1. The World Was On Fire (And No One Would Save Me But You)

What a wicked game to play, to make me feel this way.
What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you.
What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way.
What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you.

Five. Yes, that's a good number. That's a safe number. People often underestimate how important safety is in mathematics. "Is it a dangerous subject?" They ask mockingly. But she knows better. A slight mistake can be costly.

She watches the five officers in the department office mill around aimlessly, moving crates of files between desks. It also takes approximately five minutes (five minutes and thirty-two seconds to be exact) for the Captain to notice her.

"Mitchell?"

She waves half-heartedly.

"Get up."

It's been less than five seconds into meeting him and she already hates him. Might be a new record (but then she remembers that Bumper Allen has a one second record that no one's ever been able to beat).

"I tell the commissioner we need more hands on deck here, more funding, less cuts, and what does he give me?" The Captain looks her up and down once. "He gives me the Senator's washed up daughter."

"Glad to hear my reputation precedes me," Beca drawls, unaffected by his disappointment (story of her life really). But she feels obliged to give him the once over treatment as well; stubby nose, calloused fingers, broad shoulders, size ten feet and dark skin. She can tell he has a watch under his right sleeve, a cheap one at that, by the shape of the bulge around his wrist.

"Oh, don't glare at me," he says. "I've seen a million of your kind – privileged, lazy, entitled kids that turn to drugs and are just disinterested in life because you've had it so good all along."

"Darn, and here I was looking forward to swapping childhood stories with ya," she reins in the eye roll. It'd take less than ten seconds for her to just leave the building, and she can spot four escape routes before her attention is drawn back to the man in front of her.

The Captain sighs, a long and tired one, and Beca suspects she'll hear it many more times before the day is over. He extends a hand and grunts, "Jack Dunner."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Jack," Beca shakes his hand, her words dripping with sarcasm.

"That's Captain to you," he corrects, running his fingers through his cropped grey hair. "Thought I was too old to babysit, but I guess not."

At least he's making an effort to be clever, she acknowledges, which is more than she can say about the majority of the people in her life.

"I've assigned you to Lieutenant Parcell. He'll take it from here," Captain Dunner points in the direction of a taller and younger man with short slicked back blonde hair and a lean build. With that last note he limps back to his corner office, swiping a manila folder from a nearby desk on his way.

Beca approaches the Lieutenant casually, "Lieutenant Parcell?"

"Hello," he greets her with a pronounced British accent. He's kinda cute, Beca supposes. "You can call me Luke."

"Lieutenant Luke," Beca jokingly salutes. "Old dude assigned me to you."

"You the Senator's daughter?"

"My one claim to fame," she grimaces.

"Well, you know what your position here will be, right?" He leans over his desk to reach for her file. "You're only a probationary detective, so I'll assign you to shadow one of our officers."

"Sounds good."

"Beale," he barks over his shoulder.

A pale woman with light blue eyes and long red hair bounds over and returns his call with a clipped, "Lieutenant."

"Mitchell will be shadowing you for two weeks," Luke instructs. "She'll arrive at nine each morning, nine sharp mind you, and help you with your paperwork and patrol. Got it?"

"Sounds peachy," the woman – Beale – replies with a friendly smile.

Ugh. Her voice is so sweet it's sickening.

Luke turns to Beca, "After the two weeks, if everything's satisfactory, then we'll assign you a partner and you can begin your investigative training and work then."

"Peachy," Beca echoes.

Luke grins, "Not so bad after all, huh?"

Well, that's yet to be determined, Beca thinks as she sizes up the officer she'll be shadowing. Officer Beale doesn't even look strong enough to wrestle a little kid to the ground.

"My desk is over here," Office Beale walks over to the spot, Beca trailing behind her obediently. "Uhm, my partner's out on leave, he hurt himself last week, so you can take his chair."

Beca plops down on the office chair, the wheels squeaking in protest, and spins it around once. "So what's your deal?"

"Hm?"

Twirling one more time, Beca sets her foot on the ground, stopping the rotation and ignores the glares from the nearby officers. She leans across the table and points to a photograph, "Your boyfriend?"

"Brother."

Beca stands and pulls a silver watch out of her pocket, dangling it in front of the female officer. "This a family heirloom?"

Officer Beale's hand flies to her bare wrist. "How did you…?"

Easy. Too easy.

Letting the chains pool on the desk, Beca advises her, "Always be wary of people who stand too close to you."

"Well most people don't try and steal my things," the officer replies, snatching the watch back.

"Oh, silly me," Beca perches on the edge of the desk. "I haven't introduced myself properly." She extends a hand casually, "Beca Mitchell, kleptomaniac and eternal disappointment."

Officer Beale looks at her outstretched hand cautiously.

"Fast learner," Beca praises, and rescinds her arm.

"Chloe Beale," she responds, raising one eyebrow. "Glow-sticking champion and accidental one-time arsonist."

"Well, that's the first time someone's one-upped my fancy introduction," Beca acknowledges with a curt nod.

"I aim to please," Chloe smirks, and turns to her side of the desk. "We've got a patrol in half an hour, so go suit up."

Again, Beca salutes before heading to the locker rooms.

"Oh and Beca." The brunette twirls around, walking backwards. Chloe absentmindedly flips through her notebook. "Put the file back when you're done reading it or Luke will be pissed."

Beca gapes. She swore she'd been stealthy slipping the file up the back of her shirt.

A small smile plays on Chloe's face.

It's a fairly uneventful patrol, the afternoon quiet save for the occasional chirping of cardinals. There's a call in regarding a "disturbance" on the corner of Pickett and 4th, which sounds exciting. The ride there, Beca's foot taps up and down in anticipation.

"Don't get your hopes up," Chloe tells her, adjusting her uniform. "Most likely an elderly woman and a cat."

"I have no expectations," Beca fibs, forcing her foot to stop tapping.

Turns out Chloe's right.

She hands the old woman her fat tabby cat, "Here."

"Thank you, my dear," the old woman scratches behind the cat's ear. "You're a life saver!"

Beca is immediately suspicious, asking Chloe after the woman hobbles away, "You set that whole thing up, didn't you?"

"That would be illegal," Chloe says, "And pointless."

"Then how'd you know?"

Chloe slides back into the patrol car, "Tricks of the trade."

Rolling her eyes, Beca considers stealing the patrol car (a real trick of her trade).

It's morning, some part of her brain notes. The sunlight is bleeding through the edges of her closed eyes, burning yellow. Her mouth is dry, parched even, and it feels like she's slept on a rock. Beca hears the low humming of a lawn mower outside her window, the very noise that's roused her from her slumber. Sitting up slowly, Beca slides a hand along her neck, stretching.

Shit…

Well, Luke won't be happy about this.

9:47 A.M.

"Nice of you to join us," Luke accosts her as she makes her way towards Chloe's work station.

"Had a meeting with my therapist," Beca lies, keeping her face as straight as possible.

"And I'm sure if I called her right now she would confirm it?"

Too easy. Beca takes out her out her phone and scrolls through her contact list, thumb pausing halfway down the list. "Call her if you don't believe me."

Luke looks at her phone suspiciously, no doubt wondering if she's bluffing or not. Beca looks at him, faking exasperation, as if really not caring whether or not he dials the number. Secretly, her heart is pounding with the deception, an echoing thud in each ear. Liars have tells, and she knows what her own is – clenching her fingers tightly into her palm – and resists it.

He sighs, "Since this is your second day on the job, I'll make an exception. Don't make a habit of being late."

"I'll tell my therapist no more morning meetings," Beca says, shrugging exaggeratedly.

"Go help Beale with the paperwork."

"Yes, Sir." She sounds about 0% sincere.

"Mitchell!"

Beca looks up from the complaint form she's currently reading. "Oh Captain, my Captain?"

"Like I haven't heard that one before," he snorts. "Get in here."

Fuck. What have I done this time?

But she still acquiesces to his demand and shuffles into his office. He gestures for her to sit and so she does, pinky slipping out quickly to swipe a mint from his desk.

"You were late today." The Captain's staring at her, his gaze hard and unmoving, as if expecting her to start spouting excuses. But no, she's not a teenager anymore; all that amateur behavior is long behind her. "Not the best first impression."

"Wasn't my first impression technically yesterday?"

His cheeks flush pink with anger, "Being mouthy will get you nowhere, young lady."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Maybe he let stuff like this fly when you were younger, but you're an adult now and-"

"I have responsibilities yada yada," Beca talks over him. "I need to realize that we all grow up at one point or another, I have to take care of myself and shit. Yeah, I know it's not good work etiquette, I won't be late again."

"Somehow I doubt that," the Captain says, his mouth curling into a challenging scowl.

"You know I was in rehab recently, Captain?" If there's anything Beca can't resist, it's a challenge, an issued question of her abilities.

Captain Dunner nods, crossing his arms, "Yeah, it's in your file."

"Then you also know I left before they considered my treatment complete," she continues.

"Yeah," his eyes dart to the wall, "Are you going somewhere with this?"

"I promised Mom I'd stop drinking and get clean, but my dear father forced me into rehab. Didn't need it, I made a promise to Mom, I was going to keep it, with or without help. They said my time wasn't up, that I couldn't possibly be ready, that I'd have a relapse in no time," Beca says. "I'm five months sober still." The Captain is still frowning, but she can't tell if it's out of annoyance or what. "So when I say I won't be late again, and I'm promising it to you now, believe me, I won't be."

"Your mom mean a lot to you?"

It's not the expected reaction, but Beca nods, "Well yeah, she's my mom."

"Get out of here then," Captain Dunner gestures to the door. "Don't make me regret believing you."

"You'll regret a lot of things concerning me, old man, but not this."

He simply waves it off.

"By the way, thanks for the mint."

Chloe drags her into the patrol car at around noon with exciting news, "I've been assigned to investigate a case for my friend since we're understaffed at the moment."

"A real case? Not a cat prowling in the bushes?" Beca just wants to be sure this time.

"A real case," Chloe confirms.

"Step on it then, woman."

"You're unusually eager," she notes.

Beca chuckles, "If I'm gonna have to go through this hellish experience, I'd like for it to be filled to the brim with intrigue and danger at the least."

Her partner looks quite curious, like she's itching to ask why Beca's being forced to get a job at the police station, but the moment passes.

"Hold on tight then."

"Bree!" Chloe greets her friend (at least, Beca assumes it's her friend) with an enthusiastic hug.

The woman, taller and blonde, turns to Beca with a neutral expression. "Is this your new partner?"

"She's just shadowing me for two weeks."

"Aubrey Posen," the woman introduces herself, polite and formal. Judging by her behavior and manners, Beca can tell from experience that she's been dragged to many a social event ever since she was young enough to behave.

"Beca Mitchell," she nods, discretely slipping a metal chain from a nearby shelf into her pocket. Yeah she doesn't need it, but neither does Aubrey, does she?

"Mitchell," Aubrey squints, "Like the Senator."

Fucking hell.

"Huh," Chloe tilts her head to the side. "What a coincidence. It would be funny if you ever met him."

Beca snorts, "Actually, I do know him. Pretty well actually."

It looks like Aubrey already understands the connection, but Chloe waits patiently for an explanation.

"Yah, he's my dad," Beca says, a little taken aback that Chloe doesn't already know (she must be the only one who doesn't). She's used to a range of reactions to this piece of knowledge, from, "Oh, that's cool," to a derisive snort, and everything in between.

Chloe's brow furrows and after a short pause she informs Beca, "His stances on foreign policy and immigration laws are awful."

Oh.

"Uh," Beca chuckles, unsure what to think. "Yeah, I'll talk to him about it." She's being sarcastic, but Chloe fails to pick up on that.

"Well, what seems to be the problem, Bree?"

Aubrey guides them into the living room of her spacious apartment, the windows spanning from ceiling to floor offering a fantastic lake view. "Have a seat, can I get you two anything to drink?"

"Nope, I'm good," Beca shakes her head, attempting to keep patient.

"A lemonade would be nice," her partner admits, obviously having no qualms about the speed of this investigation.

"Let's stick to the case," Beca interjects, unable to keep it in anymore, her leg shaking.

Although Aubrey seems to seem a bit miffed at the lost chance to play hostess, she still does as Beca suggests, "As Chloe knows, when I was in college I was part of Kappa Mu, the largest sorority at Atlas College. In the last year I was made sorority president, which was a controversial decision made by the previous leader. I won't get into it, it's a long story."

"We have time," Chloe says, settling her hand on Aubrey's gently, a reassuring touch.

Sighing, Aubrey says, "Well the short version is that another girl technically had seniority over me, but she had tattled on a few of our members in sophomore year. Because of that, I was given the position, but she was convinced it was because of my family's status." She looks away from Beca nervously, "We're kind of well off. But anyway, the president of the sorority is traditionally gifted a custom made silver pitch pipe from the previous president."

"Can I see this pitch pipe?"

"Well, that's the problem," Aubrey continues. "I discovered it was missing from my jewelry box just yesterday. And believe me, I know I didn't lose it. I don't lose things."

"Was there any sign of a break in?" Beca asks, although she already knows the answer – no.

"No."

"Who else has access to your apartment?" Chloe scribbles her answers in a small notebook.

Aubrey thinks for a moment, "My cleaning lady, Marie. No one else."

"Well there's not much we can do if there's no official proof of theft, right?" Beca offers to Chloe questioningly.

"The proof is one day it was there and the next day it was gone!" Aubrey's cheeks flush quickly with anger.

"Why is this so important?" Beca asks bluntly.

The blonde's eyes flash a cold blue, "It's not worth much monetarily, but it's literally the most important thing I own."

"We'll get to the bottom of this, Aubrey," Chloe stands suddenly, startling Beca. "I promise." The redhead is serious, her expression sincere, a quick transformation for Beca's eyes to behold.

"Thank you," Aubrey returns gratefully, letting loose a relieved exhale.

"There was no break in, Beale, there's nothing to report or investigate," Beca complains once they're back in the patrol car.

"Listen," Chloe says, her voice quiet. "This is important to Aubrey, and therefore important to me, okay? I know her. She wouldn't report something like this to the police unless she was sure it was stolen."

"We can't take the case though, there's-"

"We'll say there was a clear break-in."

Beca pauses. "You want to lie about it?" She doesn't really care either way, but she had assumed Chloe was a by-the-rules type of gal.

"You can either spend the two weeks shadowing me looking into local cases of crazy kids and cats and old ladies, or we can look into a theft case. Isn't that sort of your area of expertise?"

Shrugging, Beca drawls, "I wouldn't want to brag."

"So?"

"Yeah okay, you got me. I'm in."

Chloe smirks and Beca feels a little less confident. It almost feels like Chloe is effortlessly playing her.

As promised, Beca arrives on time the next day(in fact, two minutes and four seconds early), much to Luke's approval. On the other hand, the Captain simply stares out his office door with a stony expression, as if still anticipating her to screw up.

It's no big deal, nothing she hasn't had before.

The day is filled with more paperwork, processing requests regarding past call-ins and false reporting. Beca cricks her neck back and forth at about three in the afternoon when Chloe hisses her name.

"Hm?"

"I got a suspect list for the Posen case," Chloe whispers conspiratorially as she pushes a slip of paper across the desk towards the brunette.

Beca reads her loopy handwriting silently.

Mindy Smith – Sorority member who had been first in line for sorority president over Ms. Posen.

Jillian Winters – Sorority president preceding Ms. Posen.

Stacie Conrad – Sorority president succeeding Ms. Posen.

Marie Sanchez – Ms. Posen's cleaning lady (and only other person with keys to Ms. Posen's residence).

Naomi Peters – Long time sorority rival to Ms. Posen.

It's a good start, Beca supposes. But she decides to ask, "Can we go back to Ms. Posen's apartment? I need to check something."

"Alright, I'll drop you off at Bree's place and then have a chat with Stacie Conrad (she's an acquaintance of mine)."

Nervously, Beca presses the buzzer to Aubrey's apartment number. It's quite obvious that the blonde doesn't care too much for her; she's invited into the apartment with an icy glare.

"Do you have a hairpin I can borrow?"

Aubrey arcs an eyebrow at her request, but replies after a moment, "I'll go get one."

As she stomps to the other side of her apartment, Beca squats down to eye level with the door lock, pulling out her lock pick set from her right combat boot. She opens the door midway and confirms that it is a normal deadbolt lock (something she noted yesterday). Running her fingers over the face of the lock, she feels several light scratch marks below and above the key hole.

"What are you doing?" Aubrey's voice comes from behind her, clipped and judging.

"Checking something," Beca replies, taking the offered hairpin in her right hand, quickly bending it into a hook like shape. She places her torsion wrench in carefully before fiddling about with the hairpin. "Well, bad news is someone's picked your lock."

Aubrey's still calm, "And the good news?"

"He or she is an amateur at it."

"Thank God," Aubrey states dully and insincerely.

"I'll take that title," Beca smiles cockily.

"Hey Stacie!"

Stacie Conrad, tall brunette bombshell, wraps her in an excited hug, her leg flying upwards and half curling around Chloe's. "I think your boobs have gotten bigger."

With a mock gasp, Chloe hits her shoulder playfully, "I didn't ask you here to be felt up."

"You're right, that's more something Aubrey would do," Stacie agrees, tossing her purse to the ground casually before taking a seat, hooking her right leg over her left.

Chloe chuckles, "We've talked about this before. What goes on in your bedroom, stays th-"

"How is Aubrey?"

"She's good," Chloe sips her iced tea, wondering how much she should reveal.

"Still have that rack of God?"

Grimacing, Chloe shakes her head, "Ew, no, Stacie. My best friend."

With a wistful sigh, Stacie moves on from that topic (although her mind never strays far from it, Chloe knows), "Well, what did you want to ask me?"

"One of Aubrey's possessions has gone missing, do you know anything about this?" Upon seeing Stacie's bemused expression, Chloe continues on, "Standard procedure, I can't skip over you because you're my friend."

"Hm," Stacie nods. "Well, I haven't seen Aubrey in over two months and I don't know where she lives or what bank she keeps her stuff in."

"Thanks anyway," Chloe smiles, and leaves ten dollars on the table. "Treat yourself."

"Cheers!" One of the waiters passes by, his gaze lingering on Stacie even as he walks towards the door, nearly running into a waitress. Noticing his attention, Stacie sends a wink in his direction. He crashes into a table.

Chloe watches the display and shakes her head. Some things never change.

"She still misses you, you know," she decides to tell Stacie, who looks back at her, surprised. There's a moment where her eyes become thoughtful and quiet, but it quickly passes.

"Well the sex was fantastic." Classic Stacie move, deflection with a sexual remark. But Chloe knows better than to believe it's only about the physical to the brunette.

"Catch you later, Stacie," she kisses Stacie's cheek.

Before Beca calls Chloe to check up on her, she stops by the doorman's desk.

"You the doorman, yeah?"

He nods, his curly brown hair flopping to the side as he adjusts his name tag. Benjamin.

"Are you vigilant in your duties?"

"Of course, m'am," he replies politely.

Quirking her head to the side, Beca informs him, "Well a woman just went through the door and you didn't ask her for identification."

Without even looking, Benjamin the doorman says, "That was Mrs. Sweeney from apartment 309."

"How about the two people who entered before I did, about say, half an hour ago? One was wearing a blue Mariner's cap and the other had a yellow polo shirt on."

"Jorge from apartment 710 and his secret boyfriend Norman."

"Impressive," Beca remarks.

"I remember faces and names easily," he looks down bashfully, embarrassed by her compliment.

"What's your full name, Benjamin?"

"Uhm well, you can call me Benji Applebaum," he offers, eyes lighting up at her softer tone.

Beca flips through her file before pulling out a photo of the cleaning lady, Marie. "You know this woman?"

"That's Ms. Sanchez, Ms. Posen's cleaner."

"Was she here on Wednesday?"

"Yes, she came in an hour late," Benji recalls. "I remember because she was nearly in tears."

"Thanks buddy," Beca says, filing the photo away. "Give me your number."

He stammers, but obeys without questioning.

"How'd it go with suspect number one?" Beca slides into the passenger seat nonchalantly, the sky darkening already.

Chloe hums, "It's definitely not her, she just got back this morning from a trip to L.A. and hasn't spoken or seen Aubrey in two months."

"You can cross out the cleaner too."

"Oh?"

Beca nods, and stares out the window, her fingers drumming rhythmically on her knee, "You were right though. This is a theft."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Not particularly."

At that, Chloe signals right and pulls over by the side of the road.

"What?"

She turns to regard Beca, frustrated, "We're partners, Beca, and as your other half I don't want to be kept in the dark! How do I know that I can take Marie Sanchez out of consideration? This sort of information is vital to the investigation."

"Like you say, we're partners," Beca sighs, crossing her legs dramatically. "Just trust me on this. If there's something I need to tell you, you'll be told."

Chloe looks at her for a long beat, lips tightened in a thin line. "Okay." She relents and signals left, pulling back onto the road. "Okay."

Truth be told, Beca's a tiny bit surprised (just a tiny bit, but enough for her fingers to still against her knee). She's a con artist; no one has trusted her in a long time with anything. She'd almost forgotten what it felt like. It's nothing, she decides, her fingers tapping against the arm rest now.

Unconsciously, she begins to mumble under her breath.

Six minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, Chloe pulls up in front of the address Beca's told her to drop her off at. Chloe peers out the driver's window at the dark little shack. It's clear she's dying to know why Beca's requested to be dropped off here, but she keeps her mouth shut anyway.

Beca slams the car door and waves a casual farewell. Only when the car is out of sight does Beca march over to the shack, knocking on the door (two taps, a pause, then three more). A small wooden slat slides open and bright glinting eyes shine out from the gap, looking at her menacingly.

She waves cheekily.

"Snake," he grunts into his walkie-talkie.

There's static and no clear response, but the man behind the door unhooks the latch and lets her in.

"Thanks, Grizzly."

"Bumper," she acknowledges as he dismisses the girl on his lap with a light spank on her butt.

Bumper cocks an eyebrow at her, "Thought they put you away."

"I'm out now," Beca shrugs, refusing to say anymore. "Got a question for ya."

"Oh, something the Senator's daughter doesn't know and I do? What has the world come to?"

"Know any of these girls?" Ignoring his remarks, Beca tosses a folder at him, which he catches reflexively.

"And why should I do this for you?" Bumper looks at her expectantly.

God, she's not here to waste time. Beca narrows her eyes, "Because that's what we do. Help each other."

"You're in with the cops now, aren't you?" When she doesn't answer, he points to the window, "Saw the patrol car."

"And?" She challenges.

"You'll owe me something," he says.

"I got your dick out of that girl's tongue ring that one time," Beca reminds him. "I think you owe me for life."

Bumper glares at her (he hates being reminded of that incident, almost as much as she hates being called the Senator's daughter) and finally decides to open the file. "Oh, there's Mimi."

She plops down on the couch next to him, just like old times, and looks at the girl he's pointing at.

"Naomi," he quickly corrects. "Yeah she's a real favorite with the older men."

Beca makes a face, her distaste of his operations coming back twofold. "Call her up for me."

"Right now?"

"Hurry up, dipshit," she sighs.

Taking out his phone, Bumper scrolls through his infinite contact list before dialing a particular number. "Go for it."

It rings three times before a tired voice picks up. "Bump?"

"Yeah, I have a friend who wants to talk to you 'bout something," he says, turning to Beca, and handing the phone to her.

"You a working man? Imagine coming home after a long day at work and I'm standing there all hot and ready for your-"

"No, not for phone sex," Beca states adamantly, shooting the smirking Bumper a mean look.

"Oh, whaddya want then?" Naomi's voice changes from sultry to annoyed in two seconds flat.

"You remember a girl from your college sorority named Aubrey Posen?"

"Oh yeah, dry-cunt-Posen, who doesn't?"

Beca snorts at the nickname, but remembers her purpose, "Steal anything from her lately?"

"What? You gotta be kiddin' me, I haven't seen her since I dropped out senior year. Only thing I'd wanna steal from her is that stick up her ass."

"You sure?"

"Lady, you're Bump's friend, ya?"

"Sometimes we might be called that," Beca responds neutrally as Bumper guffaws.

"I wouldn't lie to ya then. Don't hold a grudge against anyone from Kappa Mu no more."

"Then who would?"

There's a crackling sound from the other side before Naomi answers, "Prolly Mindy. Ya know she went crazy after Posen got made president? Dumped her boyfriend, started failing her classes, she went off the deep end really. I'd talk to Mindy if I were you, lady."

"Okay," Beca says. "Thanks, Naomi."

"Mimi," the woman corrects her. "Naomi don't exist anymore to me."

She's dreaming of floating cakes and kittens (which is actually not a typical thing for her) when she's woken rudely. Chloe's eyes open blearily as the incessant ringing of her phone pierces her hearing. What is going on? She grasps around for her phone, the screen lit up.

Beca? At this hour?

"Hullo?"

The person calling her has a voice so sarcastic and lazy that it can only be Beca. "Morning, Princess. Took you long enough to answer."

"Well, I don't normally take calls at," Chloe looks at the time on her phone, "4 A.M. Especially not on Saturdays."

"Yeah well, you can cross Naomi Peters off your list," Beca sounds so damn sure of herself that Chloe finds herself believing the conviction.

"Why?"

Chloe hears a snort over the line, "We went over this already, C."

Stifling a yawn, Chloe decides she can't be bothered to respond to that and hangs up. She tosses her phone to the other side of her bed and promptly falls asleep once more.

When it's finally a decent time to actually be awake, Chloe pads into the kitchen and pours herself a bowl of cereal. Crunching down on the flakes and nuts, she sifts through the newspaper, looking for interesting headlines and articles. At about 8:30, she dons her trusty uniform and navigates her way to the station.

"Fucking rude to hang up on me like that," Beca says as she takes her seat in the passenger's side of the patrol car.

"We've got a suspect to interrogate," Chloe talks over her. "Buckle up."

"Thanks, Mom."

"No problem, sweetie," Chloe replies without pause, and ruffles Beca's hair enthusiastically much to the brunette's displeasure.

"That is not okay," Beca says indignantly, flattening her hair down with one hand and flipping Chloe off with the other.

Amused, Chloe laughs, "No? Neither is interrupting my beauty sleep."

Point taken.

"Hey Mindy, long time no see!"

The suspect, Mindy Smith, has long brown hair and softer brown eyes, and is a little taller than Chloe and thinner too. Beca quickly scribbles her basic information down on a notepad. Chloe presses a brief kiss on Mindy's right cheek and Mindy does the same to Chloe's cheek. She is visibly nervous, Beca notes.

"I'm so sorry to ask, but I'm incredibly thirsty. Is it possible I could have a glass of water?" Chloe asks, one hand held to her throat.

Mindy nods and says, "Of course." Her voice trembles.

The moment Mindy leaves the room, Chloe tugs on Beca's sleeve and whispers into her ear, "When she gets back, ask to go to the bathroom. Look for her planner, take pictures of all the days of this month. I'll give you five minutes."

Beca replies, "Yah, sure, Chief. Exactly five minutes?"

"Not a second over."

Good. Five is a safe number.

As Mindy comes back, Chloe laughs (too high pitched for it to be natural), "We're just here investigating a nearby robbery. I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me?"

Well, look at that, Beca thinks, not too bad a liar after all.

Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, Beca sits back down next to Chloe with the most casual expression she can manage. Jesus Christ, who stores their planner inside their file cabinet? Mindy's demeanor has dramatically changed from nervous and twitchy to chatty and amicable. Beca eyes Chloe suspiciously.

"Well, I'm glad things worked out so well for you, Mindy," Chloe smiles, so genuine that Beca almost believes it. The redhead rests a comforting hand on Mindy's knee. "Thank you for taking the time to talk with us, but we still have to question the rest of your neighbors."

"Oh, I'm sorry! Silly me, just blathering on and on," Mindy says, her hand held over her chest.

"No worries," Chloe gives her a farewell hug. "Thanks for the tea."

"Look through your photos for a meeting with someone named Brandon Childs," Chloe instructs Beca the moment they enter the patrol car, doors swinging shut at the same time.

"She met with him Monday," Beca reads from her phone. "For dinner."

Chloe buckles her seat belt and says, "That's him. He's the one who stole the pitch pipe."

"What?" Beca gapes. "Did Mindy say that?"

"Trust me," Chloe echoes, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

"Yeah, no, it doesn't work that way."

"Well, fill me in on the details you've been neglecting to tell me and maybe I'll tell you."

"Maybe you'll tell me," Beca deadpans.

"Maybe."

"Ugh, okay what do you want to know?"

Making a sharp right turn, Chloe pulls into an empty parking lot and parks. "Why you decided Marie Sanchez wasn't a suspect."

"Doorman said she'd been an hour late that day. Also, Aubrey's lock was picked, but Marie has a key, so obviously not her."

"How'd you know her lock was picked?"

Beca sighs, "Scratches on the face of the lock and the pins were harder to push up."

Nodding, Chloe continues, "And why not Naomi Peters?"

"I…" The brunette pauses, "I actually can't tell you that one."

"Beca," Chloe's tone is warning.

"No, I actually can't tell you," Beca says, looking away, biting the tip of her thumb. "But believe me, it's not her."

"Fine," Chloe acquiesces. "That's good enough I suppose."

"Okay, so why do you think it's this Brandon dude?"

"That's Mindy's ex-boyfriend," Chloe explains. "She dumped him after she lost the sorority presidency to Aubrey. When I asked Mindy about him, she seemed a little nervous, more so than when we were just talking about burglaries. I don't know, I just have this hunch that it's him. You ever have that feeling? Like you just might know something?"

"No…" Beca's voice trails off as she squints at Chloe. "I either know something or I don't."

"Well she told me Brandon just broke up with his girlfriend recently and got back in touch with her, reminiscing about their college dating days. Said he works with UPS now."

"So?"

"I think she knows he stole it," Chloe says. "I think Brandon must've thought he could've started a life with Mindy had Aubrey not stolen her presidency. I think the pitch pipe is symbolic to him; when Mindy lost the pitch pipe, he lost her. So his most recent girlfriend breaking up with him must've been the last straw. Brandon probably thought that he'd never do better than Mindy, and so he stole the pitch pipe and presented it to Mindy, thinking he would regain her. He probably was able to get into the building under the guise that he was delivering a package."

"I don't know, Chloe," Beca's not convinced. "It sounds like you're reaching."

Quirking her mouth, Chloe says, "Okay, well you said Marie Sanchez was an hour late?"

"Yes."

Chloe pulls the file out of the side pocket of the vehicle and flips it open to Marie's page. "I'll call her and ask her why."

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Hello, Marie Sanchez speaking."

"Marie, hi! This is Chloe Beale, Ms. Posen's friend."

"Ah, Chloe! Yes, yes, I remember. How are you, dear?"

"Quite well," Chloe smiles even though the other woman can't see her. "And yourself?"

"Oh, I am okay. It is terrible news to hear about the burglary at Ms. Posen's apartment though."

"About that," Chloe starts, "You were an hour late that day, correct? Could you tell me why?"

Marie titters in embarrassment, "Ah, I got a call from a nice young man the day before asking for my cleaning services. He told me his address, but I must've heard him wrong because it was someone else's house. The traffic was so bad on the way back that I ended up being late."

"Could you give me this nice young man's number?"

"Oh, he never gave me his number."

Chloe's brow furrows, "It would show in your recent calls list."

"Oh yes, here it is. Sorry, my dear, I am so bad with phones."

"No problem," Chloe says brightly as Beca manages to smother her snickers.

"It is (312)-765-1100."

"Thank you, Ms. Sanchez."

"Oh any time."

As Chloe hangs up, she shifts through the file and pulls out a new sheet of paper Beca hasn't seen before. It has Brandon's information and his phone number matches the phone Ms. Sanchez has given them exactly.

"Believe me now?"

"I am sorry to say I do," Beca huffs.

"A warrant will take ages though," Chloe muses.

For the first time ever, Beca's thankful to her father, "Well, being the daughter of the Senator has a few perks, ya know?"

Chloe strides to the door so fast that Beca has to jog to keep up. After two firm knocks on the door, Chloe takes a step back. A few moments later, a man with dirty blonde hair and light green eyes opens the door.

"Good evening, Mr. Childs," Chloe smiles, a strained one Beca realizes.

"Good evening," he answers hesitantly. "How can I help you ladies?"

"Just need you to answer a few questions," Chloe says, making a quick gesture asking if she can enter.

"Come in," he says, stepping out of the way for Beca and Chloe. "Please excuse the mess, I've just been very busy the past-"

As Brandon takes a seat in the living room, Chloe interrupts him midsentence and says, "Just one question actually, Brandon."

"Yes?"

"Did you really think stealing Aubrey's pitch pipe would help you win Mindy back after all this time?"

His face goes red as he sputters, "Wh- What? I- I don't- what are you-?"

"Well?"

The vein in his forehead is sticking out magnificently, Beca thinks. He swallows his fear and replies, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you do," Chloe responds. "You used your day job as a UPS delivery man to get into Aubrey's building and stalled Marie Sanchez' arrival by calling for her cleaning services and then you sent her to the address of someone else, far away, through heavy traffic. You then proceeded to pick Aubrey's lock and found the pitch pipe in her jewelry box. Tell me which part is wrong."

"All of it!" He says indignantly. "I never did any of that. I'm going to have to ask you to leave. You're no longer welcome here."

"We have a warrant to search your place, Brandon," Chloe informs him, pulling a sheet of paper from her pocket and unfolding it. "You don't mind if we look upstairs, do you?"

His face is purple and it looks like he's about to bolt. "Beca, why don't you go retrieve Mr. Brandon's belongings while I make sure he doesn't try any funny business?"

Beca heads up the stairs two at a time and as per Chloe's previous instructions, looks through the rooms for UPS boxes. At the last room she finds three boxes stacked neatly on top of one another. Opening the first one reveals a locked metal box, which Beca takes out carefully.

Hm, no keys around here. She takes out her trusty lock picking kit once more and makes quick work of it, taking a total of three minutes and two seconds. Opening the lid, Beca is almost surprised to see the silver pitch pipe, exactly as it looked in the picture Aubrey showed them, nestled inside.

When she arrives back downstairs (slightly worried that Brandon might try and assault her partner), she finds a startling sight. Brandon is squatting on the ground, his face buried in his hands as he rocks back and forth slightly. Chloe is patting his back comfortingly.

"Uhm, well, the pitch pipe is in here," Beca says awkwardly.

"Mr. Childs will be accompanying us to the station," Chloe tells her, looking up with an even expression.

"I see…"

Once the situation is handled, Chloe insists that the two of them return Aubrey's pitch pipe in person.

"Brandon has been put on probation for two years and has been fined," Chloe informs Aubrey as she leans tiredly against her doorway.

Beca passes the pitch pipe to Aubrey, who takes it from her as gently as if she was handling a newborn baby.

"Thank you," Aubrey says to Chloe. "And you too, Officer Mitchell."

"Really sorry to ask this, but I need to use the bathroom," Chloe laughs. "For real this time," she adds for Beca's sake.

Once she's out of earshot, Aubrey turns back and fixes Beca with a piercing stare.

"What?" She's gotten her damn pitch pipe back, useless goddamn thing, what else does she want from Beca?

"Chloe's my best friend," Aubrey tells her (unnecessarily, as she already knows). "I know you don't think much of her. You probably don't think much of anyone."

"It's not personal," Beca drones, faking disinterest.

"But just remember, her weapon isn't strength or wit. It's her words."

Aubrey lets it sink in.

Back at the station, it's already spread around like wildfire that Beca and Chloe solved the Posen case (anything with the name Posen on it is obviously worth talking about).

Beca's whispering rapidly under her breath as she fills in paperwork (apparently being successful is tantamount to having vast amounts of forms to fill out). "Bear, Hawk, Tiger, Snake, Wolf."

"Sorry?" Chloe looks up.

Not realizing she'd been talking at all, Beca merely arches an eyebrow.

Out of nowhere, Luke suddenly accosts them, "There was no sign of a break in, so why'd you take the case?"

"You know why," Chloe replies, refusing to make eye contact with him.

"You're my only officer who follows instructions and rules down to the punctuation marks, Beale," Luke says. "I just don't understand."

"Friends are more important."

Beca doesn't really care, but she figures she should ask anyway. "Are you going to punish us?"

"No," he decides. "As long as you tell me how you figured it out."

Chloe and Beca exchange a quick glance at each other and answer simultaneously, "Tricks of the trade."

"Beale!" The Captain bellows. "Mitchell!" They turn to look at him questioningly. "My office, now."

Chloe bites her lip nervously but follows her into the office anyway. Captain Dunner shuts the door firmly.

"What you two did was questionable," the Captain starts.

"We solved it, didn't we?"

"But at what price?" He asks, his voice soft.

Beca doesn't know what to say to that, but Chloe jumps in, "It wasn't her fault, Captain. Aubrey's my friend, I took the case on because I wanted to help her. Officer Mitchell merely got dragged along."

She tries not to let her surprise show, but her eyebrows arch of their own accord.

Captain Dunner turns his back on them, "Mr. Posen donated a generous amount to our police association this afternoon."

What…?

"Thanks to you ladies, our division might just be out of debt," he continues. "We can afford better office supplies too, maybe even maintenance on our patrol cars."

"Oh."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" Beca speaks up.

Turning around, the Captain has a grudging smile, "You took a risk and it might've paid off. Don't get used to breaking the rules."

"I wouldn't think of it," Beca says sarcastically.

"Doesn't mean I was wrong about you, Mitchell," he says pointedly, scowling suddenly. "Don't think I'll forget the promise you made me."

"Wouldn't dream of that either, Captain."

"That goes for you too, Beale."

Chloe nods, biting the inside of her cheek now.

"Do you want to go for a celebratory drink?"

A little surprised at the offer, Beca almost accepts on reflex, but catches herself. "I- uh- I can't."

"No worries," Chloe says with an easygoing smile. "Great work by the way. I couldn't have solved this without you."

"Yeah well, partnership and all," she doesn't really know how to respond and it's making her feel awkward as shit.

Thankfully, Chloe just laughs, "Yes. Well if you change your mind, we'll be at Barker's pub."

"We'll see," Beca responds cryptically.

Aubrey places her treasured pitch pipe back into her jewelry box and looks into the mirror, letting loose an exhale. She looks tired, she knows, as she examines the bags under her eyes. Even though he donated so much money to the police, Aubrey knows her father is displeased with the entire situation. Kicking up a huge fuss over such a small thing? He wants her to move to a safer place, too. If a thief could get in, then a rapist or a murderer or a kidnapper could too. She's old enough to make her own decisions now, but he'll never see it that way.

Her phone rings, snapping her out of her thoughts. It's a number she hasn't seen for quite some time (but one she has memorized still nonetheless). While she knows it's a bad idea, her thumb presses answer before she thinks about it really.

"Let's go for dinner."

Aubrey's always hated that about Stacie – no greeting, no pleasantries, no manners. "Hello to you too, Stacie."

"Thought you'd be in a celebrating mood, Aubrey." All the people Aubrey's dated before call her Bree (hell even the vast majority of her closest friends do too) but not Stacie, never Stacie. It's never anything shorter than Aubrey and she tries not to recall Stacie's reasoning ("I like knowing that it's all of you").

"You heard about the case, too?"

Stacie ignores her question (as always) and continues, "I imagine you're sitting at home alone, dressed in those baggy grey sweatpants you like so much, and maybe a white or faint blue t-shirt. You're going to order some Chinese takeout, mostly because you know how much your daddy hates that, and you'll ask for the Chicken Lo Mein, but with more noodles than chicken. You'll read your fortune and analyze it too deeply. Then you'll probably watch reruns on HGTV until you fall asleep."

While Chloe has always been her best friend (and the one that just understands people easily), no one gets her like Stacie does.

"My t-shirt is pink," Aubrey retorts, not bothering to confirm that the rest is accurate.

"White, blue, pink, it's all the same to me." She swears she can hear Stacie's grin over the phone. "It all ends up on the floor anyway."

"Is that why you're calling me? Is this a booty call?"

Stacie jokingly moans, "Say booty call again."

Aubrey sighs.

Perhaps realizing that she's not in the mood for that (yet), Stacie tries again, "Let's go for dinner. You shouldn't let him get to you."

Dinner with her ex. Terrible idea, really. But Aubrey's never been that good at saying no to Stacie, even though she's always been good at saying it to everyone else.

"Where should I meet you?"

Somehow Beca ends up at the pub anyway (and she'd rather not analyze it, even if she's bitten her nails down to jagged stubs). She's changed into casual attire: a loose grey shirt and jeans. When she enters, there's music pounding away, and it's enjoyable enough, even if she has to focus specifically on anything but the alcohol. Looking around, she finally sees the red hair she's been searching for.

"Hey there, stranger," Beca says amicably and as quickly as she can manage.

"Beca!" Chloe's whole face lights up. "Glad you could make it!"

"Thought I'd be your designated driver and all." She takes in Chloe's appearance, dressed down in a red halter top and jean shorts. It's a jarring sight to see her out of her work clothes.

"Thoughtful," Chloe muses. "And what's your ulterior motive?"

"No ulterior motive tonight." But Beca admits, "Although your wallet would be really easy to steal."

Chloe sticks her tongue out, hand curled around a bottle of Heineken. Although it's not really the alcohol itself that holds temptation for Beca, her eyes are still drawn to the sight. She thinks about it for a moment really, the self-destruction that's so close she can almost taste it.

Drawing away quickly, Beca flags the bartender down for a glass of water (he shoots her a sympathetic look). "How did you know Brandon's motives?"

"Is that why you came?" Chloe looks at her curiously. "To talk about work?"

"It's just been bothering me all day," the brunette confesses. "And then he started crying randomly. What did you say?"

"I told him people in love do crazy things," Chloe responds, taking a long swig from her bottle of beer. Beca doesn't know what to make of that, but hears the truth of her words. Indeed, she thinks, she wouldn't even be here if that wasn't true.

Crazy things, indeed.

Aubrey wakes just as the sun is rising, yellow rays peeking out, and her arm reaches out towards the side to find the other side of the bed cold. Sitting up slowly, the sheets fall away to reveal her topless form.

There's a note on her bedside table.

~ S

No words, just a signature.

It's strange what desire will make (foolish) people do.

A/N: Thanks for reading, I really do appreciate it! This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter AU, so we'll see how it works out. Leave a review if it so suits you!

A few notes:

1. There are several small errors regarding police procedure, laws, and rankings. The majority of these have been made to fit the story.

2. I don't have any endgame ships in mind, but this story will focus primarily on Beca and Chloe's relationship (romantic or not).

3. There are a few similarities to Elementary, but hopefully I depart from the core ideas enough that it seems a bit more original ;)

4. Disclaimer: I do not own Pitch Perfect (the universe or the characters), nor do I own the song Wicked Game (from which the beginning and ending lyrics and chapter title come from), same goes for The Mystery of You (from which the overall titles comes from).

5. Lastly, a HUGE thank you to Desi (lescousinsdangereux) for beta-ing and just being an awesome friend. And may I add, marry me!

Cheers.