AN: Just a little one-shot that was late. The entire family got sick and I just couldn't be bothered to write. Hope everyone had a good holiday!
- Ellie
The train tracks are pretty far down.
She could jump. She could do it right now.
And nobody would miss her.
Because there was nobody left.
Her mom was gone - too many nights of drugs and violent boyfriends.
Her dad had a heart attack three years ago.
Cynthia Rose couldn't beat her demons or the bottle that called to her nightly.
Jesse, poor, sweet-hearted Jesse, died in a car accident, t-boned by a semi.
So what was left?
No amount of success can ever replace the people in her life that are no longer around. She doesn't have anything. All of this money, and all she came home to each night was an echoing silence. She leans over the railing, staring down. It's an easy hundred feet. The tracks look so small from up here.
It is pretty dark, this far from the city. The lights on the bridge are a dim and sickly yellow. They make everything seem colder. She grips the railing harder, straightening her arms and leaning away before pulling herself closer in, an experimental vaulting. Her breath clouds around her, warming her cold nose.
She misses Jesse.
What is she supposed to do without him? They'd always been together. He was her goofy best friend, her relaxed lover. He was her balance. He kept her from losing her mind during her internship, when she was opening her own label, when she lost her dad.
He was all that she had left; now that that was gone, she really has no reason to keep going.
They are supposed to be together still. They are supposed to be on a beach somewhere, drinking fruity drinks while she teased him endlessly about it.
They aren't supposed to be here like this, with Beca mercilessly alone for the last two years and Jesse's body six feet under, his soul in the lifestream.
She can't stand the sight of his grave, covered in emotionless words and dead leaves. Words don't capture his smile, his jokes. They don't convey how warm his heart was or how his arms around her made her feel.
What is she supposed to do with a marble rectangle in the ground?
Beca covers her face, screwing her eyes shut. But her body betrays her, letting a loud sob out. She crumples down, pressing her forehead against the horizontal bars of the railing. She considers jumping again.
She's fine every other time of the year, but the night of his death always gets to her. It's always their anniversary and this night. She wonders how many years on this pain will hit her so viciously.
She hasn't wanted to date again. She can't even bear to look his parents in the eyes, never mind the eyes of others that might be interested in her.
She always sees Jesse's face in their smiles. Beca stands up.
She puts her foot on a middle rung.
With a quick vault, she's over, sitting comfortably on the rail, studying the edge of the bridge. It's about two feet of concrete, marked with graffiti. Someone named 'Lil' Biggie' was here in 2006. Beca snorts. She rifles through her jacket, pulling out an old picture.
It's her and Jesse, their third New Year's party as a couple. They look so happy. It only highlights the difference she feels now. She's celebrating this one on a crusty old bridge. Beca runs her fingertip over the crease in the middle from where it's been folded so many times. She slides off the top of the rail, settling on the concrete and leaning against the outside of the rail. It's much darker on this side.
Beca spends the next few minutes just rubbing over the photo, working her thumbs along the outlines of their bodies. Her nose is colder now, running just a bit. She sniffs again. The sound of crunching gravel turns her head.
There's another person walking along the bridge, hands in pockets and occasionally glancing out over the bridge before returning eyes to the ground. Beca presses herself against the rail, trying to hide in its shadow. She holds her breath when the person nears.
There's a thrill of fear that runs through her, concern over the possibility that she's just crossed paths with a serial killer or something, the hybrid reincarnation of Freddy, Jason, and Michael. The stranger moves passed her and continues. She exhales.
Her relief is short-lived, however. The newcomer puts their weight on the rail ten feet away and Beca feels the strain against the wood and metal from where she's in contact with it. She hears the slight creak and fantasizes very briefly about the whole thing breaking and the maybe-murderer falling to their demise.
It's a ridiculous thought to have. But isn't this whole night ridiculous? A sigh catches her attention.
It's decidedly feminine. Beca turns her whole body, listening as the stranger starts to talk.
"I don't know what the right thing to do is, Aubrey." Beca doesn't know why she's holding her breath.
"I miss you. I miss you a lot," the woman laughs, a little wistful, a little wet. Beca shifts, feeling like she's intruding on a very private moment.
"What do I do without you here?" It sounds like an echo of Beca's own earlier question.
"You were the only person who ever saw me for me, rather than 'that girl whose parents died so tragically'." Beca frowns at the harsh scoff. "Ten years and it's still the only thing people think or say when they look at me. But not you." The stranger sighs.
"So what now?" Beca hugs her knees.
"I don't have anyone left." She definitely knows how that feels.
"Is it okay if I give up?" Her eyes go wide.
Beca starts violently when her phone buzzes, searching for it. It's only in her jacket pocket, so why is it like it's worked itself into the fabric? By the time she finds it, the call has ended. She presses the phone against her forehead, praying uselessly that the now-silent stranger hasn't heard it.
"Who's there?" She huffs before standing up, face twisted wryly. She waves awkwardly.
"Uh... hi. Just uh, um. Just another stranger." She sounds as uncomfortable as she feels. The woman turns at the sound of her voice. Beca's surprised by how pretty she is.
This pretty stranger looks like she could make a living off of her aesthetics. Even from this distance, her titian hair and bright blue eyes stand out. The gross yellow lighting does nothing for anyone, but this woman makes it work. Beca clears her throat.
"So... um... nice night out, huh?" She immediately cringes at her words, because hello, they were both just contemplating jumping from the bridge that they're standing on. Even if this woman doesn't know that Beca was thinking about it, she herself was, so it's definitely the wrong thing to say. The stranger just laughs though, confusing Beca.
"I wouldn't say it's nice, but it could be worse." Beca arcs an eyebrow.
"I honestly think it's a pretty shitty night," she admits. Beca likes the way her laughter sounds. It's a refreshing contrast to the current theme. The stranger approaches, leaning over and resting her hands on the railing next to Beca.
"So what brings you out here?" Beca grimaces.
"Would you believe me if I said that I was looking at the scenery?"
"Definitely not. This place is hideous." Yeah, okay, maybe the wood on the bridge is a little green from the moss and stuff, and it's a little slimy and rusty. And maybe the lighting is terrible and the train tracks really don't help much, but if the vibe was aiming more for 'dreary meeting ground for mafia proceedings', then it's perfect.
"I just wanted to be alone in a different place than where I usually am." Her confession wrinkles the brow of her companion, and red hair sways with the tilting of her head.
The woman sticks one hand out across the rail, "My name is Chloe." Beca takes it.
Her hand is smooth.
"Beca." Chloe smiles softly and Beca finds herself mirroring it. She rustles around, caught off guard by her own reactions.
"I was going to jump off of the bridge." Chloe's stark honesty hits home like an arrow shot by an expert archer. She nods.
"I was thinking about it, too." The redhead seems unsurprised. Nobody comes out here just to hang out. Except Lil' Biggie and his friends.
There's something about nights like this and places like this. The kind of desperation and pain that brings a person out to an empty bridge on a cold winter night, searching for something. Answers to questions they've asked thousands of times. There's something about these moments that inspires the kind of candid admission between strangers and self.
Something about these moments can really make or break a person.
"I've actually been here several times this week. When-" Chloe cuts herself off, looking quickly away. Beca looks down when she notices the glassy quality of the redhead's eyes. After a quiet minute, she resumes speaking.
"When my best friend died, I didn't know what to do. I still don't," she says, her voice a minuscule ripple in a vast lake. "What do you do when you end up all alone?" Beca shrugs, reminded of her own reasons for being out here.
"I really have no freaking clue."
Beca had only meant to tell her about Jesse, but before she knows it, she's talked about everything. She told Chloe about how hard it was losing her childhood friend, how painful it was to watch the light fade from Cynthia Rose and how powerless she felt trying to stop it. How many nightmares she's had from seeing her mom high and abused by various men. How many nights she's spent outside of her mother's house for her own safety.
She tells Chloe about her dad's heart attack, sudden and fatal, and how it had swept her feet out from under her. Finally meeting him again after eight years of radio silence. Their awkward interactions as they tried to relearn how to be father and daughter. He was always quoting random literature. Now she'd never hear it again.
She waxes poetic about Jesse, and it makes the redhead smile. Beca feels his ghost around her, pushing his terrible movie jokes from her mouth. Chloe laughs with a vibrant enthusiasm. It really doesn't change how bad the jokes are but they hold a new purpose now, bringing someone else joy. Beca crosses her arms on the rail, studying Chloe.
Her eyes are a crazy kind of blue.
In Beca's silence, Chloe tells her about her life. Losing her parents in a plane crash ten years ago and the way that everyone started looking at her. The pitying stares that followed everywhere she went until she had to move.
Chloe talks about Aubrey, who had left their little town, her life and her own family because she knew that Chloe needed someone. Beca finds herself developing a fondness for a person she's never met.
A person that she sadly never will.
Aubrey's buried in the same cemetery that Jesse is, preserved through memories and marble markers. Beca opens her mouth. The words stall for a second, taking a bit more effort to make them heard.
"I'm sorry that that happened." Chloe sighs, resting her head on her shoulder.
"What can you do, y'know? She was a great lawyer and a real pain in the butt for bad people." Beca chuckles softly. "I'm just glad that they got the guy."
"Yeah, I hope that bastard rots twice." The redhead bobs her head in agreement. Chloe stands up straight, stretching, bending her arms behind her before swinging them out in front to clasp her hands.
"It kinda feels too awkward to try and jump now." Beca barks a laugh, forced out in her surprise.
"Uh, yeah, definitely."
"I hope you aren't still thinking about it." Beca shakes her head. She doesn't feel as horrible as she did earlier. She'll make it another year. And she'll re-evaluate her emotions on the eve of the next new year.
They're on opposite sides of the railing, standing so close that Beca can see the sweeping of Chloe's eyelashes as she blinks in what feels like slow motion. And it's really weird because there's no strong source of light behind her, only darkness and the tracks below, but somehow the redhead's eyes are shining. Somehow they're catching the light.
Somehow, it feels like they're catching her.
Chloe bites her lip, seeming to ponder something before grasping Beca's hand.
"So, feel free to say no, but how about we go be lonely together somewhere? Maybe coffee?" She agrees, because it's not like she was honestly going to do anything else. Besides, Chloe is the most interesting thing that's happened in a long time.
She's the first person that hasn't made her think of Jesse in a painful way.
"Sure, dude. I know a place." Chloe laughs.
"That sounds ominous." Beca shrugs at the observation.
"Well, it's not like I'm going to kidnap you, take you to some out of the way place like an old bridge, and off you or anything," she quips, tongue-in-cheek. She hops back over the railing, landing and shifting to face Chloe. "Did you walk?" Chloe nods, and Beca's eyebrows go up.
"I live on the edge of the city anyways." It's still a long distance to come out this far, but Beca doesn't comment further.
"I've got a car, we can take advantage of technology." She turns to head back, but Chloe's noise of surprise pulls her around. "What?" But the redhead is looking up between them. Beca's eyes widen.
There, tied to the old iron beams of the bridge, hanging on by the barest thread, is a mistletoe. Barely visible in the darkness and looking worse for wear. Beca grunts. It was probably Lil' Biggie at it again, trying to set up mafiosos. She goes to make one such dumb remark to Chloe, but the redhead is watching her, eyes sparkling like diamond dust. Her breathing stalls in her chest.
She knows that look.
She's seen it enough times. She knows she's a reasonably attractive person, and even if she wasn't, her money brings a certain type of lust around. It makes her an attractive individual where perhaps she might not have been. But unlike all of the other times she's seen this particular gaze and felt this particular energy, there's one key difference.
She isn't thinking of Jesse.
She isn't feeling him pulling her back. She isn't hearing his words tearing at her heart. If she were to say that she felt him at all, it'd be that she can hear him laughing. Beca can hear Jesse laughing in that way that he used to when he thought she was being adorable, or right before he told her that he loved her. She feels him around her, like a light misting rain.
And then she feels him letting go.
Beca gasps. The weight of the last two years falling from her like rusty chains, the darkness of the misery fading away, parting like clouds in the face of an unbearable sunlight. She feels a shiver of realization rolling through her, and for the first time since his death, Beca feels okay. She moves closer to the redhead. Chloe touches her cheek softly, putting less pressure on her than the cloud of her exhale.
"Is this okay?" Chloe whispers, eyes darting back and forth between Beca's lips and her eyes. She manages the slightest nod, already leaning in. Her eyes are closed before they connect.
Where all of the weight had left before, all of the sadness finally freeing her, this kiss fills her with relief. It fills her with a kind of happiness she never thought she'd feel again. She never thought she'd feel again. She pushes deeper, resting her hand on Chloe's shoulder. Beca wants to deepen the kiss, but a crack in the distance stops them. Chloe slowly pulls away and Beca watches her lick her lips, savoring the moment. She hears more cracks, and when the redhead opens her eyes, she can see little pricks of multicolored lights reflected in baby blues. Beca smiles, and Chloe matches it.
"Happy New Year, Beca."