Chapter 1
Aubrey was a Posen and was, consequentially, to be held up to the standards of conduct and excellence every Posen was meant to exemplify. Her father had raised her with expectations and ambitions and, considering all the sacrifices he had made for her, Aubrey felt it the least she could do to just live up to them. Her father loved her, she was fairly sure, but whether he was proud of her was a separate matter. Aubrey always felt terrible about just being given the first so she put her all into earning the second to compensate. Living up to his standards was a small favor to ask, after all, as recompense.
In any case, Aubrey was a Posen. Proud. Strong. Reliable. Capable.
Her current behavior? Not Posen-like at all.
Posens took action. Posens fought for what they wanted. Posens had their shit together.
Posens did not lie awake in their beds at night (ruining their sleep cycles) as their thoughts cycled through endless scenarios and images of a some alt girl they had just seen, grabbing their head in their hands endlessly fixated with images of cleavage and simultaneous loathing of said alt girl's snotty personality and pretty blue eyes—
Dad had always told Aubrey hating people was not worth it ever: not worth the effort and emotional exhaustion it surely required; not worth the ugly scars left on her soul from the negativity; and not worth any amount of belligerent sexual tension that may inevitably arise for having such deep emotions of any kind for another person.
The third point was really the most significant and informally dubbed 'The Posen Curse' by her family.
It was a thing. An actual thing. At countless family reunions through the years, Aubrey had been regaled by stories of how her family met: how Dad was taken by the infuriating reporter always pestering him for details about what was really happening up in HQ; how her aunt had nearly clocked out her uncle after he interrupted her approach on another boy she liked when he dedicated a song to her in the middle of the biggest school dance, like, ever; how Nana and Pappy met when she threw a snowball at his head because he was bullying her little brother and so on and so forth.
They all underscored what being a Posen was though, amidst all the flowering romance and verbal sniping.
Posens took action, regardless of how uncertain the future seemed.
Posens fought for what they wanted, even if they didn't have a clear idea of what that was, precisely.
Aubrey was a Posen. This was senior year. She had been publically humiliated and had documentation of her fall from grace go viral amongst the a Capella circuit. She had very little left to lose.
So why not?
She gathered herself together, sat upright in her bed—
-And proceeded to crash right back down again, overcome by her inadequacy. What the hell was she thinking? She couldn't just get up and ask the girl out. She didn't even remember her name.
Actually, come to think of it, did the girl even say her name? Aubrey just remembered being furious that the girl had spilled all her pens and taken her cup (the cup she'd had since sixth grade, thanks) and just started drumming on it like it was some sort of common instrument instead of a cup imbued with year upon years of sentimentality (and then more ridiculous feelings of jealously for the cup that got to be all over the girl's slender hands but that was a bad place and Aubrey thought such prurient thoughts unseemly when she still didn't know the girl's damn name) before being almost impressed enough by her voice to forgive the gaff with the pens. (It still wasn't quite enough to forgive the pen spilling, but just barely.)
In an case, her absurd trains of thought were clearly a sign this girl was bad, destabilizing news and should be treated with only the utmost professionalism, befitting of a Posen, in Bella practices.
Clearly.
Only…
Aubrey scrambled around once more before finding her phone. She took a brave inhale and dialed.
"Posen speaking," the voice on the other line replied.
"Daddy," Aubrey said. "I think I have a problem."
"What kind of problem?" her father said. From his voice, she could tell his posture was ramrod straight.
"The Posen Curse."
Her father sounded like he was shifting uncomfortably, trying to find a place to sit still or to get comfortable wherever he was. "I see."
"So there's this—"
"Target," he interrupted. "Tell me about this target of your interest."
"Target," Aubrey repeated. "Wait, shouldn't it be 'mark'?"
"Mark suggests you would take advantage of…the target. I certainly raised you better than that," he said, "and I don't want to think of anyone you're pursuing as a human being. It would make me too likely to try and background check and interrogate them."
Well, that sounded pretty understandable.
"The target…infuriates me."
He stayed silent on the other side of the line, clearly waiting for more useful Intel before he could offer up any advice.
"We are diametrically opposed in personality. Where we do share common ground, our interest exists in subsets so separated their may as well exist in different fields. The target and I even started off antagonistically when I, unsuitably, lost my composure and engaged in…childish insult calling. Just thinking of the target makes me want to throw something at a wall.
"At the same time, I recognize these reactions are completely irrational given how little personal information I have gathered about the target and the niche setting of out interactions. But, I am...intrigued, regardless."
"How many times have you spoken?"
"Twice."
"Hmm," he said, in a voice that was clearly surprised his daughter could have such a visceral emotional reaction to anyone with such little exposure. "What's the common interest?"
"Music," she said.
"That's more than adequate. There's no need for total agreement between people," he said, almost nodding. "Healthy conflict would be good for you. You need to learn how to handle conflict. That's what happens in the real world."
She bristled at the thought of being called 'sheltered' again but wouldn't show it, not in the slightest scoff or exhale.
"It's like your brother says," he continued, "when you clash with others, you expand your own world."
"He was quoting a video game," she deadpanned.
"Insight is insight. Do you think you could like the target, if you dig beneath your immediate reaction?"
Yes. Definitely. Pretty sure I already do to an excessive amount. "Probably."
"Then the obvious goal would be to take the target. That's what you want, isn't it?"
"No," Aubrey hissed. "She such a—" Ah, shit, why did she use gender-specific language?
"Aubrey," he began.
"Yes?"
"The target's not a boy, is he?"
Aubrey didn't reply. She held her breath. This wasn't the way she'd intended for it to come out.
For years she'd been testing the waters, asking her father for his opinion on this and that (what do you think about the gay neighbors? Would you mind if I slept over at a friend's house and by the way she's dating another girl in school does that affect your decision? What do you think about marriage, what do you think about DADT? Do you think it's different now and then? Did you know for some people it's not just boys or girls but both? Do you think that's indecision or…?). Just small steps getting him adjusted to the idea. She had planned on waiting till graduation when he would, at least, be proud enough of her academics to ignore the topic if he felt to uncomfortable but now—
After so many years a tiny part of her hoped he already knew but just didn't say anything. If his silence was the closest thing to acceptance she could have got it would have been enough. This question was somehow worst than anything she could have expected. Not being able to see his face just lead her to imagining worse things.
She was broken from her reverie by his cough.
"Aubrey, whatever it is, I don't expect to understand it but make sure that you're happy and make sure you do it right: whatever is right for you and what is right as a member of this family. And I would remind you to use the proper language—" (private, detached, impersonal language, because her father did not deal with feelings and this was a stretch as it is) "—when discussing mission objectives."
"Yes, Sir."
"Aubrey," he said.
"Yes, Sir?"
"I love you," he said a little more quietly.
"I love you too, Daddy."
They just stayed on the phone like that for a little while, quiet.
Alt Girl's name was Beca. Aubrey knew because Chloe told her so.
They were gathering supplies for the Aca-initiation and arranging the ornate display of candles and sacred chalace when Chloe just started talking, as per her usual MO. She seemed optimistic about their prospects whereas Aubrey was a little more skeptical about the ragtag band of, thankfully blessed with a sense of pitch, misfits they had brought together.
Beca could sing.
Chloe had found that out after practices gathering information and talking to recruits when Aubrey had elected to run away, still a little wounded by the cup touching.
Chloe had told her everything, rather cheerfully, including how she found out about Beca's singing chops in the shower and weren't you proud, Aubrey, I did some pro-active recruiting?
Chloe's chirpy friendliness coupled with a very loose grasp over the concept of personal boundaries was usually refreshing and amusing. Aubrey did her very best not to mind the being naked thing but, in the spirit of Chloe's honesty, blurted out, "I think I have a crush on Beca so I'm going to ask her out so I really hope you don't have a thing for her since you had that naked shower chemistry and everything."
There was silence before the smile on Chloe's face split into an unnervingly large grin.
"Ohmigod, Aubrey, I'm so happy for you!" she said. Chloe being Chloe, a lot more was unspoken, though, at least between them. Aubrey was thankful all the years of friendship gave her the ability to translate. "You haven't gone after anyone in ages (code for: at all) and it's great that you finally like someone (code for: I'm so glad you're finally interested in getting laid, you really needed it) and I can help you out (code for: I have totally got your back, I am an awesome wingman, don't you want to watch me be an awesome wingman, Aubrey?) if you want."
Chloe pulled her into a bone-crushing hug.
"So, you're not into Beca?" she said, just to clarify.
"What? Oh, no. I mean, I think she's got a really nice body, so you've got plenty to look forward to, but I'd never let anyone get in the way of our friendship. Besides, I met this really cute water polo player and he'll probably keep me preoccupied this month. We'll see where it goes. He's the boy I was in the shower with when I heard Beca singing."
"That's nice," Aubrey replied. She didn't bother learning the names of Chloe's partners until they passed a sixth month milestone in the same way Aubrey's father had very little interest in meeting his children's dalliances unless they had the express intention of marrying them. It was another sign she was clearly her father's daughter.
"Oh, do you want to pull the pillowcase off her head?"
"Is that a euphemism?"
Chloe waggled an eyebrow. "Maybe."
"…That's okay, you can do that."
"Okay, as long as you don't get jealous."
"It doesn't really matter. Just line them up. I'll do the first two, you do the last two however they end up standing."
"So you can leave your options open in de-pillowcasing Beca?"
"I don't know what that even means, Chloe."
Chloe winked and Aubrey immediately regretted telling her anything.
The initiation went fine. Aubrey remained focused (like a laser, dammit, regarding things that weren't Beca Mitchell) on procedures and traditions and then off it was to hood night. Did they really do it? Whatever it was they had gathered, Aubrey would have to make it work.
That would be fine. Posens were nothing if not pragmatic. Then it was off to Hood Night. Softening the beaches.
Chloe had talked her up the day before and the mission objective was flashing so much in Aubrey's mind she could practically see it, printing in her corner vision like a mission objective the HUD of one of her brother's shooting games, begging to be fulfilled.
She could do this. She could do this. She could totally do this!
She couldn't do this.
Chloe, her apparent wingman, had spoken to Beca once, allegedly to 'warm her up' for Aubrey and then scampered off to get shitfaced and make out with that one guy whoever he was. Some great wingman there. Aubrey's inner turmoil left her reeling, especially when some upstart Freshman Treble (Jesse, she dully recalled) starting chatting Beca up and all she could do was stare, outraged as she attempted to chug down more liquid courage and walk on over there.
Right now, red cup strangely empty, Aubrey thought she needed just a little more liquid courage. Or maybe a warm up. Yes, she thought. Chloe was on to something there. Aubrey couldn't just walk up to Beca and ask her out. She needed to act casual. Friendly. Just dip her toes into the water. She needed to get out there in a friendship mindset. So she needed to talk to someone else first in a totally friendly way (and if Beca got jealous, doubtful but still possible, that would be even better) and practice her socializing. She was felling pretty mellow now that she was buzzed so she could do this. She just needed to talk to someone to make sure she wasn't too drunk that she'd projectile vomit all over the object of her affection.
Fat Amy fit the bill pretty well. The thing was, though, that Aubrey got so anxious about talking to Beca in any capacity at all that she thought the best course of action was to play it cool.
Very cool.
Actually, the game plan morphed totally from direct approach to 'just enjoy yourself at the party so Beca at least knows you're capable of that' to 'let's just deal with Beca another day I don't think you're really ready for direct interaction' and Aubrey was totally cool with that. Totally.
It was Hood night! She didn't need to go do un-fun things on Hood night. She had time. Really.
(Hopefully tomorrow Chloe would be too hungover to criticize her for chickening out on the plan.)
Aubrey was such an idiot. Chloe never got hangovers.
Bitch.
After Chloe had given Aubrey aspirin and water and ensured she was nice and comfortable in her bed, swaddled by blankets and looking at her, blearily eyes, she thwacked the back of Aubrey's head pretty hard.
(That was the thing about Chloe, she was stronger than she looked, but only when she was upset. Other times Chloe was a total wuss who didn't have a thing on Aubrey. Dimly, Aubrey remembered now really wasn't the time to be thinking about that.)
"Aubrey!" she yelled in a way that wasn't helpful for her hangover at all. "You didn't speak to her at all."
Aubrey considered asking how she knew that but, on second thought, she'd rather not know. Aubrey had her own little collection of spies too and she didn't really want to get into a 'whose social informant web is bigger' fight. Instead, she just looked down a little shamefully. "Talking is hard. Guys have to do this all the time?"
Chloe just shot her a scathing look and threw a pillow at her head.
"Aubrey!" she scolded.
"Fine, fine," Aubrey replied. "I'll ask her today after practice. I can totally do that. Today. After practice. Which I am totally up for."
Chloe looked unconvinced but relented. Aubrey could bounce back from things fairly well, after all.
Still, Chloe wasn't going to leave until she was totally sure Aubrey was actually going to get up and dressed and Aubrey could understand where she was coming from. It was atypical to see Aubrey Posen look ruined after a night of partying or still in bed past six in the morning.
"I'm fine, Chloe," she assured.
Chloe looked concerned, finally seeing the other half of poor, besotted Aubrey (the parts she hoped no one would see ever) and, as good as her intentions were, Aubrey still yelled at her to get out as she got dressed.
Today was the day.
Beca Mitchell didn't really know why she was now part of an entirely female competitive Acapella group. Beca didn't even have that many female friends. (Or many friends in general, actually, but that was beside the point.)
Chloe was…nice, she guessed, if a little bit too nice, but disliking Chloe felt sort of like kicking a puppy down the street in full view of all the witnesses on the street. She was just a little much, but Beca figured as long as the older girl was trying to be friendly she could try and not be a total jerk by kind of trying back.
Aubrey was intense in a different way. A mostly bad different way. A very intense, callous and dictatorial way. She didn't really know what to expect from Aubrey's over the top oath on Hood Night but her treatment of the 'Treble-boned' pretty much dropkicked any remaining reservations of judgment out the window.
"Was that really necessary?"
"This is war, Beca," said Aubrey with an intense, slightly unstable look, "and it is my job to make sure my soldiers are prepped at go time with three kickass songs sung and choreographed to perfection. So if you have a problem with how I run the Bellas—" She made an undignified choking noise.
"Don't stress, Aubrey," Chloe whispered. "We don't want a repeat of what happened last year."
And that was how Beca learnt about Aubrey's projectile vomiting. As far as nervous tics went, that was a pretty unfortunate one. The event was pretty humiliating, and, at last, Beca could sort of see Aubrey projecting all of last year's insecurities onto the new Bellas. She didn't really excuse it but she understood it.
Some tiny shreds of likeability for Aubrey clung on but Beca was pretty sure those would get kicked out of her mind pretty soon if Aubrey was going to continue this hyper-intense emphasis on perfection. Still, Aubrey got things done and Beca could respect that, at least.
Also, Aubrey sang pretty well too and her advice for providing the 'oohs', 'aahs' and weird buzzing noises for whole songs. When she managed to tone down the hints of know-it-all in the advise, Aubrey seemed pretty decent, actually.
Practice finished when Aubrey gave up just as Aubrey basically decided everything in practice. She wondered just how Chloe fit into all this. Beca was pretty thankful and mostly tired. She was pretty sure they'd reached the limit of progress for today.
"Hey, Aubrey, did we just learn the same choreography as in that video?" Beca asked.
Aubrey's eye twitched as she shot a glance at Beca. She seemed to tense.
"Yes it was," she bit out, before slamming her water bottle down on the piano and changing the subject and making an announcement to everyone. "Don't forget your performance schedules!"
Aubrey started issuing out slips of paper and information on a gig they'd have pretty soon (a little too soon, Beca thought, but maybe she'd surprise herself with her progress). Beca's ideas about choreograpy didn't look like they were going to be acknowledged but at least Aubrey had answered her question. It was a tiny victory but, a witness to the tedium of a failing marriage and messy divorce proceedings, Beca knew that it was the sum of tiny victories that led to the coup de grace.
"Beca, a word please?" Aubrey called abruptly, still cleaning up a section of the whiteboard. "Would you like to get some dinner with me on Saturday?"
"Excuse me?"
"A date," Aubrey clarified, finally looking at her. She laced her fingers together nonchalantly and crossed her arms in a way that made her look half like their terrifying drill sergeant and half like an awkward middle school boy. "Would you like to go on a date with me?"
Beca just stared back at her and furrowed an eyebrow.
"You probably think it's a little weird that I'm asking you this," Aubrey said, breaking the silence. Her hands fluttered and she re-crossed her arms the other way around.
"Aubrey, it's more than a little weird. You've hated me since I got here."
"I never hated you," Aubrey said quickly, and a little hurt (or maybe it was offended, Aubrey had one of those faces that defaulted to indignation at the nearest slight).
"Really," Beca almost scoffed, but she at least had the decency to try not to make it sound too much like that.
"Look, I'm sorry if I—" Aubrey swallowed "—presumed anything so you're in no way to obligated to agree or anything, I just, would have liked to go—"
"Okay," Beca said before Aubrey had her chance to finish her ramblings.
"You will," Aubrey said, eyes wide and voice a little shaky. "I mean, you will," she added a little more assured. "Okay. Here's my, uh, my number in case you— Just tell me when and where I should pick you up."
"Okay then," Beca said. Aubrey flustered was such a difference from the moments ago when she was barking orders at the group but, either way, you could still see the stress radiate off the blonde in the taut, near trembling, lines of her muscles; the clench of her jaw, tight and unmoving because even as she breathed the rest of her never seemed to move; her head held high, nose a little upturned and eyes downcast.
"Well? That's it." Aubrey almost snapped and Beca became aware that, maybe, she wasn't that bossy, it was literally just the way she spoke and the though was so ridiculous she had to smother a smile before it reached her face.
It didn't really work, though, because she let out a little snort. Aubrey sort of blushed and looked away.
"Okay, bye, practice dismissed," she said and waved her hands in a little shoo motion.
Beca sighed and turned.
"Oh, and, by the way, don't wear those earrings for the gig," Aubrey said. Hastily, she added, "please."
Charming, Beca mused and, as she walked a way, she became concerned at how that thought wasn't entirely sarcastic.