding.

He's not.

Thank you so much for all of the lovely feedback you've offered for this story. I truly had a blast writing it, and I'm so thrilled that so many of you have enjoyed reading it.